TIFF ’14: Men Who Save the World

Pak Awang’s Malaysian dream is a lot like the American dream. He wants a better life for his daughter. He hopes to realize his ambitions with the “American House,” so-called because it was originally painted white (White House, get it?). Unfortunately, superstition will thwart him at every turn in Liew Seng Tat’s Men Who Save the World (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

Pak Awang’s daughter is moving back from the big city to get married and settle down in his provincial village. She will need a house, but he just happens to own a spare. The problem is the American House is buried deep in the jungle and has fallen into a state of disrepair. It also happens to have a reputation for being haunted. Pak Awang needs the help of his fellow villagers to carry off its foundations and into town. Even given their work-resistant nature, forty or so the men ought to be able to handle the job. Oddly though, as soon as they start the arduous task strange things start occurring, playing into the villagers’ supernatural fears.

Of course, nothing uncanny is really afoot. Most of the unexplained phenomena are actually attributable to Solomon, an undocumented African worker, hiding out in the formerly white house. There are plenty of other subplots to further complicate matters, including the town’s Tom and Huck, who are determined to free the camel designated for the annual sacrifice. Soon the American House is stranded midway, while the men don drag to hunt down the “Oily Man” demon, as per the dubious counsel of a local shaman-confidence artist.

Initially, MWSTW starts out like the sort of low-key slice of life village comedy that used to be the bread-and-butter of indie film distribution. However, it takes a surprisingly dark turn, skewering the superstitious balderdash of the town’s Muezzin and the regional political boss. Islamic faith does not exactly move mountains in Liew’s film and it certainly doesn’t move Pak Awang’s house. Perhaps that is why reviews coming out of Locarno were bizarrely dismissive, roundly criticizing Liew for not politicizing Solomon’s plight as a migrant worker.

Instead, Liew delves into the dynamic of the not so tight little village, focusing on Pak Awang’s mounting frustrations. Wan Hanafi Su is absolutely terrific as the maybe too-gruff-for-his-own-good father. He brings real dignity to the film that convincingly evolves into visceral anger and bitterness. Frankly, the supporting cast looks a bit shticky in comparison, except the wide-eyed camel-rescuing youngsters, whose energy and innocence represent substantial contributions.

Granted, MWSTW is a bit uneven, but its humor is organically derived from the specific realities of this Malay community. It is true the film is Y chromosome affair, but it is set smack dab in the Southeast Asian Muslim world after all. Such complaints lose sight of the film’s satiric bite, vivid sense of place, and several cleverly staged scenes that neatly play games with viewers’ perspective. Indeed, it is quite a distinctive package thanks to Teoh Gay Hian’s richly evocative cinematography and Luka Kuncevic’s rhythmic, genre-defying score. Recommended for the somewhat but not overly adventurous, Men Who Save the World screens again this Thursday (9/11), and Saturday (9/13) as part of this year’s TIFF.

Honeymoon: The Newlyweds’ Cabin in the Woods

The American dream does not seem to apply to newlyweds Paul and Bea. (They do not have much of a British dream either.) Instead of hoping for a better life than their parents were afforded, they mostly just expect to huddle together as best they can. As a result, it is disappointing but almost fitting when a sinister shadow is cast over their post-wedding getaway in Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

It was not exactly a shotgun wedding, but viewers get the sense Paul and Bea’s nuptials were somewhat abrupt. Nevertheless, they are clearly young and in love—but decidedly not rich. Their honeymoon will just be a few days at her family cabin and then it is back to the grind. At least they will have plenty of privacy, even though Paul was a little put out when they ran into Bea’s childhood sweetheart in town. Frankly, he seemed a little . . . weird.

Everything is lovey-dovey for the first twenty minutes or so, until Bea has a strange sleepwalker incident (or something). The next morning she seems distant and decidedly less into Paul. Maybe we can’t blame her for that, but Paul notices other forms of suspicious behavior. He tries to be proactive and engaged, but she is not having any of that.

Spryly straddling the horror and psychological thriller categories, Honeymoon is a tricky film to get a handle on. There is precious little gore, but it insidiously plays to our fears and paranoia regarding postmodern, post-AIDS intimacy. How well can we ever know someone and how easily can they change? Of course, all bets are off when an uncanny agency is at work.

In one hour and twenty-seven minutes, Harry Treadaway and Rose Leslie go from insufferably cute to ominously tragic. While both are up-and-coming British screen thesps (she was Gwen Dawson, the chambermaid who yearned for a secretarial career in season one of Downton Abbey; he brings the creepy clamminess as Dr. Frankenstein in Penny Dreadful) they believably play generic English speakers. Maybe they’re Canadian (they have plenty of cabins up there). Leslie and Treadaway also develop convincing romantic chemistry on the way up the narrative arc and claustrophobic dramatic tension on the way down.

Seriously, when is a cabin in the woods ever a good idea in the movies? Regardless, Honeymoon is almost too subtle for its own good at times. While that might cost it with the midnight movie crowd, it will appeal to more mature genre fans. Moody and unsettling, Honeymoon is an impressive feature debut for Janiak, worth checking when it opens this Friday (9/12) in New York at the Cinema Village.

TIFF ’14: Backcountry

Hipsters like to think nature is romantic and awe-inspiring. Actually, it is dangerous and uncomfortable. Alex thinks he will prove the former idealized view to his reluctant girlfriend Jenn, but instead he will simply confirm latter in spades during the course of Adam MacDonald’s Backcountry, which screens during the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

Alex insists this trip is going to so awesome, because he will show Jenn his favorite trail to hike. You see it leads to this totally cool lake. Of course, he knows these woods so well he does not even need to pick up a map at the ranger station. Frankly, it is rather baffling why she didn’t just dump his butt in the car. She will soon wonder about that herself, but before she reaches that point, they run into Brad, a slightly intense trail guide, whom brings out Alex’s competitive instincts.

Eventually, Brad takes his Irish accent and moves on, but the couple remains uneasy. After all, it is obvious to Jenn the stranger knows the territory much better than her boyfriend. In fact, Alex soon has them hopelessly lost. With their water and provisions depleted, the not so happy campers soon see signs of bear activity.

Although billed as a thriller, Backcountry is more closely akin to Lee Tamahori’s under-appreciated The Edge. While nobody compares to Sir Anthony Hopkins, MacDonald’s cast is definitely more accomplished than that of Christopher Denham’s Preservation, another natural comparison title. However, Denham wastes little time cutting to the chase, whereas Backcountry is rather slow out of the blocks.

It is worth repeating, if you want to survive in the wild, stick with the city folk, because you can trust their survival instincts far more than those of the granola outdoorsy types. Jenn will be a case in point. Missy Peregrym is suitably down-to-earth as the down-to-business Jenn. Not afraid to get muddy, she comes to look like she is surviving quite an ordeal. In contrast, Jeff Roop’s whiny portrayal of Alex does not wear as well. However, it is nice to see Nicholas Campbell (of Da Vinci’s Inquest) appearing briefly as the park ranger and confirming Backcountry’s Canadian bonafides.

MacDonald nicely stages the film’s natural perils (definitely including an animal attack here and there), but the relationship issues are probably a bit too prominent in the dramatic mix. Never dull (but sometimes exhausting for the wrong reasons) Backcountry is an imperfect but competently executed survival story that will probably count on plenty of local support when it screens again tomorrow (9/10) at this year’s TIFF.

The Green Prince: Son of Hamas Speaks

According to international law, the use of human shields constitutes war crimes, making Hamas the only war criminals in the latest round of Gaza fighting. Mosab Hassan Yousef probably was not shocked to see the terrorist organization sacrificing women and children. After all, it was not his Israeli handler who turned him into an extraordinarily well placed source, but the brutality of Hamas that he witnessed with his own eyes. Yousef and his Shin Bet contact Gonen Ben Yitzhak tell their unlikely story of espionage and ultimately friendship in Nadav Schirman’s The Green Prince (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

As the son of a top-ranking Hamas cleric, Yousef was practically born into terrorism. Taught anti-Semitic hatred from an early age, Yousef rashly embarked on his own terrorist operation as payback for one of his father’s many arrests. Fortunately, the Shin Bet saw him coming and they knew who he was.

It was Yitzhak’s job to recruit Yousef, not to befriend him. Initially, Yousef pretended to go along with the plan, hoping to murder his handler at a later date. However, his cover-establishing time in prison changed everything. There he heard the shrieks as his Hamas comrades tortured and executed fellow terrorists falsely accused of working with the Israelis. Upon his release, the widespread suicide bombings sponsored by Hamas also deeply troubled his conscience. Before long, Yousef was working with Yitzhak in great earnest, at enormous personal risk.

Based on Yousef’s expose-memoir Son of Hamas, Schirman’s documentary is far more even-handed and level-headed than you might expect. Yousef’s testimony leaves little doubt regarding the violent extremism of Hamas’s ideology and methods. He also personally witnessed Arafat, the Nobel Peace Prize recipient, secretly coordinating the Second Intifada with his father.

However, Prince is obviously not intended as pro-Israeli propaganda. Yousef explicitly blames everyone at the Shin Bet except Yitzhak for the difficult straights he eventually landed in as a U.S. asylum seeker facing certain deportation and certain assassination. Of course, he would hardly be the first intelligence asset cut loose by his spymasters, whereas every suicide bomber recruited by Hamas is fatally used and discarded.

There are scenes in Prince of Hamas at work that are genuinely scary. Without question, the stakes Yousef faced were as real as it gets. While it would be difficult to miss the drama of Yousef’s chronicle, both he and Yitzhak also happen to be compelling story tellers, as well as sympathetic figures that are sure to challenge audience preconceptions. Schirman bolsters the suspense and intrigue with moody noir lighting for his two talking heads and some PBS-quality re-enactments. There techniques can be a little hokey, but their effectiveness must be conceded nonetheless.

There are more than a few jaw-dropping moments in Prince and the revealing look it offers inside the inner workings of Hamas is only too tragically timely. At times, Yousef and Schirman seem to be struggling to find less than edifying Israeli anecdotes to balance the ledger (“welcome to the slaughterhouse” a prison guard once said to him). Yet, the film and its participants strive to end on a hopeful note, emphasizing the unlikely bond forged between Yousef and Yitzhak. Again, it might be manipulative, but it works. In fact, the film is consistently engrossing and eye-opening. Recommended to a surprising extent, The Green Prince opens this Friday (9/12) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

TIFF ’14: 8 Bullets (short)

A man who survived a violent attack on his family will seek revenge largely relying on his sense of smell. That will very likely be as problematic in practice as it sounds. Indeed, the protagonist’s memories and perceptions are all subject to question throughout Frank Ternier’s stylish but unsettling animated short 8 Bullets (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

Gabriel is a French expat living in Taipei. His backstory remains mysterious, but as we learn from the disembodied bystanders, he was the victim of a red-headed gunman’s vicious assault. Evidently, he wife was killed and his daughter was wounded in the leg, but Gabriel somehow survived a shot to the head, or at least that is the version he believes. Regardless, he has not been the same since that fateful day.

For the last six months, Gabriel has prowled the streets looking for a red-headed gangster who smells of fried food. He carries an equalizer, fully loads with said bullets for when he finds his prey. It is all very hardboiled, even though Gabriel’s sanity is clearly rather tenuous.

Ternier’s stylistic approach suggests the sort of films David Lynch makes are better suited to animation rather than live action. Although Ternier tells a strictly linear narrative, his visuals dramatically reflect the warped and unreliable perspective of his protagonist. He also nicely expresses Gabriel’s sense of otherness as a Frenchman in a foreign land.

While Ternier lays on the closing irony pretty heavily, his hip noir sensibility is rather cool overall. Most importantly, the animation is quite distinctive, evoking traditional watercolor techniques as well as contemporary comic art. Recommended for fans of animation and film noir, 8 Bullets screens again this Saturday (9/13) as part of Short Cuts International Programme 4 at this year’s TIFF.

The Pirates: Joseon High Seas Intrigue

Why would a Korean Long John Silver start hunting Moby Dick during the early days of the Joseon Era? Captain So-ma has his reasons, including money, power, and revenge. He is not the only pirate hunting the whale that swallowed the Emperor’s new royal seal. His former first mate and a bandit nursing his own grudge get in on the chase in Lee Seok-hoon’s The Pirates (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The Ming Emperor has given his blessing to Yi Seong-gye’s rebooted Joseon Dynasty, as well its new name and seal. Unfortunately, when the ship carrying Yi’s emissaries back from China encountered a great mother whale and her baby, they arrogantly attacked. The new name and the ambassadors would make it back to the Imperial court, but the seal would not, having been engulfed like Jonah.

The ambassadors blame pirates and stall for time, recruiting the treasonous officer Mo Hong-gab to do all the dirty work necessary. Mo forces freshly minted pirate captain Yeo-wol to hunt down the whale, despite her misgivings. Yet, he immediately double crosses her with the So-ma, whom she recently deposed. Further complicating matters, landlubbing soldier turned bandit Jang “Crazy Tiger” Sa-jung also pursues the marked whale for mercenary reasons. However, things get personal for Jang when he encounters his old enemy, Mo (he happens to be the only one with an eye-patch, thanks to Jang).

Naval action historicals have been ruling the Korean box office in recent months, with both Pirates and The Admiral: Roaring Currents racking up over five million ticket sales, which is a significant milestone in that market. While The Admiral plays it scrupulously straight, Pirates allows for far too much mugging from pirate-deserter Chul-bong and the bandit monk. Frankly, even Jang acts strangely schticky for a fugitive-patriot with a history of showing up disloyalty.

However, when the film is aboard Yeo-wol’s ship, it is (ironically) on solid ground. There is no joking around with her. Honor and brotherhood mean something to Yeo-wol and her faithful followers. As the new captain, Son Ye-jin exhibits solid action chops and a smoldering presence, bringing to mind her dazzling work in Open City.

Likewise, Lee Kyoung-young is great fun to watch chewing the scenery as her mentor and nemesis. Kim Tae-woo also makes an effective villain, opting for an icier, menacing approach for Mo. The one-named K-pop star Sulli brings some charismatic earnestness to the proceedings as Yeo-wol’s protégé, but there is just too much of the rubber-faced Yu Hae-jin and his fellow goofy land bandits.

Call it the curse of Jack Sparrow. When making a film about pirates, comic relief seems like an essential ingredient, but what we really want are more heroic women action figures, exactly like Yeo-wol. (Let’s forget about Cutthroat Island—please). Although it is more than two hours before the closing credits roll, Lee keeps it moving along rather briskly. He stages some suitably swashbuckling action spectacles and cinematographer Kim Young-ho’s underwater scenes are impressive. Recommended for fans of Son and high seas adventure, The Pirates opens this Friday (9/12) in New York at the AMC Empire.

A Leading Man: Being Asian in Hollywood

Despite Hollywood’s determination to sell its soul to China, a lingering institutional insensitivity to Asian type-casting and crude stereotypical jokes persists in the industry. Jason Biggs and his tweet about Asian drivers is a case in point. Had his racial humor targeted any other demographic group, his career would likely be on life support, but in this case, Hollywood just shrugged. Soon-to-be unemployed actor GQ Qi understands the hypocrisy only too well. He has played the game better than most of his colleagues, but has little to show for it in writer-director Steven Kung’s A Leading Man (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select cities, following a well received festival run, including Dances With Films.

Qi had to fight to get the starring role in Mitch Lebowitz’s new sitcom Pu Pu Platter, but playing the cringy, subservient exchange student makes him nauseous. Lebowitz’s overbearing demeanor and insulting condescension do not help either. After Qi inevitably snaps, his longtime agent drops him. Even his formerly supportive mother cuts him off, suggesting he finally settle for a management position in the family’s Shanghai semi-conductor family. However, he has a bold plan: he will romance up-and-coming casting director Rachel Cohen.

Against her better judgment, Cohen succumbs to his charms. Unfortunately, when Lebowitz gets wind of their relationship, he fires Cohen as well. Suddenly, both Qi and Cohen are on the outs. Is their relationship real enough to withstand the financial and emotional pressures to come? If so, it will be a hard fought victory, because there is not a lot of easy sentiment or unearned feel good moments in Leading. While Kung excoriates Hollywood’s Asian stereotyping and discrimination, he clearly implies there is also a bit of karma at work in Qi’s case.

Fittingly, Jack Yang really does have leading man presence as Qi, but he is not afraid play up the Machiavellian and rather unsympathetic side of his character. It is a dark, subtly calibrated performance that gives the film real integrity, even if it pushes away sympathetic viewers. Heather Mazur plays off Yang quite nicely as the smart and down-to-earth Cohen, while executive producer Pat Tsao is a force of nature as the sort of iron-willed mother that nearly anyone can well relate to, regardless of ethnicity or nationality.

Hollywood takes in the shins throughout Leading, but to Kung’s credit, it never lets anyone off the hook. It might sound like a thematic analog to Robert Townsend’s Hollywood Shuffle, but Kung’s film is more thoughtful and dramatically complex. Despite the inconsistency of some supporting players, A Leading Man is worth a look, particularly for those who appreciate a caustic look at the movie business when it opens this Friday (9/12) in limited markets.

Archaeology of a Woman: Guilt and Dementia Upstate

Typically, the media presents Alzheimer’s and age-related dementia in black-and-white terms of victimhood, but what happens when it strikes a woman who has perhaps committed some dark crimes in her past? It is a somewhat provocative question, but it is buried like Pompeii by the lava flow of melodrama in Sharon Greytak’s Archaeology of a Woman (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Greytak is the sort of filmmaker who is blessed and cursed to be highly regarded by her artistic and academic peers, but largely unknown to the general movie-going public. It is therefore tempting to just say Archaeology does not work and leave it at that. However, admirers of the primary cast-members—Oscar nominee Sally Kirkland (for Yurek Bogayevicz’s Anna) and Tony Award winner Victoria Clark (for Light in the Piazza)—will probably need stronger dissuasion.

Margaret is going through a rough patch—rough enough to force her grown daughter Kate to run interference with the local cops and take control of her finances. As an up-and-coming chef poised to finally open her own Manhattan restaurant, spending so much time upstate is a major inconvenience for Kate, but she is the only family Margaret has left. In fact, there are hints the death of her husband a few years back was not such a bad thing.

When the discovery of a series of body parts dominates the news, Margaret’s grip on reality grows more tenuous. Clearly, the audience is supposed to wonder if the grisly reports are jogging her own guilty memories of past crimes or whether they are simply the fantasies of her fevered mind. The way old Sgt. Calder keeps lurking about, perhaps it is hoped viewers will also start to suspect she is somehow involved in the current investigation. However, the only real crime committed here is the film itself.

Frankly, this film is an unwieldy mess. When it strives to be an issue-oriented family drama, Archaeology is far too showy and self-conscious, featuring some of the most overwrought interior monologue voice-overs you will ever come across. Likewise, the awkward attempts to trespass into thriller territory fall thuddingly flat.

In their own ways, both Kirkland and Clark deserve credit for the way they remain so fully committed throughout. In fact, Clark’s smart, earthy portrayal of Kate is one aspect of the film that wears well over time, while her mounting frustration with her difficult mother feels quite genuine (maybe because we share it). In contrast, Kirkland goes all in and then some as Margaret, reveling in her behavioral extremes. As a commentary on the ravages of age, it is hard to resist comparing the film and Kirkland’s role to her career-defining performance in Anna, which casts quite a long shadow over both.

A lot of good intentions and artistic courage went into Archaeology, but they never come together in a coherent whole. It is likely to attract the attention of many film studies professors and curators, but they will be disappointed. Regretfully, not recommended, Archaeology of a Woman opens this Friday (9/12) in New York at the Village East.

TIFF ’14: In Her Place

It is one of the few relationships Hallmark has yet to crack. It is hard to define just what this moody teen represents to her well-heeled visitor, aside from being the mother of her future baby. The two women will share intimate moments, but there will always be a wall dividing them in Korean-Canadian filmmaker Albert Shin’s In Her Place (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

It is safe to say the Girl is troubled. Frankly, her swelling stomach is only one of her problems, but it is the most conspicuous one. For her Mother, the Woman from Seoul is a Godsend. She will help out during the final months of pregnancy, footing all the bills and providing enough additional money for the Mother to get the run down farm back on its feet again. In exchange, she will leave with the baby, claiming it as her own. This being Korea, social conventions demand they keep everything hush-hush. However, the Girl is the wild card in their best laid plans.

Not surprisingly, boys are a point of contention with her, but she has even deeper issues regarding self-esteem and abandonment. The Woman from Seoul partly understands this, but not fully so. She will take the time to get to know the Girl (as well as the kind of-sort of boyfriend who is quite surprised to learn of her condition), but the management-labor dynamic is hard to shake.

A vibe of foreboding hangs over IHP right from the start and the third act is a bit protracted, yet the film’s ultimate tragedy still hits viewers with the force of a locomotive traveling at full steam. Credit goes to the three principle women, who are each truly devastating, but in a very different ways. Ahn Ji-hye is clearly a young breakout star of the future, who maintains viewer sympathy and credibility despite all her painfully self-destructive acting out. She could easily be the next Kim Go-eun (sort of the reigning Jennifer Lawrence of Korean Cinema).

While many American indie filmmakers would be tempted to portray the Woman from Seoul as a one-percent exploiter, Shin and co-writer Pearl Ball-Harding take great effort to humanize and explain her. She is a complicated character, whose past pain and disappointments are subtly but powerfully conveyed by Yoon Da-kyung. Yet, it is Kil Hae-yeon’s Mother who really sneaks up on the audience and rips everyone’s guts out. In all fairness, it should also be noted two of the guys (Kim Chang-hwan as the clueless Boy and Kim Seung-cheol as the Mother’s farmhand-crony) are also very good, but they are doomed to be overshadowed by the women.

After watching IHP you need a couple days to make peace with it, but in all honesty, it is rare to find films that get under the skin in such a fashion. It is also an usually quiet film that adeptly captures the stark silence and loneliness of its rural setting. Cinematographer Moon Myoung Hwan truly transports us to that hardscrabble locale. It is a demanding film, but it constitutes impressive work all the way around. Recommended for discerning audiences, In Her Place screens again this Tuesday (9/9) as part of this year’s TIFF.

TIFF ’14: The Vanished Elephant

Edo Celeste’s bestselling sleuth Felipe Aranda is supposed to be the good guy, but he might be more akin to Stephen King’s Dark Half. The man who posed for a series of pictures inspired by Celeste’s books seems to take the role way too seriously, especially when the author hints he may soon end the popular series. Celeste begins to suspect the man of crimes both new and old in Javier Fuentes-León’s The Vanished Elephant (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

The one case the ex-cop turned mystery novelist never cracked was the 2007 disappearance of his fiancée Celia Espinoza. The timing was particular unfortunate, occurring during an earthquake that rocked coastal Peru. It turns out it also coincided with the presumed death of Mara de Barclay’s first husband. Celeste was blissfully unaware of this fact until the remarried Barclay had her strong arm servants arrange a meeting. She was rather baffled to receive an envelope addressed to Celeste bearing her supposedly late husband’s handwriting.

The assortment of cryptic photographs inside does not immediately stimulate Celeste’s curiosity, but he will get to them in good time. However, he is instantly struck by Rafael Pineda, the tough talking model, who is a perfect dead ringer for the Aranda Celeste always imagined. As he investigates the shady Pineda, events start to parallel his Aranda novels, including the one he is currently writing.

How much viewers will enjoy Elephant depends on what they value most in mystery-thrillers, the structure and conventions or the trappings and atmosphere. Fuentes-León creates a terrifically moody vibe, but the film evolves into a series of increasingly intricate Lynchian mind teasers, which are quite clever if you enjoy that sort of gamesmanship. More conventional audiences should be warned, Celeste will never gather together his suspects to give them the “I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you all together” talk.

Nevertheless, there are really intriguing clues dispersed throughout the film, such as the titular subplot revolving around a pachyderm shaped rock formation in Paracas that supposedly really crumbled into the ocean during the earthquake, but remains unconfirmed by google. There are similarly strange bits and pieces that stick in your head even more than grand reveal it all builds towards.

Salvador del Solar might set a new world’s record for jaded world-weariness as the haggard Celeste. He convincingly carries himself like an ex-cop and looks reasonably intelligent doing some reckless things. Likewise, Lucho Cáceres projects the right sort of vague, hard to define menace as Pineda (or should that be Aranda).

While Fuentes-León’s feature debut Undertow was quite a nice little film, nothing about it would lead viewers to expect a follow-up like Elephant. He smoothly stages some remarkably complicated scenes, while maintaining a satisfyingly noir vibe. Cinematographer Mauricio Vidal gives it all a soft, mysterious look, while art director Susana Torres provides a lot of cool stuff, like a painting of the Vanished Elephant. It all makes for quite an effectively strange film. Recommended for mystery fans with a taste for postmodernism, The Vanished Elephant screens again tomorrow (9/8) and next Sunday (9/14) during this year’s TIFF.

Slamdance on the Road: Cheatin’

Those who write about film ignore the scrappy Slamdance Film Festival at their mortal peril. Sure, it takes place during another big film event that is fun to cover, but Slamdance has had its share of breakout hits as well. Filmmakers who launched their careers there include small cult figures like Christopher Nolan (Following) and Oren Peli (that’s right, Paranormal Activity). Bill Plympton was already an established name with a sizable following when he brought his latest hand-drawn animated feature to this year’s Slamdance, but he seemed to dig the laid back-just folks vibe. Given its freshness and subsequent success on the festival circuit (including Fantasia), Plympton’s Cheatin’ (trailer here) is a fitting alumnus film to help celebrate Slamdance’s twentieth anniversary with a special Slamdance On The Road screening in Salt Lake City.

Jake and Ella have animated bodies that put Jessica Rabbit to shame. When they first meet, the romantic sparks immediately start to fly. Before long, they are a passionate and committed couple. Unfortunately, the lust they inspire in others will lead to trouble. When Jake spurns the advances of a temptress-floozy, she returns with fraudulent evidence of Ella’s supposed infidelity. Devastated by the phony revelation, Jake embarks on a binge of cheap assignations, openly inviting Ella’s suspicions. However, she discovers a way to thwart his vengeful libido with the help of a seedy magician and his fantastical invention.

Although Cheatin’ ventures into genre territory during the third act, it is really grounded in universal themes, like love and sex and how they work with and against each other. Stylistically, it is Plympton’s most ambitious film yet, strikingly incorporating elements of watercolor. Almost completely free of dialogue, he tells the story entirely through visual means, like a far trippier version of The Artist.

The resulting vibe is quite distinctive. The early scenes have a Continental flavor, evoking Toulouse-Lautrec and Chekhovian heroines, while the middle section has the Americana feel of Hopper paintings, Our Town, and James Cain (Jake’s lonely looking filling station is a perfect example). Of course, Plympton’s still incorporates plenty of surreal flights of fancy, as his fans would hope, but the fundamental romanticism keeps it comparatively restrained.

Cheatin’ looks terrific—even elegant at times. Plympton’s frequent musical collaborator Nicole Renaud also really helps set the mood with her lush magpie score, freely repurposing bits and pieces borrowed from classic opera and tango. Fully Oscar qualified, it could be a dark horse contender. Recommended for adult animation fans, Cheatin’ screens this coming Wednesday (9/10) at the Tower Theatre in Salt Lake, as part of Slamdance On The Road.

Enemy of the Reich—Noor Inayat Khan

Noor Inayat Khan is a prime example why many consider Sufism the best hope for moderation in the increasingly radicalized Islamic world. Inspired by the values of her father, Hazrat Inayat Khan, an internationally respected Sufi teacher, Inayat Khan volunteered for the most dangerous duty possible with Britain’s clandestine service, the Special Operations Executive (SOE). Her short but heroic career is chronicled in Enemy of the Reich: the Noor Inayat Khan Story (promo here), which premieres this Tuesday on PBS.

The average survival rate for SOE radio operators was a mere six weeks. The recruiters and organizers who dealt directly with partisans also faced considerable dangers, but it was always simply a matter of time before the feared German radio trucks eventually traced those who relayed and received communications with London. Inayat Khan would beat the averages, but she was nearly swept up in a massive Gestapo operation days after her arrival in France.

Of course, Inayat Khan had certain advantages for cloak and dagger work. Reportedly, the National Socialists were a bit slow on the uptake when it came to female agents. Evidently, they completely forgot Mata Hari. The fact that Inayat Khan was the Muslim daughter of Indian and American parents (born in Moscow) might have also been somewhat reassuring, considering the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem and Indian nationalist Subhas Chandra Bose publicly sided with the National Socialists.

In contrast, Inayat Khan was a genuine idealist (and children’s book author), who was almost too principled to convince the SOE gatekeepers to send her into the field. Unfortunately, the inescapably inevitable ending will come as no surprise, especially for anyone familiar with the grim realities of resistance work.

However, director Robert H. Gardner and writer Carrie Gardner provide an intriguing look inside the SOE’s training, deployment, and service. Their combination of talking heads, archival images, and dramatic re-enactments does not exactly break new docu-ground, but Grace Srinivasan’s striking presence should be noted. Although she does not have much dialogue or even much traditional dramatic work, she still conveys Inayat Khan’s vulnerability and resoluteness quite directly.

Enemy is a nicely assembled package, notably featuring the always classy Dame Helen Mirren as its narrator. Altogether, it is another informative hour-long PBS WWII special that maybe does not quite reach the level of the better theatrical feature documentaries, but never outstays its welcome. Recommended for viewers interested in WWII and Sufism, Enemy of the Reich: the Noor Inayat Khan Story airs this coming Tuesday (9/9) on PBS outlets nationwide.

Falcon Rising: Taking Down the Brazilian Yakuza

Brazil has one of the largest Japanese expat communities outside of Japan. Unfortunately, that also entails a Yakuza presence—or at least it used to, until the Rio clan nearly killed the wrong ex-marine’s sister. They will soon learn John Chapman’s martial arts skills and PTSD death wish make him all kinds of deadly. He even has a codename to dig out of mothballs in Ernie Barbarash’s Falcon Rising (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Haunted by his experiences in the Middle East (refreshingly, these seem to be more about what they did to his men than what he did to them), Chapman is essentially trying to booze his way into an early grave. However, he manages to pull himself together when his NGO do-gooding sister Cindy blows into town for a quick visit. She should have stayed longer. Soon after returning to her favela nonprofit, a violent attempt on her life leaves her in a coma.

Somewhat put out by this news, Chapman hastens down to Rio, where his old service buddy Manny Ridley is a senior Foreign Service Officer. Ridley cannot get too involved in the smackdowns, but he can point Chapman in the right direction. Before long he will be shaking the Yakuza’s tree, while their crooked minions on the police force try to finish off both Chapmans. Good luck with that.

Right, we’re talking total B-movie here, but Falcon harbors few illusions about where its comparative advantages lie. Michael Jai White brings plenty of heat as Chapman and develops some pleasant bantering buddy chemistry with the ever-reliable Neal McDonough’s Ripley. However, one would think the film could have better used retired boxer Laila Ali (daughter of Muhammad), who spends most of the film hooked up to tubes.

Instead, Hazuki Kato gets to be the action femme fatale, displaying some nice chops and an intriguing presence as Yakuza lieutenant Tomoe. In contrast, Masashi Odate is a little too icy and reserved as her master, Hirimoto, but he swings the samurai sword with credibility and authority. However, Lateef Crowder arguably shows off the best moves as Carlo Bororo (a.k.a. crooked cop #2).

As a journeyman action helmer, Barbarash (whose credits include the similarly entertaining Assassination Games) is clearly in his power zone. He stages some pretty impressive fight scenes (choreographed by Larnell Stovall) that eschew shaky cams in favor of full body shot clarity. Barbarash also soaks up the local color, giving viewers a good feel for the Rio’s teeming sprawl.

This is a small film even in the world of action movies, but it is still a lot of fun, sure-footedly following in the spirit and tradition of the American Ninja franchise. Recommended for fans of White and unpretentious martial arts films, Falcon Rising launches today on VOD (where it should do the lion’s share of its business) and opens tomorrow (9/5) in New York at the AMC Empire.

Children 404: According to Putin, They Don’t Exist

The Sochi Winter Olympics was an ugly spectacle of shoulder shrugging and hand wringing, as the IOC and western media tried to pretend Russia never passed its “anti-gay propaganda law.” Russian military adventurism in Ukraine should make the 2018 World Cup an even more awkward affair. However, in FIFA’s defense, the caviar and swag were surely tremendous, so what matters a small trifle like human rights?

Yet thanks to Elena Klimova and her “Children 404” online forum and support network, the kids Putin, the IOC, and FIFA wishes would simply disappear have a venue to express themselves. Askold Kurov & Pavel Loparev document Klimova’s work and the disenfranchised kids served by her efforts in Children 404 (trailer here), which screens tomorrow in New York as part of the Eye on World Issues film series.

Essentially, Klimova inherited the 404 name inspired by internet error messages from a sympathetic media report on LGBT teens suffering from a drastic escalation of harassment following passage of Putin’s “propaganda” ban. While The Guardian might parse the language of the bill and decide it isn’t so bad after all, teens like Pasha paint a very different picture. As he unequivocally testifies, his peers made it very clear—if he embraced his sexuality to any extent, they would consider it illegal and subject to schoolyard punishment. When reporting their threats to school administrators, he was essentially told it was his fault for being so prejudiced against homophobes.

404 is often a jarring film, but it operates almost exclusively on the micro level, focusing solely on the bullied kids and never offering any macro analysis. Rarely do the filmmakers even confront the abuse abetting teachers and counselors, let alone the government officials who passed and enforce the law—something that is admittedly much easier to say than do. Nevertheless, it is a timely and defiant film that fully captures the casual homophobia (and Communist nostalgia) that Putin shamelessly panders to. They also caught some extraordinarily telling moments, such as Pasha’s subversive visit to the Lenin museum (which certainly appears to be promoting President-for-Life Putin).

So when the World Cup kicks off in Russia, everyone should be fully aware it is being hosted by a bullyocracy, where weaker citizens and neighbors, like LGBT kids and Ukraine are victimized to distract the general population from the country’s stagnating industrial base, rampant corruption, and appalling human rights record. The world can no longer plead ignorance thanks to the work of Klimova and the cinematic journalism of Kurov and Loparev. Recommended for anyone concerned about international LGBT rights and the state of neo-Soviet Russia, Children 404 screens tomorrow (9/4) in New York at the Village East.

Rocks in My Pockets: Depression and Talent Run in the Family

Perversely, the Soviet occupation of Latvia probably saved the life of animator Signe Baumane’s grandmother, Anna, at least temporarily. The resulting privations and exploitation provided a distraction from the depression and suicidal impulses that plagued her all her life. Combining art and therapy, Baumane chronicles the mental health trials of the women in her family, culminating with her own struggles in Rocks in My Pockets (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Baumane’s father and his seven brothers and sisters revere their sainted mother, but Baumane slowly pieces together a darker story. She was such a bright young girl, her father saved and even borrowed to send her to college, making Anna one of the few women in 1920s Latvia with an advanced education. Unfortunately, the only job she found after graduation was as the secretary to the entrepreneur who would become Baumane’s grandfather.

Initially, Anna was in awe of his erudition and sophistication, but his jealous controlling side quickly surfaced after their marriage. Instead of living a life of cosmopolitan glamour in the city, Anna dutifully followed her husband into the forest, where he established a turpentine factory. Unlike many of his schemes, it was relatively successful until the Soviets invaded, nationalizing it and everything else in their wake.

With eight months to feed, Anna rouses herself from her depression, navigating the life-and-death challenges posed by the Soviets, the Germans, and then the Soviets again. In fact, the Communists never stopped shaking down Anna and her family, confiscating their provisions when they are on the outs as partisans, just as they did when they were conquering oppressors.

Needless to say, Soviet psychiatric care was not exactly scientifically or socially progressive, either. It was mostly just about doping patients up, locking them up, and stigmatizing them thereafter, as Baumane learns first hand. In between, she revisits the sad history of many lost relatives, reading between the lines.

Even if it is animated, a film about depression sounds rather depressing, especially when a good portion of it is set during the Communist era. However, Baumane’s animation is quite striking, often taking viewers down surreal, symbolically resonant rabbit holes, and her message is also empowering and ultimately upbeat. In fact, the closing lines are absolutely unforgettable.

Yes, there is a prescriptive element to the film (tragically timely in the wake of Robin Williams’ death), but animation enthusiasts can enjoy it simply on a visual level. While Baumane tips her hat to Bill Plympton and Jan Svankmajer, her hand-drawn figures and backgrounds often bring to mind the work of Sally Cruishank (although they are somewhat less colorful, perhaps reflecting the subject matter and setting).

Clearly, Rocks is a very personal film, but Baumane’s family experiences offer a highly relevant and accessible perspective on the greater realities of depression and even Twentieth Century Latvian history. She convincingly makes the sort of jump from the private to the universal that Barabara Kopple’s glitzy, self-helpy Running from Crazy miserably failed to pull off. Highly recommended for fans of animation and those who appreciate its message, Rocks in My Pockets opens this Wednesday (9/2) in New York at the IFC Center.

Baby Blues: Devil Doll on a Gloomy Sunday

Known as the “Hungarian Suicide Song,” Rezső Seress’s “Gloomy Sunday” has become the stuff of urban legend, but the only suicide that can be directly linked to it was that of its songwriter.  That makes it quite an odd choice for a producer to update for the biggest star on his roster, but it was not entirely Hao’s idea. He had help from the devil doll left behind in his new home. The sinister ragamuffin will be a malevolent influence on Hao’s new family, especially his wife in Po-chih Leong’s Baby Blues (trailer here), which releases today on DVD and VOD from Well Go USA.

Hao and his pregnant wife Tian Qing have just purchased a spectacular new home for a veritable song. The only drawback seems to be the homeless guy camped across the street, who is always yelling spooky warnings. For some reason, they hardly notice him, but she finds the creepy doll utterly charming. Unfortunately, it seems he is a “Jimi doll,” who drove the previous owners to bad ends. Even though accidents mysteriously follow Hao’s reworked song, now known as “The Intruder,” the mega-popular Ying Lan digs its edginess. Everything seems to be going right for the couple, until it is time to deliver her twins. Adam will make it, but Jimmy will not. However, this leaves a vacuum for the Jimi doll to fill.

Of course, the doctors assure Hao his wife is simply suffering from postpartum depression and perhaps he is as well. Nonetheless, he and Tian Qing’s tomboy sister Trinket soon suspect something weirder is afoot. Eventually, they even start paying attention to the old cat’s jibber-jabbering.

Yes, Baby Blues owes an obvious “debt” to the Chucky franchise, but it actually has several additional supernatural hooks that often compete with each other. The “Gloomy Sunday” references are actually pretty clever and cool, while the recurring twin motif is rather creepy. Yet, all mixed together they collectively undermine what Poe called the “unity of effect.” There are also loose ends and blind alleys all over the place. Still, one would sort of like to see Keira Knightly and Adam Levine remake the film as “Can a Song End Your Life.”

Beyond the on-screen action, Baby Blues generated considerable interest as the first film co-starring real life couple Raymond Lam and Karena Ng. However, perhaps shrewdly, they do not share any romantic scenes as Hao and Trinket. Without question, Ng gets the better of the deal, proving well suited to the mettlesome sister. In contrast, Lam’s Hao is a bit wooden, saddled with the intuition of cold porridge. At least newcomer Janelle Sing goes nuts pretty convincingly, while Kate Tsui clearly enjoys preening through the film as Ying Lan.

Baby Blues is also the British-born, Los Angeles-based Leong’s first HK production in two decades. It is odd choice of project to lure him back, but it was probably a guaranteed money maker. There are indeed some surprisingly big names attached to this straight forward genre outing, including Irene Wan, who makes the most of her third act near-cameo.

As horror films go, Baby Blues is certainly presentable. Genre fans will appreciate the ways it tweaks various conventions, but the killer doll effects do not meet the industry standard. Leong does not have a particularly strong feel for the requisite mood either, but the veteran cast knuckles down and powers through. The result is a mish-mash, but it has its moments. For fans of HK horror, Baby Blues is now available on DVD, BluRay, and VOD from Well Go USA.

The Congress: Ari Folman Channels Stanislaw Lem

Polish science fiction master Stanislaw Lem deftly satirized Soviet utopianism in The Futurological Congress. For his modernized riff, Israeli filmmaker Ari Folman uses Hollywood as the new evil empire. It is a smooth substitution. In the very near future, the movie business will take exploitation to even greater technological heights, as Robin Wright learns first-hand when she plays herself in Folman’s The Congress (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Lem’s novel may have provided the seed of inspiration, but you not find his well traveled hero Ijon Tichy. Instead, Wright will attend the conference in his stead, but first we will witness the final days of her acting career. Despite her early success in hits like The Princess Bride, Folman’s Wright turned out to be difficult to work with, frequently dropping out of high profile roles at the last minute. While she always claimed it was for the sake of her ailing son Aaron, her frustrated agent really knows it is fear and a lack of confidence that sabotaged her career.

However, Miramount has a final offer to make. For a lump sum payment, they will digitize Wright and program her into all the hit movies she was never shrewd enough to accept. Evidently, this is the way the business is going, so she reluctantly accepts. Twenty years later, she is the biggest star in the business, but nobody recognizes the real Wright. Accepting an invitation to speak at Miramount’s Futurological Congress, Wright plans to challenge their questionable ethical priorities from the podium. However, to get there, she must travel into Miramount’s animated city of avatars. Unfortunately, little things like the nature of time and reality will complicate her plan.

Frankly, the first fifty minutes of live action could have easily been condensed. In fact, by the time the film finally switches over into animation, Folman seems so eager to go off on a fantastical romp he never fully establishes the rules and boundaries of his chemically induced world of cartoon avatars. Still, it all looks spectacularly trippy.

Granted, Folman’s Congress is a bit of a narrative mess and it lacks Lem’s subversive bite, but it is fully stocked with fascinating ideas and surprisingly effective performances. In one of many intriguing side-plots, Folman puts a Matrix-like spin of Otto Preminger’s Laura when Dylan Truliner confesses to Wright he fell in love with her while working as the animator manipulating her digital image.

As Al the agent, Harvey Keitel delivers a monologue end all monologues, while Paul Giamatti (who could have advised Wright on playing a meta-meta version of herself, having done something similar in Cold Souls) adeptly brings some stabilizing sensitivity and dignity to the film as Aaron’s kindly Dr. Baker. Whether as an animated avatar or in the flesh, Danny Huston also makes a dynamite villain as Miramount (great name) studio boss Jeff Green.

Most importantly, The Congress’ animation is wildly cool and colorful, with enough thinly disguised cameos and visual quotes to reward dozens of repeat viewings. In contrast, the Wright family drama gets tiresome the first time through, especially when it comes to poor, pitiful Aaron, whose bland personality seems to be degenerating along with his sight and hearing. Nevertheless, Folman puts so much crazy ambition up on the screen, it more than compensates for the occasional lapse into Lifetime melodrama. Recommended for fans of cult science fiction and animation, as well as Lem readers who enjoy being scandalized, The Congress opens this Friday (9/5) in New York at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center.

Billy Wilder’s Rakish Fedora

It turns out Norma Desmond was right. By 1978 the pictures had gotten small. One reclusive actress could make them big again, if only she were willing. One scuffling independent producer thinks he has the perfect comeback vehicle for her, but he will have to get past her suspiciously protective entourage in Billy Wilder’s newly restored Fedora (trailer here), which opens this Friday at Film Forum.

Unlike Desmond, the uni-named Fedora appears truly ageless. Part of the credit must go to Dr. Vando, her personal physician, but he is just as controlling as the rest of her gatekeepers. Fedora is staying at Countess Sobryanski’s villa on the Greek Isle of Corfu, where access is strictly limited. Even though she has rebuffed Hollywood’s overtures for years, Barry “Dutch” Detweiler has come on borrowed money, script-in-hand, hoping to entice her with his modern day remake of Anna Karenina. Since the film starts in media res at Fedora’s funeral, it is safe to assume the trip will not be a success. In fact, Fedora will dispatch herself in the manner of Tolstoy’s heroine. Of course, there will be a decidedly thorny explanation for her actions.

As we learn in flashbacks, Detweiler has a personal reason to believe Fedora might consider his offer. They once had a fling when she was at the height of her stardom and he was a very junior but very popular production assistant. There will be many more deep dark secrets from the past that Wilder and his celebrated screenwriting partner I.A.L. Diamond clearly enjoyed teasing out.

As a sort of thematic sequel to Sunset Boulevard, starring William Holden as Detweiler, Fedora ought to be beloved or reviled, yet it has been largely overlooked during the succeeding years instead. Frankly, that is rather baffling, because their dialogue is as snappy as ever and their take on the late 1970s business of moviemaking is drily mordant. There are obvious parallels with Boulevard, but they dress it up with the scandalous trappings of the Harold Robbins novels then in vogue (sex, drug addiction, children secretly born out of wedlock).

Nevertheless, Wilder was still Wilder, so he could secure some really big stars to appear as themselves. Henry Fonda cranks his likability up to superhuman levels to play himself as the president of the Academy, specially delivering Fedora’s honorary Oscar two years before he was awarded his own. On the flipside, Michael York is quite the good sport appearing as a shallow, clueless Michael York.

Holden proves he can still masterfully handle Wilder’s adult banter, but there is also something poignant about Detweiler’s mounting desperation and nostalgia for the good old days. Even in his final years, he was a true movie star. Marthe Keller is also quite compelling in the title role, which turns out to be quite the complicated part, for reasons that would be spoilery to explain. Likewise, it is great fun to watch José Ferrer’s Vando swill his liquor and chew his scenery.

Sure, Fedora is alternatively lurid and campy—all the best films about Hollywood are, at least to some extent. More importantly, it has the wit and the attitude you would hope for. Not exactly a masterwork and certainly not a masterpiece, Fedora is really just a ripping good exercise in storytelling. Highly recommended for fans of classic movies and the people who made them, Billy Wilder’s Fedora opens this Friday (9/5) at New York’s Film Forum.