Tribeca ‘09: Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench

John Cassavetes might not be synonymous with jazz, but several of his films included jazz-related scores, including his masterful Shadows, featuring the music of Charles Mingus. Though billed as a tribute to the old-fashioned movie musical, Damien Chazelle’s feature directorial debut has an uncomfortably intimate style, a gritty black & white look, and a moody jazz score, which suggest he has spent a great deal of time absorbing the work of the pioneering independent filmmaker. The result is Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench (trailer here), the must-see film at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival for jazz listeners.

Chazelle studied jazz drumming and originally conceived the male protagonist of Bench as a drummer as well. However, seeing and hearing trumpeter Jason Palmer blow at Boston club convinced him to cast the up-and-coming musician instead. Palmer plays Guy, a very talented musician on the bandstand, who proves not so together when navigating his personal life.

Guy has recently dumped Madeline. While she was rather shy and reserved, at least she took an active interest in jazz. Guy soon takes up with the more desirable Elena, who could not care less about his music, which is a shame, because it is very good. Though initially depressed by the break-up, Madeline slowly rebuilds her social confidence, taking jazz drumming lessons and exploring a possible relationship with a French expat in New York. Just as Madeline decides to take the plunge and join him in the City, Guy suddenly realizes how much he misses her.

In Bench, characters do indeed spontaneously break out into song, much in the style of classic movie musicals. However, since the film is largely set within the jazz world of clubs and jam sessions, most of the musical interludes do not feel so fanciful. Andre Hayward, a longtime stalwart of the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra and groups led by Dave Holland, lends serious jazz cred to the proceedings, logically playing a jazz musician named Andre. In addition to a swinging trombone solo, he also takes the vocal lead on the rousing “Cincinnati.” Also, the sixteen year-old saxophone phenom Grace Kelly is one of many Massachusetts jazz musicians who recorded Justin Hurwitz’s soundtrack music, along with the Bratislava Symphony Orchestra.

Although the film occasionally veers off course (particularly during Elena’s odd encounter with a married man, which seems out of character and irrelevant to the overall story), Chazelle makes a remarkably ambitious debut with Bench. The intense focus on its characters and their flaws is quite compelling, even discomfiting. Fortunately, the frequently swinging musical numbers, and some hip tap choreographed by Kelly Kaleta, help relieve the tension of the characters closely observed lives.

Think of it as a 1950’s MGM musical shot by Cassavetes, on the streets of Boston, and you might have a sense of Bench’s vibe. It is a rewarding film that really stands out from the pack. It screens at Tribeca on April 23rd, 24th, and 26th.

The Prime Minister: Il Divo

He combined the political resilience of Richard Nixon with the creepy demeanor of Ed Grimley. It might not sound like an appealing combination, but it did not hamper Giulio Andreotti from winning three non-consecutive terms as Italy’s Prime Minister. As leader of the centrist Christian Democratic party, Andreotti was a fixture on the Italian political scene, earning him the nickname “The Caesar,” or Il Divo (trailer here), the apt title of Paolo Sorrentino highly stylized portrait of the controversial leader, which opens Friday in New York.

Frankly, Andreotti’s actual politics are difficult to pigeon-hole. The former Christian Democrats were a coalition of the right and left opposed to the Communists and supportive of the Catholic Church. He had a long alliance with Silvio Berlusconi’s future nemesis Romano Prodi, but they were members of different factions within the party. Sorrentino depicts the Andreotti faction as a colorfully corrupt bunch, including the thuggish Vittorio Sbardella (a.k.a. “The Shark”), Franco Evangelista (his “right arm” and the picture of a loyal mafia henchman), and Paolo Cirino Pomicino (“The Minister,” who acts like a sleazy Italian Larry David).

Il Divo shows Andreotti dogged by rumors of mafia ties and ultimately facing trial on corruption charges. In an absolutely dizzying sequence I cannot even begin to recap, Sorrentino dramatizes all the alleged links between Andreotti, mafia godfathers, shady bankers, corrupt politicians, and several assassinations. Whether Sorrentino truly connects all the dots is debatable, but it is a masterful piece of cinema.

Sorrentino keeps the film moving at a feverish piece, showing a bold visual sense and a dramatic use of music that could justly be described as operatic. Sorrentino is not dealing in subtleties here. However, the characters do engage the viewers’ interest, particularly Carlo Buccirosso as the weaselly Pomicino. Yet, Andreotti, the man himself, remains a cipher throughout. Toni Servillo portrays him as a stiff, awkward cold fish and a sinister shadowy figure emblematic of corruption, but occasionally he hints at something deeper inside.

Although Il Divo is deeply steeped in the intricacies of Italian politics, it is compulsively watchable. Sorrentino takes the audience on a hyper-kinetic ride through thirty odd years of Italian political scandal that often elicits laughter for the sheer outrageousness of its approach. It opens this Friday in New York at the Lincoln Plaza.

A Child’s Perspective: Treeless Mountain

If Anna Paquin really deserved an Oscar for The Piano than Hee Yeon Kim should win two for her feature film debut. Whereas the eleven year-old Paquin was adequate in a supporting role, Kim, the six year-old first-time actress, is the primary lead in So Yong Kim’s Treeless Mountain (trailer here), on-screen nearly every demanding second of the film. It is an extraordinary performance in a heartrending film, which opens tomorrow at the Film Forum.

Jin loves both the social and academic aspects of elementary school. However, she can never spend much time with friends because she must always hurry home to collect her younger sister Bin from the babysitter. Ever since their father abandoned his family, Jin’s mother has had increasing difficulty making ends meet. Finally, she packs up the apartment and bundles the girls of to their “Big Aunt,” assuring them she will return when they have filled a piggy-bank.

Big Aunt, their absentee father’s sister, is hardly a model of responsibility. Meals are an iffy proposition and Jin no longer attends school. Yet she and Bin continue to live in hope, scrounging change and selling grilled grasshoppers (evidently a perfectly acceptable snack food in provincial Korea) to fill their savings bank, thereby hastening their mother’s return.

Treeless is a closely observed, unsparingly naturalistic portrait of repeated emotional abandonment. Clearly, this can be a very difficult film to watch, despite the graceful visual sense of director Kim and cinematographer Anna Misawa. Created by a Korean-American director, a half-American half-Korean crew, and entirely Korean cast, Treeless leaves the audience with indelible sense memories of its rustic Korean locations.

Of course, without the exceptional performances of its young lead actresses, all the filmmakers’ effort would be for naught. Fortunately, they both prove utterly natural on-camera. Song Hee Kim is excellent as the younger sister Bin, but Hee Yeon Kim’s performance is stunning. She is totally convincing and deeply moving as Jin, the older sister forced by circumstances to grow-up far too soon. Frankly, she is such a smart, resilient kid, yet still so vulnerable, it is hard to understand how her parents could desert her.

Treeless is an emotionally engrossing film that ranks with such classic children’s perspective films, even including The Red Balloon. It is only So Yong Kim’s second film, but it is a remarkably assured work, featuring a haunting and completely unaffected performance by Hee Yeon Kim. Treeless opens tomorrow in New York at the Film Forum, with the director in attendance for the 8:00 screenings on opening night and Friday the 24th.

Burman’s Empty Nest

They say you should write what you know, but what happens when a writer starts to lose his memory? That is the situation facing Leonardo, a celebrated novelist and the protagonist of Argentine director Daniel Burman’s Empty Nest (Spanish trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Leonardo bores easily during his wife Martha’s social outings. Fortunately, finds relief from their shallow conversation when he suddenly meets the insightful psychiatrist, Dr. Spivack. Time passes and their daughter moves out of their flat, leaving Leonardo and Martha with acute empty nest syndrome. While Martha copes by projecting her energies outward, Leonardo turns inward.

Though his memory seems to be slipping, his fantasy life is an active as ever. Yet conversely, Leonardo’s writing ability seems to have abandoned him, but he does not seem particularly troubled by the implications of his deteriorating capacity. If anything, he is more hedonistic, taking pleasure in food and female beauty. Family matters start to become nettlesome obligations, particularly his son-in-law’s supposedly brilliant first novel, which for a myriad of reasons, he cannot bring himself to read.

Eventually, Leonardo and Martha visit their daughter and her husband in Israel. Though, they are not particularly observant, Israel seems to perfectly fit the father’s increasingly dreamy moods. However, reality can always intrude in Israel, as when he spies a machine gun in the couple’s, readily available just in case it is needed.

Burman offers some fascinating meditations on memory and aging. Unfortunately, he uses a distractingly awkward narrative device that viewers just have to deal with. Still he creates some lasting visuals that surreally fit Leonardo’s mental displacement. Oscar Martinez is quite convincing as the established man of letters and Arturo Goetz has an entertaining screen presence as Dr. Spivack. The proceedings are also aided by Nico Cota and Santiago Rio’s elegant jazz and tango piano soundtrack, which gives the film a sophisticated atmosphere and maintains the film’s unexpectedly brisk pacing.

Given the seriousness of subject matter like the ravages of age and the illusiveness of the creative process, Nest is a surprisingly upbeat film. Though imperfectly executed, it has its own peculiar charms. Nest opens Friday (4/24) in New York at the Quad and on May 1st in Los Angeles at the Laemmle.

HFFNY ’09: La Mala

Lena Burke (a.k.a. just plain Lena) is the daughter and grand-daughter of famous Cuban singers: Malena and Elena Burke, respectively. So, it is fitting that in her motion picture debut, Burke plays a singer who could be described as the legendary vocalist La Lupe’s spiritual heir. She generates plenty of musical and dramatic heat as the budding Latin music superstar protagonist in Lilian Rosado & Pedro Pérez-Rosado’s La Mala (trailer here), screening at the 10th Havana Film Festival New York.

As the film opens in provincial Puerto Rico, Yolanda’s very pregnant mother has just married her ostensive father, while her La Lupe worshipping aunt Candela belts out a tune that would make her idol proud. Yet, “Yoli” will be the true musical talent of the family. Of course, as in every rags-to-riches story, her childhood will not be easy, requiring her to endure her father’s serial philandering and the tragic death of a young lover. Actually, suffering in silence is not her strong suit, but she can definitely sing, adopting Candela’s idol as her role model.

Yoli’s family relations might be torturous, but her musical ability is clear. Indeed, there are some thoroughly entertaining musical numbers, including a smolderingly hot Latin version of Cooley & Blackwell’s “Fever,” Peggy Lee’s signature song. The originals certainly have their moments too, featuring lyrics that slyly reflect Yoli’s off-stage drama.

One of the real surprises of Mala is the humor of its screenplay. This is not Terms of Endearment with a Latin score. The dialogue can be viciously cutting and downright ribald. While following the general story-arc of musical dramas, Mala has its own distinct sensibility. However, it fumbles somewhat a particularly dark turn of events late in the film, largely ignoring the emotional consequences, which creates credibility problems.

In general though, Mala is surprisingly enjoyable, featuring some excellent ensemble performances. Burke displays strong acting chops in addition to her dynamic vocals. As her cigar-chomping father, Jorge Perugorria has a certain Robert Pastorelli quality, nicely fleshing out what could otherwise have been an unsympathetic stock character.

Despite its family chaos, Mala never bogs down in melodrama. It chugs along at a brisk pace, staging plenty of high-energy musical performances. If not high cinematic art, it is an expectedly fun film. It screens again Tuesday afternoon at the Quad Cinema.

Brooklyn Center: To Kill a Mockingbird

He is the greatest movie hero of all-time according to the AFI, but Atticus Finch would never describe himself that way. The protagonist of Harper Lee’s Pulitzer-prize winning novel and Robert Mulligan’s Academy Award winning film is a father, a lawyer, and a Southern gentleman—perhaps the only true one to be found in depression-era Maycomb, Alalbama. On Sunday, Atticus Finch also graced the stage of the Brooklyn Center for the Performing Arts with a performance of the Montana Repertory Theatre’s signature touring production of Christopher Sergel’s theatrical adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Every high school graduate and film lover should know the story of Mockingbird, which Sergel effectively telescopes a two-hour two-act play. As the production opens, young tomboy Scout and her older brother Jem do not know what to make of their father Atticus. Instead of hunting and fishing, he reads. They also do not know what to make of their reclusive neighbor Boo Radley, but their imagination concocts plenty of wild stories. Theirs is a simple, innocent childhood, until Atticus takes on the case of Tom Robinson, an African American falsely accused of raping the white-trash daughter of the abusive town drunk.

Suddenly, the Finch children are the subject of racist taunts at school and see just how ugly adults can act, even witnesses the spectacle of a lynch mob first-hand. They also gain a greater appreciate for their father, and a fuller understanding of things like courage, integrity, and responsibility. That knowledge comes at a high price: the death of their innocence.

Mockingbird is a rich story, steeped in the author’s deep Southern roots. Sergel nicely retains all the character and color of Lee’s language. However, the primary mirrored geometrically shaped set (intended to reflect the audience) is bit of an anachronistic distraction. To further reinforce that feeling of collective responsibility, the audience watches Robinson’s trial from the vantage point of the jury box.

In truth, the young actors sometimes come across precocious and somewhat affected. Fortunately though, once the trial begins, the power of the story kicks in, and the adult actors rise to the occasion. Robert Karma Robinson evokes the understandable fear and confusion of Robinson, heightening the tension of the courtroom scenes. Physically truer to the character than the Oscar-winning Gregory Peck, Mikel MacDonald brings a dignified gravity to the role of Atticus Finch. His bearing and look (complete with white suit) bring to mind Tom Wolfe, but that is not inappropriate for a Southern gentleman of learning.

Nearly forty-nine years after its original publication, Mockingbird remains a powerful story. Like in Mulligan’s film, when Finch leaves the courtroom, you cannot help get a little choked up. It is a rewarding stage experience, which the Montana Rep will bring to cities in Ohio and Wisconsin in coming weeks. It also proved a good fit for stage of the Brooklyn Center, a comfortable, surprisingly spacious venue that will conclude their current season on May 17th with a production of Annie.

(Photo: Laurie Lane)

HFFNY ’09: Omerta

When Castro came to power, he nationalized everything, including organized crime. Of course, you will not hear about the drug traffickers and narco-terrorists doing business with the dictator in contemporary Cuban cinema, but they would horrify the old school gangster protagonist of Pavel Giroud’s crime thriller, Omerta (trailer here), which screens during this year’s Havana Film Festival New York.

It is 1961, and Giroud takes pains to include plenty of state broadcasts trumpeting the revolutionary triumphs of the new regime. However, once the propaganda is out of the way, Omerta settles into an entertaining crime story. Rolo Santos is a proud man, who lived by a code: Omerta. As the former bodyguard of an American gangster, Santos is now at loose ends in the new Cuba. Finally, word of an assignment comes from a former associate—they must break into the boss’s confiscated mansion to recover a hidden cache of gold.

Unfortunately, Santos’s old friend dies before they can carry out the job, leaving him with a ne’er-do-well nephew as his replacement. Together with a cab-driver reluctantly recruited by Santos, they hit the mansion. However, instead of gold, they find the long-time maid still on duty. Much to Santos’s regret, he quickly finds himself immersed in a hostage situation, holding a copper and the woman for whom he has long carried a torch.

The relationship between Santos and his would-be love gives Omerta surprising heart thanks to the chemistry between Cuban actor Manuel Porto and Spanish actress Teresa Calo, which suggests years of history between the two. Their intimate moments during this time of crisis, like a nostalgic dance they share between calls from the police, are indeed quite touching.

As for the caper, Giroud efficiently maintains the tension, throwing in some interesting wrinkles along the way. Although there are plenty of flashbacks, Omerta’s timeline is always easy to follow and the pacing never flags. While the supporting players might not have the considerable screen-presence of Porto and Calo, they are certainly serviceable in their roles.

Despite hewing to the requisite party line, Omerta is an entertaining and even endearing period noir. For sophisticated viewers able to parse diegetic propaganda, it is worth screening. It plays again at the HFFNY this coming Monday afternoon (4/20).

HFFNY ’09: Mare, Our Love Story

It is hard for the young people of Rio’s Maré favela to believe in love. However, a dedicated dance instructor thinks she has a project to inspire them—a hip-hop production of Romeo & Juliet. Of course, considering how the original ended, she certainly seems to be tempting fate in Lúcia Murat’s Brazilian musical Maré, Our Love Story (trailer here), which screens this weekend at the 10th annual Havana Film Festival New York.

Murat opens Maré with an inventively staged musical number that effectively introduces viewers to the favela neighborhood. It conveys a place teeming with life, but where danger is ever-present, as the young energetic dancers are forced to mix with equally young gang-members armed to the teeth. Maré is a favela divided by gang colors. Red and blue never mix, except in Fernanda’s dance studio. There Analídia, the daughter of the imprisoned red founder, secretively falls in love with Jonatha, whose adopted brother leads the blues and sponsors their studio.

Analídia and Jonatha are indeed Romeo and Juliet. She even has a balcony, but Murat does not go there. Maré is also reasonably faithful to Shakespeare’s ending, but Murat gives it a slight twist. As the star-crossed lovers, Vinícius D'Black and Cristina Lago are quite charismatic on-screen, displaying legitimate chemistry in their scenes together. They also have mad dancing skills, which is Maré’s real attraction.

In addition to the knock-out opening sequence, Maré also another highly memorable dance number that literally stops traffic. It is sort of a darker version of a scene from Fame, which seems to foreshadow the tragedy to come. Throughout the film, the dancing is frequently spectacular, nicely accompanied by the high-octane Brazilian hip-hop, mixed with a bit of funk. The more traditional Brazilian sounds are only heard once, but it offers an opportunity for D’Black to demonstrate his talent for singing harmony.

Over the next two weeks, three films about the world of Brazilian dancers will screen in New York. Fernanda hopes to secure international ballet scholarships for Analídia and Jonatha as their ticket out of the favela. After screening a documentary about the ballet students pursuing those scholarships, such a plan for her students seems unrealistic. (Not that it particularly matters.) Regardless, Fernanda tragically and inevitably fails.

Maré is a highly entertaining movie musical that ought to have breakout potential if it ever gets a distribution push. It is true to the spirit of Shakespeare’s tragedy, while also reflecting the desperate realities of contemporary favela life. It screens again today at the Quad as part of the HFFNY.

Léon Morin, Priest

Barny is widow living in a provincial French town, where gossip is brutal and many women are infatuated with the young handsome priest. They also happen to be living under Nazi occupation. While significant, such political realities remain a secondary concern in Jean-Pierre Melville’s classic Catholic morality play, Léon Morin, Priest (trailer here), which begins a week-long repertory run today at the Film Forum.

One day, the widowed Barny inadvertently starts on her road to redemption when she decides to attack Catholicism from the confessional, hoping to scandalize the priest on duty. She chooses Léon Morin because she assumes the young cleric will be able to handle the shock. It is certainly safe to say he can take it, as Morin easily parrying her ideological bombast. He even proscribes penance, which she actually carries out. It would not be their final meeting.

Barny finds herself drawn to Morin, often meeting him in the rectory to borrow books on theology. Despite her prejudices, she feels Catholicism satisfying on an emotional and spiritual level. Then one day an associate states the obvious: the priest is good-looking. Suddenly the nature of her attraction to Morin is inescapably obvious.

Morin is not your standard genial country priest. He is sympathetic to the resistance, to a degree which is probably dangerous, but Melville’s treatment of the occupation de-emphasizes intrigue and suspense. The real conflict is between Morin and Barny, but the stakes are not inconsequential.

As an atheist Communist developing lesbian tendencies, Barny seems an unlikely candidate for Catholic conversion. Of course, as a Jewish atheist who claimed to be a former Party member during his years in the French underground, Melville seems like an equally unlikely director for her story. However, Melville respected Béatrix Beck’s original source novel and was happy to have a chance to direct a film with a respectable budget. He was also able to cast Jean-Paul Belmondo just as his international fame was exploding. He brings an icy intensity to the title role, counter balancing Emmanuelle Riva’s passionate and sensitive Barny.

Melville’s depiction of village life is neither sentimental nor heroic. Collaboration is the norm, as most villagers hedge their bets to some extent. For instance, one woman juggles lovers associated with the resistance, the black market, the Vichy government, and the German military. Likewise, the horrors of National Socialism are never truly dramatized in the film. In fact, one of the few German officers we meet seems to be a kindly sort, who treats Barny’s daughter France as a surrogate for his own child.

Morin is not a feel-good film, but has a truly French sensibility, capturing the ambiguity of the country’s wartime experience. It will frustrate many for a host of reasons, not the least being the cool severity of its title character. Léon Morin the priest is uncompromising in all respects, unlike everyone else around him. It is a fascinating, sometimes vexing film. It opens today in New York at the Film Forum.

The Chorus Line Story: Every Little Step

Even those who have never seen the Broadway musical A Chorus Line are likely to be familiar with many of the show’s songs, including “What I Did for Love” and “One (Singular Sensation).” It has penetrated the popular consciousness to a degree few subsequent musicals could ever dream of replicating. Clearly, something just clicked for the show, but the story of how the elements came together, both for the original 1975 production and the acclaimed 2006 Broadway revival, prove surprisingly compelling in James D. Stern and Adam Del Deo’s new documentary, Every Little Step (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Appropriately, Step starts by going back to the source: the original reel-to-reel tapes of late night conversations creator Michael Bennett recorded with his fellow dancers that provided original seed of inspiration for Chorus. It would take years for the show to go from Bennett’s vague idea to its record-breaking Broadway run, essentially creating the workshop production model along the way. Step simultaneously chronicles the casting process for the 2006 revival, conceived largely as a tribute to the late Bennett, by the surviving creative team from the original production.

Stern and Del Deo talk to just about everyone connected to both productions, scoring some great behind-the-scenes information from the likes of composer Marvin Hamlisch and the original featured star, Donna McKechnie. However, in the age of reality television, the emotional punch of the 2006 casting scenes is frankly shocking. It certainly helps that most of the auditioning dancers are reasonably interesting people, largely auditioning out of pure love for the show, unlike the average vapid American Idol contestant.

The audience will find themselves rooting for some dancers, like Yuka Takara, who finds herself in the unenviable position of auditioning for the role of Connie, originally created by Baayork Lee, the current production’s choreographer and an advisor during the casting process. In fact, the directors strike documentary gold, capturing maybe the most successful audition performance ever from Jason Tam, to judge by the reaction of Bob Avian, the 2006 director and Bennett’s longtime creative collaborator.

The original Chorus Line was a smashing success, winning the Tony Award for Best Musical and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. However, the only disappointment in the show’s history was Sir Richard Attenborough’s lackluster film adaptation, which bombed at the box office. Step is a far worthier film representation of the beloved show.

The acid test for a film like Step is whether it holds up for someone who does not passionately love the Broadway show. As such a heretic, I argue it absolutely does. Step perfectly captures the affection for the show shared by so many in the theater world, finding insight in unexpected places. It is a thoroughly satisfying film that should even engage viewers unfamiliar with Bennett’s original musical. It opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika.

Slava Tsukerman’s Perestroika

Dr. Alexander “Sasha” Greenberg is one of the leading authorities on the structure of the universe, but it is increasingly difficult for him to structure his own life. As for how Russia’s future would take shape, it was anyone’s guess in the pivotal year of 1992. Seeking some answers in his own life, the former Refusenik scientist returns to the city of his birth in Slava Tsukerman’s Perestroika (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday.

Returning to Moscow after the fall of Communism, much appears to have changed for the better—at least to extent. During a tour, the owner of a television studio tells Greenberg: “sex and Jews are our two most popular subjects today. Everyone wants to film what used to be forbidden.” However, opinions vary widely among Greenberg’s old friends about the prospects for post-Soviet life. Some support Yeltsin, while others are deeply skeptical. Some acquaintances put their hopes in democratic capitalism, while a few actually advocate a return to authoritarian rule. For his part, Greenberg just wants a drink.

Greenberg is experiencing the homecoming his mentor, American defector Prof. Henry Gross, thought would be impossible. He finds himself a celebrity, mobbed by people he hardly remembers, in a surreal reunion. Though it is all smiles now, not all of his memories are pleasant, as when Gross denounced him in class for applying for immigration.

Perestroika is named after Gorbachev’s “restructuring” policies, rather than Glasnost, his so-called “openness” policies of the same era. Indeed, structure is a critical issue for Greenberg. If he changes his life, will he only replace pieces, perhaps trading his frequently estranged wife for his younger mistress? Likewise, will the Russians exchange the yoke of Communism for another dictatorship? (Sadly, in retrospect, this appears to be the case).

Like Greenberg, Tsukerman was also a Refusenik who ultimately immigrated to New York by way of Israel. He is best known for the radically different Liquid Sky, but he displays an equally distinctive visual approach in Perestroika. Blending cosmic animation, archival documentary footage, intentionally obvious use of blue-screen photography, and highly stylized visions of Moscow, Perestroika is not exactly an exercise is socialist realism. It is reflective of Greenberg’s deep but disorderly thoughts.

In Perestroika, characters often talk in metaphors. While it runs the risk of sounding pretentious, it is often fascinating, particularly during key conversations between Greenberg and his old mentor. Though Sam Robards’ accent might be a bit spotty, he conveys both a believable world-weariness and even a genuine likability as the prodigal Greenberg. As the erudite Gross, Oscar winner F. Murray Abraham is perfectly cast, capturing his disarming charm, while spinning out advanced scientific concepts with ease.

Perestroika is surprisingly fast-paced, considering it is driven by ideas and dialogue. Despite its rather abrupt conclusion, it is a smart, challenging picture that brings considerable insight to bear on very recent Russian-Soviet history. Perestroika opens this Friday in New York at the Cinema Village.

Bornedal’s I Am Dina

I Am Dina
Directed by Ole Bornedal
Vanguard Cinema

Reportedly, Gérard Depardieu shipped 500 bottles of his vineyard’s wine to Kjerringøy, Norway during the filming of Ole Bornedal’s I Am Dina (trailer here). One can see why he might need the fortification. His character has a very difficult time adjusting to married life with Dina, the title character of Bornedal’s tempestuous historical drama, now on DVD.

Dina is not a traditional Nineteenth Century Norwegian homemaker. She has issues stemming from a traumatic childhood. After setting in motion the accident that would kill her mother, she is violently spurned by her father. Dina grows up as a wild child, almost completely lacking parental love, except when visited by her mother’s silent ghost. However, Lorch, the tutor reluctantly hired by her father, finds he can reach the nearly feral Dina through the music of his cello.

As Dina grows into womanhood, her passionate spirit captures the eye of Jacob, a prosperous businessman played by Depardieu. When he asks for her hand in marriage, her estranged father is only too happy to be rid of her. After a rocky start, Dina actually acclimates quite well to marriage essentially taking control of Jacob’s business and household. However, her forceful nature eventually pushes him away, indirectly leading to his death as well.

As one character remarks, when visiting Dina, he “always feels death close by.” Like the Mills Brothers song, she always kills the ones she loves. She has fallen into a pernicious cycle that complicates every one of her personal and familial relationships, including her problematic romance with the mysterious Leo Zhukovsky, an anarchist revolutionary or perhaps just a con man.

Bornedal is one of the most visually exciting directors working in film today. Together with his frequent collaborator, cinematographer Dan Laustsen, he has crafted a stylish looking film that makes particularly effective use of the striking but lonely natural backdrop of Norway’s fjords. It is easy to see how an emotionally vulnerable person could lose their sense of self in such an environment.

As an English language Dutch-Norwegian co-production with Scandinavian, French, and British actors, Dina is sort of a European mélange. There are some excellent supporting performances though, particularly from Søren Sætter-Lassen as the kindly but haunted Lorch, who has an unforgettable posthumous voice-over. Christopher Eccleston, of Doctor Who fame, also conveys a certain dangerous charm as Zhukovsky. As Dina, Marie Bonnevie is totally convincing in her scenes of wild fury, but conversely, it is difficult to understand her magical allure.

Bornedal seems to be incapable of making a dull movie. While his style might ultimately prove better suited to a tricky noir thriller like Just Another Love Story, it is still fascinating to see him take on a sweeping period drama like Dina. Decidedly adult in its sensibilities, Dina is darkly compelling cinema from one of Europe’s best contemporary directors.

Cassandra Wilson Goes Pop

If any contemporary vocalist bears comparison with Nina Simone, it would be Cassandra Wilson, who shares the same uncanny knack for repertoire encompassing jazz, pop, and folk. Like Simone, some of Cassandra’s most popular recordings have been pop covers she has made her own, through shrewd arrangements and her own sensitive interpretations. It is hardly surprising then, to see Wilson’s label collect eleven such reinvented pop standards in the newly released collection, Closer to You: the Pop Side.

Anthology collections do not ordinarily generate much critical notice, but Closer offers a convenient opportunity to take stock of Wilson’s impressive career. Winner of two Grammy Awards, Wilson has participated in many high profile projects, including Wynton Marsalis’s Pulitzer Prize-winning Blood on the Fields. She also appeared (as a jazz vocalist) in the otherwise unmemorable film, The Score with Robert De Niro and Marlon Brando. Currently, Wilson is one of the top draws on the jazz concert circuit and regularly tops the jazz vocal charts, thanks to her shrewd mix of intriguing originals and familiar favorites, like those collected on Closer.

U2’s “Love is Blindness” is an excellent example of Wilson’s pop treatments, transforming it into a sparse, but rootsy song of yearning. What cannot be heard on Closer is how perfectly her rendition fit within its original album, the Grammy-winning New Moon Daughter. Though the following “Time After Time” is associated with Cyndi Lauper, Miles Davis recorded an instrumental jazz version. In fact, Wilson originally covered it as part of a Davis tribute album, making it a cover of cover. Regardless, it also proves remarkably well suited to her husky, seductive voice.

Probably the most surprising selection of Closer (at least for those unfamiliar with Wilson’s past CDs) will be the Monkees’ “Last Train to Clarksville,” but she finds unexpected depth in the pop ditty. Whereas, her ethereal version of Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” may well be the most familiar to listeners, appearing on New Moon and the soundtrack of Norah Jones’s My Blueberry Nights.

The high points of Closer were both drawn from Belly of the Sun, Wilson’s blues-inspired release, recorded at the source, in Clarksdale, Mississippi. The Band’s “The Weight” and Jimmy Webb’s “Wichita Lineman” (better known from Glen Campbell’s recording) both have that bluesy country-rock quality that readily lends them to Wilson’s style. They are also well served by the authentic blues and roots seasonings provided by Wilson’s regular band-members, acoustic guitarist Marvin Sewell, electric guitarist Kevin Breit, and percussionists Cyro Baptista and Jeffrey Haynes.

A lot of people might be introduced to Wilson through Closer and if so, that’s great. Hopefully, they will dig deeper into her discography, because while the music of Closer is quite good, she has recorded even more haunting work, like the originals on New Moon (particularly “Solomon Sang,” “Little Warm Death” and “Find Him”) and her stirring live performance of Son House’s “Death Letter” on the Jazz Foundation of America concert benefit CD, A Great Night in Harlem. Still, Closer is a pleasant collection of music that amply demonstrates Wilson distinctive vocal style.

On-Stage: Tibet Does Not Exist

Fifty years have passed since the Dalai Lama took refuge in India, forming the Tibetan government in exile. Sadly, there seems little reason to believe China’s cruel occupation will end anytime soon, particularly in light of the recent comments of the new Secretary of State, signaling the removal of Chinese human rights abuses from the administration’s agenda. As a result, it is most welcome to have a play which reminds us of the continuing plight of Tibet return to the New York stage. That play is Don Thompson’s Tibet Does Not Exist, which opened last night at the Spoon Theater.

If you cannot go home again, you might as well hit the lecture circuit. Such is the case for Buton Rinpoche, an exiled Tibetan Lama coming to Yale for a special address. He will be staying with Yale’s leading materialist: one very annoyed Professor Walsh, the superstar of the economics department. Walsh is initially uncomfortable around Rinpoche, having only reluctantly agreed to accommodate him when directly asked to do so by a trouble-making dean. However, the Lama can turn on the charm in private, ultimately making a surprising connection with his host.

Exist is often quite clever satirizing the insular world of the university, dominated by campus politics and academic buzz words. At a dinner party Walsh holds in Rinpoche’s honor his colleagues all look to the Lama to validate their pet theories. However, they are all duly scandalized when the guest of honor has complimentary things to say of Richard Nixon.

Although Rinpoche has come to Yale to promote the Tibetan cause, the audience only hears about the horrors of the Communist occupation—6,000 monasteries destroyed, Buddhist nuns raped and murdered, the orchestrated de-Tibetanization campaign—second hand from Walsh’s psych professor colleague. To paraphrase a Rinpoche koan, Exist is about Tibet, but not about Tibet. It is about freedom—in the metaphysical sense. To be spiritually free, Rinpoche argues he must rise above the geopolitical and reach a point where Tibet does not in fact exist.

Rinpoche has some very interesting things to say, which prove to be generally pro-American and in his unique fashion, quite pro-capitalist. As a character though, Rinpoche is a bit under-written, often functioning as a symbol or comic relief. Yet, he is the catalyst for some sharply written drama, including a particularly effective late scene that vividly exposes the inner core of several characters. On the other hand, the seemingly uptight Walsh is a deeply realized and surprisingly sympathetic character, functioning as the play’s central human core.

Scott David Nogi is pitch-perfect as Walsh, conveying both the economist’s surface arrogance and lingering pain it conceals. To be fair, Peter Quinones has an impressive stage presence as Rinpoche, but the part of the playful Lama is just a bit too cute. Still, it is redeemed by the balance of Thompson’s writing, which in all other respects, remains quite fresh—even bold, at times.

Consisting fascinating, Exist brilliantly portrays the pettiness and political correctness of academia, while leaving audiences with much to ponder on a philosophical level. It is also a timely, but not at all didactic reminder that Tibet does indeed still exist, though many in power would probably prefer we forgot it. A smart play, tightly produced by Nicu’s Spoon, Exist runs through April 26th.

(Photo credit: Stephanie Barton Farcas)

NY African Film Festival: The Importance of Being Elegant

They might be the best dressed cult in the world. Led by Congolese superstar Papa Wemba, the so-called SAPE (La Societe des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Elegantes) worship cloth—designer labels to be exact. Their strange twilight existence, living illegally in Europe while pursuing the finest in haute couture, proves quite fascinating in Cosima Spender and George Amponsah’s BBC produced documentary, The Importance of Being Elegant, screening as part of this year’s New York African Film Festival.

The theme of this year’s festival is “Africa in transition” and it is a transitional time for Wemba as Elegant opens. He has just been released from a French prison for his involvement with a human smuggling ring. Evidently, while incarcerated, Wemba accepted Jesus as his lord and savior, but not necessarily as his fashion guide. He still has a taste for flashy clothes, which he soon indulges with a shopping spree that includes a 15,000 Euro fur coat.

Life of the SAPE revolves around Wemba and their internal social status is based solely on recognition from the rumba-Afro-Pop musician. They slavishly follow his style and sing Wemba songs at karaoke bars. There is even a fierce rivalry between the SAPE factions of Paris and Brussels.

Regardless of his spiritual awakening, Wemba remains an undeniably problematic figure. To hear the flamboyantly clad singer decry materialism would be insulting, if it were not so unintentionally hilarious. However, he is in fine voice throughout Elegant, cutting some fantastic tracks for an upcoming record and laying down some killer grooves during a concert performance, which helps explain, to a limited extent, the SAPE’s allegiance to their idol.

While Spender (the grand-daughter of poet Stephen Spender) and Amponsah open a compelling window into one of the world’s weirder subcultures, they leave many questions unanswered. Just what do the SAPE do during the day and given the dubious legal status of most sapeurs, where does the money for their designer threads come from? One also cannot help wondering just what the money Wemba and his followers spend on clothes could do for Congo if they sent it home instead.

Even though it backs off the really tough questions, Elegant is an eye-opening documentary. As profiled by Spender and Ampnsah, the SAPE come across like harmless variants of the Clockwork Orange dandies. They seem to inhabit an environment where the distinction between an entourage and a cult is hopelessly blurred. While Elegant might leave audiences wanting deeper investigational efforts, they will not be bored by the film. They should also thoroughly enjoy Wemba’s music (perhaps in spite of themselves).

Elegant screens again tomorrow (4/11) at the Walter Reade Theater. The first leg of the festival runs through April 15th, with another round of films screening at BAM over the Memorial Day weekend, including Michel Ocelot’s animated fable, Azur & Asmar on May 25th.

NY African Film Festival: Sacred Places

In Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, every film screened is a festival film. That is because in the home of the FESPACO Pan-African film festival, all the regular movie theaters have closed. Director Jean-Marie Teno contemplates the cultural implications of this situation, which is increasingly the norm across Africa, in his new documentary Sacred Places, which screened last night at the 2009 New York African Film Festival.

It is hardly the case that the Burkinabè lost interest in cinema. Economic forces simply conspired to force the proper theaters out of business. In there place, a number of underground cinema clubs have sprung up, screening pirated DVDs with no regard for artist residuals. Nanema Boubakar runs one such establish: the Votre Cine Club. Usually, he makes do with poorly dubbed action fare, but is delighted when offered a bootleg copy of Burkinabè director Idrissa Ouedraogo’s Cannes favorite Yaaba. When Teno informs Ouedraogo of the planned screening, the director actually comes to Boubakar’s club, giving them his implied blessing.

Sacred is an interesting meditation on the nature of story-telling. It contrasts Boubakar the underground cineaste with his friend Jules César Bamouni, a djembe drum-maker, representative of the griot tradition of oral story-telling. It raises some difficult questions about the growing divide between African filmmakers, the new story-tellers, and their intended domestic audience.

Though Boubakar draws some patrons for Yaaba, it is far from a capacity house, which he blames on competition from an important televised soccer match. How much interest is there really for an art-house picture? Are Ouedraogo and Teno simply making subsidized films for the international festival circuit? These questions remain unresolved for Teno.

It is Boubakar’s patrons Ouedraogo wants to reconnect with regardless of the minimal royalties he might be denied. (This is not a problem unique to Africa either. Although the situation is not as extreme, at the 2008 Romanian Film Festival, director Radu Gabrea also complained Romanian filmmakers also have difficulty securing domestic distribution, largely as a result of competition for screens from American and European imports.)

Blaming so-called globalization for the challenges facing African filmmakers seems off point when watching Sacred. Certainly, they face international competition, particularly from Hindi films, at least according to Teno’s early interview segments. Yet, the international festival scene is arguably the most important market for their films.

Teno raises some interesting questions about the state of African cinema in Sacred. As a result, it was a somewhat ironic, but completely appropriate film for the opening night of the New York African Film Festival. Relatively brief, but thought-provoking, Sacred screens again at the Walter Reade Theater on Saturday (4/11) at 1:00. Its next American festival screening will be at the San Francisco International Film Festival on April 24th.

Nebraska Jazz: Bill Wimmer & Friends

Meet Bill Wimmer, one of Nebraska’s leading jazz musicians. Before the New York jazz snobs out there make a snarky comment about him being Nebraska’s only jazz musician, keep in mind both guitarist Dave Stryker and drummer Victor Lewis cut their teeth on the Cornhusker State scene before setting off for the City. Indeed, they join Wimmers on his latest release, Project Omaha, a celebration of their Nebraskan roots.

Wimmer may have assembled the Nebraskan supergroup, but Omaha was actually recorded live in Vail. (Colorado is a bordering plains state, so close enough). Though the Omaha group had never played together before, their Nebraskan affinity sounds like it brought them together nicely, starting with the appealing Latinesque workout on Dexter Gordon’s “Soy Califa,” featuring exciting solos by the leader, Stryker and Tony Gulizia. It quickly becomes apparent on the Gordon standard Wimmer has a fresh, full-bodied sound on tenor that would sound impressive in any New York club.

Throughout Omaha, Wimmer shows a facility for picking some classics of the hardbop era that still do not sound overplayed, like “Rhyne, Rhythm and Song,” composed by longtime Wes Montgomery organist Mel Rhyne. Wimmer really tears into his solo and Gulizia’s keyboards have a pleasing groovy Hammond vibe. Perhaps the highlight of the set is the haunting “Gypsy Blue” by the criminally underappreciated late tenor player Tina Brooks. Wimmer sounds audibly inspired by the composition and Stryker is also quite eloquent, propelled along by Lewis’s tasty drumming.

Perhaps the only minor missteps of Omaha are the vocal features for Tony Gulizia. In truth, the keyboardist has a decent voice, but the arrangements have slightly loungey feel. The notable exception though is Big Joe Turner’s “Cherry Red,” on which the Omaha band digs deep into the blues bag. (Gulizia’s brother Joey also lends his percussion talents to Omaha, probably best heard in their surprisingly ruckus rendition of Jobim’s bossa nova standard “Felicidade.”)

In addition to his great tenor sound, Wimmer is also quite accomplished on the soprano saxophone, even closing the set on the instrument. Buoyant with a somewhat exotic introduction, Stryker’s “Carnival,” is a rousing conclusion to a very satisfying disk.

Yes, evidently they really do play jazz in Nebraska (and Colorado), which Wimmer and associates prove in high style on Omaha. It is a thoroughly entertaining straight ahead jazz release that deserves to be heard nationally.

From Ethiopia to Israel: Live and Become

They are considered the descendents of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. For centuries the Jews of Ethiopia, the so-called Falasha, endured persecution, while maintaining their religious traditions. Their precarious position finally became untenable in the 1980’s, when faced with the lethal combination of catastrophic drought and the oppressive Marxist Mengistu regime. With the support of the C.I.A., Israel smuggled thousands of Falasha out through the Sudan. Though young Solomon is not Jewish, Operation Moses represents his only chance for life in Radu Mihaileanu’s Live and Become (trailer here), now available on DVD.

Solomon’s family might be Christian, but like the beleagured Falasha, they are still dying amid the violent chaos of a Sudanese refugee camp. To save her son, Solomon’s mother gives him up forever, ordering him to take the place of a recently deceased Falasha boy on a flight to Israel, instructing him to “live and become.” It is a sacrifice that will cause years of confusion and guilt for Solomon.

Deeply traumatized, Solomon, now known as Schlomo, is initially a problem child in Israel. Adopted by a left-wing Israeli couple of French descent, Schlomo still feels socially alienated, but finds love and support from his adopted mother Yael. Indeed, the entire Falasha community has trouble integrating, in part due to widespread skepticism regarding their religious legitimacy. After all, the Queen of Sheba was not Jewish.

LAB is in the tradition of films like Doctor Zhivago, which tell an epic story grounded in history, from a very personal perspective. While occasionally heavy-handed, as when Schlomo has to debate whether God is white or black, LAB is emotionally engrossing, from start to finish.

Mihaileanu assembled an excellent cast, who entirely disappear into their respective roles without appearing to act at all. Particularly moving is Yael Abecassis as Schlomo’s Israeli mother, giving easily the most touching maternal performance in recent memory. Of the three talented actors playing Schlomo at various ages, the youngest, Moshe Agazai, is the most remarkable. He is absolutely convincing in the film’s crucial early scenes.

Watching LAB brings to mind Agnieszka Holland’s Europa, Europa. Both are excellent films based around young protagonists that form mirror opposites of each other. In Holland’s film a young boy must pretend not to be Jewish to survive the Holocaust. Conversely in LAB, Schlomo’s only chance for life comes through passing as a Falasha Jew, in order to reach the safe haven of Israel.

LAB is a riveting film that is also quite informative about Operation Moses and the Falasha experience in general. A winner of many audience awards at film festivals around the world, it releases on DVD today.

Wynton on He and She

He and She
By Wynton Marsalis
Blue Note Records

Wynton Marsalis might be a controversial figure on the jazz scene, but in live performances, he sure can turn on the charisma. Yet, for all the excellent recordings in his discography, that winning stage personality has never truly been captured, but at least his latest release gives listeners a taste of it. Featuring his spoken word odes to young love, Marsalis’s He and She is a real charmer.

When listening to the so-called “poems,” Marsalis’s spoken word interludes that preface each tune on He and She, it is clear why the trumpeter has been such a successful fundraiser for Jazz at Lincoln Center. The man has a gift for sweet talk. Unlike much jazz and spoken word fusions, his poems and his admittedly syrupy delivery have an eccentric appeal that, I would fearlessly argue, hold up surprisingly well to repeatedly listening (and if you disagree, you can simply program out those tracks).

As for his music, it has an undeniable charm, starting with “School Boy,” which digs deep into the New Orleans tradition, even featuring some old school ragging from pianist Dan Nimmer and Walter Blanding communing with his inner Sidney Bechet on soprano sax. While true to his Neo-classicism, eschewing experimentation for its own sake, Marsalis’s compositions on He and She still sound consistently fresh and dynamic, like the aptly titled “Sassy.” The playful piece, again featuring Blandings on soprano, nicely brings out Marsalis’s musical wit.

Perhaps the set’s most intriguing piece though, especially given Marsalis’s well-known aesthetic philosophy, is the so-called free composition “Fear.” While “free” might be overstating things, it is certainly moody and relatively abstract, effectively driven by Carlos Henriquez’s bass, before resolving into a safely melodic coda.

The centerpiece of He and She is a suite of firsts: “First Crush,” “First Kiss,” “First Slow Dance,” and “First Time.” While essentially a brief prelude, “Crush” still demonstrates both Marsalis’s brilliant technique, as well as his lyrical sensitivity on romantic ballads. It segues seamlessly into the dreamy “Slow Dance,” featuring an elegantly fluid solo from Nimmer. “Kiss,” another waltz, is more conversational, with Marsalis making his case through his mute. The pay-off comes on “First Time” a passionate Danzón that builds to an exuberant climax (so to speak), making it the standout track of the disk.

The music of He and She concludes where it all began—with the blues. “A Train, A Banjo, a Chicken Wing” provides a vehicle for some lusty tenor work from Blandings and some tasty gut-bucket plunger work from the composer, before he recaps all the spoken word bits in one complete “poem.”

He and She is probably Marsalis’s strongest release since he has signed with Blue Note. Love or hate his spoken word recitations, he is playing remains as strong as ever. His band also performs with verve and his originals sparkle in their inspired hands. As a result, He and She is quite a rewarding release that should particularly appeal to his considerable fans, who are likely to be more receptive to his vocal interjections, if only to hear an echo of that great stage presence.

Online: I Am Because We Are

A recent documentary gives audiences a new appreciation for Sally Struthers, for persisting in her African relief PSAs despite the regular mocking she endured. Unfortunately, she is not in it, but Madonna certainly is. Make no mistake, as producer, narrator, and “star,” it is indeed her film (director Nathan Rissman is often described in press accounts as her former gardener). In a true happenstance of providence, I Am Because We Are, an ego-trip travelogue of her visits to the country, was uploaded to youtube and hulu to be screened for free right as she returned for the court hearing on her controversial second adoption case. Of course, just because it is free, does not mean you have to watch it.

Within the opening seconds, the formerly influential pop-star puts the audience on high cliché alert, telling us: “People always ask me why I chose Malawi and I tell them, ‘I didn’t, it chose me.’” She then explains a Malawian-born activist called her out of the blue asking for help. She caps her prologue with the groaner: “I ended up finding out much more than I bargained for about Malawi, about myself, about humanity.”

By this point, most reasonable people will have disabled their internet connection. However, if you stay with IABWA, you will hear Bill Clinton join the spectacle of self-serving condescension, claiming: “people ask me ‘why do you love it so much there [in Africa]’ and I always say it’s because they have the highest percentage of people, I believe, anywhere on Earth, who wake up every day with a song in their heart. They sing through their pain and their need.” So do not feel bad about the Rwandan genocide that happened under Clinton’s watch, because they still have their music. Disgusting.

Many of the profiles of children in dire circumstances which follow are honestly moving on a basic human level. These are good kids, forced to grow up too quickly, and too often die at far too young an age. If the film simply told their stories, it would be a perfectly respectable exercise in documentary filmmaking. However, the film constantly shows us Madonna’s Lady Bountiful act, which is always accompanied by her nauseating false modesty, breathlessly telling us: “I know I haven’t solved all his problems . . . but, at least it’s a start.”

Then suddenly, things get weird, as Madonna’s Kabbalah colleagues swoop in to teach the Malawians their Spirituality for Kids (SFK) curriculum, not that its Kabbalah origins are identified in the film. It is this deceptive nature of IABWA that is most troubling. When speaking of young David Banda, whom she would eventually adopt, Madonna claims: “no one knew where his father was.” Unfortunately, this does not appear to be wholly accurate. Evidently, Yohane Banda did indeed visit his son at the orphanage, having committed him to their care in hopes they could save David’s fragile life, with the intention of eventually reclaiming him. It seems that won’t be happening anytime soon.

This is a deeply problematic film—a cynical act of self-aggrandizement that actually exploits those it purports to help. Wisely, IABWA was not picked up by an American distributor after its festival run, but it can currently be viewed for free online. For a truly inspiring documentary about the plight of African AIDS orphans, I recommend catching up with Louise Hogarts’s Angels in the Dust, a profile of Marion and Con Cloete, who run an orphanage in South African out of laudably compassionate motives and are infinitely more interesting than Madonna.