Chris Evans Goes Grunge: Puncture

Would you hire a tattooed barely functioning drug addict to litigate a major anti-trust case? Mike Weiss made A Civil Action’s Jan Schlictmann look like a corporate clock-watcher. He got better results too, despite burning out spectacularly. His tragically flawed character is portrayed with intriguing nuance, whereas his final case is presented in the most manipulatively simplistic terms possible in Adam and Mark Kassen’s based-on-a-true-story Puncture (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Weiss is something of a junkie savant, whose drug fueled benders produce flashes of legal brilliance. He and his more conventional partner Paul Danziger get by on a combination of ambulance chaser and referrals from Houston wheeler-dealer Daryl King. The latest cast-off from their connected friend’s firm involves a nurse, Vicky Rogers, who contracted AIDS from an infected needle.

Through Rogers, Weiss and Danziger meet her mad inventor friend, Jeffrey Dancourt, who developed a safety syringe that would prevent future accidental needle sticks. Yet, hospitals are unwilling or unable to buy it. Evidently, the group purchasing organizations (GPO) designed to give health providers greater buying clout are only interested in buying from their cronies.

Not surprisingly, Puncture ignores the obvious irony that Obamacare is ostensibly built upon the same principle of greater economies through fewer purchasers that is supposedly so nefarious in GPOs. It is not big on irony in general, presenting Weiss and Danziger as earnest legal crusaders, even as the former sinks further into a drug-induced haze. In fact, the film’s greatest moment of clarity comes from a sympathetic senator, who bluntly tells the increasingly erratic Weiss his cause is just, but he is so toxic, she could never invite him to testify before her committee.

Chris Evans does manic grunge shockingly well, conveying Weiss’s descent with compelling honesty and directness. Who knew he had it in him? If Puncture were more Lost Weekend and less Silkwood, it would have been a much more effective film. Instead, we have to sit through lectures from Michael Biehn’s “Red,” a character who seems to exist only to explain how awful plastic syringes have been for the third world. The film is practically like Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest, yelling “no plastic needles.”

Despite the film’s determination to play it safe, Evans gets some distinctive support from Marshall Bell as the socially awkward Dancourt and Brett Cullen as the silky smooth corporate attorney Nathaniel Price. Unfortunately, co-director Mark Kassen proves to be fairly middling on both sides of the camera, coming across dull instead of memorably nebbish as the second banana, Danziger.

In Puncture, Evans proves he can carry a film otherwise saddled with a by-the-numbers predictability. While it might be an important film for his professional development, it is not something movie patrons need to rush out and see ASAP. A so-so outing in nearly every other respect, Puncture opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

HK at SFFS: Echoes of the Rainbow

Fifty years ago, there were still quiet family neighborhoods in Hong Kong, where everyone knew everyone’s business. Writer-director Alex Law pays tribute to this innocent world of his youth gone by in the unabashedly sentimental Echoes of the Rainbow (trailer here), Hong Kong’s recent official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which screens during the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema showcase.

Shot on-location around historic Wing Lee Street, Rainbow saved that last remnant of “old” (meaning 1960’s era) Hong Kong from redevelopment after his partly autobiographical feature won the 2010 Berlin Film Festival’s Crystal Bear in the children’s division. Run down but respectable, it is a neighborhood where a cobbler’s family might live. Times are difficult, but the Law Family sacrifices for the sake of older brother Desmond’s education. A star in the classroom and on the track field, all their hopes rest in him.

As for the slightly klepto younger brother, not so much, but “Big Ears” has his own dreams of becoming an astronaut. This explains the fishbowl he often wears around town like a space-helmet. In fact, fish factor prominently in Rainbow. Desmond fights and bonds with his younger brother over the fish they keep. Fish also play a role in the older Law’s tentative courtship of the ridiculously cute Flora. Unfortunately, just about every imaginable tear-jerking complication will thwart their budding romance.

There is absolutely no irony in Rainbow—zero, none. Instead, it wears its heart on its sleeve, which is completely endearing. Buzz Chung is a legitimately charismatic young actor, who handles Big Ears’ heavy dramatic moments quite convincingly. Whereas the photogenic Aarif Rahman and Evelyn Choi should also well satisfy tweener fans of sappy CW/WB youth soaps.

However, Simon Lam provides the real heart of the film as Mr. Law. His initial appearance is deceptively simple, a grunting man hunched over his workbench. Slowly but surely, Lam expresses with exquisite nuance all the dignity, humility, and desperation of a father who only wants a better life for his sons. It is also rewarding for American audiences to watch Lam in such a departure from his frequent gangster roles in Johnnie To movies (even though those are profoundly cool). Known more for comedic turns, Sandra Oh does a bit of fast-talking as Mrs. Law, but develops some genuinely touching chemistry with Lam. Together, they are simply devastating in late scenes, as they struggle to save their son.

Shot with gauzy sensitivity by cinematographer Charlie Lam, every aspect of Rainbow aches with wistful nostalgia. While it might sound melodramatic at times, the film’s honesty and sweetness cannot be denied. Though probably too tragic for small children, many parents and pre-teens should find it an engaging respite from the jaded cynicism of Hollywood. Yet another official foreign language Oscar submission that is considerably better than this year’s winner, Rainbow screens Saturday (9/25) at the New Peoples Cinema as part of SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

King of Clubs: Limelight

Believe it or not, the one-time undisputed king of the New York nightclub scene originally hailed from Canada. Former club kids of a certain age will know that could only be one man: Peter Gatien, the controversial figure behind legendary night-spots including the Limelight, Paladium, and Club U.S.A. His spectacular rise and epic legal battles are chronicled in Billy Corben’s latest documentary, Limelight (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Though a teenage hockey incident resulted in Gatien’s trademark eye-patch, he quickly embraced the roguish image it lent him. An entrepreneur at an early age, he used the compensation from the accident to start his first venture. Hearing of a bankrupt club in Miami, Gatien scooped it up and turned it around in record time. He quickly became the nightclub king of Florida, but in his business, he knew New York was not just the big leagues, it was the only game that counted.

Of course, Gatien made it here and stayed on top for quite a while. Indeed, some of the best sequences of the film explain how he manufactured his clubs’ popularity, identifying and co-opting the right club kids to bring in their friends, knowing the suburban wannabes would follow. Some peer leaders turned out to be a bit unsavory and just about all of them did drugs. For years, Gatien was hounded by charges of facilitating drug commerce, but not directly trafficking himself. Unfortunately, the film unambiguously suggests Gatien fell for the wrong woman who opened him up for specific financial prosecutions, as well.

Though he beat the drug related charges fair-and-square, the film rather protests too much when it frequently complains Gatien was persecuted by the zero-tolerance Giuliani administration. Do not even try to tell us Gatien did not understand illegal substances were indirectly fueling his businesses. After all, Limelight is directed by Billy Corben, the man who made Square Grouper and the Cocaine Cowboys movies. Drug docs are what he does (and that’s cool). Just level with us: the music was kicking, the drugs were flowing, and it was awesome.

In that spirit, Limelight is quite an entertaining hybrid of true crime and Behind the Music-style documentaries. Corben easily exceeds the scandal quota, which is a good thing, whereas the reflective but still steely looking Gatien is definitely an interview subject who came to play. In fact, he seems to cry out for a bio-pic starring James Woods. The blue-tinged neon lighting is also a nice touch, setting the right smoky, after hours mood.

Corben knows this beat and he keeps pace brisk. However, as a rather successful filmmaker, certainly by documentary standards, one would hope he could afford better looking graphics by now. While ultimately they are neither here nor there, their cheesy look is a bit of a distraction from the business at hand. Regardless, Limelight is an enjoyable tell-all reminiscence of slightly old school New York, recommended to the nostalgic and the gawkers when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Eastern Ecumenicalism: In Search of God

If you are taking a pilgrimage to find God, you might as well go someplace with nice scenery. Kavita Srinivasan would agree. Feeling a tad disillusioned with Hollywood (oh really, why?), she set out to reconnect with God or something big and meaningful on the idyllic island of Majuli in Northeast India. Her quest is documented in Rupam Sarmah’s In Search of God (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

As Search opens, we see Srinivasan living the Sex in the City life with her shallow friends in distractingly staged scenes. Arriving on Majuli, she is met by the monk another more substantial friend arranged to serve as her spiritual Sherpa. Bizarrely, she starts flirting Baba Ram Saikia something fierce. Patiently, the young monk takes her on a tour of Majuli’s monasteries, shrines, and scenes of divine natural beauty, all of which makes quite an impression on the pilgrim.

She might be cute, but Srinivasan is not the most incisive interviewer, asking questions like: “what do you think about God and religion?” However, the holy men are evidently indulgent enough to craft some surprisingly insightful answers. Perhaps not unexpectedly, strong parallels emerge between the moral imperatives of Vaishnavist Hinduism and Christianity. In fact, when blessing Srinivasan’s pilgrimage, a Catholic priest on the mainland uses terms suggestive of a universal ecumenicalism.

At one point, Srinivasan expresses surprise at the notion religion is something created by God to unite people, reflexively repeating old clichés about religion only leading only to division and strife. Yet, to her credit, she starts to wonder whether the opposite might be true—that a little more religious belief might lead to more peace. It certainly seems to be true on Majuli. Still, there are some issues she steadfastly refuses to plumb, such as the traditional gender roles reflected in the exclusively male sacred dances performed by her guide and his novices.

Search is well intentioned and could even provide some grist for future meditation. Frankly though, it would not kill Srinivasan to hit the books a little harder before her next documentary foray. With a sixty minute running time, it is definitely a bite sized sampler of primarily Hindu religious philosophy, but for those looking for the tour bus perspective, it might be serviceable. Whether it justifies the ticket price is another matter, but it does include the meaning of life as an extra added bonus when it opens this Friday (9/23) at New York’s IFC Center and the Laemmle Sunset 5 in greater Los Angeles.

HK Cinema at SFFS: Punished

Wong Ho-chiu is the sort of tycoon who has an ex-con on staff, just in case things need taking care. Indeed, they will. The iron-willed developer is not the sort of man you want to make an enemy of. Yet a small band of kidnappers does exactly that in Law Wing-cheong’s Punished (trailer here), which screens Saturday night as part of the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

The hard partying Daisy Wong expects her father to fund her dissolute lifestyle, despite her frequent tantrums. Wong is not inclined to indulge her, but his younger second wife and bodyguard-slash-whatever Chor do their best to cool his temper. When she is abducted, he half-suspects she is complicit in the crime. Alas, not so. After things go profoundly badly, the distraught Wong turns to Chor to provide him a measure of justice, revenge, or closure. For Wong, they are all more or less the same thing.

Produced by HK action auteur Johnnie To, Punished is quite restrained compared to his thematically related Vengeance. Indeed, Punished is more in the tradition of the moody, psychologically tormented first Death Wish film, rather than the body count-generating sequels that followed. Still, Chor has a job to do and he is the man to do it.

To regular (including in the aforementioned Vengeance) Anthony Wong is about the flintiest, steeliest older cat appearing in film today. He makes Tommy Lee Jones look like a weak-kneed old softy. While as hardnosed as ever, Wong (as Wong) forcefully conveys the father’s grief, guilt, and existential self-doubt, shockingly so, in fact. Likewise, Richie Ren (another To regular) is quite compelling and grounded as the avenging everyman anti-hero, Chor. Law and screenwriter Chi Keung-fung wisely hint at his checkered past and strained personal relationships instead of spelling out his back-story in painful detail. When the game is on though, he is all business. In the solid supporting ensemble, Maggie Cheung Ho-yee (the other one) also makes a strong impression as Wong’s smart, sophisticated pseudo-trophy wife.

While Ren administers some serious beatdowns, Punished is really a dark morality play about the ultimate costs of retribution. It might end on a nakedly manipulative note, but Wong and Ren totally sell it, nonetheless. A raw, muscular film, Punished is definitely one of the highlights of the SFFS’s HK series. Highly recommended, it screens Saturday night (9/24) at the New Peoples Cinema.

There Was Once . . . A Small Town in Hungary

Kalocsa’s synagogue was built with 40,000 bricks donated by the Archbishop, the town’s feudal ruling authority. Though relatively small in number, Kalocsa’s Jewish citizens were an integral part of the town economy and the backbone of its middle class. Surely there was the occasional expression of anti-Semitism, but none of the town’s surviving deportees remembered any before the War reached Kalocsa in earnest. Researching Kalocsa’s history, local high school teacher Gyöngyi Mago was alarmed by how few traces remained of the town’s once thriving Jewish population. Hoping to record their history and erect a proper memorial, Mago contacted every survivor she could track down, including filmmaker Gabor Kalman, who documented her efforts in There Was Once . . (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Though it still stands, the Kalocsa synagogue had been repurposed several times for secular uses. As a result, the commemorative tablets listing the names of Kalocsa citizens murdered in the Holocaust was moved to Budapest. Mago hopes to return them to the town as part of a memorial ceremony. Both the current archbishop and the town’s mayor are supportive of the idea, as is Kalman and several other former Kalocsa deportees. However, there are vague rumblings heard from Hungary’s new militant extremist party, clearly modeled on the Arrow Cross. Yet, with the official establishment firmly on-board, things proceed orderly enough.

On one level, TWO is a pretty compelling case-study of the Hungarian Jewry experience in the Twentieth Century. As a historian, Mago makes a particularly salient point explaining how Communism compounded the tragedy of the Holocaust. In fact, many more Jewish Hungarians returned to their homes than is often commonly understood. However, when they saw the inevitable rise of another totalitarian regime, they reluctantly emigrated, applying the hard learned lessons of history.

Shockingly, an ugly crime mars Mago’s carefully planned ceremony. However, this incident is left conspicuously unresolved, which gives the film an unbalanced feeling. While it raises some concerns for Mago and her family, the film concludes with something of a passing of the familial torch that should leave viewers satisfied and even inspired, nonetheless.

TWO is traditional in its approach, but obviously such subject matter resists unconventional treatment. Mago and Kalman relate tragic family histories with sensitivity and insight. Indeed, the notions of documenter and documented mix together, with Mago the historian recording the oral history of her subject, Kalman, while his camera captures Mago at work as an activist historian.

Throughout TWO, Kalocsa outwardly looks like a beautiful and inviting city. It would almost be a perfect film for the tourism bureau, were it not for the somewhat unsettling third act. Yet, everyone speaking on camera says all the right things. It is hard to underestimate the lingering psychological damage wrought by years of fascism and Communism, manifested in the Neo-Nazi-Arrow Cross wannabes. That is why the everyday heroics of Mago are so significant and why Kalman performs such a service in recording them. Informative and at times quite moving, TWO is definitely recommended when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the IFC Center and in greater Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5.

Funk Ed: Thunder Soul

Conrad Johnson was like a real life Mr. Holland, but hipper and more soulful. Under his direction, the predominantly African American Kashmere High School’s stage band became one of the funkiest ensembles in the country, regardless of age or professional status. His lessons and example extended far beyond music though. For many Kashmere band alumni, words were inadequate to express their feelings for the man they called “Prof.,” but music could. Their reunion-tribute concert serves as the catalyst for Mark Landsman’s documentary, Thunder Soul (trailer here), “presented by” executive producer Jaime Foxx, which opens this Friday in New York.

By the early 1970’s, big band jazz had found a toe-hold in many high schools, but most of the charts they played were largely derived from the Stan Kenton band’s book. That is all fine and good, but Kashmere did not play anything so staid. A professional musician who chose the security of teaching, Johnson wrote some of the hardest grooving instrumental funk charts maybe ever for the enthusiastic Kashmere band. Featuring driving bass lines, blistering horn solos, and outrageous drum breaks, the Kashmere band’s self-produced recordings became highly sought after by collectors and spinners, long after Johnson retired. Hearing samples of these tracks in Thunder is a revelation.

The Kashmere band swept student competitions, overwhelming their Kentonesque competition. Their winning ways ignited a renaissance of accomplishment at the school, inspiring championship seasons for all Kashmere’s athletic teams and swelling the ranks of the honor society. Invited on international tours, the Kashmere band learned to think big. However, at the height of their legitimate fame, a new bureaucrat was appointed principal, who was confused by achievement. Essentially hounding Prof. Johnson into retirement, his leveling wind leveled Kashmere into a school currently facing potential closure. One wonders if Landsman tried to track him down, because his mea culpa moment is the only thing missing in Thunder.

Many of Johnson’s students credit him for keeping them engaged in school and safely on the straight-and-narrow. Several bluntly say he is the primary reason they are alive today. Aware his health is failing, former student Craig Baldwin assembles a reunion band to give thanks to their beloved bandleader. Quite a few of the Kashmere alumni had not touched their instruments since they graduated—and it sounded that way at first. Somehow, Baldwin whips them into fighting shape, in time to give their mentor a smoking command performance, complete with a feat of circular breathing worthy of Rahsaan Roland Kirk.

As documentaries go, Thunder is pretty close to perfect. Landsman keeps the film grounded in the music, without ignoring the human element. The audience meets nearly all the alumni band members, but mostly just to get a sense of Johnson’s light, as reflected by them. When the big emotional payoff comes, it is heavy and well-earned. Most importantly though, the music grooves infectiously.

Thunder is a sad reminder of how much was lost by the International Association of Jazz Educator’s premature death by financial mismanagement. Their annual conventions used to be a great opportunity to hear remarkably talented school bands jam with the pros. It has left a void for the dedicated high school bandleaders who have followed in Johnson’s footsteps. Regardless, Prof. Johnson’s story proves great teachers can make a real and lasting difference in the lives of their students. Truly inspiring and seriously funky, Thunder is a great doc, earnestly recommended when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York and Austin, Texas at the Alamo Drafthouse.

HK Cinema at SFFS: City Under Siege

Prepare to watch the themes and motifs of the Marvel superhero universe get put through a HK action blender. As the Marvel editors used to say in the 1980’s: ‘nuff said. Produced before his recent epic Shaolin as well as the 3-D blockbuster Captain America (that it parallels in unlikely ways), Benny Chan’s clobbering City Under Siege (down-to-business trailer here), screens this Saturday as part of the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

In a secret bunker in Malaysia, the Imperial Japanese military was perfecting their super-soldier formula. The results were not pretty to look at, but undeniably effective. Fortunately, an allied bombing raid halted the program in its tracks. In more or less present day, Twin-Dagger Sunny is a terrible circus performer, stuck playing the sad clown because nobody trusts him throwing knives. A bit Gumpish, Sunny is forced to help some of his less savory circus colleagues looking to plunder gold from the secret Japanese bunker. Of course, the knuckleheads accidentally let loose a major dose of the mutant soldier formula.

Yet, for reasons never coherently explained, the chemical compounds do not affect Sunny in the same manner as the others. Washing up on the Hong Kong shore (through a set of circumstances borrowing heavily from Dracula), Twin-Dagger finds himself in the Klump fat suit, but once he dries out he resumes his normal skin-and-bones body weight. Somewhat relieved, he happily stumbles across Angel Chan, the gorgeous newscaster who captures his improvised super-heroics on film.

Suffering from the criminal mayhem of Sunny’s freaky-looking fellow mutants, Hong Kong needs a hero. Seizing the opportunity, Chan becomes his agent, putting the affable Sunny on a full media tour (Steve Rogers, can you relate?). They also have the dubious protection of permanently engaged Men-in-Black, Sun “Old Man” Hao and Cheng “Tai” Xiuhua, who are using him as bait to draw in the marauding mutants. Right, good plan.

It is important to understand Aaron Kwok is a huge pop star in Hong Kong, because his underwhelming screen presence does not help Siege anymore than it did Christina Yao’s otherwise striking Empire of Silver. Still, Siege’s all-star ensemble and Benny Chan’s razzle dazzle largely compensate for the weak protagonist.

Frankly, martial arts up-and-comer Wu Jing almost usurps Kwok’s Twin-Dagger, capably carrying the film as Agent “Old Man,” while the charismatic Jingchu Zhang holds her own kicking butt as his intended. Their weaponized acupuncture is also a cool twist, neatly choreographed by action directors Ma Yuk-sing and Li Chung-chi. With Shu Qi looking radiant enough to convincingly inspire the monstrous chief mutant’s beauty-and-the-beast affections and enough pyrotechnics to level a mid-sized city, Siege pretty much hits all the bases.

Sure, Siege can be a touch melodramatic and over-the-top. It is a HK genre film. Viewers have to check their film snobbery and the door and get down with the chaos. There is definitely a lot of the latter, rendered with appropriate adrenaline. It also suggests the action pairing of Wu Jing and Jingchu Zhang is worth repeating in future films. Highly entertaining for fanboys, Siege screens Saturday afternoon (9/24) and Sunday evening (9/25) at the New Peoples Cinema as part of SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema showcase.

HK Cinema at SFFS: Mr. and Mrs. Incredible

They are Imperial China’s answer to Brangelina and Pixar’s Incredibles. They were legit crime-fighting superheroes, but Gazer Warrior and Aroma Warrior fell in love, retiring incognito to a remote provincial village. Yet, like ex-football quarterbacks, they get pulled back into the game in Vincent Kok’s Mr. and Mrs. Incredible (wacky trailer here), which screens this coming Friday when the San Francisco Film Society’s upcoming Hong Kong Cinema series inaugurates their new residency at the New Peoples Cinema.

Now known as Flint, the head of the guard for their sleepy village, Gazer can still fire off his laser eye-beams. Aroma, the former avenger of domestic abuse, is now a happy wife and greasy spoon proprietor called Rouge. She wields the aroma force-palm and the power to cloud men’s minds with scent. They both are also strong, fast, and well neigh invulnerable. They did not even fight much, until an official delegation came to town.

Something is not right about the competition, ostensibly called to re-rank the various martial arts disciplines away from the gossipy imperial court. However, the HK Incredibles are distracted by their first marital squabble. Rouge slightly resents the attention Flint is paying to Phoenix Bleu, one of the martial arts apprentices, who once had a close encounter with the masked Gazer as a little girl. She is drawn to Flint because he reminds her of her hero, for good reason.

The humor of Incredible is decidedly goof-ball, but by-and-large, it is an amiable tribute to marital love, honor, and commitment. While the slightly suggestive references are not infrequent, they are veiled enough to be lost on the target audience for the slapstick mayhem. In fact, it is somewhat similar in tone to Stephen Chow’s films, like CJ7, which Kok co-wrote and featured his Incredible co-writer, Min Hun-fung in a supporting role. It even has the occasional animatronic critter to strengthen the comparison.

Louis Koo and Sandra Ng Kwun-yu are pleasantly comfortable as the super spouses, developing some nice easy chemistry together. Li Qin is quite charming as Phoenix Bleu, but unfortunately, Kok completely forgets about her throughout the third act. Wang Bo-chieh has the right creepy vibe, but he is a bit too reserved as the villainous Grandmaster Blanc. He should be gorging on the scenery in a film like this. However, there are plenty of odd looking characters in the supporting cast to help maintain the comic book atmosphere.

Wisely, Kok never indulges in any frenetic shaky cam excesses, keeping the action clear and easy to follow. Incredible also has some surprisingly striking imagery, including a cool motion comic-style opening credit sequence and an artful rendering of some shadow puppetry. There are nose-picking gags too. Safe and silly, but likable enough for those in a like mood, Incredible screens Friday night (9/23) and Sunday afternoon (9/25) at the New People Cinema as part of the SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

Fei Mu at FSLC: Song of China

Confucianism and Communism have an uneasy history. The current regime has tried to coop its ethical authority. However, during the oppressive Maoist era, Confucianism was consistently condemned, violently so during the Cultural Revolution. Considering one of Fei Mu’s few surviving pre-WWII films, Song of China (as it is known in the west) was explicitly inspired by Confucian ideals, it is hardly surprising his reputation languished for years. Recently though, Fei Mu has come to be recognized as arguably the greatest Chinese filmmaker of the first half of the twentieth century, based on the strength of films like Song, which screens this Sunday as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s An Undiscovered Master: Fei Mu retrospective.

Song is all about filial piety. In fact, that is sort of-kind of what its untranslatable Confucian Chinese title means. A grown man rushes to his father’s deathbed. Though a bit of the prodigal, he has not been a bad son, arriving in time to experience closure with his father. As part of his loving farewell, the old man entreats his son to love the young and the old as he would his own family.

Flashing forward a generation, we see the old man’s grandson and his wife have become hedonistic wastrels, often leaving their son in the care of the original son and his wife. While they keep trying to nudge the couple towards a righteous life, the two will have none of it. The snotty wife even helps lead her sister-in-law astray, but at least young boy displays the virtues his parents lack.

Spanning decades and generations, Song is the sort of family saga that would probably run about two and a half hours if remade by Hollywood, yet Fei Mu wrapped it up in just over forty-five minutes. Call it narrative inflation. Though now it would be deemed a “short,” Song was considered the first Chinese art house feature to receive American distribution outside of “Chinatown” enclaves. Licensed by silent film star turned producer Douglas MacLean, it attracted respectable attention, but its foreign sales were not sufficient to save the factionally divided Lianhua Film Company.

Indeed, classifying Song is a bit of trick. Most would consider it a silent film, since it relies on inter-titles rather than dialogue. However, the original score was an integral part of the production, incorporating traditional instrumentation but diverse styles.

Compared to many silent films, Song’s restrained cast is never at risk of appearing corny by contemporary standards. In fact, Zheng Junli is quite compelling, aging gracefully but convincingly as the faithful son, father, and public benefactor. Unfortunately, despite trying to throw his lot in with the new regime, the leftist actor-director never successfully navigated the torturous politically straits, suffering greatly during the Cultural Revolution.

Although very much a film of moral instruction, Song is still quite engaging cinema. Yet, it is the director’s sad and beautiful Spring in a Small Town that truly approaches masterpiece status. A genuinely humanistic filmmaker nearly cast into oblivion by an inhumane ideology, Fei Mu is definitely a figure ripe for wider discovery amongst cineastes. The highly recommended Song screens again Sunday (9/18), while the even more highly recommended Spring screens today (9/17) and tomorrow at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the FSLC’s Fei Mu retrospective.

Exploiting Peckinpah: the Straw Dogs Remake

“Dueling Banjos” must be expensive music to license. It is about the only thing missing from the formerly indie Rod Lurie’s red state-phobic remake of Sam Peckinpah’s career-defining film, Straw Dogs. Transferred from the English countryside to the Deep South, the once edgy examination of violent human nature is now a standard issue killer hillbilly movie (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

The prodigal television ingénue Amy Sumner tells her screenwriter husband David her hometown of Blackwater, Mississippi is properly pronounced “Backwater.” There you have the film’s flash of wit. It also tells viewers what to expect of the locals. Everyone watched her canceled show, including her former high school beau Charlie Venner, whom her husband hires to fix their hurricane damaged barn. In retrospect, this is a bad idea.

Venner, his brother Darryl, his other brother Darryl, and their wacky next door neighbor, the unmistakably psychotic Norm, do not exactly hustle on the job, taking plenty of breaks to leer at her and deride his manhood, such as it is. Things quickly escalate when one of the good old boys strings up the family cat in their closet. Yet, Sumner will not confront them directly, preferring to confuse them with his cryptic beating around the bush. Eventually though, things get way out of hand, forcing Sumner to defend home, hearth, and Jeremy Niles, a developmentally disabled grown man with an implied history of inappropriate behavior, whom the gruesome foursome and their former football coach, Tom Heddon, are out to lynch.

Strangely, Lurie’s adaptation hardly ever deviates from the basic structure of Peckinpah’s original, yet he clearly has no clue what made it so effective. For one thing, the 1971 film pulled a cultural reverse, unleashing a violent maelstrom against the picturesque backdrop of Cornwall, while casting a Yank as the pacifist victim. However, a city slicker terrorized by a pack of southern hicks is a real dog-bites-man story in Hollywood.

As a nebbish mathematician, the responses of Dustin Hoffman’s Sumner also made more sense in the context of Peckinpah’s film. It is not hard to imagine he might have been bullied before and is reverting to old survival strategies in his attempts to befriend his antagonists. In contrast, James Marsden’s snobby jag-driving outspokenly atheistic screenwriter never seemed to have a bad day in his life before he got to Blackwater. Frankly, Venner might be a knuckle-dragging neanderthal, but he has a point when he tells Sumner it was rude to walk out during the pastor’s sermon. Of course, in real life he should not be brutalized for such boorishness, but in a sleazy exploitation film (which is really what the new Straw is) it is a close call.

There is no question Lurie is demonizing the gun-and-religion clinging Red-Staters, but at least he refrains from playing the race card in his Straw. Though savage, Venner and his crew are really not portrayed as racists, per se. In fact, they more or less respect the town’s African American lawman, Iraq War hero John Burke. Of course, as an authority figure, they still have problems with him.

At least Lurie gets down to business during the climatic siege, delivering the old school payback with efficient directness, though again he more or less replicates the methods of execution employed in the original film. He also includes the notorious rape scene as well, but the reactions of Kate Bosworth’s Amy Sumner are never ambiguous (indeed, it is hard to blame him for “wimping out” in this respect).

Marsden and Bosworth make a pretty dull, unlikable couple. Alexander Skarsgård is not a particularly flamboyant villain either, but at least he adds an intriguing dimension, hinting at Venner’s possible sense of remorse. Naturally, it is up to James Woods to ham it up something fierce as Coach Heddon, a mean drunk if ever there was one.

It is hard to understand why this film was produced. If Lurie wanted to make a southern fried grindhouse movie, he should have done so without invoking comparison to such a controversial (and superior) film. Faithfully violent but often outright silly, Lurie’s Straw is just about what you think it is. Not recommended (except perhaps as an ironic trip to the drive-in for fly-over country), it opens today (9/16) in several New York theaters, including the Regal Battery Park.

Tykwer’s 3

Simon has a cool job. He constructs industrial sculptures and corporate logos. He also has a pregnant wife, a male lover, and regular chemotherapy treatments. Holy Cats, it’s like the 2.0 release of the old Friends sitcom in Tom Tykwer’s reality-challenged wish fulfillment threesome drama 3 (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Hanna was not there when Simon was whisked off for an emergency procedure, because she was busy getting some with Adam. At least she does her level best to be there for her longtime partner during his recovery. In fact, their relationship improves to the point they decide to finally get hitched. They still guard their private time though. Hanna likes to nip away for the occasional quickie with Adam, while Simon swims laps at a cool looking pre-fab retro-modern indoor pool. He also engages in more than your basic congressional towel-snapping in the locker room with the very same Adam.

As expected, it is only a matter of time before Simon and Hanna show up as a couple at a hipster soiree Adam also happens to attend. Predictably, we witness a series of near misses, hasty retreats, and longing glances. Of course, if Tykwer does not put all three together in a room soon enough, audiences would demand their money back. A fair amount of melodrama follows, but everyone knows exactly where it is headed, since the one-sheet and even the very title give the game away.

The best part of 3 is the cool contemporary architecture of Tykwer’s locations, showing areas of Berlin rarely seen on film. The rest is pretty middling stuff, aside from a rather gross bit of business with bodily secretions. (Those who enjoy that in film should have the opportunity, but it ought to be properly labeled so it does not scandalize naïve Sex & Zen reviewing film writers.) However, probably the most shocking aspect of 3 is how pokey it is during the long second act, considering it was helmed by the director of Run, Lola, Run.

Maybe some will find the two male leads appealing, but it is hard to understand their shared interest in Sophie Rois’s Hanna, who is not very attractive on any level. As the mysterious other man times two, Devid Striesow seems to be doing a young Rutger Hauer impression, well enough one supposes. Without question, the strongest work in the film comes from Sebastian Schipper, whose Simon is pretty credible grappling with some big issues, like cancer and his sexuality.

Tykwer still has a sense of visual flair, even if his pacing is uncharacteristically sluggish. It is just very difficult to invest in at least two sides of the relationship triangle. Not recommended, 3 is basically a film to satisfy narrowly focused fetishists (pregnant women, bald chemo patients). However, if this describes you, 3 opens tomorrow (9/16) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Happy, Happy: Domestic Bliss in Norway

Even by Scandinavian standards, Kaja’s provincial home is cold, snowy, and remote. It ought to be conducive for some quality time with her husband Eirik, but he is not interested in her anymore. Fortunately, one of their new neighbors is. It is a case of adultery Norwegian-style in Anne Sweitsky’s Happy, Happy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Elisabeth and Sigve look like the perfect couple to Kaja. Sophisticated city professionals with an adopted Ethiopian son, they seem to have it all, even singing talent. However, their marriage is going through a rocky patch. Resolving to get past her “brief, meaningless” affair, they have moved out to nowheresville, where there will be no distractions as they work to rebuild their relationship, or not. There is Kaja though, who idolizes Elisabeth, and is delighted when Sigve appreciates her attentions.

Before long, Kaja and Sigve are carrying on rather openly in front of the kids, while Elisabeth is shifting into serious ice-shrew mode. As for Eirik, he is also interested in the new neighbors, but not in a way that would maintain the expected symmetry, if you follow.

Actually, it is not quite as naughty as it all might sound, though Happy’s very cool French one-sheet faithfully captures a memorable episode. Essentially, Sewitsky presents two couples as they struggle to decide whether their marriages are worth saving, in rather dramedic fashion. However, her scenes with the two young sons engaged in a long-running racially-charged game of “slave,” are pointlessly provocative, pushing all sorts of hot buttons, but never paying off in any meaningful way. Still, the odd Nordic-country-chorale music (including “Careless Love”) helps lighten the mood, setting an effectively eccentric atmosphere.

Somehow, Agnes Kittelsen is both creepy and endearing as the compulsively eager to please Kaja. Maibritt Saerens also brings genuine human dimensions to the sharp-elbowed Elisabeth. The guys (adults and kids) on the other hand, are a rather dull, colorless lot.

Surprisingly, Happy does not exactly wrap everything up neatly and tidily, though it definitely ends on what is intended to be a crowd pleasing note. Indeed, its optimistic messiness serves it well. While a mixed bag, it is overall a pleasant if not essential viewing experience. Recommended for those who prefer their international cinema on the quirky side, Happy opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Very White Russians: Silent Souls

Russia might not be the most hospitable of homes for its ethnic minorities, but the simple forces of time and assimilation are far more responsible for the waning cultural identity and appreciation of the Merja Russians, ethnic cousins of the Finns. However, one Merjan writer’s efforts to preserve his cultural heritage takes him on a fateful road trip with his grieving boss in Aleksei Fedorchenko’s Silent Souls (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Though much traditional Merjan culture has faded from everyday memory, Miron knows his friend Aist is fully versed in their people’s traditional funereal rituals. The son of a well regarded Merja poet-laborer, Aist researches and records nearly forgotten Merjan lore as a private passion. More Nordic than Slavic, Aist is not a talkative man, but he will provide Silent’s narration. Indeed the rough hewn character of his (or actor Igor Sergeyev’s) voice makes him one of the most effective narrators heard on film in recent memory, subtitles notwithstanding.

Miron and Aist will drive across the frozen west central Russian landscape to Lake Nero, the site of his honeymoon with his much younger, yet now tragically dearly departed wife Tanya. There they will build her funeral pyre in much the same manner the Norsemen did millennia ago. For company, they have themselves, their memories, and two caged buntings Aist recently purchased. Those birds are not just for show. Like everything else in Silent they might appear to be a causal impulse buy, but their significance will become apparent later.

Though relatively unheralded among last year’s New York Film Festival selections, Silent was one of the strongest films at the festival. Elegiac in multiple ways, it is a powerful meditation on the death of an individual and the protracted demise of a culture, without ever becoming heavy-handed or overly maudlin. While it is deliberately paced, it actually head towards someplace specific, both geographically and cinematically.

Throughout the film, Fedorchenko handles his themes and cast with a deft touch. Though his symbolism is inescapable, it is always accessible and disciplined, rather than pretentious or obtuse. While in lesser hands, Silent’s ending might have been problematic, Fedorchenko’s methodical groundwork makes it feel logical and fitting, without outright telegraphing it clumsily. Fedorchenko and cinematographer Mikhail Krichman also take full advantage of the evocative landscape, presenting some striking winter vistas.

Whether it is engaging in salty talk with Miron or ruminating on what it means to be Merjan, Sergeyev brings a remarkable naturalness and genuine gravitas to the film as the protagonist-narrator. It is the sort of accomplished work that is often unfairly overlooked due to its lack of affectation.

Though it requires viewers’ full attention, there is great depth beneath Silent’s austerely chilly surface. An excellent film featuring a great lead performance, Silent opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Street Crime on DVD: The Exterminator

For a so-called grindhouse film, it had killer ad copy. It also featured contributions from two very talented but very different Stans. Eventually, it spawned an inferior sequel not involving its original creator that hardly helped its reputation. Decades later, James Glickenhaus’s The Exterminator (trailer here) is ripe for a critical reappraisal with today’s release of the unrated director’s cut in special Blu-Ray combo pack from Synapse Films.

John Eastland will become the Exterminator, the man the ad campaign told us “they pushed too far.” New York’s Ché Guevara loving Ghetto Ghouls gang (as evidenced by the décor of their hideout) did that when they attacked and paralyzed Eastland’s best friend, Michael Jefferson. During the Viet Nam prologue (featuring a beheading rendered by special effects artist Stan Winston, Stan #1), Jefferson saves Eastland from the sadistic Viet Cong, a depiction most definitely not approved by Jane Fonda. Close friends and co-workers, Jefferson was always the outgoing man of action, while Eastland was the more reserved one.

Unlike Paul Kersey in the original Death Wish, Eastland tracks down the specific thugs responsible for the crime (with the brief help of the flame-thrower featured prominently on the posters), extracting some frontier justice. Concerned for the future of Jefferson’s family, Eastland then abducts a mobster from the Old Homestead steak house to extort their financial security. This episode gets a little bloody. Eastland also starts to understand New York needs his extermination services.

Of course, the most (only) talented cop on the force makes it his business to track down the man calling himself the Exterminator. Still, Det. Dalton finds time to put the moves on the smart and attractive ER Dr. Megan Stewart (played by Samantha Eggar, perhaps the cast’s biggest name), even taking her to an outdoor Stan Getz concert (yep, Stan #2, at a time when he was pretty deep into the electric bag). He is not the only government employee interested in stopping the Exterminator. With the election fast approaching, Eastland’s efforts are embarrassing the administration, who promised but failed to deliver law and order (since The Exterminator was originally released in September 1980, this must be the Carter White House). As a result, the CIA is dispatched to eliminate the Exterminator.

Synapse’s cover copy is also quite shrewd, boldly quoting a negative review from Roger Ebert decrying it as a “sick example of the almost unbelievable descent into gory savagery in American movies.” So there, you rabble. Yet, in retrospect, it seems quite tame compared to the sicko torture porn of Eli Roth. Granted, some of Eastland’s exterminations are rather grisly, but the real carnage mostly happens off camera, conveyed to viewers through his grimaces and their shrieks. Like Michael Winner’s original Death Wish, Eastland is also rather angst-ridden, naturally upset by his friend’s misfortune and carrying his own ghosts from the Viet Nam war, and never revels in his work.

Exterminator is also significant for an early appearance from one of the best action actors of the late twentieth century. It is not Robert Ginty, who was literally hired to play Eastland because of his non-descript everyman look. Nor is it Christopher George, who received top billing as Det. Dalton. However, the former U.S. Marine and Rat Patrol actor was a laudable throwback to the patriotic Hollywood of old, who participated in recruiting films and USO tours on behalf of the service.

For action lovers who came of age in the late 1980’s, Steve James was cult superstar, whose presence and attitude made the cheap actioners ground out by Cannon Films great fun. While he began the American Ninja series as Michael Dudikoff’s sidekick, the third installment, Blood Hunt, saw his Curtis Jackson stepping out as the co-lead. The ringer of the series and also the best, James seemed to enjoy cutting through faceless ninja hordes for a living. Just try to not have fun watching it. Yet as the ill-fated Jefferson, James showcases his dramatic chops far more than his martial arts skills. His tragic death at the far too young age of forty-one makes his work in Exterminator even more poignant.

To Glickenhaus’s credit, he saw it right away, casting James as Jefferson even though he had auditioned for a smaller part. Glickenhaus also deserves a bit of a critical reappraisal himself, having helmed the leanly muscular Shakedown, one of the most unfairly overlooked cop thrillers of the late 1980’s. Do not feel badly for him though. He is now a portfolio manager at his family’s investment firm, Glickenhaus & Co. Back in the day, he had a real feel for gritty, grimy way-pre-Giuliani New York, conveying a sense the City on the brink of abject anarchy.

Frankly, the CIA subplot is a bit of a silly distraction, like something out of blaxploitation films. In contrast, the street level story is pretty compelling drama, but a far cry from the fascist incitement suggested by critics at the time. Arguably, there is nearly as much psychological turmoil as there is violent payback. Certainly a touchstone film within the vigilante genre, The Exterminator is recommended to the open-minded but not the faint of heart. Glickenhaus’s cut is now available on Blu-Ray and standard DVD, with commentary from the director.

Street Crime in TX: Bang Bang

It is sort of like Gran Torino without the grouchy old white dude. Indeed, adult supervision is distinctly lacking for the young people involved with Asian gangs in Byron Q’s gritty urban coming-of-age drama Bang Bang (trailer here), which screens in Austin, Texas this Wednesday and Thursday.

Justin has a difficult relationship with his mother, but that is more than can be said for his long absconded father. Much to her frustration, Justin has become involved with a street gang. In fact, he has been tapped by their leader Rocky as an up-and-comer. Out of frustration, she has kicked him out of the house that she herself is often absent from, which probably is not the best way to nudge him back onto the straight-and-narrow.

Justin crashes with his friend Charlie, a rich kid whose parents spend most of the year in Taiwan. Nobody considers him a potential kingpin, yet Charlie aspires to join the gang out of existential revolt and parental resentment. In contrast, Justin would prefer to get out of the thug life to pursue a spinning career and a relationship with the lovely Jenn, notwithstanding her boyfriend abroad. Unfortunately, gang rivalries and Charlie’s increasing instability make it difficult to plan for the long term.

Though BB certainly has the low-def DIY look and allowed space for its cast to improvise, it should not be considered yet another dreaded mumblecore movie. Rather, this is a film with a strong narrative drive and a surprisingly sharp, street-smart sense of humor. Although it follows the general hoodlum-trying-to-get-out story arc, writer-director Byron Q takes it in interesting directions, particularly in the ways Justin’s relationships with his mother and Rocky evolve.

While very much a product of urban sensibilities, BB acts as a pointed rejoinder to suburban kids’ idealized embrace of the hip hop gangster lifestyle. To that end, David Huynh is frankly rather creepy depicting Charlie’s descent into self-destructive wannabe madness. Though lacking physical presence, Thai Ngo plays Justin refreshingly smart, showing a rare facility for deadpan dialogue (whether scripted or improvised). Conversely, the camera loves Jessika Van, who brings a credible human dimension to Jenn, BB’s clear representative of the straight life (a student with a job).

As an independent feature debut, BB deserves far better than the patronizing label: “it shows promise.” Rather, it is a genuinely visceral and direct street crime drama. It is definitely worth catching as Byron Q barnstorms across the country. The next stop is the Galaxy Highland Theater in Austin this Wednesday (9/14) and Thursday (9/15).

Shut Up Little Man: The Curse of Peter & Raymond

They were the most unlikely underground-cultural superstars ever, yet for the oh- so-ironic, Peter Haskett and Raymond Huffman became icons for the recordings of their booze-fueled arguments, recorded surreptitiously by their scenester neighbors. Funny and sad in roughly equal measure, the oblivious roommates and the cult following they inspired are documented in Matthew Bate’s Shut Up Little Man (trailer here), which opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

The diminutive Huffman was a raging blue collar homophobe. The snippy Haskett was bigger and more . . . flamboyant. They both liked to drink—gallons. At first they scared the willies out of their new neighbors, Eddie Lee Sausage and Mitchell D., who still use their hipster handles throughout the documentary. Alarmed at first, the young men started recording their misanthropic neighbors to serves as evidence should their chaos escalate. However, the lunacy of their whacked-out benders fascinated them. Once they began sharing their tapes with friends, they spread exponentially.

Named after Haskett’s catch-phrase, “Shut Up Little Man” started out as shareware, but as it caught on, the tapers began asserting their copyright protections. Suddenly Sausage and D[eprey] were making money off their neighbors, when the legality of the recordings themselves was something of a gray area. As others sought to cash-in on Haskett and Huffman’s bickering, the suddenly ambitious roommates had several falling outs with former friends. Yet, the big issues Shut Up sets out to investigate are whatever happened to Peter and Raymond and just what were they to each other anyway?

To Bate’s credit, he addresses just about every question viewers will have about both sets of roommates, while maintaining some sense of the mystery surrounding Haskett and Huffman. Though “Sausage and D,” now family men approaching middle age (if not already there), cooperate throughout the film, they do not always appear especially sympathetic. “Sausage” in particular, comes across rather mercenary in his continuing efforts to capitalize on the “Shut Up” cult following. However, the fact that their friendship appears genuine and enduring helps humanize both.

Briskly paced, Shut Up is often very funny, in large measure due to the original recordings themselves. Though problematic on several levels, they captured Haskett and Huffman in all their inebriated glory. Indeed, there is no denying the mismatched roommates were mad as hatters, who could turn an obscenity-laden phrase with the best of them.

Bate also incorporates several droll animated sequences as well as some trenchant observations of the phenomenon of cult phenomena. Cleverly executed but ultimately forgiving of human foibles, regardless of how freaky they might appear to outsiders, Shut Up is a very entertaining documentary. Recommended with a weird affection, despite the nagging guilt it engenders for indulging voyeuristic impulses, it opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the IFC Center.

Bruegel & Majewski’s The Mill and the Cross

Pieter Bruegel the Elder was a truly subversive old master. Known for his paintings of the Dutch peasantry as well as Biblical episodes, his five hundred character masterwork The Way to Cavalry depicted the Spanish Militia then occupying Flanders as the Roman soldiers crucifying Christ. While Bruegel’s pointed commentary on the Spanish occupation is inescapable, the painting is rife with hidden signifiers, which the painter himself explains in Lech Majewski’s unclassifiable The Mill & the Cross (trailer here), a painstakingly crafted cinematic recreation of The Way to Cavalry, which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

Employing state-of-the-art computer generation, scores of seamstresses and artisans, and an enormous 2D background recreation of Bruegel’s celebrated work (painted by the director himself), Majewski brings the great tableaux to life on the big screen. Amongst those five hundred characters are Brueghel and his friend and collector, Nicholas Jonghelinck, to whom he explains his projected new painting, The Way to Cavalry.

It is impossible to hang a pat label on Mill. Though it screened as part of the 20111Sundance Film Festival’s New Frontier track for more experimental work, such a rubric really does not fit Majewski’s film. It certainly is not non-narrative filmmaking, since it encompasses the greatest story ever told. However, it completely challenges linear notions of time, incorporating Christ’s Passion and the world of 1564 Flanders, in which Bruegel and Jongelinck are simultaneous observers and active participants.

Years in the making, Mill is an extraordinarily ambitious undertaking. Majewski represents the complete social continuum of Sixteenth Century Flanders, recreating the mean living conditions of the peasants, the clean, unadorned quarters of the relatively middle class Bruegel, and the privileged environment of the well-to-do Jongelinck. Majewski’s visuals are often arresting, like the scenes of art director Stanislaw Porczyk’s towering mill, which resembles the enormous set pieces of Terry Gilliam films. Perhaps most stunning are the wide shots of the Cavalry landscape, with the figures literally coming alive on Bruegel’s canvas. Yet, Majewski also captures moments of both tender intimacy and graphic torture, rendered with powerful immediacy.

Indeed, the wealthy collector clearly serves as the conscience of the film, decrying the capricious religious persecution that was a fact of life for Flanders under the Spanish Militia. Despite the almost overwhelming visual sweep of the film, Michael York gives a finely tuned performance as Jongelinck that really sneaks up on viewers. Rutger Hauer (worlds away from his other 2011 Sundance film Hobo with a Shotgun) also brings a forceful heft to the rather mysterious artist.

A brilliant personal triumph for Majewski, who also served as producer, co-cinematographer, co-composer, and sound designer, Mill effectively blurs the distinction between film and painting, yet it is more of a “movie” than nearly anything ever deemed “experimental film.” A unique, category-defying viewing experience, Mill is very highly recommended indeed when it opens this Wednesday (9/14) in New York at Film Forum.

Music and Textiles: A Weaverly Path

As a child, the Swiss-born Silvia Heyden shared meals with refugees from National Socialist Germany and would later cross over from East to West Berlin just as the wall was nearly completed. Yet, the greatest inspiration for her innovative tapestries has been the Eno River in peaceful Durham, North Carolina. Heyden’s life and work are profiled in Kenny Dalsheimer’s A Weaverly Path (trailer here), which screens this coming Tuesday at the Missouri History Museum.

Heyden might be the tapestry artist of her time, period. Never merely adapting pre-existing paintings from canvas to textile, Heyden conceives each piece specifically for her medium. Thread by thread, her kinetic forms takes shape on her loom. They do not always hang straight, but her use of color and form are always intriguing.

Though we do observe Heyden’s methodical work up-close, unlike Sophie Fienne’s slow-going Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow, Weaverly never assumes watching an artist quietly putter about their studio for long stretches of time is sufficiently explanatory or engrossing. In fact, we hear Heyden give her basic primer on tapestry as an art form, which should deepen viewers’ appreciation not just of her work, but of her medium in general.

Though rarely heard on-screen, Dalsheimer draws out the artist quite deftly. He clearly establishes her influences, including a supportive father (himself a frustrated artist) and a Bauhaus education, without driving each point into the ground. Rivers are also important touchstones in her life, with Rhone prefiguring the Eno as a source of inspiration. Yet, music is nearly as significant as nature in shaping her art. In fact, her two arguable masterworks, Passacaglia and Chaconne, directly reference the baroque music she still plays with her string ensemble.

Appropriately enough, Weaverly has a beautiful soundtrack, consisting largely of music licensed from the Brooklyn-based AUM Fidelity label (in addition to Heyden’s own playing) that impeccably matches the film’s striking visuals and contemplative mood. Particularly effective are the selections from jazz pianist-composer Eri Yamamoto, including “Circular Movement,” a duo recording with Hamid Drake that perfectly evokes the rhythms of Heyden’s loom. Originally conceived as a part of a new soundtrack for Yasujirō Ozu’s silent classic I Was Born But . . ., the jaunty “A Little Escape” also helps propels the film along nicely, while the richly melodic “Thank You” (another duo track, with Federico Ughi) establishes a relaxed but sophisticated vibe.

Artfully crafted in its own right, Weaverly is one of the more accessible and engaging art documentaries currently on the festival circuit (featuring one of the best soundtracks). Recommended for its sights and sounds, as well as Heyden’s smart, likable presence, Weaverly screens Tuesday afternoon (9/13) as part of the Missouri History Museum’s History on the Side series, where its sixty-two minutes will be worth stretching St. Louisans’ lunch hours.

(Eri Yamamoto photo by Rita Cigolini)

Love in Space and Other Points

In space no one can hear you sweet talk. It comes through loud and clear in Sydney and Beijing though, but a Chinese astronaut’s two sisters still are not hearing much of it. Of course, they are doing their best to sabotage their budding romances while their big sis orbits the Earth with her ex in Wing Shya and Tony Chan’s latest multi-character rom-com, Love in Space (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

After years of training, Rose is finally posted to China’s space station. Unfortunately, she is serving under Michael. Each blames the other for their breakup, suggesting perhaps communication was the major issue. Lily also left home to study art in Sydney. However, a bad break-up left her with a serious case of germ-phobic OCD. Giving up painting, she mostly just cleans her apartment compulsively. Yet, Johnny, the intrepid young garbage collector, will try to win her over.

Back at home, Peony still lives with their fussing mother Mary, despite her fame as actress. She is not very good though, as her recent win for worst actress at China’s equivalent of the Razzies attests. Determined to improve, she works incognito as a waitress to prepare for her upcoming musical romance. There Wen Feng, a penniless poet, as if there were any other kind, who falls for her as the bespectacled Xiao.

Everyone is ready for some unabashed cuteness, right? If so, the oddball romances of Space definitely deliver. The cast is attractive, the clothes are funky, and the space station effects are better than one might expect. Of course, there are no surprises where each story is headed, which is probably a good thing if you like rom-coms.

Surprisingly, the best story is that of sanitation man Johnny wooing the sanitizing Lilly. Though it might sound like the film’s most self-consciously quirky arc, Gwei Lun Mei’s ridiculously endearing screen presence and Eason Chan’s easy-going charm totally sell it. In contrast, despite the credible sets and frequent nods to Kubrick’s 2001, the space story is the least engaging, perhaps because René Liu and Aaron Kwok come across as too similar: dull type-A workaholics.

That leaves Peony/Xiao and Wen Feng, somewhere in the middle. Chinese pop-star Angelababy brings genuine energy and conviction to the former, but Jing Boran’s sullen reserve as latter undercuts their chemistry (despite having been paired up together in the director prior outing Hot Summer Nights). Still, costume and production designer Sean Kunjambu’s color explosions help set the right mood, nonetheless.

Guaranteed to be one hundred percent irony free, Space is a good date movie for cineastes past the getting to know you stage. Frankly, its goofy romanticism is rather refreshing. A guilty pleasure or a sweet confection, depending on your tastes, the China Lion distributed Space opens today (9/9) in New York at the AMC Empire and Loews Village 7.