SIFF ’14: The Voice Thief (short)

You could say it is another manifestation of the Malickian Phenomenon. After decades without a new film, Alejandro Jodorowsky has entered a period of unexpected productivity. With Jodorowsky’s Dune, Frank Pavich’s documentary examination of his ill-fated attempt to adapt the science fiction classic, still fresh in theaters, Jodorwosky’s long awaited chronicle of his formative years is finally due to open in New York this coming Friday. Yet, the most Jodorowskian film of all might be his son Adan’s new short film, based on a story by the old man himself. Expect impassioned strangeness when Jodorowsky’s The Voice Thief (trailer here) screens at the 2014 Seattle International Film Festival.

It is hard to be married to a diva, but Noev is utterly devoted to Naya. Unfortunately, she is no Maria Callas. When a particularly nasty review sparks a spat the long submissive Noev finally snaps. His brief choke hold will have dire consequences: the loss of her voice. Desperate to make amends, he heads off into the night with his trusty bell jar to steal her a new one. He picks some odd targets though. This will become rather vexing when Naya takes on the traits of her purloined voices’ original owners.

So if you are looking for a film in which a transvestite midget prostitute plays an important role, the Jodorowsky family is here to serve. It is indeed a family affair, with brother Cristobal (a.k.a. Axel) appearing as Noev. Although Adan has previously been better known as a musician, as a filmmaker, he is clearly a chip off the trippy block. With its lush and bizarre sets and costumes, as well as the deliberately discomfiting aria, Thief often resembles the Third Element’s freaky cousin.

For some reason, Thief is often classified under the experimental rubric, but it follows a pretty well defined narrative path—whereas visually, it is totally out there. The attention dedicated to human weakness and perversity gets a bit tiresome even during its twenty-six minute running time (but just wait for The Dance of Reality). Still, Thief also boasts Asia Argento as Naya, so every cult film aficionado should have some familiarity with it. After all, it is destined to be revived for every Jodorowosky retrospective, because he just does not have that many films to program and one of them is Tusk.

Technically, Thief is a heck of a short. Cinematographer Alexis Zabe makes the rich colors look truly decadent, bordering on the outright lurid. Costume designer Aymeric Bergada du Cadet and art director Julien Richard also contribute some madly inspired work. The dark vibe is not a problem, but it just feels a bit soulsick once it gets where it is going. Regardless, it is the sort of surreal, defiantly phantasmic outing Jodorowsky loyalists will appreciate. Recommended for the fanbase and those who appreciate cinema’s design artisans, The Voice Thief screens next Sunday (5/25) as part of the WTF! 2014 short film block at this year’s SIFF.

Escape from a Nazi Death Camp: Sobibor Remembered on PBS

Originally broadcast in 1987, Escape from Sobibor still holds up, even though TV movies were not expected to be much good at that time. Not surprisingly, the conditions in the concentration camp and the circumstances of the historic break-out were considerably more brutal than network standards would then allow. The last survivors of Sobibor return to tell their stories in Escape from a Nazi Death Camp (promo here), which airs on participating PBS stations this Tuesday, as part of a month of special World War II programming.

The only successful mass escape from a concentration camp happened at Sobibor. Success should be considered a relative term. The mortality rate amongst escaping prisoners was tragically low, but at least there were survivors. Unlike other camps, Sobibor was set up solely to function as a death factory. Only a skeletal contingent of prisoners stayed on to perform menial labor. When word reached them of the National Socialists’ plan to completely liquidate the camp, they realized their days, as precarious as they were, would soon come to a decisive end. However, the Germans made a critical mistake when they transferred a handful of battle-hardened Jewish Red Army soldiers to Sobibor. Amongst them was Alexander Pechersky, a natural leader so steely, he had to be played by Rutger Hauer in the telefilm.

While just an hour in length, Escape provides a lucid chronicle of the escape planning, with some telling details added by survivors Thomas “Toivi” Blatt, Philip Bialowitz, Selma Engel-Wijnberg and former Russian POW Semjon Rozenfled. It clearly was not what you would call a foolproof escape plan, but it was better than nothing. There are indeed a number of important lessons that can be gleaned from this historical episode, including the Germans’ indifference to the “execution” of the despised Kapo Berliner, which rather suggestions collaboration is not such a good long term survival strategy. In fact, it dramatically illustrates the efficacy of defiance.

Escape (not to be confused with Nova’s Escape from Nazi Alcatraz, which aired a few days ago) was obviously intended as a television special, which is perfectly fine, especially considering that is exactly how most viewers will watch it. The re-enactment sequences sometimes come across a bit awkwardly, but the actor playing Berliner makes a fierce impression. Well focused overall, it balances the big picture history with the intimate personal stories rather nicely. Recommended for general audiences, most certainly including students, Escape from a Nazi Death Camp airs this coming Tuesday (5/20) on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Wolf Creek 2: Throw Another Corpse on the Barbie

Just for the record, the meteor crater national park featured in Greg McLean’s horror franchise is actually called Wolfe (with an “e”) Creek and it is found in northwestern Australia, whereas Mick Taylor terrorizes backpackers around the similarly named Wolf Creek somewhere to the south. We would not want prospective visitors to be confused, even though his grisly business is hardly likely inspire tourism. The outback will indeed get bloody again in McLean’s Wolf Creek 2 (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Unless you’ve got your bloodlust up, you might need to crack open a few Fosters to get through this one, but if you were taken with the first film, Taylor basically delivers more of the same. However, McLean almost invites viewers to identify with the sadistic pig hunter, when two corrupt highway patrolmen try to shake him down during the prologue. Needless to say, they pick the wrong psycho-stalker to play games with.

Before long, Taylor is up to his old tricks brutalizing foreign tourists. Initially, it seems like the film will focus on the woes of two German hitchhikers, Katarina and Rutger, but McLean soon switches the focus to the hapless British grad student, Paul Hammersmith. Needless to say, that does not bode well for Katarina and Rutger (who does not live up to the example of his namesake, Rutger Hauer in The Hitcher).

There are a few cleverly executed moments in Creek, but (mild, screechingly obvious spoiler alert) McLean never lets us vicariously enjoy the hunted turning the tables on the hunted, because Taylor is the franchise. Therefore he must always walk off into the outback sunset.

Frankly, it never seems like a fair fight. Taylor’s violence has a pronounced misogynist bend, but he also typically preys on skinny Euro kids. To mix things up, he also takes it to the elderly this time around. It would be a lot more interesting to see him face off against some sort of special forces veteran, who could lethally improvise.

Regardless of viewer sensibilities, one has to admit John Jarratt really digs into the role of Taylor. He has become sort of a twisted cult icon, but his career goes back to Picnic at Hanging Rock (as Albert Crundall, the valet). The rest of the cast is serviceable enough, but we all know they are just grist for the mill.

Each installment of Creek incorporates elements of recent true crimes, making it sort of the Australian version of Law & Order, by way of Eli Roth. Cinematographer Toby Oliver frames some striking shots of the crater and surrounding environs, heightening the lonely, forsaken vibe, but the film is too consistently brutal to be any fun. It is probably best to avoid Wolf Creek 2 and the fanbase that will come out when it opens today (5/16) in New York at the AMC Empire.

SIFF ’14: Hard to be a God

There is a Prime Directive applied to earthlings on this foreign world, but it is much less rigid than the version in Star Trek. Killing the locals is strictly prohibited, but a little gentle development guidance is encouraged. Unfortunately, the home-worlders have collectively turned their backs on intellectual enlightenment in the late Aleksey Yuryevich German’s science fiction-in-name-only magnum opus, Hard to be a God (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Seattle International Film Festival.

You should really fortify yourself for this one. Over a decade in the making, including some six years of principle shooting, German’s adaptation of the Strugatsky Brothers’ novel is not for the faint of heart or the short of attention span. Since Stalker was also based on a Strugatsky novel, Tarkovsky is often suggested as a comparison, but the dream-like vibe and highly composed black-and-white visuals are also somewhat to Guy Maddin at his most self-indulgent.

Let’s be clear. If you require a strong narrative through-line then stop right here. Throughout Hard German is far more interested in setting the scene and rubbing our noses in it than telling us what happens next. In the future, supposedly intelligent humanoid life is discovered on the planet Arkanar. Yet, just when its Renaissance period should have started, the state initiated a campaign against so-called “wise-guys.” Secretly integrating themselves into society as powerful noblemen, thirty scientists try to do what they can to protect the beleaguered intellectual class against the forces of the “Greys,” but Arkanar just does not want to be helped.

German focuses on Don Rumata, a rather rakish Earthling in disguise, as he ostensibly seeks out the hunted Dr. Budakh. However, he spends an awful lot of time farting around with his servants. From time to time, he will also do a solid for the Falstaffian Baron Pampa, while sparring with the Greys. Frankly, this probably makes Hard sound more plotty than it really is. Think large, festering set pieces rather than fights and chases.

Hard clocks in just under the three hour mark and German makes the audience feel the passing of each and every minute. He also supplies several years’ worth of the hardiest moviegoer’s cinematic quota for pee, poop, and snot. His vision (completed by his filmmaker son Aleksey Jr. and co-screenwriter wife Svetlana Karmalita) allows us no illusions regarding just what the Dark Ages entailed.

Nevertheless, cinematographers Vladimir Ilyin and Yuri Klimenko make it all look absolutely breathtaking, often in the manner of a Brueghel painting. (Ironically though, Lech Majewski’s The Mill and the Cross, an attempt to render a Brueghel canvas on film is somehow less static and more accessible than German’s world-building.) Yet, somehow lead actor Leonid Yarmolnik never wilts under the exhausting force of German’s mise-en-scéne. As Rumata, he is unflaggingly intense and roguishly charismatic, even when literally wallowing in the muck and mire.

This is an unusually redolent film. At times, you can practically smell the mud—at least we’ll call it mud for now. On the other hand, if you are waiting for a rocket ship or a ray gun then good luck to you. Although German passed away in early 2013, it is rather eerie watching Hard at a time when Putin also seems to be choosing militarism and barbarism. Indeed, the linkage between ignorance and state power is intentional and directly informed by the Soviet experience, but viewers still have to dig for it. Ultimately, Hard to be a God is a fascinating and often punishing film to experience. Recommended for those who want to be able to say they have seen it for themselves, it screens tomorrow (5/16), this Saturday (5/17) and the following Saturday (5/24) during this year’s SIFF.

How We Got Away With It: The Big Permanent Chill

At least when this group of friends gets together, they will not tire our eardrums with Duran Duran or whoever they were listening to while in college during the mid 1980’s. In fact, most of the clichés of the Big Chill reunion film are completely side-stepped, starting with the fact most of Henry’s annual guests do not yet know there is a body on ice in Jon Lindstrom’s How We Got Away with It (trailer here), which just released on VOD from Devolver Digital Films and opens theatrically this Friday in Los Angeles.

After cooling his heels in jail for two weeks, Henry walks home to find Sarah has hung herself in his dining room. Just what his relationship is to her (among others) will be revealed over time. In the short term, he must clean up before his old friends arrive. Everyone asks “where’s Sarah,” but accepts his clumsy evasions. However, Will soon learns better when Henry takes him into his confidence. For reasons we do not immediately understand, Will agrees to help Henry with his scheme, even though it inevitably leads to increased tensions with his secretly pregnant partner, Leigh. Further complicating matters, Det. Becker keeps sniffing around for the missing Sarah, feeling guilty he ignored her cry-for-help calls. (Henry is sort off the hook on that score, given the whole jail thing.)

The real question in HWGAWI is whether the characters will figure out what is going on before the audience pieces together their backstories. Lindstrom has a maddening habit of withholding pretty basic info just to stoke the mystery. It is sort of like watching a heavily redacted episode of Murder She Wrote. You understand the whodunit is not very complicated, but you’re missing most of the exposition. Yet, somehow Lindstrom maintains a downright beguiling vibe. Frankly, it is hard to even get a proper sense of scale for Henry’s Escher house. It looks rather modest from the street entrance, but from the beach-side it seems palatial.

Regardless, Lindstrom has a knack for framing interesting shots and he seems appropriately cop-like as Becker. McCaleb Burnett does a nice slow burn as Henry and Brianne Moncrief is pleasantly engaging as Elizabeth, a somewhat younger outsider, whose presence is never really explained. Most Big Chill clones would be more satisfying if they ended with a group suicide pact, but aside from the whiny ex-junkie Ronnie, most of the HWGAWI ensemble comes across as relatively down-to-earth and behave in a mostly believable manner.

HWGAWI is not a perfect film, but something about it just festers in the subconscious, days after viewing. That is meant as a compliment. It is almost worth seeing just to compare to Lindstrom’s next film. Kind of recommended for those looking for a Rochester-set noir, How We Got Away with It opens this Friday (5/16) at the Arena Cinema in Hollywood, USA.

Honour: It Happens in London

In her bestseller Londonistan, British journalist Melanie Phillips argues Britain’s pluralistic liberal values are steadily eroding due to the rise of Islamist ideology from within. At one point, Mona’s brother makes a similar point, but he brazenly considers himself part of the process. Kasim happens to be a police officer, who is determined to murder his sister out of a perverse sense of family duty in Shan Khan’s simply but evocatively titled Honour (trailer here), which launches today on VOD.

Mona scandalized her Muslim Pakistani family by pursuing romance with a Punjabi Hindu colleague. For that, she must die. However, she proves to be unexpectedly elusive for the severe Kasim and his somewhat reluctant younger brother, Adel, so they enlist a specialist. Ever since his release from prison, the unnamed bounty hunter has carved out a niche for himself, based on referrals from the imam he served time with. Just how the heavily tattooed white supremacist formed an alliance with the devout Muslim remains unspoken, but one can easily assume they bonded over targets of mutual hate.

Nevertheless, the nameless thug-for-hire is starting to develop a conscience, especially after witnessing the savage treatment of his last highly pregnant target. It will be ironic if the former Aryan gang member teaches Mona’s family a lesson in real honor, but in all honesty, Kasim and his cold-blooded mother set the bar awfully low.

As usual, Paddy Considine is totally money-in-the-bank as the bounty hunter. It is a gritty punch-to-the-gut portrayal of soul-sickness and redemption, yet it is not really his movie. Instead, Atlantis co-star Aiysha Hart shoulders a disproportionate share of the film’s load, acquitting herself rather well. In fact, she seems to get stronger as the film progresses, vividly expressing understandable feelings of fear, pain, and betrayal. While the ad-hoc alliance between her and Considine’s grim brooder might strike some viewers as a bit too pat, their rapport helps considerably to sell it on-screen.

Hard to pigeon-hole, Honour rather effectively straddles the border between thrillers and social issue dramas. Arguably, Khan’s out-of-sequence temporal narrative gets a little too cute for its own good, but it does accentuate the suspense at several key junctures. More importantly, he masterfully maintains the tension, conveying a visceral sense of Mona’s bereft alienation.

Honour is not pitch-perfect, but it certainly pulls the audience in and keeps us hooked. It is also quite a bold film. Keep in mind, this all takes place in London (or rather a Glasgow doubling for London)—the financial capitol of Europe and beacon of freedom during two world wars—not some mountain hamlet in Afghanistan. Recommended as a film and as well a social critique, Honour is now available through VOD platforms, with a theatrical release to be announced sometime in the summer.

Next Year Jerusalem: Sight-Seeing in the State of Israel

Unlike most tourists traveling to Israel, security issues are the least of their worries. This group of eighty and ninety-some year-old Jewish retirees and their caretakers have more mundane health concerns to focus on as they prepare for their journey. It will be the trip of their lifetimes coming late in life for the subjects of David Gaynes’ Next Year Jerusalem (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

You know every last resident of the Jewish Home for the Elderly in Fairfield votes in each election, so it is no surprise to find the state’s senior senator glad-handing the residents. He should remember they clearly support the State of Israel—and therefore probably do not consider it a potential apartheid state, unlike our current Secretary of State. Gaynes scrupulously avoids such political controversies, preferring to focus on the religious and spiritual significance of their pilgrimage instead.

Religion and spirituality can indeed be dramatic, but they never get overly messy in NYJ. Easily, the most intense scene captures their visit to Yad Vesham, where a Survivor in the Connecticut group meets a fellow Belgian Hidden Child, who will serve as their tour guide for the day. There is also a pleasant sequence at the Western Wall, where some local Rabbis take a shine to ninety-seven year old Bill Wein.

It is just great that these ten seniors were able to make this trip and get so much out of it—and that’s about all we’ve got here. This would make a good feature story for the Fairfield paper or even a spirited little short doc, but as a feature it is maybe just two or three steps above home travelogue (although technically, it looks completely professional). Christopher Garofalo’s performance of his elegant Suite for Flute, Violin, Cello, and Piano and Sonata for Flute and Piano also adds a note of class, while struggling to create a mood of wistful contemplation that never quite takes hold.

Perhaps Gaynes was reluctant to delve too deeply, lest he ruin the moments. Frankly, one wonders if a filmmaker like Dmitriy Khavin (a documentarian with a foreign correspondent’s sensibility) would have gotten at something deeper. All very nice, but not much more, Next Year Jerusalem opens this Friday (5/16) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Klapisch’s Chinese Dolls

The interconnected group of friends and lovers from Cédric Klapisch’s L’Auberge Espagnole and Russian Dolls represent a European microcosm, but to pursue their second chances at life and love they appropriately congregate in Lower Manhattan. Chinatown will see an influx of Francophone expats in Klapisch’s Chinese Puzzle (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Novelist Xavier Rousseau is way behind on his latest deadline. He has been a bit distracted by the dissolution of his marriage to the British Wendy. Following his soon to be ex-wife to New York for the sake of his kids, Rousseau kind of-sort of experiences fatherhood again as the sperm-donator for his best pal Isabelle and her Chinese-American partner Ju. With little money and fewer prospects, Rousseau crashes in Ju’s hipster-friendly Chinatown apartment. It will become quite homey when he hosts his former lover Martine and her two children during their New York vacation.

Will sudden proximity rekindle their relationship? Fortunately she is rather understanding of his green card marriage to a second generation Chinatown New Yorker, but keeping up appearances for immigration will lead to a lot of door slamming and mad dashing about. Yet, somehow it all still represents the mature phase of his life.

Although Puzzle is the concluding film of what Klapisch calls “The Trilogy of Xavier’s Travels” (picture that on the DVD boxed set), it easily stands alone. However, those who are emotionally invested in the prior two installments will take great satisfaction from the nontraditional familial bonds that develop between the characters. In fact, it might be the most unabashedly optimistic and upbeat film for all concerned, propelled along by Loïk Dury and Christophe “Disco” Minck’s infectiously peppy Cesar Award nominated score.

Like a comfortable old shoe, Romain Duris exudes loser likability as Rousseau. He also shares some pleasant (if not exactly scorching) screen chemistry with Audrey Tautou’s Martine. In a nice change of pace following films like The Kid with the Bike and Hereafter, Cécile de France shows a keen facility for slightly naughty physical comedy as the Belgian Isabelle. Strangely, the American marketing campaign is not playing up House of Cards’ Sandrine Holt as Ju, but she adds some class and dignity to the proceedings.

Puzzle is a breezy and buoyant film, but it is not utterly vacuous. It clearly celebrates family and friendship, suggesting playing the cards one has been dealt might just turn out to be a blessing. That it is an unusually attractive cast of characters grappling with impending middle age just makes it all the more cinematic. A can’t miss for fans of Xavier’s previous travels, Chinese Puzzle is recommended for Francophiles and international rom-com audiences when it opens this Friday (5/16) in New York at the Angelika Film Center downtown and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema uptown.

Ai Weiwei The Fake Case: A Portrait of the Artist Under House Arrest

It is the product of eighty-one days of solitary confinement and rough interrogation. Recreating scenes from his ordeal, S.A.C.R.E.D. is already recognized as one of Ai Weiwei’s masterworks, as well as a devastating critique of the Communist Party’s police state tactics. At least the government did its best to prevent any distractions from delaying its completion—by confiscating his passport and placing him under house arrest. The artist’s difficult year spent as a prisoner in his own home-studio (known as 258 FAKE) is documented in Andreas Johnsen’s Ai Weiwei: The Fake Case (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Ai Weiwei is one of the most important artists in the world today, as his famous sunflower seed installation at the Tate Modern and the current retrospective at the Brooklyn Museum well attest. However, Teacher Ai claims he never initially set out to be a political artist, but was forced down that path by the government’s reaction to his work and activism. Those who have seen Alison Klayman’s Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry or Teacher Ai’s own films, particularly Disturbing the Peace and So Sorry, know the artist as a compulsively outspoken, larger than life figure. It is rather shocking to see the nearly (but not completely) broken Ai Weiwei who emerges from almost three months of illegal detention early in Fake.

As a condition of his so-called parole, Ai Weiwei is forbidden to speak with the media, particularly international reporters. He duly complies, at least for a while. Suffering from memory gaps and nightmares, Teacher Ai is literally a pale shadow of his former self. Yet, as his health returns that familiar spirit also perks up.

Once again, the Communist government provides an inadvertent assist, by requiring Teacher Ai to post a considerably bond during his appeal. Much to the artist’s stunned amazement, there is a massive outpouring of support on his behalf, as 100 Yuan note paper airplanes start sailing over his wall, at no small risk to the donors. Their heartfelt messages move him deeply. Frankly, if viewers do not get a little choked up at this point, they perhaps missed their true callings as Communist torturers (as sleep deprivation is widely acknowledged as a form of torture, it is indeed fair to say Teacher Ai was tortured while in custody).

Essentially, Fake picks up where Klayman’s documentary left off, making them excellent companion films. Of course, it is hard to go wrong with any film that captures Ai Weiwei being himself. Although we might expect Teacher Ai to be far more guarded on camera following his incarceration, the opposite appears to be true. Not only do hear him talking candidly about the lasting effects of his imprisonment, we also witness (quite touching) scenes of him interacting with his young son, Ai Lao.

Arguably, we see more of Ai the private citizen than Ai Weiwei the public figure. Of course, that rather makes sense, considering he could not leave his home without government permission during this time. Nevertheless, the injustice of his persecution is clearly and thoroughly established. Largely observational in his approach, Johnsen’s trust in his subject’s cinematic presence and compelling work (be it artistic, political, or both) pays off handsomely. A source of inspiration and outrage, Ai Weiwei: The Fake Case is highly recommended for all viewers who value free expression when it opens this Friday (5/16) at the IFC Center.

SFIFF ’14: Miss Zombie

Could you ever fall in love with a zombie? Don’t answer too quickly. The point at which humanity ends is open to debate in Sabu’s intimately stripped down Miss Zombie (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Seattle International Film Festival.

In the very near future, zombies are a fact of life, but Dr. Teramoto is still rather surprised when an old colleague ships him one for safe-keeping. As long as they do not feed Shara meat, she should remain docile, but her instructions come with a handy pistol, just in case (hello Chekhov). In spite of the neighbors’ protests, Shara soon settles into a Sisyphean existence scrubbing the Teramotos’ flagstone veranda.

However, Shara seems to inspire very human-like responses from those around her. Teramoto’s wife Shizuko feels pity for her, while their son Kenichi is fascinated by her mysterious presence. Unfortunately, the doctor’s lecherous groundskeepers act on their vilest impulses towards her, with his silent acquiescence. When tragedy unexpectedly strikes, Shara’s relationship with the family will become far more complex.

Miss Zombie has the general sensibilities of the zombie film Joseph Losey never made. To a large extent, the human exploitation of zombies represents more conventional class and gender conflicts (which are present too, barely contained beneath the film’s surface). It also directly explores notions of human sentiency, hinting at lingering sense memories from Shara’s previous life.

Without question, Ayaka Komatsu gives the finest zombie performance probably ever. She is the film’s lynchpin, anchor, and all-around MVP. Watching her so subtly yet so vividly project her stirrings of memory and consciousness is absolutely heartbreaking. Bub from Day of the Dead simply cannot hold a candle to her. She also gets some key support from Makoto Togashi and young Riku Onishi, as Shizuko and Kenichi Teramoto, who figure prominently in the emotionally heavy third act.

Fortunately, Sabu’s relatively simple but deep-as-the-ocean story is worthy of her efforts. For a genre film, Miss Zombie packs a shocking wallop of a punch. Daisuke Sôma’s mostly black-and-white cinematography is also unusually stylish, conveying a vibe that is part old school Romero and part Cassavetes.

With Miss Zombie, Sabu really raises the stakes for zombie films. The same old shuffling hordes simply will not cut it anymore. It ranks alongside the original Night of the Living Dead, but takes viewers to a very different place. Highly recommended for genre fans and those who appreciate social allegories of any stripe, Miss Zombie screens Friday (5/16), Saturday (5/24) and Sunday (5/25) during this year’s Seattle International Film Festival.

Penny Dreadful: Victorian London by Night

George Sanders played Dorian Gray for MGM, so he never could have guest-starred in one of Universal’s multi-monster meet-ups. Showtime’s newest series hints at what strange cinema that might have been. It also makes you wonder how anyone survived Victorian London, with its vampires, re-animated corpses, and generally unsanitary living conditions. The former will be the most pressing issue in the first two episodes of writer-creator John Logan’s Penny Dreadful (promo here), which premieres this Sunday.

When a mysterious woman offers American Wild West performer Ethan Chandler some “night work,” he agrees, because she is played by Eva Green. Unfortunately, it turns out turns out she really needs his sharpshooter skills. Vanessa Ives and Sir Malcolm Murray require some back-up when they venture into a vampire’s lair, in search of his long missing daughter. Frustratingly for them, the search will continue, but at least Murray recruits an intense young anatomist to perform all his vampire autopsy needs: Victor Frankenstein.

Needless to say, what Chandler witnesses is a bit unsettling. It is the sort of thing that requires a lot of binge drinking to process in episode two. Proceeding accordingly, Chandler makes the acquaintance of Brona Croft, an Irish working girl, who will soon count Dorian Gray as a client. Since this is premium cable, Gray and his appetites will clearly be supplying most of the sex and nudity quota each week.

Representing a quarter of Dreadful’s initial eight episode run, “Night Work” (currently available online here) and “Séance” are definitely hooky-grabby and absolutely loaded with macabre atmosphere. Helmed with style by J.A. Bayona (director of The Orphanage), they get a lot of mileage from their classic horror tropes. In a few cases, you basically know what is coming, but jump anyway. However, the second episode is further distinguished by the titular séance, which gives Green an opportunity for a massive William Shatner level freak-out. It is not quite at the level of Isabelle Adjani’s supernatural paroxysms in Possession, but that will probably be never be equaled by anybody.

For the most part, Green does her slinky, smarter-than-thou thing and it works like a charm. Timothy Dalton, the criminally underappreciated Bond (after all, Pierce Brosnan succeeded him and we know how that worked out), is appropriately steely as Murray, with a spot of mature dash. While not exactly a naturally strong screen presence, Henry Treadaway’s Frankenstein compensates with plenty of twitchy scenery chewing. Frankly, Josh Harnett broods rather effectively as Chandler, but the jury is still out regarding just what Reeve Carney’s Gray brings to the party. Conversely, even though we hardly meet him in the first two installments, Danny Sapani is clearly poised to become a potential fan favorite as Murray’s imposing majordomo.

It feels like Dreadful will soon be a binge-watching favorite, making good on the unfulfilled promise of the Van Helsing film. With Skyfall’s Sam Mendes on board as executive producer, it has the quality period trappings of BBC historicals, but its heart is closer to late period Hammer films. So far, so good, Penny Dreadful is definitely recommended for vintage horror fans, when it premieres tomorrow (5/11) on Showtime.

Stage Fright: Break a Leg, Campers

These drama camp kids might as well learn the hard truths of show business at an early age. They will watch as the seniors deal with the casting couch, a manipulative producer, and a psycho-stalker. Nonetheless, they keep singing and dancing all the way through Jerome Sable’s musical horror mash-up, Stage Fright (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

The Haunting of the Opera would have been a triumph for its star-diva Kylie Swanson, had she not been brutally murdered by a knife wielding maniac dressed as the Phantom after her opening night performance. It’s a setback. Roger McCall, Swanson’s producer and one-time lover takes in her young children, Camilla and Buddy, but falls on hard times after the show’s closing. He tries to make a go of it as the director of the Center Stage Camp for Performing Arts, where the siblings work as kitchen staff. Yet, despite a loyal student body, the camp is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.

In a last ditch comeback attempt, McCall decides to stage the Andrew Lloyd Weber-ish Haunting as their annual production. In violation of camp policy, Camilla auditions for her mother’s part. Naturally, she nails it, but she will still have to finesse the lecherous student director. News of her involvement even attracts the interest of a career-making producer, but once again a psycho in a Phantom mask starts carving up cast-members. Yet, the show will go on, don’tcha know.

Sable and musical collaborator Eli Batalion were team behind the musical horror short The Legend of Beaver Dam, which is rather amusing, largely because the brief format allows it to just hit-it-and-quit-it without a lot of phony drama. Frankly, Sable might be too pre-occupied with the psychological angst. Yes, character development is generally a good thing, but Camilla’s little orphan complex is not very deep or compelling. Yet, it takes space that could otherwise be used for gory gags.

None of the individual tunes are particularly memorable either, but they are performed by the cast and company with admirable conviction. Fright will probably hold considerably more novelty appeal for midnight movie fans outside of New York, because we can see legit stage productions in this spirit Off-Broadway and Off-Off-Broadway fairly regularly. (In fact, it might have helped Sable to have someone like Rachel Klein on-board as a consultant or whatever.)

Still, when Fright goes all in, Grand Guignol style, it is a pretty awesome spectacle. Essentially, the opening and closing deliver on its promise, whereas the long midsection merely serves to get us from here to there. For Rocky Horror fans, it also has Meat Loaf (Aday) singing and thesping as McCall. While her character is not long for the world, Minnie Driver dies great in the prologue. Unfortunately, the twentysomething cast playing teenagers are largely undistinguished. Arguably, the best numbers feature the full company rather than the solo spotlights.

The film has its moments, but there should be more subversive glee, so to speak. Recommended eventually as a VOD or DVD pick for horror fans who do not have a lot of genre theaters options in their hometowns, Stage Fright opens today (5/9) in New York at the Cinema Village.

All Cheerleaders Die: Undead Cheerleaders vs. Sociopathic Jocks

Here’s that Afterschool Special you always wanted. Pert teenagers will deal with their grief in the darnedest ways in Lucky McKee & Chris Sivertson’s All Cheerleader Die (trailer here), which releases today on VOD.

Although she is a bit of a counter-cultural hipster, Maddy Killian was still good friends with Lexi Andersen, the captain of the cheerleaders.  You know that move where a cheerleader is thrown in the air and caught just before her head hits the ground? Well, that didn’t quite happen. When Tracy Bingham succeeds the late Andersen as both captain and girlfriend to senior quarterback Terry Stankus, Killian resolves to join the squad to bring those chicks down. However, it turns out Stankus and his minions are the real jerkweeds. How bad are they? Well, they kind of, sort of accidentally kill Killian and her new friends when a party in the woods goes tremendously wrong.

Fortunately, there is no cause for alarm. Killian’s torch-carrying Wicca-practicing estranged friend Leena Miller will bring them back to life (or rather to a state of undeath) through some New Age crystals and a spot of mumbo jumbo. There are a couple of catches, including their newly acquired taste for blood. The Popkin sisters also seem to have had their souls and bodies mismatched, but these are mere details. Obviously, the dudes are quite surprised to see the cheerleaders at school the next day, but Bingham and company are quite eager to see them.

So yes, this is a dead teenager movie. Seriously, what’s not to get? It’s all about blood-sucking cheerleaders versus sociopathic jocks. Brings back memories, right?  There is a fair amount of Scream-like attitude, plenty of gore, and enough naughtiness to keep horny teenage boys hooked.

As the director of the notorious Lindsay Lohan vehicle I Know Who Killed Me, Sivertson has clearly looked deeply into the heart of darkness and lived to tell the tale. Fortunately, this is a different kettle of fish. To its credit, ACD delivers exactly what it promises. While there are plenty of darkly comic moments, co-writer-directors McKee & Sivertson stop short of the inspired madness found in Zombeavers and Dead Snow: Red vs. Dead. Of course, those films set the bar pretty high. A low calorie, defiantly politically incorrect distraction for midnight movie fans, All Cheerleaders Die should do brisk initial business and generate reasonably okay word-of-mouth when it launches today on VOD.

God’s Pocket: South Philly at its South Philliest

Mickey Scarpato was not born-and-bred in this grim working class neighborhood. He married into it. That makes the locals dismiss Scarpato as an outsider. He also stands out because he has what passes for a regular job—boosting trucks for the local syndicate. Unfortunately, his modestly connected life will be completely upended in John Slattery’s God’s Pocket (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Scarpato dotes on his wife Jeanie and gamely tolerates her thuggish grown son, Leon. When the knuckle-dragging Leon makes one racist joke too many at his warehouse job, Scarpato finds himself short of funds to cover a proper funeral. Determined to protect the wrench-wielding Lucien “Old Lucy” Edwards, the foreman attributes Leon’s less than tragic death to a workplace accident. However, for reasons that remain obscure, Scarpato’s grieving wife is convinced there is more to the story (maybe she has what they used to call the shine).

Of course, oily funeral parlor proprietor Smilin’ Jack Moran is not about to cut Scarpato a break. The small-timer’s partner, Arthur “Bird” Capezio also needs an infusion of fast cash to pay-off his loan shark. However, instead of pursuing caperish high jinks, Pocket is far too preoccupied with the boozy ruminations of local columnist Richard Shellburn, who will be writing a story on Leon to make up for the newspaper’s slipshod handling of his death notice.

Frankly, there are times Richard Jenkins’ in-character narration sounds like it might be intended as a parody of the PBS NewsHour’s pretentious video essayists. The fact that it is hard to tell whether the film is going for laughs or not is obviously problematic. Slattery often deliberately aims for absurdist humor (involving Leon’s corpse), but consistently falls short. Only John Turturro reliably hits his comedic marks as Capezio, a role he could probably play in his sleep.

Yes, the late Philip Seymour Hoffman completely transforms himself into the sad hound dog Scarpato, but the character is so dull on the page, it hardly seems worth his efforts. Likewise, Christina Hendricks, Slattery’s Mad Men associate, really has nothing to do as Mother Scarpato except cry and jut. At least Eddie Marsan does his weaselly shtick as Smilin’ Jack.

There are two or three truly electric scenes in Pocket (keep your eye on that foreman), but they are surrounded by a whole lot of blah. We have been to movie neighborhoods like the Pocket before and we have certainly seen them done better. Considering how undistinguished this petty gangster morality tale is and the galloping awfulness of Lee Daniels’ The Paperboy, perhaps it is time to declare a temporary moratorium on Pete Dexter adaptations. Sure to disappoint Hoffman’s fans hoping for something heavier and more significant, God’s Pocket opens tomorrow (5/9) in New York at the IFC Center.

Broken: When the Law Fails

Is it the violent video games or just bad parenting?  Regardless, a gang of high school boys has no remorse for the violent crimes they commit and post on video-sharing sites. In contrast, it is no secret why Lee Sang-hyeon resorts to killing. The grief-stricken father is determined to punish his daughter’s under-aged murderers in Lee Jung-ho’s Broken (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

Frankly, a good part of Lee already died inside following his wife’s slow death from cancer. Subsequently, he was not able to give his daughter Su-jin adequate emotional support, and now he will never be able to make amends. Jo Doo-sik and Kim Cheol-yong were the perpetrators of her rape and murder, but there was a witness—their socially awkward classmate, Kim Min-ki. Uncomfortable with his accomplice status, Kim texts the grieving father Kim Cheol-yong’s name and address. When Lee finds the privileged thug enjoying the video of Su-jin’s murder, his rage takes over. He then starts following the trail of the oblivious Jo Doo-sik.

Broken is fueled by justifiable anger, but it is a far cry from typically exploitative vigilante films. Frankly, it focuses nearly as much on Detective Jang Eok-gwan, the cop in charge of apprehending Lee and Jo. Dogged by Internal Affairs for his rough treatment of another murderous minor from a prior case, Jang understands Lee’s anguish only too well. While he admonishes his openly sympathetic junior to play it by the book, the extent of his internal conflict becomes increasingly clear as the manhunt closes in.

Although Jung Jae-young portrayed a similarly driven protagonist in Confession of Murder, he reaches a far higher level of soul-searing anguish as Lee. When unleashed, his fury is palpable, but it is even more chilling to watch his persona collapse in on itself. Yet, it is Lee Sung-min who gives the film its bitterly acidic heart. It is an uncommonly smart and subtle performance from an actor best known for television dramas and smaller feature supporting roles.

Broken also represents a considerable step up from Lee Jung-ho’s solid but relatively conventional genre outing, Bestseller. There are indeed tight and tense thriller elements at work, but the prevailing vibe is one of high tragedy. Lee’s adaptation of Keigo Higashino’s Japanese novel also pointedly critiques a legal system that too frequently compounds the pain of victims, while protecting the guilty. It is a bracing film that takes viewers to some very dark places. Recommended for those who will appreciate the harrowing ride, Broken opens this Friday (5/9) in Los Angeles at the CGV Cinemas.

The Rescuers: The Righteous Diplomats

Typically, it is the most privileged elite who serve in a nation’s diplomatic corp. They should be the ones who could most afford to follow their consciences’ dictates, yet career preservation and general CYA-ing are more often the norm. British historian Sir Martin Gilbert and his Rwandan research associate Stephanie Nyombayire profile twelve exceptional diplomats who bent the rules and in some cases risked their lives to save Jews from the National Socialists in Michael King’s The Rescuers (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Without question, Gilbert is the preeminent historian of the Holocaust. For Nyombayire, who lost one hundred family members in the Rwandan genocide, crimes against humanity are not just an academic issue. Together, they accompany Jewish survivors as they revisit the various stops along their flight to freedom, paying tribute to the diplomats who interceded on their behalf, often in defiance of their nation’s policies. Pointedly, Nyombayire asks where were similar such rescuers in Rwanda, while Gilbert wonders why were there not more of them during World War II?

Essentially, Rescuers becomes a buffet of heroism, profiling both the well known and the unjustly forgotten alike. While the work of Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg and American Varian Fry are relatively well known, thanks to television dramas (starring Richard Chamberlain and William Hurt, respectively), Gilbert and Nyombayire also give due credit to American diplomat Hiram Bingham IV, who supplied thousands of visas to asylum-seekers and gave Fry’s mission the deceptive veneer of official State Department sanction.

However, the most extraordinary examples must be Chiune Sugihara, the Japanese counsel to Lithuania, and German National Socialist Party member Georg Ferdinand Duckwitz. In open defiance of his instructions, Duckwitz facilitated the safe passage of 7,200 Jews from occupied Denmark to neutral Sweden, rather than deporting them to Germany.

Rescuers never constitutes ground-breaking filmmaking, but it is highly informative and deeply reverent of its subjects. Granted, some of the staged conversations are indeed stagey, but they also offer real substance. The cynical might also accuse Rescuers of manipulation, but when Gilbert recounts the parable of the Good Samaritan to Nyombayire, if you cannot appreciate the heaviness of the moment, you really ought to have your soul checked.

As a dramatic lesson in history, ethics, and even geography, The Rescuers will be ideal for classroom viewing. Yet, the courageous case studies it chronicles should fascinate viewers of any age. Recommended for general audiences, The Rescuers opens this Friday (5/9) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Patrice Chereau’s Restored Queen Margot

Think of it as a Sixteenth Century Game of Thrones without the fantasy elements. For first act starters, viewers will meet a queen engaging in truly eyebrow-raising affairs and witness a bloody wedding massacre. France’s religious wars vividly rage in a new 4K restoration of Patrice Chéreau’s Queen Margot director’s cut (trailer here), which opens this Friday at Film Forum.

Marguerite de Valois is Catholic, but you would hardly know it from her behavior. Notorious for her indiscretions, Margot is less than thrilled with her arranged marriage to the Protestant Henry de Navarre. Supposedly, their union will bring peace in their time, but nobody really believes that—least of all Navarre. Although he has tacitly agrees not to pursue consummation, he visits her on their wedding night anyway, hoping to forge an alliance. Frustrated by the encounter, Margot secretly leaves the palace, seeking a masked distraction. She finds it with La Môle, a destitute young Huguenot with a distant family connection to King Charles IX’s Protestant military advisor.

A mere six days after the ceremony, as Paris sleeps off its revelries, a sudden crisis culminates in the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. Ostensibly ordered by the submissive King, the deadly business is planned by Margot’s mother, Catherine de Medici, and executed by her ambitious brothers. More out of defiance than principle, Margot manages to save both her husband and her lover, but becomes a de facto prisoner of the palace as a result. Much intrigue will follow.

Queen Margot is one of the great modern historicals. This is not a polite drawing-room story of men in tights and women in ruffled collars. While boldly operatic in sweep, Chéreau has an eye for grimy naturalistic details. He also serves up generous helpings of blood and sex. Twenty years later, his St. Bartholomew’s Day sequence remains an overwhelming example of bravura filmmaking. As sheer spectacle, it is an orgiastic maelstrom of confusion and violence that has yet to be equaled on-screen.

Although a good twenty years older than the young Margot, Isabelle Adjani still looks the part, rocking the low cut wardrobe and scorching up the screen during her love scenes. Ironically, she has better screen chemistry with Daniel Auteuil as her (mostly) platonic husband Navarre than Vincent Pérez’s La Môle. Similarly, Pérez comes across somewhat boy-toyish when playing opposite her, but his scenes with Claudio Amedola as Coconnas, his sworn Catholic rival, crackle with heat and archetypal significance.

When Queen Margot was originally released, the shockingly serpentine-looking Virna Lisi received the lion’s share of the film’s award attention—and she is rather chilling. Yet, in retrospect, the young Asia Argento often steals the show as Charlotte de Sauve, one of de Medici’s spies, who falls in love with her target: Navarre.

As is sometimes the case, Queen Margot is better cinema than a French history lesson. When adapting Dumas père’s fictionalized novel, Chéreau and co-writer Danièle Thompson frequently chose to print the legend rather than the fact. If you want dry dates and details, google the characters. For those who prefer to sink their teeth into a big, lusty, pungent costume drama, the restored director’s cut of Queen Margot opens this Friday (5/9) in New York at Film Forum.

Art at Film Forum: Sol Lewitt

They might not know his name, but any New Yorker who has come through the Columbus Circle subway station has seen his work. Lewitt believed in making art accessible for everyone, yet his brand of conceptualism was hardly the stuff of mainstream popularity. Nonetheless, Lewitt became one of the most influential and collectible artists of the conceptual/minimalist era, while staying faithful to his own vision. Chris Teerink surveys the artist’s work in Sol Lewitt (an appropriately minimal title, trailer here), which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

Lewitt was an artist, not a celebrity or a self-styled public intellectual. There is not a lot of footage of Lewitt discussing his work or nearly anything else, so the rare 1974 audio interview heard throughout the film constitutes quite a find. Through discussions with Lewitt’s curators, colleagues, and former assistants, Teerink paints a rather oblique portrait of a “difficult” but loyal person. Tellingly, his assistant are still probably his best PR reps, explaining how Lewitt often gave them pieces, as well as collecting their own work.

Indeed, Lewitt is clearly the sort of artist who required a small army to install his large-scale wall drawings. Lucky museums mounting his work often just received a detailed set of Ikea-like instructions. Teerink’s talking heads readily admit Lewitt’s plans did not always pan out, but when they do, they are quite striking.

This is a quiet film, but it vividly captures the unique sense of space created by each Lewitt project. Teerink also shows the arduous process of installing #801: Spiral, provoking sympathy for the exasperated staff at work in Maastricht’s Bonnefantenmuseum.

Considering the extent to which Lewitt’s work has been embraced by European museums (including several like the Gemeentemuseum in the Hague, which might not be on the prime tourist path), Teerink’s film serves as handy and economical tour of some of his most striking installations. Teerink has a sharp eye for what will look good on-screen and he presents everything in a flattering light (with the help of co-cinematographer Jacques Laureys). Too cerebral to be accused of hagiography, Teerink’s Sol Lewitt is recommended for connoisseurs of conceptualism and site-specific public art when it opens this Wednesday (5/7) as part of a double feature with Llyn Foulkes One Man Band (separate admissions) at Film Forum.

Art at Film Forum: Llyn Foulkes One Man Band

Stylistically, Llyn Foulkes and Sol Lewitt might be quite dissimilar, but they both present challenges to exhibit. While Lewitt’s installations frequently come with highly detailed, labor-intensive instructions, Foulkes’ collage-paintings often have to be ripped out of the artist’s obsessive-compulsive hands. Viewers will watch Foulkes mount a comeback bid (or two) for the acclaim that has largely eluded him, while demonstrating much of the eccentricity that had held him back in Tamar Halpern & Chris Quilty’s Llyn Foulkes One Man Band (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

As a young artist, Foulkes looked be well on his way, even though he never fit easily into an accepted movement or category. Unfortunately, a few blunt-spoken words got him thrown out of the prestigious Ferus Gallery, dramatically setting back his career. Indeed, Foulkes has often been his own worst enemy, as Halpern & Quilty thoroughly document. Preparing for two potentially game changing exhibitions, Foulkes commits to completing his seven-years-in-the-making painting-construct somewhat aptly titled The Lost Frontier. Later, he also agrees to take another stab at finishing the eighteen year-old The Awakening, featuring the second wife whom has long since divorced Foulkes.

Witnessing Foulkes’ Columbo-like approach to painting (“wait, just one more thing”) is a flat-out painful experience. Fortunately, it is considerably more enjoyable to watch him play “The Machine,” a drum kit augmented with marimbas and bicycle horns. Foulkes can in fact get quite a tune out of it, but there is still a high degree of performance art to his musical performances. Foulkes nearly hit the big time with The Machine as well, but ever so shockingly, he managed to sabotage his golden Tonight Show opportunity. Regardless, it is still cool to hear him jam on it.

To their credit, Halpern & Quilty committed years to One Man Band, capturing some of Foulkes’ most self-destructive moments along with the musical mischief. It is clear they have developed a mutual trust, but they never ignore his career-hampering excesses. Wisely, they are not overly concerned with Foulkes’ political art, aside from his near pathological obsession with Disney, manifesting in some rather gruesome depictions of poor Mickey Mouse.

There are a whole lot of cautionary lessons to be gleaned from One Man Band. At his best, Foulkes is also a rather interesting fellow to spend time with. At his worst, he represents the artistic temperament at its most dysfunctional. It is certainly a balanced portrait, more messily engaging than the Sol Lewitt documentary that Film Forum has programmed with it as a separate-admission double feature. Recommended for fans of Foulkes and/or The Machine, Llyn Foulkes One Man Band opens this Wednesday (5/7) in New York.