Bugs on PBS: Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo

Careful where you step, you might crush some serious money. Coveted as pets, rainbow beetles carry a market price of approximately $57 dollars in Tokyo, while more exotic species fetch proportionally higher prices. This Japanese cultural preoccupation with insects is examined in Jessica Oreck’s meditative yet charming documentary, Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo (trailer here), which airs this coming Tuesday on Independent Lens.

Probably all children love bugs, but for American kids it is often a function of their gross-out appeal, whereas in Japan, it reflects a fascination with their tiny worlds. Evidently, the traditional Japanese affection for all things entomological, particularly crickets and other “crying” insects lasts well into adulthood, as Oreck illustrates with footage of various insect shows and festivals, drawing patrons of all ages.

Approaching her subject more as an essayist than a documentarian, Oreck quotes manifestations of insect love throughout Japanese literature and folklore, including the classic eleventh century novel The Tale of Genji, evocatively read in Japanese while accompanied by Philip Glass-inspired minimalist scores. Indeed, Oreck explicitly compares insect keeping to haiku poetry and Japanese “zen” rock gardens, as expressions of the Japanese aesthetic ideals of the miniature and the transient.

While it might sound odd, Queen’s juxtaposition of poetry and legend with scenes of wide-eyed children enthralled by their beetles blends effortlessly into a surprisingly endearing love letter to insects. While it might be difficult for some viewers to embrace the creepy-crawly protagonists, the rich, warm look of Sean Price Williams’s cinematography and Oreck’s soothing tone prove almost seductive. She also has a keen visual sense, framing some cleverly ironic images. Yet, despite the deceptively sensational sounding title, Oreck never refers directly to Mothra or any other iconic rampaging Japanese movie monster, focusing instead on more refined and archetypal examples of Japan’s deep cultural fondness for insects.

Meticulously crafted, Queen’s off-kilter perspective on Japanese culture is strangely gentle and inviting. Whether originally intended for Nipponophiles or amateur entomologists, Oreck’s film should in fact be accessible to a broad audience, despite its unhurried pace and unusual subject matter. An elegant docu-essay, highly recommended, it airs this coming Tuesday (5/17) on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Tropical B: Deep Gold

The island of Cebu has some stunning scenery, but evidently it is far too hot there for the women to wear anything round their midriffs. Fair enough. That makes it the perfect locale to start an old school fun-in-the-sun actioner. The 3-D might be somewhat unnecessary though in Michael Gleissner’s Deep Gold (trailer here), now playing in Los Angeles.

Much like the Larrañaga family in Michael Collins’ Tribeca award winning doc Give Up Tomorrow (except not really), Amy Sanchez is out to clear the name of her Air Force pilot boyfriend, Tony de la Cruz. He was last heard from flying a shipment of recovered gold (presumably plundered by Marcos) that disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Based on flight trajectories and tide charts, the plane appears to have crashed in particularly deep waters off Talipanan. As synchronicity would have it, Sanchez happens to be the world record holder for free diving.

To vindicate the missing de la Cruz and maybe fix their financial problems, Amy and her sister Jess set out to salvage the gold. The former Sanchez will have to do all the aquatic work though. After a traumatic incident in their childhood, the latter compulsively avoids the water. However, she still looks good in a swimsuit.

Produced entirely in English, Deep is the sort of B-film that used to pop up in theaters regularly but these days movie-goers need to seek out at specialty fests. Indeed, there are several presentable action sequences, plenty of exotic scenery, and two lovely leading ladies. However, the occasional attempts at humor fall rather flat.

Though Vietnamese rather than Filipino, Bebe Pham makes a surprisingly strong action star, handling sister Amy’s two fight scenes quite credibly. Likewise, Jaymee Ong (Chinese Australian, but who cares) has a vibrant screen presence as sister Jess. Unfortunately, director Gleissner is an altogether colorless villain, which is a distinct drawback for a film like this.

Deep certainly looks good, with cinematographer Rick Robinson giving Cebu and Talipanan the right Hawaii Five-O kind of sheen. It is only really missing Sybil Danning as gun-toting henchwoman. It is a hard film to recommend per se, but it definitely has a nostalgic appeal and an attractive cast, all safely (or disappointingly) rated PG-13. For those who get it, Deep is currently playing at the Bigfoot Crest Theater in Los Angeles.

IFF ’11: When Israel Went Out

One of history’s greatest humanitarian rescue missions was planned and executed by the Mossad and the Israeli Defense Forces (with CIA support). In response growing hostility from the anti-Semitic Marxist Mengistu regime, thousands of Jewish Ethiopians, known as Falasha or Beta Israel, walked over one hundred twenty miles though unforgiving desert to the still hostile Sudan where secret IDF airlifts shuttled them to Israel. Three survivors of the long march, two Mossad veterans of the original Operation Moses, and a film crew retrace their journey in Meni Elias’s When Israel Went Out, produced by Micha Shagrir, a special guest of the 2011 Israel Film, where the documentary screens again next week.

The Biblical parallels of the Beta Israel trek are so obvious, they nearly pass unmentioned in the film, save for its title. Yet, many of the survivors and witnesses refer to the largely spontaneous migration as a calling. Of course, life is not perfect for the Falasha in Israel. Many Orthodox extremists continue to question the legitimacy of their Judaism. Yet, the three Falasha survivors returning to their roots are all adamantly naturalized Israelis. One even serves as a Colonel in the Israeli Air Force.

Mengistu might be gone, but it is still a dangerous journey, requiring armed retainers. It was probably also reassuring to have two ex-Mossad agents for company. Unfortunately, the film never really spends any time getting to know them or understanding their motives for joining this exhausting trip (though we can safely deduce a rather edifying sense of solidarity played a role).

While revisiting past homelands is a rather established convention of documentary filmmaking, WIWO works better than most, partly because there is still an element of risk at play (that Elias wisely chooses to downplay), but mainly due to the dramatic nature of the Falasha Israelis’ stories, which are largely unknown to American audiences.

WIWO provides a timely reminder Israel’s population is more diverse than the media typically represents. It is also a rather hopefully film, conveying the optimism of the naturalized Falasha in their new lives. An informative film produced under difficult circumstances by Elias, Shagrir, and their crew, it is definitely worth catching when it screens again next Monday (5/16) at the 25th Israel Film Festival in New York.

The Greatest Literary One Hit Wonder: Hey Boo

Harper Lee was not interviewed for her own documentary. Nor is she cooperating with an upcoming biography. Though she was once something of a public figure, Lee has shunned the media spotlight for years. Yet, her first and only novel has been sufficient to keep Lee prominent in the national consciousness. Filmmaker Mary McDonagh Murphy celebrates the enduring legacy of the beloved American classic and its very private author in Hey Boo: Harper Lee & To Kill a Mockingbird (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

When Harper Lee sold her future Pulitzer Prize winner to Lippincott, one could still find a major publisher in the city of Philadelphia. A lot has changed in the publishing industry since then, but Mockingbird’s extended editorial process was unusual even for its day. It was a rough manuscript, but Lee’s editor recognized the potential of her voice. Thanks to the remarkable financial generosity of Lee’s new friends in New York, Joy Brown and her husband Michael, a jazz-cabaret vocalist (who once collaborated with Harold Arlen), the aspiring writer was given the time to rewrite and refine her novel. The rest is history.

Those scenes exploring Lee’s early years as a young woman from the South navigating New York are the strongest aspect of the documentary. Indeed, it is nice to see the Browns get their due, coming across as rather charming folks, happy to have helped facilitate literary history. As a corrective to conventional wisdom, Boo makes it clear Lee was not always the Sallinger-like literary hermit she is so often described as. In fact, it shrewdly incorporates generous samples of Lee’s final radio interview given soon after the release of the Robert Mulligan’s film adaptation. Far less insightful are the tributes from contemporary writers and celebrities, like Anna Quindlen, Wally Lamb, and Rosanne Cash (whose presence is frankly a little baffling).

To its credit, Boo should also put to rest the rumor Truman Capote ghost-wrote Mockingbird once and for all. However, it does not offer a definitive explanation why Lee never produced a second novel. Murphy speculates the challenge of following up an iconic work like Mockingbird might have proved too daunting. Since Lee remains silent on the issue herself, we may never truly know.

Yet, it is important to remember, though a critic of segregation, Lee was and is a woman of the South. Viewers come to understand this full well through some of her interview excerpts, particularly when she offers some circumspect criticism of the Freedom Riders for their confrontational tactics. It is easy to suppose Lee would become increasingly uncomfortable with the prevailing culture that developed during the mid to late 1960’s, perhaps ultimately choosing not to engage with it.

As the author of Scout, Atticus & Boo, Murphy might be the foremost authority on Lee and her only novel. While she clearly establishes the significance of the work, she also evokes a surprisingly cohesive sense of Lee as a person, effectively contradicting the Boo Radley-esque stereotype. Respectful and straightforward, Boo is quite a bit more informative than one might suspect, well worth seeing when it opens this Friday (5/13) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Love for the Cameraman: Jack Cardiff

It boggles the mind, but the same man was behind the camera for both Powell & Pressburger’s The Red Shoes and Rambo: First Blood Part II. Jack Cardiff had himself a career. The first cinematographer recognized with an honorary Oscar, Cardiff worked professionally well into his nineties, yet he still found time to sit for the extensive interviews that provide most of the narrative for Craig McCall’s thirteen years-in-the-making documentary profile, Cameraman: the Life & Work of Jack Cardiff (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Perhaps Cardiff (1914-2009) is best compared to Portuguese centenarian director Manoel de Oleivera, since both began their decades-spanning careers in the silent era. A child actor in the late nineteen-teens, Cardiff started working professionally as a camera operator. Opportunity knocked when the young Cardiff was invited to attend a training program in the new-fangled color photography process. Suddenly, he was in demand as one of the few cinematographers with color experience.

Cardiff’s legion of admirers, including the likes of Martin Scorsese and Kirk Douglas, argue on-camera Cardiff was not just the first. He was also the greatest color cinematographer, able to render delicate chiaroscuro effects through his lush palette and “painterly” use of light and shadow. Exhibit A would be The Red Shoes, for which he won his first Best Cinematography Academy Award. As further supporting evidence, Cameraman features plenty of high-def clips from masterworks like The African Queen, Black Narcissus, Under Capricorn, The Barefoot Contessa, and Death on the Nile. Viewers will likely want to check out many of his classics that might have previously eluded them after hearing his commentary and sampling his visual artistry. Indeed, a film like Al Lewin’s Pandora & the Flying Dutchman looks ripe for a repertory rediscovery as a result.

There is no dirt in Cameraman, partly because McCall focuses exclusively on Cardiff’s professional career, while for his part, the celebrated cinematographer comes across as a truly gracious gent. If anything gets short shrift, it is the treatment of Cardiff’s relatively limited directorial career, which almost entirely concentrates on his Oscar-nominated adaptation of Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers. Yet, surely the audience for a Cardiff doc would be just as interested in his Britsploitation thrillers, like Dark of the Sun and The Liquidator (if not more so). Still, Cardiff offers us an anecdote about Marlene Dietrich naked, which is not nothing.

Clearly, McCall never shook his reverent awe for Cardiff, despite the filmmaker’s warm telegenic charm. Yet, Cardiff’s films and reminiscences are so entertaining, it hardly matters. Ultimately, it is just a pleasure to spend time with the man. An affectionate valentine to a giant of cinema wrapped in a classy package, Cameraman is recommended well beyond TCM junkies when it opens this Friday (5/13) at the Quad Cinema.

IFF ’11: Brothers

New Yorkers might find it hard to fathom, but Brooklyn is considered to be synonymous with conservative fundamentalism in Israel. By contrast, the Israeli leftists all dutifully perform their military service, while the Orthodox seek exemptions. This leads to profound conflict within Israeli society, at least according to Igaal Niddam’s Cain and Abel tale, Brothers (a.k.a. Dan and Aharon, trailer here), which screens during the 2011 Israel Film Festival in New York.

Obviously, Dan is secular. He works as a shepherd (seriously) on a kibbutz. Long estranged from his brother Aharon, he is a bit taken a back when he receives a letter announcing his imminent arrival in Israel. However, the real shock comes when Dan realizes the man in the Orthodox garb is his brother.

Aharon is a lawyer-rabbi from a Brooklyn yeshiva, a detail Niddam emphasizes repeatedly. Per his Orthodox faith, Aharon avoids shaking hands with Dan’s wife Yael, strictly observes kosher restrictions (even the ones Dan does not know about), and does just about everything possible to annoy his lefty brother. When the cranky kibbutznik learns Aharon only came to represent an Orthodox yeshiva in a protracted legal battle regarding their students’ draft eligibility, it just slightly rankles him, particularly as the father of an IDF soldier.

Though he uses the media masterfully, Aharon quickly deduces his case is a dog and his clients are problematic, to say the least. He is not too fond of the heat either, but his budding Tracy-and-Hepburn flirtation with the prosecutor is another matter entirely. He also builds a warm familial relationship with his nephew, despite the nature of his case. Indeed, Ahron seems to be nursing the wrong sort of Jerusalem Syndrome from his clients’ perspective.

In terms of ideology, Niddam clearly sides with the shepherd. Yet, he gives all the good human drama to the Orthodox brother. Arguably, when both back-stories are revealed, Aharon clearly emerges the more sympathetic of the two. Frankly, Dan is just a moody Marxist pill for most of the film. Of course, that basically necessitates Aharon’s change of heart and eventual destruction to serve Niddam’s didactic message. Hardly ambiguous, the filmmaker argues in no uncertain terms that the ultra Orthodox movement represented by Aharon’s clients constitutes a greater threat to Israel than Islamist terrorism. This seems rather dubious by any objective measure.

Regardless of Niddam’s agenda, Baruch Brener’s work as Aharon is absolutely first-rate. He takes a caricature and synthesizes a fully dimensional character. He also develops an appealing chemistry with Orna Fitoussi as the attractive prosecutor. Both actors and their characters deserve a more nuanced film. In contrast, Micha Celektar looks awkward and essentially falls flat as Dan, ironically the more judgmental of the two brothers.

Brothers is not exactly helped by its production values either, which lend it a distinctly TV movie look (and not even premium cable, at that). Brener gives a deeply human performance, but even with a number of nice moments, the whole is rather flawed. It is definitely an Israeli film tailor-made for the Upper Westside though, so it should be a crowd pleaser when it screens again this Thursday (5/12), Saturday (5/14), and the following Thursday (5/19) at the 25th Israel Film Festival in New York.

Gene-Fusion the Movie

In the future, geneticists will be meatheads. That is where the bloodsport will be for the so-called “fusers” and their genetically grafted “fusable” creatures in François Brisson’s Gene-Fusion (trailer here), the animated adaptation of Jeff Amano’s comic book franchise, now available on DVD and VOD.

Eddie Leechur is the Vince McMahon of fusing. He and his burly bromantic frienemy Gorath kick-started Gene-Fusion with secret technology liberated from a Stargate-style alien’s pre-Colombian temple. Fifteen years later, that same evil Yax sends his winged deaths-head minions to kidnap four socially diverse orphans. Springing into action with his trusted fusable Bam, a handsome fusion of a gorilla torso, lion forearms, and a zebra’s hind legs and quarters, Gorath saves the kids.  Immediately thereafter, Leechur fast tracks them into Gene-Fusion's fuser training program in order to keep an eye on these Breakfast Club kids of the future. Evidently, their fate is tied up in his dodgy business down Mexico way.

There is simply no getting around the uninspiring quality of G-F’s animation. Frankly, it brings to mind the old school CGI video games but without nostalgic intentions. Still, Bam is pretty cool looking and Gorath’s hard-nose personality wears well. The kids however, are somehow both bland and annoying.

There is a sort of Transformers appeal in watching the Frankenstein monster fusables smacking each other black-and-blue. Yax’s flying Skeletors are another nice creation, but the storyline holds few surprises, while the meta-conspiracy does not exactly come together seamlessly.

Basically, G-F would make okay Saturday afternoon hangover viewing for those who can get behind Gorath’s bald badness. Animation connoisseurs though, will be aesthetically underwhelmed. Little more than a distraction for hardcore fanboys, G-F releases on DVD today.

IFF ’11: Intimate Grammar

It is tough being a kid in 1960’s Israel, especially with a mother like Aharon Kleinfeld’s Mommy Dearest. Yet, the socially awkward protagonist might be a kid forever unless he starts growing again in Nir Bergman’s Intimate Grammar (trailer here), a somewhat odd Mother’s Day programming choice for the 2011 Israel Film Festival.

After witnessing the horrors of war and a Soviet labor camp, Kleinfeld’s father Moishe is a bit distant. His paternal grandmother is slowly sinking into dementia, but she has her occasional moments. His sister Yochi is loving and supportive, but she also suffers from self-esteem issues. His mother Hindale is definitely the verbal one—and how. Her specialty seems to be belittling her children, both intentionally and inadvertently.

Even Kleinfeld’s relationship with Gidon, an ardent Young Socialist, is tested when they begin an ostensibly friendly Jules and Jim-style courstship of Yaeli, an attractive ballet dancing classmate. As his parents’ son, Kleinfeld is not very good at matters of the heart, but perhaps he might pick-up something from his father’s open flirtations with the attractive neighbor across the street. Coming of age will be painful for the boy, if it happens at all.

There are certain times when the last thing anyone needs to hear is “I told you so,” particularly from one’s mother. Indeed, the consistent callousness, bordering on outright cruelty, of Hindale Kleinfeld is difficult to fully accept. Of course, if you can buy into it, Kleinfeld’s profound emotional troubles are only too easy to believe.

Roee Elsberg is convincingly bright and intelligent as Kleinfeld, which helps keep the audience invested during his periodic bouts of self-defeating behavior. As his dread mother, Orly Zilbershatz is absolutely ferocious, in a way that both helps and hinder’s Grammar dramatic integrity. Perhaps surprisingly, Yael Sgerski’s makes quite an enduring impression playing Kleinfeld’s older sister with understated humanity. It is unusual to see the older-younger sibling relationship portrayed with such love and empathy at this age, but that is what works best in the film.

Though David Grossman’s source novel is often compared to The Tin Drum, Bergman largely plays down the possible fantastical implications of Kleinfeld’s stunted growth. The boy is just small for his age. It happens. The film also implies a subtle critique of the Kumbaya culture so pronounced in 1960’s Israel. Kleinfeld is not a joiner, either of the scouts or the Socialists. He certainly is not cut out for kibbutz life. However, he pays a price for his individualism.

Art director Ido Dolev has a nice eye for period details and Biniamin Nimrod Chiram’s lens gives it an almost Rockwellesque color palette. Yet, there is no getting around the dour nature of the proceedings. A prestigious production with fine ensemble performances, Grammar is ultimately more sad than nostalgic. Recommended with much respect and a little affection, it screens again this Thursday (5/11) and the following Tuesday (5/17) at the 25th Israel Film Festival.

Nanjing: City of Life and Death

It may well be the only episode of WWII in which Americans and Germans worked together in a common humanitarian cause. Unfortunately, the few Westerners remaining in Nanjing are vastly outnumbered by the marauding Japanese Imperial Army. The resulting horrors of the Japanese occupation are rendered in both graphic and deeply personal terms in Lu Chuan’s City of Life and Death (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

The Nationalist army never had a chance in 1937. They were outnumbered and vastly out-gunned by the invading Japanese. He might be a conqueror, but this no place for Kadokawa. He has difficulty treating human beings as the spoils of war. His comrades have no such reservations, as rape and arbitrary executions become commonplace on the streets of Nanking (as it was then known in the west). Shocked by the brutality, a small group of foreigners, led by Nazi Party member in good-standing John Rabe, establish a safety zone to protect the civilian population. While the Japanese respect Rabe as a fellow ally, they will tolerate his interference only so long.

While there is one brilliantly staged scene of urban combat early in the film, City is far more about the war crimes than the war proper. In large measure, it covers the same historical events as Florian Gallenberger’s bio-drama John Rabe, but Lu’s narrative is more fractured, much like the memories of a survivor with post-traumatic stress disorder. Indeed, few heroics are to be found here, just isolated moments of humanity.

Indeed, there are devastating scenes in City, but perhaps none as strong as those involving Tang, Rabe’s loyal Chinese right-hand, whose desperate attempts to protect his family leads to tragedy worthy of Greek antiquity. Indeed, what often makes the events of City so catastrophic is the helpless inevitability of them, as when Ms. Jiang, Rabe’s colleague on the Safety Committee, performs perhaps the film purest act of courage.

Essentially playing a man shell-shocked by his fellow troops, Hideo Nakaizumi personifies anguish as Kadokawa. Not surprisingly though, the film belongs to the Chinese cast. Better known as a comic, Fan Wei’s pathos is genuinely devastating as Tang. Of course, suffering has many faces in City, like the beautiful Yuko Miyamoto, who is simply haunting as Yuriko, the “comfort woman” whom Kadokawa falls in love with. Unfortunately, the historical figure of John Rabe gets somewhat short shrift, both from Lu’s script and John Paisley’s unflattering performance.

Starkly arresting, Cao Yu’s black-and-white cinematography perfectly fits the film’s existential nature. It is tour-de-force work from Lu, who segues assuredly from scenes of large scale set pieces to delicate moments of quiet intimacy. This is grandly ambitious auteur-worthy work, but it also falls well within the current trend in Hong Kong/Chinese cinema to refight the Second Sino-Japanese War, more frequently manifested in action films like Legend of the Fist and Ip Man. It clearly suits the government censors, but the timing is a little awkward here, coming when many cineastes are doggedly raising funds and awareness for Japan as it copes with the aftermath of the recent earthquake and tsunami. Regardless, City is highly recommended when it opens this Wednesday (5/11) at Film Forum, as is supporting the Red Cross here and the Japan Society’s relief fund here.

IFF ’11: The Matchmaker

Would you buy a second-hand heart from this man? Yankele Bride genuinely wants to make love connections, even for those who cannot afford to pay. Of course, the dodgy contraband in the storeroom is another question altogether. 1968 proves to be a tumultuous year for Bride and his adolescent assistant in Avi Nesher’s The Matchmaker (trailer here), one of the highlights of the 2011 Israel Film Festival in New York.

Bride was literally scarred by his time in the concentration camps, yet he still believes in love. He is still a realist though, telling his clients he “gets them what they need, not what they want.” Despite his many dubious enterprises, he scours the neighborhoods looking for the marginalized in need of his match-making help. That is how Arik Burstein initially encounters him. Fatefully, Burstein’s attempt at a practical joke at Bride’s expense backfires when it turns out he is a long lost classmate of his Romanian émigré father, Yossi. Before he knows it, young Burstein is working as Bride’s assistant, which largely involves trailing prospective clients to make sure they are on the up-and-up.

Although romance is Bride’s business of choice, he must settle for a close but chaste friendship with Clara, the love of his life, who remains profoundly haunted by her Holocaust experiences. In contrast, Burstein struggles against his attraction to the Tamara, his best friend Benny Abadi’s sultry hippy cousin, who finds herself spending her summer with the Jewish Iraqi family.

Matchmaker is filled with colorful characters and coming of age rites, but it does not happen in a vacuum. While Nesher keeps the tone wistful and nostalgic, the ever-present reality of war and terrorism periodically punctuates the proceedings. They also serve as a reminder that Bride (as well as Burstein’s father and even Clara) continue to choose life, despite the horrors they witnessed. Yet, it is the complex legacy of the Holocaust that is truly ever present, as the first first-generation Israelis (like Burstein) struggle to come to terms with implications of their parents’ tragic history. Nesher’s sharply written adaptation of Amir Gutfreund’s novel shrewdly examines this generation gap, with wit and sympathy.

Bride is easily one of the richest characters to hit screens in sometime. He might be a sentimental romantic, but is one shrewd customer. Misunderestimate him at your peril. No mere gentle giant, Adir Miller conveys a sense of his cunning and hardness, as well as his vulnerability.

Like Miller, Bat-El Papura also transcends physical stereotypes as the (not so) surprisingly smart and sophisticated Sylvia, one of the “Seven Dwarves” who own the Bollywood cinema Bride patronizes, as well as an impatient client. While Yossi Burstein is a relatively small part in terms of overall screen time, Dov Navon nails an unforgettable speech at a critical juncture that largely defines the film. As for young Burstein, Tuval Shafir comes across a bit petulant at times, which at least makes him a convincing teenager.

Haifa’s seedy “low-rent” district probably never looked as picturesque as it does through Michel Abramowicz’s lens. Indeed, it is quite an artful package, featuring original music composed by the great Philippe Sarde, scoring his first Israeli production here. Both challenging and moving, it is a deeply satisfying, bittersweet film. Highly recommended, Matchmaker screens again this Wednesday (5/11) and Sunday (5/15) at the 25th Israel Film Festival.

IFF ’11: Infiltration

The platoon of rejects undergoing bootcamp at IDF Training Base 4 cannot be called a Dirty Dozen. Frankly, they are not even dirty. Each should have been disqualified on the basis of physical or mental grounds. Instead, they are botching basic training together as a misfit unit in Dover Kosashvili’s Infiltration (trailer here), which screens during the 2011 Israel Film Festival in New York.

Miller is an epileptic. Peretz has anger management issues. Poor Rachamim Ben Hamo is a wreck, both physically and mentally. It is not exactly clear why self-styled ladies’ man Gabay is there, but it is quickly obvious he is the sort of person who makes every situation more difficult than necessary. Nearly everyone in the platoon expects a menial assignment when their course is completed, except Alon Harel. As a strapping young kibbutznik, he refuses to consider anything less than the paratroopers, not that he has any say in the matter. Unfortunately, his resentment will not dissipate, despite the (mostly) helpful suggestions of Commander Benny, their NCO drill instructor.

Based the 1986 novel by Yehoshua Kenaz, Infiltration (so titled for a war game exercise) obviously inspires comparisons to Full Metal Jacket. However, Commander Benny is no R. Lee Ermey. Granted, he can be cruel, but it is rather hard to blame him. After five minutes, you will want to haze the holy terror out of his recruits too.

On one level, Infiltration is the sort of film one wishes the Israeli film industry did not produce so frequently. After all, the America media is prolific enough producing negative portrayals of the IDF. There is no need for them to pile on. However, unlike more self-defeating Israeli imports, Infiltration is a rather nuanced and compelling film. In truth, drill instructors break down any sense of uniqueness and entitlement. It is what they do. If that requires crushing Harel’s heroic romanticism (as well as his self-esteem), then so be it.

Indeed, Michael Aloni is the real lynchpin of the film. He brings out balanced human dimensions to Benny, rather than simply playing him as the heavy. Likewise, Oz Zehavi elicits great sympathy as Harel, but there is always something slightly off about him. Indeed, he is not with this platoon by accident.

In dramatic contrast to the artful elegance of Georgian-Israeli Kosashvili’s previous film, Anton Chekhov’s The Duel, Avi Fahima’s design team give Infiltration a convincingly grubby sense of 1950’s barracks life in Israel. Yet, despite the lousiness of it all, there are those in the platoon like immigrant recruit “Zero Zero” who still consider it a veritable Promised Land, where his children can actually have a future. Of course, it will be due to the sacrifices of the men and women of the IDF, such as himself. If not exactly a valentine to the Israeli military, Infiltration is a high quality period production featuring consistently excellent work from its ensemble cast. It screens at the 25th Israel Film Festival tomorrow night (5/8), next Sunday (5/15), and the following Tuesday (5/17).

Modern Hagiography: Bhutto

The new term for it is “doubling,” but it really amounts to old fashioned hypocrisy. This label has been specifically applied to Pakistan for making a show of cooperating with the war on terror, while giving terrorists material support behind the scenes. Twice elected Prime Minister of Pakistan, Benazir Bhutto positioned herself as a bulwark against Islamist extremism, yet her two tenures in office were rather a mixed bag. While circumspectly acknowledging criticism, filmmakers Duane Baughman and Johnny O’Hara elevate the iconic Pakistani leader to secular sainthood (despite here Islamic fundamentalism) in their documentary profile simply titled Bhutto (trailer here), which airs this coming Tuesday on Independent Lens.

Bhutto was a daughter of privilege in a society that affords few rights to women. Her father, Zulifikar Ali Bhutto, was like a character out of an Allen Drury novel. Respected as a wily diplomat in the west, Bhutto père parlayed his wealth and prestige into the Pakistani presidency, but his hubris and over-reaching prompted a military coup, a not infrequent event in Pakistan’s short history. Eventually, his daughter would consider her election as the best revenge for her father’s execution. Beyond that, just what her administrations represented remains open to debate.

To her defenders, like her American political consultant and co-author, Mark Siegel, she was a lone voice warning the west of the intolerance brewing in fundamentalist madrassas, who was assassinated for her efforts. Yet, as the film admits, she did nothing to repeal or ameliorate her country’s harsh Sharia-based restrictions on women. Granted, the on-screen commentators are most surely correct such reforms would never have passed the hard-line. Yet, what does it say about the prospects for human rights and democracy in Pakistan that she would not even try?

Repeatedly compared to the Kennedys, Bhutto faced a political family feud when her brother Murtaza politically challenged her relative moderation. After raising some Cain, he would conveniently die in a hazy police incident. Yet, perhaps the most troubling aspects of Bhutto’s periods in office were the corruption charges detailed by John F. Burns in a New York Times piece evocatively titled “House of Graft.” According to the piece her husband, Asif Ali Zardari was then known as “Mr. Ten Percent.” He is now called Mr. President. Unfortunately, Bhutto the film largely waives off such allegations, though Burns still stands behind the piece in his on-camera interviews, pointing out nobody ever substantively contradicted any of his reporting. Yet, the hagiography proceeds apace.

Many aptly compare the Bhutto family story to Greek tragedy. One can easily argue she was the most progressive leader with any hope of reorienting her persistently insular country. Yet, simply wishing away her negatives does viewers a disservice, particularly in light of the controversy following Seal Team Six’s Bin Laden trash removal operation. Most would agree Pakistan has been a devilishly difficult country to formulate policy towards. Each decision involves downsides. Indeed, more context and perspective is always helpful. Informative but imperfect, Bhutto airs this Tuesday (5/10) as part of the current season of Independent Lens on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Exploitation Exploited: Hobo with a Shotgun

Trailers are considered the movie industry’s most important marketing tool, but does it really make sense to start with a clever teaser and re-engineer an original film from there? Much like Robert Rodriguez’s Machete, Jason Eisener’s Hobo with a Shotgun started as a gag trailer for a fictitious grindhouse film submitted to a contest co-sponsored by Rodriguez. Unlike Machete, at least Eisener’s Hobo (trailer here) makes no pretensions to socio-political relevance, simply delivering sleazy action when it opens theaters today, following its high profile Sundance screenings.

Like the High Plains Drifter or Sanjuro, a mysterious hobo rides into town on the rails. He has a past that we will never know, but he has a dream—to buy a mower and start his own lawn care company. He is in the wrong town for that. This vaguely Midwestern burg is owned lock, stock, and smoking barrel by Drake, a poor man’s Joe Pesci kingpin, and his two sadistic idiot sons, Slick and Ivan. The Hobo gets a taste of how things work in town when he foils an attempt to kidnap the local hooker with a heart of gold, earning himself a beat-down at the hands of the crooked cops. However, the Hobo comes back for more, this time with a shotgun in hand.

As titles go, Hobo with a Shotgun certainly represents truth in advertising. Its opening credit sequence also has the vintage grindhouse look down cold. However, as the film progresses, it veers closer in tone to 1990’s Troma than 1970’s exploitation. Not only is violence ridiculously over the top, the villains (particularly the evil twins) look like they walked straight out of a 1980’s world of Dippety Do hair gel and cheesy metal bands with flying V guitars.

Casting Rutger Hauer as the Hobo was an inspired choice. Shotgun essentially tries inverts the classic 1980’s schlocker The Hitcher, inviting audiences to root for Hauer’s drifter killing machine rather than another boring pretentious first-initial Thomas Howell character. Unfortunately, the Hobo is absolutely riddled with angst, adding a layer of grimness to what is intended as a blackly comic romp.

In truth, like Machete, a trailer’s worth of this Hobo might be just about right. The opening credits hit the perfect nostalgic note and there are three or four meathead pleasing action sequences. The rest of the film’s brutal and nihilistic connective tissue simply gets tiresome. Those looking for gory laughs might find them in Shotgun (at the expense of their souls), but legitimate grindhouse connoisseurs will more likely be disappointed. Not nearly as fun as the hipster amen chorus claims (not even close), Shotgun opens today (5/6) in New York at the Village East.

IFF ’11: Land of Genesis

When watching a mongoose take out his hissing foe in Israel’s first nature documentary, the allegory is almost too easy to draw. Fortunately, Israel has been the scrappy mongoose, not only defending the only civilized corner of the Middle East but also preserving considerable areas of pristine nature. Moshe Alpert documents three species of mammals raising their young in the wild habitats of Israel most people never knew existed in Land of Genesis (trailer here), which screens during the upcoming 2011 Israel Film Festival in New York.

Genesis will radically change how many people think of Israel, particularly the Golan Heights, where two wolves are starting their own pack. Likewise, the Sea of Galilee probably has much different associations for viewers than as the habitat for swamp cats. At least the desert might seem like a fitting environment for exotic species, like the ibexes Alpert follows.

Director-cinematographer Alpert captures some truly dramatic footage, often from decidedly unusual angles. However, he never minimizes the life-and-death realities of the natural world. Easily his most dramatic footage captures the ibexes scrambling off their mountaintop perches when a minor earthquake causes an avalanche. Indeed, it is a sequence that might be too intense for young viewers.

Yaron London’s narration is unabashedly anthropomorphic, yet the wolves, dubbed Alon and Nufar, seem remarkably expressive to human eyes. Still, it is probably the scenes of the ibexes with their large curved horns and unforgiving mating rituals that will be most informative to American audiences. (Parents should also be warned of a brief scene of animal “husbandry.”)

Capitalizing on the arresting vistas of natural Israel, Genesis is a visually striking film. Alpert captures some up-close-and-personal scenes of survival in the wild that provide moments of genuine surprise. It also demonstrates the how seriously the State of Israel takes their stewardship of the environment. One of the better films of the recent bumper crop of wildlife documentaries, it screens this Sunday (5/8), next Wednesday (5/11), the following Sunday (5/15), and Thursday (5/19) as part of the 2011 Israel Film Festival. In an ironic way, as the first Israeli nature doc, Genesis would also make a good double feature with Navot Papushado & Aharon Kashales’subversively witty Rabies, the first Israeli slasher film (also set in a nature preserve, albeit with an old minefield hidden within) which also screens at the festival next Saturday (5/14).

Wakamatsu’s Caterpillar

What ideological extremists call “martyrdom” or “sacrifice” is rather ugly to behold. Dubbed a “War-God,” quadruple amputee Kyuzo Kurokawa should more rightly be considered a war criminal. Indeed, Kurokawa deserves even worse than the daily degradation of his freak-show existence in Kōji Wakamatsu’s scalding WWII-era morality play Caterpillar (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

When we first meet Kurokawa, he is raping an innocent young Chinese girl. We soon learn he treated his wife Shigeko in essentially the same manner, before shipping out in the Imperial Army. Returning home completely incapacitated with only a rudimentary ability to communicate, Kurokawa is now utterly dependent on his wife. Initially though, his attitude towards her remains unchanged, demanding food and intercourse on a regular basis. Yet, slowly Shigeko Kurokawa realizes how profoundly their respective positions have changed.

Though he is still abusive (to the best of his limited abilities), she finds she enjoys the perks and privileges of being the wife of a War-God. She never misses an opportunity to parade him at patriotic assemblies, both to maintain their social position and to humiliate him in public. For his part, Kurokawa starts to lose his ferocious sex drive, resenting the way she services his needs as one might reward an obedient child, while haunted by memories of the Chinese girl he brutalized.

Considering Wakamatsu’s background as a Pinku Eiga filmmaker who broke through to the mainstream, it is hardly surprising his films often involve provocative sexual matter. However, the scenes of the Kurokawas’ marital relations are in a disturbing league of their own. Yet, there is a very definite point to it all.

In his postscript, Wakamatsu explicitly argues war crimes are never isolated incidents, but the deliberate and systematic product of the prevailing power structure on whose behalf the war criminals act. Whether we accept this or not, it is painfully clear Kurokawa never transcends the institutionalized violence of the Imperial government or the misogyny of his society (as established by Wakamatsu). Despite his attempts to universalize Caterpillar’s painfully intimate story, he still does not allow collective guilt to mitigate personal responsibility.

An intense filmmaker, Wakamatsu never shies away from the shocking aspects of his story. Largely but not entirely a two-hander confined to the Kurokawa house and surrounding environs, he shrewdly exploits the staginess of the claustrophobic setting. You are right there with them, like it or not. Fortunately, Caterpillar’s leads are quite riveting, especially Shinobu Terajima, who convincingly conveys a host of conflicting responses simultaneously as the anguished Shigeko. Likewise, Shima Ohnishi suggests much through facial expressions, while forced into what must have been physically uncomfortable situations.

As a filmmaker, Wakamatsu is consistent in his boldness and his decisive rejection of ideology in general. Caterpillar uses a very personal drama as an indictment of Imperial militarism. In contrast, his previous film, United Red Army (which Lorber Films will also release later this month), viscerally depicts in documentary-style the descent into madness of Japan’s homegrown Maoist terrorist militia. Essentially, they are the opposite sides of the same coin and perfect companion films. Caterpillar is a certainly a work of power and directness, but URA is a legitimate masterwork. This week, the former is definitely recommended when it opens tomorrow (5/6) in New York at the IFC Center.

Truly Extraordinary Stories

In a tried and true film noir convention, a stranger comes to town. He is not particularly strange, nor is the town, but the resulting stories are unusually intricate and slippery in nature. Yet, it is the telling of them that is the whole point of Mariano Llinás’ obsessive-compulsive four-and-a-half-hour thriller Extraordinary Stories, which begins a special week-long run at MoMA today as part their retrospective celebration of Cinema Tropical’s tenth anniversary.

Actually, not one, but three unnamed strangers come to provincial Argentina for work that seems absurd, only to find themselves sidetracked by skullduggery of some sort or another. “Z” is supposed to be performing some sort of survey work, which the ubiquitous narrator tells us not to worry about at this stage, when he happens upon a lethal falling out between conspirators. Finding himself an inadvertent participant, Z largely sequesters himself shortly thereafter.

“X” has reluctantly accepted a figurehead position “managing” the regional office of something simply called “the Federation.” Initially, he fears getting stuck there like his anonymous predecessor. However, as he learns about the mysterious Cuevas, X becomes increasingly obsessed with the recently deceased bureaucrat. “H” has also accepted a job that makes no sense to him. Yet, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation why he was hired to photograph old concrete markers placed along the river, which is explained in detail during Extraordinary’s first of many flashbacks.

Extraordinary is a lot like an Alain Robbe-Grillet novel, accept it has a recognizable plot. In fact, it has a whole mess of plot, bursting with flashbacks, back-story, and red herrings. At one point a tangential character even appropriates Z’s plot line, but considering how much time he spends hiding in his hotel room, viewers can hardly blame Lola Gallo, the narrative femme fatale.

While the comparisons to the literary gamesmanship of Borges and Cortázar are obvious, Llinás more or less keeps matters grounded in reality. Despite the film’s many lingering mysteries, he surprisingly establishes the truth of just what did and did not happen in a number of instances with explicit clarity. As a result, viewers are more likely to be dazzled by his elaborate puzzle than feel played. Rather, one might say Extraordinary is a game, not a con.

Clearly, Extraordinary is all about concept and execution. For good portions of the film, actors are only seen as tiny ants dotting open fields or figures obscured by shadows in cramped spaces. Indeed, it is not happenstance that X, Z, and H are reserved, even withdrawn characters. However, Ana Livingston gives the film a jolt as energy as the elusive Gallo, while Lola Arias and Mariana Chaud add credible human dimensions as the daughters of the Italian farmer X eventually takes refuge with. Of course, it would be far too complicated to explain how he gets there. Besides, the narrator(s) are dying to explain it all.

Indeed, it is that sense of story persistently unfolding the so assuredly pulls the audience through all 245 discursive minutes of the film. (It certainly is not the shabby looking video, though given the running time, obviously trade-offs had to be made). Regardless of his macro structure, Llinás’ on-screen developments are interesting on a micro level. That is the real trick. Frankly, it is why post-modernism has won academia yet lost the culture. No matter what the implications of Heisenberg or Foucault might be, people want to hear stories. Extraordinary has them in spades. Remarkably ambitious, yet completely engrossing, it is an altogether aptly titled film. MoMA and Cinema Tropical deserve considerable credit for programming it for a full week (six days), starting this afternoon (5/4). Considering how tricky it is to book a 245 minute subtitled film, patrons are strongly advised to see it while they can.

The Brothers Vega’s Octubre

October is a time of hope and pageantry in Lima. Throngs of faithful join the procession celebrating the Lord of Miracles (or “Black Christ”) mural. Clemente is not one of them. Simply known as “the pawnbroker’s son,” he likes to keep things on a strictly cash basis. Obviously substandard father material, Clemente is naturally bit taken aback to find a little bundle of joy waiting for him in Daniel and Diego Vega’s Octubre (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Clemente lives his dreary life by choice. Loaning small sums to his economically disenfranchised neighbors at rates approaching usury, he allows himself only one real luxury: prostitutes. Though he publically denies it, Clemente never really seems to doubt the baby is his. However, he intends to return her to her mother of ill repute, as soon as he can find her. Until then, he hires Sofia, a devout client, to care for the foundling.

The middle-aged Sofia has given up on everything but hope. Yet, she starts to get certain ideas living in his Spartan flat, but Clemente is more concerned with passing off a counterfeit bill he mistakenly accepted. Frankly, he has plenty stashed in his oven, including the savings of Don Fico, a homeless eccentric planning smuggle his catatonic common-law wife out of Lima’s charity hospital.

It sounds like a horrendously contrived sitcom, but the Brothers Vega largely play it straight, maintaining a consistently dark and gritty tone throughout. This is a seedy, naturalistic environment, perfectly suited to their aloof protagonist. They do not even exploit the baby for shots of heartwarming cuteness. Ironically, Octubre’s ostensive subject matter could dissuade those who would most appreciate it, for fear of saccharine sweetness. Have no such concerns, this film is a perfectly respectable downer.

In a performance of great integrity, Bruno Odar conveys something tragically human in Clemente without making any concessions to likability. Likewise, Gabriela Velásquez takes a decidedly unglamorous turn as Sofia. They are both deliberately understated and completely believable as a result.

Though the Vegas present Catholicism in rather ambiguous contexts, they at least resist the temptation of gratuitous cheap shots. However, they never build up much momentum or achieve a payoff of appreciable substance. Essentially, they provide a showcase for their two unlikely leads. Cold but oddly affecting, Octubre opens this Friday (5/6) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Ichikawa’s Makioka Sisters

The Makiokas have an established name and substantial holdings. Their place in society though, is increasingly uncertain. Yet, as acting matriarch, the eldest daughter Tsuruko fiercely guards their position in Kon Ichikawa’s classic adaptation of Junichiro Tanizaki’s novel, The Makioka Sisters (trailer here), which begins a special eight day theatrical run this Friday at Film Forum, with a new 35mm print.

It is 1938. While Japan engages in militarist conquest, a cold war simmers between the Makioka sisters. As in so many superb Ozu films, the Sisters’ conflicts revolve around attempts to marry off the third (almost spinster) Makioka daughter. With their wealthy parents long deceased, Tsuruko and her salaryman husband Tatsuo (who took the prestigious Makioka name) control the Makioka family’s eroding but still considerable fortune and exercise veto power over Yukiko’s potential suitors. This also directly affects the youngest, Taeko, who cannot marry or draw on her inheritance until Yukiko is suitably married.

Further complicating the Makioka family dynamic, the youngest sisters pointedly moved in with the second sister Sachiko and her only too obliging husband after Tsuruko and Tatsuo unwittingly exacerbated a scandal involving Taeko and the dissolute son of a wealthy jeweler. As a result, Sachiko suspects Tsuruko’s objections to Yukiko’s parade of would-be husbands are based more out spite than genuine concern. Yet, perhaps Yukiko bears some responsibility for her fickleness as well.

Essentially, Makioka is Ichikawa’s version of an Ozu film, shrewdly observing the absurdities of social rituals, while noting the passing of a gentler time gone-by. Yet, Ichikawa’s sensibility is radically different, reveling in his characters’ dramatic cattiness. Where Ozu is simple and spare, Ichikawa is lush and even slightly lurid. In short, Makioka is good clean scandalous fun, as well as a masterwork of an underappreciated Japanese auteur.

As Tsuruko, Keiko Kishi (so seductive and spirited in Ozu’s Early Spring nearly thirty years earlier) is an exquisitely brittle grand dame with a surprisingly rich and nuanced arc of character development. Yûko Kotegawa also projects both grit and vulnerability as Taeko, the youngest. Yet, Sayuri Yoshinaga (who has recently played a series of selfless mothers for Yoji Yamada) provides the film’s greatest surprises as Yukiko, arguably the one Makioka sister best able to straddle the overlapping old and new eras.

Full of knowing looks and meaningful gestures, Makioka is a joy to get caught up in. Somehow, even the dated-sounding synth-heavy score seems to work. Featuring a pitch perfect cast assuredly helmed by Ichikawa, Makioka is five-star melodrama at its most satisfying. Highly recommended, it opens this Friday (5/6) in New York’s Film Forum. A still timely example of why so many world cineastes are captivated by Japanese cinema, those so moved by Makioka can support the Red Cross’ efforts in Japan here and the Japan Society’s relief fund here.

Infidelity in Tribeca: Last Night

Most married couples argue about three things. Joanna and Michael are financially well off and childless. That only leaves one other point of contention, but it is a big one. Indeed, jealousy and betrayal may or may not scuttle the Reed’s wedded bliss in Iranian-born, Orange County-raised writer-director Massy Tadjedin’s Last Night (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York following its high-profile screenings at the recently wrapped 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Joanna Reed is in a period of self-doubt. She cranks out vapid free-lance pieces for fashion magazines, rather than tackling her second book. In contrast, Michael Reed is a picture of confidence, assuredly moving from deal to deal at his real estate development firm. Still, everything appears perfectly fine between them, until they attend his boss’s soiree. When Ms. Reed gets a load of Sam’s new colleague, Laura, whom he evidently works quite closely with but has never mentioned, she immediately suspects something.

Playing innocent and blaming her generous portions of wine, Mr. Reed re-establishes peace before leaving on business trip that will indeed include the sultry Laura. With impeccable timing, Alex Mann, Ms. Reed’s old French flame, turns up the next morning, hoping to reconnect and possibly rekindle their romance. Over the course of the evening, both Reeds will flirt with temptation and wrestle with guilt.

Smartly scripted by Tadjedin, Night is not simply about whether each spouse will betray the other, but just what exactly constitutes betrayal. Rather than tying it all up in a neat little package, Tadjedin maintains a sense of ambiguity that makes the film far more intriguing than a simple morality play (or cinematic polemic against marriage).

Tadjedin’s intimate approach gives Night a very European air, further heightened by Peter Deming’s rich, cool cinematography (perfectly befitting the Reeds’ smart set) and editor Susan E. Morse’s vaguely Nouvelle Vague cuts. It looks and feels like a film for adults, which it is, though little is shown on-screen that would have to be cut for commercial broadcast.

While she is outwardly cool and reserved, Keira Knightley suggests a host of inner turmoil as Joanna. In perhaps Night’s most subtle and intriguing performance, Guillaume Canet projects equal intelligence and greater emotional nuance as Mann. Eva Mendes also shows surprising dimensions as Laura, the potential other woman, yet the irony of her back-story remains largely unexplored. As one might expect, Sam “3D” Worthington (from Avatar and Clash of the Titans) is the weak link of the quartet, but he is not as terrible as one might expect. Ironically, his stolid presence works rather well in the “honey, what’s wrong?” scenes.

Night was an especially appropriate selection for the Tribeca Film Festival, featuring many scenes shot on the streets of the neighborhood or at other recognizable lower Manhattan locations, like SoHo House. The legit New York ambiance certainly does not hurt. Ultimately ambivalent on the efficacy of marriage (especially in regards to the Reeds), Night is a smartly rendered relationship study (that surely could not currently be produced or released in Tadjedin’s native Iran, more’s the pity). One of the better English language narrative features at Tribeca this year, Night opens conventionally this Friday (5/6) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Tribeca ’11: Turn Me On, Goddammit

Has this been the naughtiest Tribeca Film Festival ever? In addition to Pinku Eiga, a short smut doc, and Spanish sex-trafficking hipster-noir, there have been two Scandinavian films about sexually precocious young girls. Oddly enough, they both won awards at the festival. At least, the good one is not at all creepy. Granted, there is no getting around Alma’s horniness, but as a teenager, that is how she is sort of supposed to be. Unfortunately, she earns quite a reputation for it in writer-director Jannicke Systad Jacobsen’s pretty darn directly titled Turn Me On, Goddammit (trailer here), which screens again today as the best narrative screenplay award winner at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Alma is very interested in the blandly attractive Artur, as are a number of girls in Skoddeheimen, her stiflingly dull provincial town. Unfortunately, when she impulsively mentions his clumsy bit of show-and-tell at a party, he publically repudiates her. Suddenly, she is shunned by her classmates as an allegedly sexually-obsessed horndog with difficulty distinguishing between reality and her overactive fantasy life, which is largely true, but completely unfair. The only person who understands her is the soothing voice at her favorite sex line, but when the phone bill arrives her Calvinist mother insists she get a job to pay for it. When that predictably leads to more awkwardness, Alma starts yearning for life in the big city, as well as the other stuff.

Just to review, Alma, a cute blonde, is ostracized in high school for her raging lust. Okay, fine whatever, but those Norwegians sure are weird cats. Be that as it may, Turn is indeed a mostly charming little film. Helen Bergsholm has a winning screen presence and a flair for outrageous comedic situations. Likewise, Malin Bjørhovde comes across realistically grounded as Alma’s last friend Sara, a frustrated activist, who wants to write to American convicts on death row, but seems a little hesitant about letting them have her address.

It is important to note this story of high school sexual angst was directed by a woman, because it shows a bit more than you might expect (though little outright nudity). Still, Jacobsen handles the potentially prurient material with a light touch, so the film never feels smarmy (except maybe in retrospect). She is particularly deft at blurring Alma’s fantasies into reality, often catching the audience off-balance as a result. Though a worthy film, it is somewhat strange Turn would win an award for screenplay, because despite the film’s energy and fresh characterizations, there is never really any doubt where it is heading.

Regardless, Turn is a gently entertaining film with real breakout commercial potential. It is one of several standouts at this year’s Tribeca, which has at times been unexpectedly tricky to write about for a family outlet. The winner of the 2011 Best Screenplay—Narrative Award, it screens again this afternoon and evening as the Tribeca Film Festival wraps.

Holocaust Remembrance on PBS: A Film Unfinished

In any documentary film, each and every visual and sound-bite has been carefully chosen. Consideration of what might have been left out is just as important as what is included. Unfortunately, the ability to actively scrutinize and parse images on-screen has atrophied in the general film-going public. If it is in a documentary, it must be true, is the too common, too passive assumption many make. That is why Yael Hersonski’s A Film Unfinished (trailer here) is important, both as a historical documentary in its own right and an object lesson in critically dissecting propaganda. One of several PBS broadcasts commemorating Holocaust Remembrance Day, Hersonski’s film airs this coming Tuesday as part of the current season of Independent Lens.

Innocuously labeled “Ghetto,” for years the film inside a dusty can discovered in an East German vault was taken at face value as an accurate representation of life in the Warsaw Ghetto, creeping into many documentaries about the Holocaust. A strange artifact, the never-completed film included scenes of both extreme suffering as well as images of wealthy Jews living ostensibly happy and prosperous lives in the Ghetto. However, the extent to which the entire so-called Warsaw Ghetto film, particularly the episodes designed to stoke class envy, was deliberately staged by its National Socialist film crew only became apparent forty years later with the discovery of nearly half an hour of outtakes. In Unfinished, Hersonski shows the audience the entire surviving Warsaw Ghetto film, with the help of a handful of surviving residents of the Warsaw Ghetto, who provide crucial context to understand just what really happened off-screen while the cameras were rolling.

Not so much a deconstruction in the contemporary academic sense, Unfinished is more a forensic inquiry into Warsaw’s production. Viewers see nearly all the extant footage, including many retakes and the occasional stray cameraman. We watch the Potemkin footage as well, but with the additional knowledge of whom and what were outside of the camera’s chosen field of vision. As a result, it is clear Warsaw is not an accurate portrayal of how things were. Just what their propaganda plans were for the film remains somewhat murky, despite the discovery of a surviving cameraman, who not surprisingly tries to present the production in the best possible light.

In addition to methodically analyzing the film and providing much needed context, Unfinished also acts as a corrective to notions (which Warsaw not coincidentally contributed to) that the Jewish Ghettos created by the National Socialists might have been uncomfortably cramped, but were not deadly per se. However, as Hersonski and her interview subjects make vividly clear, the Ghetto was indeed an environment intended to cause death and suffering, lacking only the fearful efficiency of the camps.

Unfinished was at the center of a small controversy when the MPAA bestowed an R rating on the film for “disturbing images.” While there are indeed such visuals in the film, they are never presented in a titillating or lurid manner. It was a problematic ruling because Unfinished is an educational film on multiple levels. Yet, in an odd way, it underscores the film’s point that images on film can have an insidious power on people’s perceptions. Meticulously assembled and scrupulously responsible in its treatment of admittedly “disturbing” imagery, Unfinished is a highly recommended work of nonfiction filmmaking. It runs on Independent Lens this coming Tuesday (5/3) on most PBS stations nationwide.

Tribeca ’11: The What Capital? (short)

As a New Yorker, I am honor-bound to launch a protest when another city is crowned “Smut Capital of America.” Hello, Times Square? Still, filmmaker Michael Stabile makes a strong case for San Francisco in his documentary short Smut Capital of America, which screens again today at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival as part of the Off the Grid short programming block.

Evidently, Stabile has covered “the business” as a journalist, but has crossed over to the “mainstream” with a documentary about “the business,” a progression that makes perfect sense in Hollywood. Regardless, he provides a quick and lucid account of the rise and rise of adult filmmakers in the 49’er city, largely focusing on Alex de Renzy and his First Amendment court challenges.

Capital argues the enterprising pornographer’s greatest contribution was making smut boring with his ostensive documentary, Pornography in Denmark, about the newly legalized state of pornography in Denmark. While there were plenty of naughty bits, the veneer of sociological inquiry made it socially redeeming in the eyes of the court, which therefore ruled it was not obscene. For all practical purposes, this opened the flood gates for San Francisco’s cottage industry.

Stabile has plenty of (clothed) on-camera interviews with de Renzy’s surviving associates as well commentators, such as underground film cult hero John Waters, who has carved out quite a niche as a talking head in documentaries celebrating marginalized cinema, like Céline Danhier’s Blank City. However, Capital presents something of a mixed message, with Waters assuring us these films are merely fantasy with no lasting real world effects, while another on-camera expert argues they are “educational,” even suggesting viewers will try to emulate what they see on-screen, which seems to contradict the official industry line (simply stated: that what they show has no influence on people’s behavior).

Regardless, Capital is a breezy doc that takes its subject somewhat seriously, while still presenting it in the spirit audiences will expect. Considering the generous use of vintage clips, it is definitely not for kids either. The result is amusing in its way and informative for many of us squares (“educational” would be a stretch). Those knowing full well what to expect can check out Capital today (5/1) as part of the Off the Grid documentary shorts block at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.