Love and Theft: Copyright Criminals

Ever since rock n’ roll started "safely" repackaging R&B for white teenagers, it has been dogged by issues of musical appropriation. With the advent of sampling, differentiating between love and theft would have legal implications. The music and intellectual property litigation produced by the hip hop revolution are examined in Benjamin Franzen’s Copyright Criminals (trailer here), which airs this coming Tuesday as part of the current season of PBS’s Independent Lens.

It was the time when crate-diggers came into their own. Finding fat beats and killer drum breaks had long been a source of competitive pride among DJs. As technology advanced, it became much easier to edit, distort, layer, remix, and otherwise adulterate samples from existing records in new audio collages. When the formerly underground movement suddenly became the dominant force on the record charts, artists and labels began to take note when their music was sampled. Serious compensation would eventually be demanded to legally clear samples, or risk a costly trip to court.

If one hero emerges in Copyright, it is Clyde Stubblefield, considered the world’s most sampled drummer, as a result of his 1965-1970 tenure in James Brown’s classic band. It is his improvised drum line from “Funky Drummer” that powers some of hip hop’s biggest hits, including Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power” and LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out,” which the film vividly illustrates with split screens of Stubblefield playing live compared to the videos of the songs sampling his work.

Stubblefield perfectly crystallizes the issues at stake. There is something infectious and soulful about Stubblefield’s drumming that could not be replicated by a drum machine or another artist. That is why DJs and re-mixers are so attracted to it. However, Brown retained compositional credit, only paying Stubblefield for his studio time. As a result, Stubblefield has not been compensated for any of the sampling of his performances. Yet, Stubblefield never sounds bitter, claiming he is not interested in the money, but would just like to be fairly credited. As the saying goes—give the drummer some.

Copyright definitely has a pro-hip hop, anti-lawyer bias. It does allow in a few dissenting voices though, like musician and recording engineer Steve Albini, who describes sampling as “cheap and easy” as opposed to the hard work of making your own music. We also hear from the lawyer who successfully sued Biz Markie for his “uncleared” use of Irish singer-songwriter Gilbert O’Sullivan’s “Alone Again, Naturally,” who makes a cogent case for artist rights. Still, jazz fans familiar with flutist-composer James Newton’s unsuccessful case against the Beastie Boys will suspect the film somewhat overstates the extent to which the courts have sided against samplers.

While hip hop artists in general are notorious for their legal problems, Copyright wisely confines its inquiry to fair use and ownership issues surrounding sampling. Though it ultimately lines with the mixers and scratchers, it clearly explains the background and context of their legal controversies. Featuring revealing musical commentary from artists deeply immersed in the hip hop culture, including Miho Hatori, Public Enemy’s Chuck D, DJ Qbert, and El-P, the hour-long Copyright is a breezy and informative sampling 101 for the traditionally staid public broadcasting audience. It airs on most PBS outlets this Tuesday (1/19), including New York Thirteen (at 10:00 PM E.S.T).

(Photo: Benjamin Franzen)

NYJFF ’10: Happy End

Simon’s family is haunted. Yes, there really is a ghost, though they never see the spirit of his late wife Ada watching over them. It is more their painful memories of the Holocaust which cast dark shadows over the extended Dutch family that has now gathered at what may well be Simon’s deathbed. Director Frans Weisz has revealed their family secrets in a trilogy of films that concludes with Happy End (trailer here), which screens at this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival, presented by the Jewish Museum and the Lincoln Center Film Society.

As End opens, the ghostly Ada provides an overview of the complex family relationships for the benefit of new viewers. Frankly, it brings to mind the deliberately convoluted introductions to the old sitcom Soap. However, the precipitating crisis is clear enough. Simon’s condition is quickly deteriorating and his friends and family are having difficulty coping. While quality of life questions are always difficult to grapple with under such circumstances, it is particularly hard for Simon’s loved ones, because of his experiences during the Holocaust. “One hour above ground is worth an eternity six feet under,” he always told them.

As a man who treasures life, Simon led a full one. He is the father of the fifty-ish Lea and the eighteen year-old Isaac, but by different women. Lea was married to former hospital administrator Nico, who later remarried his first wife Dory. Dory is Isaac’s mother, but she has little time for him, so the teen has essentially been raised by the elderly Simon and his half sister Lea. Confused? Actually, it is even more complicated when Nico’s side of the family is taken into account, but End’s central themes are clearly delineated. As the head of the family, Simon has been the glue holding everyone together, but he is in his twilight years. Conversely, Isaac is awkwardly finding his way in the world as a young man. Yet, even he is deeply affected by the family’s survivor legacy.

A film about a dysfunctional family paying their last respects to their Holocaust survivor patriarch might sound utterly depressing, but End is surprisingly life-affirming. As we encounter Simon in flashbacks, the message that life is to be celebrated comes through clearly and persuasively. Though the ending might seem more than a bit contrived, it is still satisfying in an unabashedly sentimental way.

Weisz’s approach is admirably restrained and sensitive, but the pace never falters. Indeed, the ensemble cast is quite remarkable, keeping the audience fully invested at all times, but never overplaying material that could easily lend itself to melodrama. They truly look and sound like people with decades of shared history (as is indeed the case, since most appeared in the previous installments, Qui vive released in 2001 and Polonaise from 1989). Particularly effective are the scenes between Simon and his unlikely son Isaac, nicely turned by Peter Oosthoek and Jip Loots, respectively.

End presents a consistently interesting cinematic family well worth meeting, despite their many faults. Though it initially suggests a bit of a TV movie vibe, End is a refreshingly mature and nuanced drama, brought to life by a truly fine ensemble cast. It screens during the 2010 NYJFF at the Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater this coming Sunday (1/17) and Tuesday (1/19).

NYJFF ’10: Protektor

A grave crisis can certainly also represent an opportunity, but capitalizing on it usually requires a certain moral flexibility. For one jealous journalist, the German occupation of Czechoslovakia offers such a chance to advance professionally while tightly controlling his beautiful Jewish wife in Marek Najbrt’s ironically titled Protektor (trailer here), the Czech Republic’s official Oscar submission for consideration as Best Foreign Language Film, which screens during this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival.

Emil Vrbata is probably right to be concerned about his vivacious wife Hana. Having just completed her first film, her career is poised to explode. She also seems quite chummy with Fantl, her much older, but still charming, romantic co-star. However, her promising future is cut short by the Third Reich’s invasion.

The Vrbatas have a mixed marriage. She is Jewish, though not particularly observant, whereas her husband is sufficiently Aryan to become the primary mouthpiece for the Nazi Czechoslovakian propaganda machine. Though his nearly famous wife’s Jewish heritage is known to many, he is able to protect her, provided she stays confined to their apartment.

Suddenly, he is the one pursuing extracurricular affairs, secure in the belief that his wife is safely locked away in their flat. Indeed, the tables have turned and keep turning. Having made a deal with the devil, he understands the evil nature of his new masters only too well. As a result, when through ill-fated happenstance he is caught up in the plot to assassinate the brutal SS strongman Reinhard Heydrich, he never considers simply telling the truth. Again, to rely on shopworn aphorisms, those with guilty consciences always feel they have something to hide.

Protektor is not another heroic rescuer film. True, Vrbata shelters his wife from almost certain death, but his motives are hardly selfless. Likewise, Hana Vrbata cannot be simply dismissed as the standard issue noble victim, particularly in light of the solace she finds in the emotional intimacy and the morphine provided by a lonely projectionist. Indeed, there are a lot of competing motivations at play in Protektor, but altruism is rarely a factor.

Jana Plodková shows real star power as Hana Vrbata, literally shining in the gorgeously shot film-within-the-film scenes. It is a nuanced performance, maintaining the audience’s sympathies and credibility despite her character’s manifest flaws. Unfortunately, Marek Daniel seemed to take his direction from Hannah Arendt ‘s concept of the “banality of evil,” coming across rather stiff and boring as the compromised Emil Vrbata. However, the strongest impression might well be made by Jiří Ornest as the seemingly rakish Fantl, who convincingly morphs into one of the films few tragically decent figures.

Alternating between bold colors and some elegantly stylized black-and-white sequences, Miloslav Holman’s cinematography is quite distinctive. It is a well crafted, great looking production, but its decidedly unsentimental perspective on occupied Czechoslovakia may leave some viewers cold. A somewhat cynical film that delivers no heroics, Protektor is an intriguing selection for this year’s NYJFF. It is worth checking out when it screens at the Walter Reade Theater this coming Sunday (1/17), Monday (1/18), and Tuesday (1/19).

NYJFF ’10: The Axe of Wandsbek

Despite their rigid internal censorship, the East German state-owned DEFA movie studio occasionally slipped up and accidentally produced a film that ran afoul of their Soviet masters. Given the skepticism openly expressed for central state planning in Frank Beyer’s Trace of Stones, it is easy to understand why it was banned by the Communist government. The ideological sins committed by Falk Harnack’s The Axe of Wandsbek were less obvious. Dutifully casting the underground resistance to National Socialism as ardent Communists in a convenient act of revisionist history, Harnack seemed to touch all the right propaganda bases. However, when the authorities deemed the psychologically realistic anti-hero-protagonist too sympathetic, Axe was quickly yanked from theaters after its 1951 opening. Fortunately, the film survived to enjoy the new vogue for DEFA’s films, with a newly restored print screening this Sunday as part of the New York Jewish Film Festival.

It is 1934 in the Wandsbek district of Hamburg. In five year’s time, Germany and the Soviet Union will sign the Molotov-Ribbentrop non-aggression pact, dividing Poland between the two regimes. However, as Axe opens, there are four Communist prisoners in Hamburg the Fuhrer wants executed, but there is no executioner available to get the job done. As long as the “Reeperbahn Four” still draw breath, the Fuhrer refuses to grace the city with his presence, which is most distressing to the shipping magnate and local SS enforcer, Peter Footh. Times are also tough for Albert Teetjen, a local butcher losing business because he cannot afford modern extravagances, like refrigeration. However, when the desperate Teetjen seeks the help of his old army comrade Footh, he gets an offer he never expected. It involves his grandfather’s axe, made of the finest Sheffield steel.

Teetjen does indeed stand-in for the absent executioner, earning 2,000 marks for his efforts. Initially, everything seems to work out swimmingly. Customers flock to buy Teetjen’s refrigerated meat while celebrating Hitler’s triumphant tour of the city. However, when word leaks out about Teetjen’s grim freelance work, he is shunned by the community and hounded by the Communist underground.

Axe is a strange film. Though loosely based on an actual incident, the film’s central premise, that the Third Reich would have difficulty executing four prisoners, seems bizarre. It is also a somewhat odd selection for the New York Jewish Film Festival, because it never addresses the Holocaust. Aside from an anti-Semitic remark here and there, it suggests the Nazis were chiefly concerned with persecuting the Communists (with whom they would ally themselves during the early years of the war.)

DEFA was most certainly in the propaganda business, so it is important to keep that in mind while screening Axe. Still, it is worth parsing the ideology for Harnack’s stylish film noir elements, particularly the visual flourishes of his scene transitions. Erwin Geschonneck, a former concentration camp prisoner, does in fact humanize Teetjen, conveying his desperation and rather guileless nature. He emerges as a protagonist much in the tradition of Socialist Realism, who is forced by economic circumstances to commit a heinous crime and is then crushed by the same heartless world for his sins. Indeed, the film could be deconstructed into a critique of the fickleness of “the masses,” those that first cheered for Hitler and then turned against his loyal executioner.

In and of itself, Axe is a terrible history lesson, but as a controversial product of the DEFA studio, it is film of great historical importance. It is also a surprisingly entertaining dark thriller for those able appreciate it in the proper context. It screens Sunday afternoon (1/17) at the Walter Reade Theater, where the 2010 NYJFF continues through January 28th.

Another British Education: Fish Tank

Growing up is not easy in the working class section of England’s Essex County, and Mia certainly is not making it any easier. You could call her a hard kid to love, but few have ever bothered trying, except maybe her younger sister. At least she finds some satisfaction through her dancing in Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank (trailer here), a Ken Loach-style film for the hip hop set opening tomorrow in New York.

Mia’s self-absorbed mother is an aging party girl. Her biological father is out of picture. Without any real authority figures, Mia runs wild through the neighborhood. She only finds temporary escape in the hip hop steps she practices in a vacant apartment. Then one morning a strange man appears in her apartment. He turns out to be Mom’s special friend Connor, who will be staying with them for a while. At least Connor tries to make an effort to be cool, talking music with Mia and giving her beer money. In fact, Mia starts to like him quite a bit.

In many ways, Tank is an unsentimental corrective to Lone Scherig’s An Education, paralleling that far breezier coming-of-age film in many respects. Yet, when events head in the direction you might expect, it is not an empowering life lesson Mia learns. Instead, things get decidedly messy. Mia gets a heck of a lesson in life though.

Few films have a stronger sense of place than Tank, but it is hardly likely to please the Essex tourism bureau. Mia’s world of crummy housing projects and highway intersections looks as if it could only produce alienation and longing. It is an atmosphere that fosters violence, both in very real physical threats and through slow burning resentments. Yet while Tank might present a largely amoral environment, it is not an immoral film. Actions very definitely have emotional consequences here.

Carey Mulligan might be generating Oscar buzz for Education, but Katie Jarvis blows her out of the water with her remarkable debut performance as Mia. Discovered in a train station, the first-time actor Jarvis nails it in every scene, projecting toughness and vulnerability in her completely natural, unaffected breakthrough star turn. As Connor, the outwardly charming ladies man, Michael Fassbender wisely tacks a more understated course rather than going for an over-the-top smarminess, making Mia’s attraction only too credible.

With its unforgettable not-as-tough-she-thinks protagonist, the gritty Tank has a visceral immediacy that is hard to shake off. Relentlessly naturalistic and often profane, it is not exactly feel-good cinema, but it is powerful stuff. It opens tomorrow (1/15) in New York at the IFC Center and the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas.

Kurosawa Centennial: The Idiot

There must be a mysterious film vault somewhere that holds the entire four and a half hour director’s cut of Akira Kurosawa’s troubled adaptation of the classic Dostoyevsky novel, perhaps next to the missing reel of Welles’s Magnificent Ambersons. Kurosawa’s The Idiot was only publically screened once in its entirety before the studio had it cut substantially. While Kurosawa’s original version has yet to be located (though not a lack of looking on the director’s part), in its surviving 166 minute form, it still represents a not inconsequential investment of time and a good value for your ticket buying dollar when it screens during Film Forum’s ambitious twenty-eight film celebration of the Kurosawa Centennial.

It is not right when people call the epileptic Kinji Kameda an idiot, but they do it all the time. An accused WWII war criminal, Kameda was pardoned while facing his firing squad. During that moment, he experienced a combination of shellshock and a transcendental epiphany that have made him meek by all outward appearances, but wise to those who bother to delve deeper. Something about him also touches the brash Denkichi Akama with whom he is travelling to snowy, appropriately Russian-looking Hokkaido after his release from a military asylum.

Kameda hopes to find some sort of home with his only surviving family, a shady uncle who has been taking advantage of him financially. Akama intends to use his recent inheritance to buy the love of Taeko Nasu, an infamous kept woman. When Akama points out her photo in the window of a photography store, Kameda is struck by her eyes, recognizing a kinship of pain within them. Soon two unlikely love triangles overlap, as Kameda and Akama compete to deliver Nasu the fate they each believe she deserves, even while Kameda’s heart is divided between the notorious Nasu and the innocent but unforgiving Ayako.

With nearly two hours whittled out, The Idiot understandably has some rough patches, particularly at the beginning and the end. There is a considerable amount of telling rather showing as a result. However, when it gets going, it temporarily matches some of Kurosawa’s finest work, as when Kameda falls in love (of some kind) with Nasu’s picture. It brings to mind Preminger’s classic Laura, yet Kurosawa stages the scene with more subtly and ambiguity. Frankly, The Idiot probably peaks about a third of the way through with Nasu’s first dramatic appearance in the film. Though she is supposed to accept a marriage arranged by Kameda’s uncle on behalf of her wealthy keeper, she turns the tables, humiliating her humiliators. It is a scene of juicy melodrama that brings to mind the work of Joan Crawford and Bette Davis (particularly her famous line: “Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy night.”)

Though Toshirō Mifune is perfectly cast as the animalistic Akama, The Idiot is probably Kurosawa’s only film with the actor not dominated by his intense screen presence. Instead it is Masayuki Mori’s disconcertingly child-like innocence as Kameda that defines the film. Yet, The Idiot’s strongest characters are its women, particularly the deeply wounded Nasu, played with elegant grace by Setsuko Hara, best known as Yasujiro Ozu’s frequent muse.

It is unfair to pass a final judgment on The Idiot since we cannot screen it as Kurosawa intended. Still, two and three-quarter hours are at least a good taste of Kurosawa’s take on Dostoyevsky. Even if somewhat inconsistent, it is far more entertaining than most new films released during an average year. The Idiot screens Sunday (1/17) as the Kurosawa celebration continues at Film Forum.

On-Stage: The Satin Slipper

Spanning oceans and bridging Heaven and Earth, Paul Claudel’s The Satin Slipper (or the Worst is not the Surest) is about as epic as it gets. With an equally epic original running time of nine hours (eventually trimmed by the playwright to a mere four and a half), it understandably rarely revived (though some hardcore cineastes might be familiar with Manoel de Oliveira’s 1985 film adaptation). Fortified with considerable ambition and wielding a ruthless editorial hand, the Black Friars Repertory and the Storm Theatre have mounted a lean production that clocks in just under the three hour mark. Appropriately, it has recently opened in the subterranean Theatre of the Church of Notre Dame, the traditional home of New York’s French Catholic community.

Following on the heels of last year’s The Tidings Brought to Mary (one of the year’s ten best independent productions), Slipper represents the second play mounted as part of the Blackfriars and Storm Theatre’s Paul Claudel Project designed to reintroduce the preeminent Catholic dramatist’s work to a contemporary audience. While Tidings casts issues of faith and redemption in the starkest possible terms, Slipper by contrast offers plenty of high tragedy, worldly intrigue, and old fashioned romance. Yet, the entire play is encapsulated in its evocatively staged opening scene, in which a Jesuit Father lashed to the mast of a sinking ship prays for the redemption of his impetuous younger brother, Don Rodrigo.

The Old World has discovered the New World and Spain rules the seas. However, her grip might be loosening somewhat. For Don Pelagio, it is a dubious honor to have the King’s confidence at such a time. He is being dispatched to shore up Spain’s African holdings at a time when his marriage is being sorely tested. The much younger Doña Prouheze has attracted the unwelcomed attention of Don Camillo as well as the reciprocated affection of Don Rodrigo.

With scenes divided between three continents, Slipper unfolds a grand story of a love defined more by its denial than its fulfillment. There is very definitely much pain and misery along the way, but it is never without meaning. In fact, at key junctures divine angels take a direct interest in these affairs of men.

Though the production evidently abridged about a third of Claudel’s own abridgment, director Peter Dobbins maintains the narrative thread fairly well throughout. Still, the large cast of characters can be a bit confusing as they enter and exit, only to often quickly die off stage. In fact, a fair amount of the storyline is revealed by an on-stage narrator, requiring a greater measure of concentration on the part of the audience. Yet, it very definitely builds to quite a memorable payoff—a Claudelian payoff rather than a crowd-pleasing romantic payoff to be sure—but a genuine payoff none the less.

The entire cast exhibits a strong affinity for Claudel’s rich text, particularly Harlan Work and Meredith Napolitano as the star-crossed Rodrigo and Prouheze, respectively. They convincingly err and suffer as required by fate, without coming across as stiffly symbolic figures. Also, Ross Degraw (who was excellent in Tidings) again brings a fittingly commanding presence as the noble Pelagio.

While undoubtedly more accessible than the challenging Tidings, the edited Slipper does not quite pack the same punch. Still, it is a lofty, inventively staged production, featuring some excellent performances. It also admirably underscores the depth and power of Claudel’s fascinating work. It runs at the Theatre of the Church of Notre Dame through February 6th.

(Photos: Michael Abrams Photography)

NYJFF ’10: The Jazz Baroness

Most jazz fans have heard of her, rather they realize it or not. The Baroness Pannonica Rothschild de Koenigswarter was immortalized in musical tributes composed by the likes of Thelonious Monk, Horace Silver, Tommy Flanagan, Kenny Drew, and Jon Hendricks. Yet for “Nica” de Koenigswarter, Monk was unquestionably the first among equals. Her deep friendship with the pianist-composer and his family is the major focus of The Jazz Baroness, Hannah Rothschild’s documentary profile of her Great Aunt Nica, which screens as part of this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival, following its 2009 broadcast run on HBO2.

Koenigswarter had already lived an eventful life before she ever heard bebop. She had served as an ambulance driver and communications specialist with the free French during WWII, first in Africa and later in Germany. Yet jazz would be her true calling. Ironically, it was Teddy Wilson, best known as Billie Holiday’s long-time accompanist and a member of the integrated Benny Goodman Quartet, who introduced her to Monk’s music. Though she was powerfully moved by “’Round Midnight,” it would be two years until she actually met Monk, launching a fast but lasting friendship after a concert in Paris.

Appropriately, Rothschild’s first introduction to her late great aunt was in a downtown jazz club, with her stately Bentley parked outside. Indeed, the Baroness always embraced the scene despite her privileged background. She became a one-woman forerunner to the Jazz Foundation of America, often paying medical bills and getting horns out of hock for musicians in need. It also brought her into unfortunately close proximity to some of the seedier aspects of nightlife, particularly illicit drugs. She was mercilessly vilified by Walter Winchell after Charlie Parker, exhausted by years of hard living, died in her residence in the Stanhope Hotel and even faced potential incarceration on another occasion.

It is difficult for filmmaker Rothschild to fully classify the nature of the relationship between Monk and the Baroness. The friends and musicians she interviews, including Monk’s son drummer T.S. Monk, all adamantly insist it was a strictly platonic friendship. Indeed, by all accounts, the Baroness and Monk’s wife Nellie were almost equally close. Yet Baroness clearly suggests there was some special connection between the musician and the jazz patroness that still defies easy description, but became a part of the mystique of them both.

Though Hannah Rothschild might not share her great aunt’s passion for jazz, she gleaned considerable insights from a number of jazz legends, including Sonny Rollins and Roy Haynes, who played with Monk at one time, as well as artists like Chico Hamilton, Archie Shepp, and Quincy Jones, who followed the trail he blazed. Rothschild also had the benefit of some measure of cooperation (if not enthusiasm) from her illustrious family. (After all, they are Rothschilds, the family that financed the British war effort against Napoleon.) Of course, it is all accompanied by generous samples of Monk’s haunting music, as well as his distinctive renditions of a few jazz standards.

Admirably, Baroness treats jazz and the musicians who play it with due and proper respect. With Academy Award winning actress Helen Mirren giving voice to the Baroness’s letters and journals, it is all assembled in a very classy, British package. It is a great jazz documentary that will make a nice change of pace from the much of the programming at the 2010 NYJFF. It screens Saturday (1/16), Sunday (1/17), and Monday (1/18) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Eri Yamamoto Finds the Good Everyday

Patrons weaving their way around us at Arthur’s Tavern would hardly be surprised to hear Eri Yamamoto and her trio discussing music. The occasional Italian might have thrown them. Following her Sunday night “Thank You 2009” performance at Cornelia Street Café (a two year tradition for hip New Yorkers ringing out the old), I was able to catch the busy pianist-composer after her usual Saturday night set at Arthur’s Tavern to discuss her new CD, In Each Day, Something Good, which releases today. Her longtime drummer Ikuo Takeuchi and frequent bassist Arthur Kell sat-in to provide their typical rock-solid support (or perhaps to mock my skills as interviewer) and also add a few words of their own (usually in English for my benefit).

On and off the bandstand, the rapport between Yamamoto and the regular members of her trio is immediately evident. She and Takeuchi have been playing together for fourteen years and the much in-demand bassist Dave Ambrosio has been recording and touring with Yamamoto’s trio for the last five years (Kevin Tkacz completes the battery of bassists that regularly join her at Arthur’s three nights a week, when she is not touring). “We don’t have to say anything,” Yamamoto said, describing her relationship with Takeuchi and Ambrosio. “It is like we share the same musical mind.”

As a result, Yamamoto’s trio has an instantly recognizable sound all their own, yet certainly reflective of her own aesthetic sensibilities. As she explains: “In music or any art-form, I prefer work that uses space—things that are not 100% complete, but have something identifiably missing. That makes them more interesting.”

In their time together, Yamamoto’s trio has toured extensively, racking up many war stories on the road. One telling anecdote occurred when Yamamoto returned to her native Japan. As she recalled: “To make our next gig, we had to transfer from the bullet train to a local train that only left every two hours. The problem was the platforms were very far apart and Ikuo was loaded down with his drums. I ran ahead to ask the conductor to hold the train for us, but instead he came out and carried Ikuo’s drum cases by himself. We could still hear he was short of breath when he announced the next two station stops.”

No matter how friendly Japanese train conductors might generally be, I cannot imagine anyone but Eri Yamamoto convincing one to disregard his timetables in order to lug a bunch of drums on-board. She has that ability to win people over wherever she goes, including the often rambunctious crowd at Arthur’s. In particular, she seems to have forged a special relationship with Italian audiences, which is why she has been learning Italian (evidently Takeuchi has picked up a fair amount as well).

“In the last three years, I went to Italy over ten times, she explained. “I’ve been seriously studying the language for the last two months because I want to be able to show my appreciation. Often people will come not necessarily knowing who we are, yet they come anyway. That means a lot, so it is nice to be able to thank them in their language.”

In fact, many of the compositions on In Each Day were inspired by her frequent travels, like “Sheep Song,” the product of a tour through Wales, and “Blue in Tunisia,” whose origin is self-explanatory. However, the new CD includes something new for her, a suite of compositions constituting an original soundtrack to the classic 1932Yasujiro Ozu silent film, I Was Born, But… According to Yamamoto, it started with a casual observation:

“A friend of mine happened to mention that some of my music reminded him of a movie soundtrack and suggested I compose my own. I didn’t want to write something for a film that already had a score, so I started considering silent movies . . . When I thought of Ozu’s I Was Born, it seemed perfect. I liked the fact that it was Japanese and the story appealed to me. I don’t really like special effect movies. I prefer films about ordinary people.” Indeed, Ozu’s blend of slapstick comedy and shrewd social commentary would be perfectly complimented by Yamamoto’s music, which is both playful and contemplative in equal measure. (And just for the record, her favorite film is Cinema Paradiso—another Italian connection.)

In Each Day also marks a milestone: her fifteenth year performing in New York. “Of course,” she readily conceded, “being a musician here can be challenging, but you have to remember to look for the good in every day.” Like her previous trio CD, it was released on the Brooklyn-based Aum Fidelity label and features a cover painting by her nephew, Leo Yamamoto (“I still owe him a trip to the Japanese barbeque,” she confessed.).

While she would like to tour less this year in order to “focus, think, and write,” Yamamoto still has plenty of international gigs already booked, including an unusual trio concert in Montreal with fellow pianist Yves Léveillé and oboe player Paul McCandless on March 4th. A duo CD with Léveillé is also forthcoming sometime in the future.

In Each Day is another fresh and intriguing musical statement from one of the busiest and most original jazz composers and improvisers on the scene today. As always, you can always hear the compositions that will eventually comprise her next CD as she hones them in live performance at Arthur’s every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights—at least when she is in town. To check her busy schedule or for more information about her CDs go to Yamamoto’s website at: http://www.eriyamamoto.com/.

(CD Cover art: Leo Yamamoto
Eri Yamoto photo: Rita Cigolini
Trio photo: Agnieszka Kubeczko)

NYJFF ’10: Saviors in the Night

One of the most pernicious lies of the Nazi propaganda machine blamed the alleged lack of patriotism among Jews for Germany’s defeat in WWI. In reality, scores of Jewish Germans served the Kaiser with honor and distinction, including Menne Spiegel, who was awarded the Iron Cross for his courage under fire. The simple, God-fearing farmers of Westphalia knew better. Though many were indeed members in good-standing of the National Socialist party, they sheltered Spiegel, his wife Marga, and daughter Karin without hesitation. Those tense two years in Westphalia are chronicled in Ludi Boeken’s Saviors in the Night (trailer here), which opens the 2010 New York Jewish Film Festival this Wednesday.

Blond and beautiful, Marga Spiegel looks Aryan, which allows her and Karin to pass themselves off as simple evacuees, finding refuge at the farm of Spiegel’s old Army comrade Heinrich Aschoff after a recent round of Allied bombing. Unfortunately though, not only is Menne Spiegel recognizable to many Westphalians from his horse trading business, he also almost looks like a Nazi caricature, forcing his protector, the taciturn Pentrop, to keep him hidden away in the loft of his workshop, safely out of sight.

Based on Marga Spiegel’s memoir, Savior largely follows a pattern somewhat familiar from other rescuer films, but it still has some fresh perspectives to offer. One might assume Marga and Karin would find comfort with their supposed fellow evacuees, but they can never let their guard down around the Aschoff’s other virulently anti-Semitic guests. Marga also has to contend with a certain degree of class envy from Aschoff’s wife Maria. Yet the film makes it quite clear the Aschoffs’ mercy and courage were deeply rooted in their Catholicism. “We are closer to the Bishop of Münster than to Hitler,” he admonishes his daughter Anni, an ardent Hitler Youth.

Yes, young Anni has an inevitable change of heart, as she comes to understand the nature of the National Socialist regime. Of course, there are also many sudden inspections and near exposures, but they are well executed by Boeken. He keeps the atmosphere tense, but remains faithful to the understated nature of Westphalia’s pious farmers. Much like Schindler’s List, the actors are joined by the actual Marga Spiegel and Anni Aschoff for the final scene, but in Savior the mood is more celebratory rather than elegiac, again giving established conventions a fractionally different twist.

Savior’s cast is uniformly strong, particularly the vaguely Joseph Cotton looking Martin Horn, who portrays Aschoff with fitting unpretentious directness. Likewise, Veronica Ferres certainly captures Marga Spiegel’s fear and desperation, but with considerable depth and quiet intensity, preventing her from becoming a mere stock figure of noble suffering and endurance. Teenaged Lia Hoensbroech also handles Anni Aschoff’s transformation convincingly, nicely playing off Ferres in their critical scenes together.

While Savior essentially takes the audience where it expects to go, it does so effectively. Its strong leads engage the audience emotionally, while Boeken’s sure hand keeps the on-screen action tightly focused. More than just an exercise in good intentions, Savior is a strong film, well-chosen to kick-off this year’s NYJFF. It screens Wednesday (1/13) at the Walter Reade, with Marga Spiegel scheduled to attend.

NYJFF ‘10: Gruber’s Journey

In recent years, American, Israeli, and Western European filmmakers have not been reluctant to address the Holocaust on film. However, that has not been the case in Romania, where the notorious Iaşi Pogrom remains a particularly delicate subject to broach. Director Radu Gabrea has been the rare exception, producing both documentaries and dramatic features about the Jewish experience in Romania. Produced with a willful disregard for the Romanian box office, Gabrea presents the tragic events of Iaşi from the perspective of a non-Romanian outsider in his latest film, Gruber’s Journey (trailer here), which screens Wednesday and Thursday at the New York Jewish Film Festival.

A complicated historical figure, the Italian writer Curzio Malaparte was indeed a member of the Italian Fascist Party, though not always in good standing due to his gadfly tendencies. As fate would dictate, he was in Iaşi, or Jassy as it also known, immediately following the massive round-up of the city’s Jewish population and would incorporate a very critical account of the incident into his novel Kaputt. In Journey, Gabrea suggests a fictional story to explain Malaparte’s ultimate disillusionment with Italy’s allies and Fascism in general.

Assigned to cover the Russian front for the Italian news service, Malaparte is traveling east with Col. Freitag of the Wehrmacht and the deputy commander of the local Romanian garrison. It is all quite chummy and pleasant except for the severe allergy attack plaguing the writer. He has a referral from a doctor in Bucharest for a world-class allergist, Dr. Josef Gruber, but when Malaparte reaches Iaşi, Dr. Gruber is mysteriously nowhere to be found.

After enduring a local hack doctor’s battery of sedatives to no avail, Malaparte sets out to find Gruber. What follows is a Kafkaesque story of bureaucratic runaround, as the sinus-challenged Fascist attempts to locate Gruber’s transport. It is not simply a case of Romanians lacking German efficiency. To produce Gruber would imply a level of knowledge and culpability that none of the local Romanians want to assume, despite earning laurels mere days earlier for their actions in the pogrom.

Journey is a deliberately bloodless and cerebral film. Gabrea shows the audience nothing directly. Instead, we watch Malaparte put together the pieces. Why is the local pharmacy a mad house? Because their two closest competitors suddenly shuttered their doors at the same time Gruber disappeared. Inescapably, a pattern emerges. Throughout the film, Gabrea slowly builds towards Malaparte’s final moment of epiphany. It is a subtle payoff, but nicely turned by Florin Piersic, Jr. Perhaps the greatest standout in the cast though is German actor Udo Schenk, disturbingly convincing as the charming but ruthless Freitag.

Undoubtedly, some will be troubled by Journey’s antiseptic approach, relying on the audience to supply its own visions of the horrors that have happened in Iaşi. Indeed, its attempts at absurdist humor often seem more uncomfortable than amusing. Understanding the trajectory Malaparte’s life will follow though, would probably help foster an appreciation of the coldly intellectual film portrayal. It is a film pitched at the head rather than the heart, which is quite ambitious given the dramatic nature of its subject. It screens at the Walter Reade Theater Wednesday (1/13) and Thursday (1/14) during the New York Jewish Film Festival.

Kurosawa Centennial: Throne of Blood

Reportedly, it was the favorite film of T.S. Eliot and it has one of the coolest death scenes in cinema history. As if that were not enough, Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood is also considered one of the best film treatments of the Scottish Play, sans the Shakespearean language. Recast during the “Warring States” period of Japanese history, Throne (a.k.a. Spider Web Castle, trailer here) ranks in the top tier of Kurosawa’s considerable body of work, making it an essential selection of Film Forum’s enthusiastically recommended celebration of the great director’s centennial (1910-2010).

Washizu (Macbeth) and Miki (Banquo) have just vanquished the enemies of Lord Tzuzuki (King Duncan). Expected at Spider Web Castle for a reception in their honor, the childhood friends find themselves lost in the forest. Wandering in circles, they stumble upon an evil spirit who makes several predictions. Not only does it foresee short-term promotions for both men, it prophesizes Washizu will become king, but he will be succeeded by Miki’s son.

If you don’t know the story from there, shame on you, but watching Throne would make for a heck of a crib note. Still, keep in mind Kurosawa and his four credited screenwriters cut one of Macbeth’s major antagonists, altering the climax as a result. (The upshot for Washizu/Macbeth is the same though.) Rewriting the Bard might sound presumptuous, but since in this case it produced that truly epic death sequence, Kurosawa and his team pulled it off with style.

Frequent Kurosawa collaborator Toshirō Mifune has the perfect larger-than-life swagger for Washizu, but also makes him a touch more sympathetic than other screen portrayals of Macbeth. Conversely, Isuzu Yamada’s ghastly pale Asaji, the Lady Macbeth figure, is particularly creepy, almost looking like she would be at home in a j-horror film. Takashi Shimura, another Kurosawa regular, is also on hand as Noriyashu, one of Washizu’s rivals who does not have a clear parallel in Shakespeare’s play.

Perhaps more than any other Macbeth on film, Kurosawa brings a real sense of place to Throne. Spider Web Forest is quite the foreboding environment, while the Castle is appropriately grand but austere. He clearly had a strong affinity for the material producing a masterwork that borders on legitimate masterpiece status. An essential Kurosawa film, Throne screens at Film Forum on Friday (1/15).

Music Therapy: Young@Heart

This must be a hardcore band—some of its members have been read the last rites. That’s because the average age of the Young@Heart Chorus is eighty, but their repertoire—punk, alternative, and classic R&B—is decidedly contemporary. Based in Northampton, Massachusetts, many in the Chorus might be all too familiar with the inside of hospitals, but music still has an energizing effect on them in Stephen Walker’s Young@Heart (trailer here), which airs this coming Tuesday on PBS stations across the country as part of the current season of Independent Lens.

The one whippersnapper of the group is Bob Cilman, their fifty-something musical director, whose somewhat eclectic musical tastes lead to some unlikely new songs for their big upcoming concert. With a mere six weeks of rehearsal time, Cilman and the chorus are trying to get their heads around Allen Toussaint’s “Yes We Can Can” (with its 71 “can’s”) and Sonic Youth’s “Schizophrenia.” Yet surprisingly, James Brown’s “I Feel Good” may prove to be the most troublesome.

As one might expect, leading the group can be a challenge for Cilman, but he is surprisingly tough when driving the Young@Hearters. However, it becomes clear this is actually a sign of respect. He sets high expectations rather than condescendingly giving everyone credit just for showing up. However, two returning former members are exceptions. Forced to quit because of severe medical issues, Cilman is confident whatever they can bring to their duet on Cold Play’s “Fix You” will be moving because of what their comeback represents to them.

Structurally, Y@H mostly follows the familiar documentary template as the Chorus gear up for their big gig. Then tragedy strikes, forcing the Young@Hearters to confront their mortality. Yet, the show must go on, including a prison gig they play literally right after hearing some heartbreaking news. Indeed, this might be their finest hour in the film, making the eventual formal concert seem anticlimactic.

The general animating spirit behind the chorus, that seniors should follow their passions instead of sitting around waiting to die, is admirable and the Young@Hearters illustrate it well, despite their several intervening health issues. Of course, they are all spirited in a predictably cute way. Unfortunately, they are poorly served by director Stephen Walker’s glib narration, which jarringly clashes with the often serious events his film documents. When listening to him, it is difficult to tell whether or not he is mocking his subjects. That is obviously problematic. In his defense though, the chorus members all seem comfortable around him, often speaking quite candidly about sensitive subjects, like their health.

Musically, the chorus is something of a novelty act, but they deserve credit for putting together a fun show. As it turns out, “Yes We Can Can” comes together quite soulfully and “I Got You” actually works better still having some funky ragged edges to it. Though “Schizophrenia” gets a strong response, it still sounds strange and gimmicky in this format, but maybe it is just something you need to hear live.

Y@H may not break any truly new cinematic ground, but so be it. (For an even better thematically related film, check out Heather Lyn MacDonald’s Been Rich All My Life, the story of the eighty-something Silver Belles dancers.) The Young@Hearters all seem like good people, so it is nice to see them get their due, even if Walker sounds like a jerk most of the time. It airs next Tuesday (1/12) in most markets (9:00 PM EST on New York’s Thirteen).

Docs on the Shortlist: Soundtrack for a Revolution

Eighty-nine feature-length documentaries originally qualified for Oscar consideration. The Academy’s Documentary Branch has since whittled the field down to a shortlist of fifteen, from which the final five nominees and eventually winner will be chosen. Not surprisingly, many of the shortlisted films address political subject matter from a perspective in-synch with Hollywood orthodoxy. This includes Bill Guttentag and Dan Sturman’s Soundtrack for a Revolution (trailer here), a combination of oral history and musical tribute to the protest songs of the civil rights movement, which screens Saturday during the Docs on the Shortlist series at the Tribeca Cinemas.

While there are several interview segments with surviving veterans of the civil rights establishment, the bulk of the film consists of performances of the songs themselves, including both archival footage and new renditions performed by top contemporary recording artists. Often though, the artists are reverential to a fault. Their takes on the historic songs are so scrupulously faithful it is frequently hard to tell when the archival version ends and the contemporary performance begins.

It is always touchy criticizing such an achingly earnest film as Soundtrack. It is entirely likely that most viewers will take issue with this review. Indeed, this response may well simply be a product of the jazz aesthetic I have thoroughly absorbed that expects artists to constantly reinvent material to make it their own. This simply does not happen in Soundtrack, except to an extent with The Roots, who brought a distinctive flair to the film’s highlight, “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round,” thanks in large measure to their funkier instrumentation (which includes the sousaphone).

Granted, this is greatly a function of the nature of the songs themselves, which understandably resist adventurous interpretations. (Still, Ramsey Lewis’s decades old cover of “Wade in the Water” remains fresher in my mind than Angie Stone’s performance in the film.) This is truly intimidating material and each and every artist brought their A game. Yet, because most of these songs were written for the same purpose, there is often a marked similarity in tone and tempo that further blurs the program shortly after screening it. Of course, many who share the jazz ethos will still embrace the music of Revolution. After all, longtime supporters of the Jazz Foundation of America, Danny Glover, Jarrett Lilien, and Agnes Varis served as executive and associate producers of the film.

While the performances are truly heartfelt, they are not always served by the filmmakers’ editorial choices. In particularly, the overtly partisan use of the Obama inauguration as the film’s climax dilutes the power of the film's message. Revolution cries out to be called stirring and inspiring, but by playing it safe musically, it never truly takes flight. That really does not matter though, because the film is tailor made for Starbucks merchandising and PBS broadcasts. It screens at Tribeca this Saturday (1/9) as part of Docs on the Shortlist and later this month at BAM for a special free Martin Luther King Day presentation (1/18).

(Photo by Stephen Kazmierski)

Indie Angst: Wonderful World

To be able to make a living in music is a rare gift. To throw it away out of some misplaced contempt for corporate commercialism is an act of nauseating self-indulgence. Unfortunately, that is basically all you get from Ben Singer, the unbearably whiny protagonist of Josh Goldin’s Wonderful World (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Singer had a deal many professional musicians I know would take in a heartbeat. He was a successful children’s singer, whose record label indulged him by recording an album of his acoustic guitar noodlings. However, they released it without any marketing fanfare. In response to this heinous betrayal, Singer dropped out of the music business, taking a lowly proofreading job at a law firm (ironically working more for “The Man” than he had been before). Considering how many truly talented musicians I know that must self-finance every aspect of their CD production, Singer’s delusion of victimhood absolutely turns my stomach.

Basically, Singer spends most of his free time smoking dope, which often produces hallucinations of “The Man,” personified by the craggy-faced Philip Baker Hall. Divorced from his wife (there’s a shocker), Singer does everything humanly possible to depress and otherwise alienate his daughter Sandra during their weekends together in scenes that ring uniformly false.

The only person who can stand him is his noble Senegalese roommate Ibou, who plays chess with the miserable creep until he falls into a diabetic coma. Then the film really gets manipulative when Ibou’s worried sister Khadi moves in with Singer as she waits and hopes for her brother’s recovery. Of course, a relationship starts to develop between them, but if that sounds too hackneyed, don’t worry, the immature Singer is sure to sabotage things before too long.

World is the sort of film in which the greatest imaginable sin is driving an SUV. Truly, every tired convention from films like The Visitor is tossed on screen, but none of them work here. Unquestionably though, the film’s greatest problem is its protagonist, Ben Singer, who should be beaten over the head with a two-by-four. As the angry-at-the-world guitarist, Matthew Broderick is both completely unlikable and utterly unbelievable. In fact, the only cast member to distinguish themselves in this dreary exercise is the young Jodelle Ferland as his long-suffering daughter Sandra. Based on her work here, she deserves other, better parts. However, Broderick should definitely take a long sabbatical from film.

While rocker turned kiddie rocker Dan Zanes’s music is actually reasonably pleasant, the film itself is just a long, slow mess. Ultimately, World is a shallow mélange of self-righteous leftwing clichés, delivered without energy or style. It opens Friday (1/8) at the Cinema Village, but you’ve been warned.

Blame the French: Youth in Revolt

French hipsters would ordinarily make terrible role models for most teenagers. However, the tragically nice Nick Twisp is different. He needs to learn how to be bad if he wants to win back the girl and his self-esteem. Indeed, Twisp takes his inspiration where he can, including the French Nouvelle Vague in Miguel Arteta’s surprisingly funny Youth in Revolt (trailer here), which opens nationally this Friday.

If truth be told, young Twisp is probably entitled to a little acting out. Jerry, his divorced mother’s slovenly boy friend, has just dragged them out of town to his ramshackle mobile home to avoid some dodgy trouble. Yet, to young Twisp’s shock and delight, the girl of his dreams happens to live in the nicest trailer in the park—a two story model with a genuine pipe organ installed. Her name is Sheeni Saunders and she is way out of his league. Not only does she already have a model boyfriend, she is also a fluent Francophile (a picture of Jean-Paul Belmondo in Breathless even hangs in her bedroom). Still, the linguistically challenged Twisp plugs away all summer, successfully developing a kind-of sort-of romantic relationship.

Just as he seems to be winning Saunders’s heart, Jerry’s iffy affairs necessitate a quick move back to Berkley, but Twisp just cannot let go of Saunders. After all, they have similar taste in music and movies, and of course she is very cute. Together they hatch a simple plan. First, they must find Twisp’s deadbeat dad a job near Saunders. Then the heartsick lad has to behave so badly, his mother will send off to dear old dad. This proves more difficult, so Twisp invents Francois, his jaded French alter-ego to do all the bad deeds he just can’t do.

What makes Revolt work is the pleasing chemistry of its two winning leads. In spite of the acts of insanity Twisp commits via his Francois persona, the audience always roots for him to win over Saunders. True, Michael Cera is more than a little over-exposed right now, but this is the Cera of Arrested Development and Juno, not the Cera of Year One. He really is quite likable as Twisp, while simultaneously playing Francois with admirable restraint (and honestly, how can you dislike someone who wreaks havoc on the city of Berkley?). Throughout the film, he is effectively balanced by newcomer Portia Doubleday, who brings a charm and vitality to Saunders that makes Twisp’s borderline obsession seem almost reasonable.

In contrast, Revolt’s supporting characters are more of a mixed bag. Regrettably, Saunders’s parents are just tiresome Hollywood caricatures of Evangelicals and the usually compulsively watchable Steve Buscemi is utterly wasted in the pedestrian role of Twisp’s father. Still, Fred Willard supplies a welcome jolt of madness in a brief but memorable appearance.

Boasting a clever script adapted by David Permut from C.D. Payne’s cult novel and some distinctive animated sequences produced by Peter Sluszka, Revolt delivers a number of legitimately big laughs. Yet, despite the frequently black comedy running amok on screen, Arteta keeps the mood feeling light and effervescent.

Altogether, Revolt is an unexpectedly smart and satisfying take on the traditional teenager coming-of-age comedy. It is just a funny film, distinguished by its heart and love for French cinema. It opens Friday (1/8) in New York at the Regal Union Square and AMC Empire.

(Photo: Chuy Chávez / Dimension Films, 2009)

Kandel’s Memories

This film will physically alter your brain and its subject will clearly explain how it happened. He is Nobel-Prize winning neuroscientist Dr. Eric Kandel, the world’s leading authority on the molecular changes that occur during the learning process. Forced to flee Nazi occupied Austria as a young boy, Kandel’s eventful life and pioneering work are lucidly documented in German director Petra Seeger’s In Search of Memory (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

With his quick wit and infectious Horshack-like laugh, Kandel is arguably the successor to Richard Feynman as science’s reining “rock star” in the words of the adoring fans standing in line at his book signing. Yet, he is always keenly aware how fortunate he and his wife were simply to have survived the war. A witness to the crimes of Krystallnacht, he himself makes the explicit connection between his field of scientific inquiry—memory—and the common vow of postwar Jewry to “never forget.”

Though he does not appear to be one to live in the past (with good reason), for their fiftieth wedding anniversary, the Kandels returned to Austria and France with their grown children to revisit key sites from their dramatic youth. While these scenes are certainly interesting, the film really takes off when Kandel enthusiastically elucidates his groundbreaking work on human memory, in terms easily grasped by the layman. Involving synapses in the brain, it is a subject best left to Dr. Kandel because it all makes perfect sense coming from him. Indeed, Seeger handles these sequences very well, successfully capturing the passion of Kandel’s research team, while making their concepts and experiments surprisingly cinematic.

Throughout Memory, Seeger’s obvious affection for her subject veers awfully close to outright adulation. Occasionally, that creates certain blind-spots, as when Kandel accepted the Nobel with two other colleagues (Arvid Carlsson and Paul Greengard). The film never bothers to address what exactly their contributions were. Still, there is no denying Kandel’s brilliance as a scientist and charm as a raconteur. He is quite pleasant company during the documentary’s entire hour and a half running time.

A relative rarity in documentary filmmaking, Memory will actually teach most audiences something new in a variety of fields, including microbiology, psychiatry, and history. To Seeger’s credit though, it never feels dry or technically dense. Rather, it is an entertaining celebration of the scientific pursuit. It opens this Friday (1/8) in New York at the IFC Center.

Of Sheep and Men: Sweetgrass

“Home on the range” might sound romantic, but it is really a hardscrabble existence. It is also a vanishing way of life for a rugged group of Norwegian-American sheepherders in Montana. Driving sheep one hundred and fifty miles across the Absaroka-Beartooth Mountains is arduous work, but the scenery is spectacular in Ilisa Barbash and Lucien Castaing-Taylor’s Sweetgrass (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

For years, Lawrence Allested’s family had herded their sheep over the unforgiving mountains to summer pasture land. It is a trek that makes one respect nature, not romanticize it. They also consider the sheep to be livestock rather than pets, which leads to some initial scenes that might be a bit jarring to some. Indeed, they appear to be somewhat rough midwives when delivering baby lambs. Wisely though, the filmmakers refrain from editorializing, allowing a fuller picture of the sheepherding life to emerge at an unhurried pace during their final mountain sheep drive.

It is easy to understand why Montana is called “Big Sky Country” from Sweetgrass’s sheep driving sequences. Anyone who has ever gone camping in the mountains knows there is an unusual crispness to the morning air that somehow the filmmakers manage to evoke on the screen. They also capture some amazing images of the flock of sheep spreading ameba like across the landscape as the tiny sheepherding dogs try to corral them.

Aside from an occasional question asked from behind the camera, the filmmakers by-and-large do not intrude on the ritual unfolding around them. While this allows them to scrupulous document the shepherds and their sheep, it leaves some context unclear. In fact, it is never really explained why the sheep drive tradition is ending, beyond the general sense that the modern world is finally catching up to the old sheep hands.

Though their personal histories are never detailed, some elements of the sheep drivers’ personalities clearly emerge through the film’s close observations. One wrangler in particular does not seem like he will miss the drive one bit, calling his mother to complain about how miserable conditions are after cussing a blue streak at the sheep. Conversely, the old man seems right at home with it all and does not know what he will do in the future.

Partly a celebration of Montana’s natural beauty and partly an elegy to Allested’s vanishing way of life, Sweetgrass is a visually striking film. Its patient, meditative tone may not be to the tastes of all viewers, but it dramatically captures the realities of the cowboy life, both the good and the bad, without any false sentiment or urban prejudices. It opens in New York at Film Forum this Wednesday (1/6).

Modern Jazz 101: West Coast Cool

Even after the Bebop Revolution, jazz could still reach a popular audience. As in all endeavors, being attractive did not hurt. Indeed, two trumpeters known for their good looks and lyrical styles would play pivotal roles in the emergence of what came to be known as “Cool Jazz.”

If not yet a superstar, Miles Davis already had a definite following from his sideman work in Charlie Parker’s Quintet. In late 1949, Davis and his friend, arranger Gil Evans, had assembled an unusual sized rehearsal group that met in Evans’s famously cramped Midtown apartment. Originally conceived as a ten piece band, they settled on a nonet because there was only one clarinet player whom the two musicians considered compatible with their music and they did not want the group beholden to his schedule.

Growing organically out of Davis’s bop background and Evans’s experience with the Claude Thornhill big band, the nonet was an opportunity for Evans and other arrangers in their circle to write somewhat more ambitious charts than the typical jam session pattern of head-solo-solo-solo-head. Though what came to be known as the Birth of the Cool nonet recorded relatively little, it had a formative influence on a number of musicians, including its baritone saxophonist, Gerry Mulligan.

Moving to California shortly after the nonet disbanded, Mulligan applied his esperience from the Birth of the Cool sessions to his new group, a quartet featuring another trumpeter who had played with Charlie Parker, albeit briefly, Chet Baker. Based in the tiny Haig club, Mulligan’s group was piano-less by necessity. However, that gave the Quartet an airier sound and allowed more space for arrangements and group interplay. They were a hit, but even though Mulligan was the leader, the trumpet player with the movie star looks was getting as much or more attention.

Both Mulligan and Baker recorded as leaders for Dick Bock’s Pacific Jazz label, which often used noted jazz photographer William Claxton for the album covers. Indeed, these dreamy photographs of Baker, particularly the famous picture of the shirtless trumpeter-vocalist with his second wife Helema, perfectly fit his early releases, largely shaping the musician’s enduringly romantic image. Unfortunately, reality was often radically different than popular perception.

A hopeless drug addict, Baker led a chaotic life that ravaged his body and led to several long absences from the music. As a result, his discography is particularly erratic, filled with many perfunctory sessions recorded late in his career simply for drug money. Still, there was an ugly beauty to the life-scarred Baker that some romanticized with equal fervor, including filmmaker Bruce Weber, whose Let’s Get Lost lovingly documents the withered face and wasted body of a once vital musician.

The West Coast scene of Baker, Mulligan, and their sidemen was considered softer, slower, and inescapably whiter than that of their East Coast contemporaries. Of course, there were African-American musicians playing in California at the time, including Chico Hamilton, the former drummer with the Mulligan Quartet, who is leading distinctive jazz groups to this day. Still, there was admittedly something of an old boys’ network in play, as many of the musicians on the scene had come through the ranks of the Stan Kenton big band.

There were however, some musicians associated with the West Coast who played with undeniable fire, like drummer Shelly Manne. While Manne was recognizable from his film and television appearances, including Man with the Golden Arm (for which he also instructed star Frank Sinatra on how to find his way around the drum kit), his biggest hit came via Broadway.

With classical-jazz double threat pianist André Previn, Manne recorded jazz renditions of the songs from Lerner & Loewe’s My Fair Lady. Like the show’s cast album, it reached “hit” status, inspiring dozens of jazz versions of Broadway scores from other musicians, not necessarily associated with the West Coast scene. (One of the best examples might be the unlikely jazz version of Fiddler on the Roof, recorded by Cannonball Adderley, an alto saxophonist with a notably soulful bop-based style.) Manne himself cut several such Broadway sets, but he would later return to My Fair Lady, with an album subtitled The Un-Original Cast recorded with vocalists and big band charts. Reportedly, he preferred this more ambitious but lesser-known version to his famous hit recording.

Mulligan, Hamilton, and Manne all had (or are still having) long and fruitful careers, experimenting with diverse styles and musical forms. Baker’s overall body of work is less consistent in terms of quality and not nearly as adventurous, but when he was good, he was very good. Miles Davis might have launched the Cool School, but he never embraced it. Frankly, the restless musician had already moved on. Though the nonet was short lived, Davis and Evans still had many collaborations ahead of them that would yield some of the most beloved and influential recordings in jazz history.

2009’s Most Offensive Film: Baader Meinhof Complex

To be fair, director Uli Edel knows how to stage a riot on film. Unfortunately, he did so in crafting what can only be described as Fascist Terrorism porn. Though Edel’s Baader Meinhof Complex received plenty of accolades, including a 2008 Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film, it essentially glories the anti-American, anti-Semitic Baader Meinhof-Red Army Faction terrorist groups and should be ignored on DVD.

The protagonists of BMC are the founders of the terrorist group, whom the film suggests were well intentioned leftists who became radicalized after the German police attacked their protest against the Shah of Iran. The antagonists are the largely faceless policemen and corpulent capitalists who fall victim to their cold-blooded attacks. The one exception is Horst Herald, the chief of the Federal Police, who urges the government to recognize the validity of some of the terrorists’ demands, most notably Israel’s refusal to give away land to its sworn enemies.

You know a German film is in problematic territory when it blames the Jews for forcing German extremists to commit murder, but that is the suggestion BMC leaves hanging in the air. In fact, the eerie similarity between the Red Army’s raised fists and the National Socialists’ Sieg Heil salute is a fitting irony apparently as lost on the filmmakers as it was on the terrorists. Or perhaps not. Terror’s Advocate, Barbet Schroeder’s documentary profile of Jacques Vergès, who represented just about every international terrorist organization, thoroughly connects the dots between the Baader Meinhof-Red Army terrorists, the Palestinians, and Francois Genoud, a wealthy Swiss Nazi, all of whom seemed to share a general world view as well as Vergès’s services.

Make no mistake, Edel blatantly stacks the deck on behalf of the terrorist protagonists. Every act of alleged police brutality inflicted upon them is portrayed in explicit detail. However, each horrendous act committed by the leftist terrorists and their Palestinian allies, like the horrific murders of the Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics or the 1977 Lufthansa hijacking, happens safely off-camera, so the audience will not get worked up over them.

While BMC is technically accomplished, it lacks soul, much like its subjects. Its leads have a stentorian stiffness appropriate to agit-prop perhaps, but not engaging in a two and a half hour film (again, the one exception is the always fascinating screen presence of Bruno Ganz as Herald). Ultimately, it is only memorable for its attempts to excuse or otherwise mitigate some of the worst crimes committed in the last century. Far from entertaining, that is just offensive.