Sundance ’20: Max Richter’s Sleep

Brahms’ lullaby is three minutes long. Max Richter’s titular composition is eight hours. Yet, they both represent the same musical genre, sort of, kind of. Natalie Johns follows the composer as he prepares for another marathon concert of the minimalist classical work in Max Richter’s Sleep, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Frankly, it is hard to get a sense of Richter’s Sleep during Johns’ film, because listeners are meant to immerse themselves in it—and yes, let it lull them to sleep. Each ambitious performance is appointed with cots for the audience rather than the typical bucket seats. Obviously, this takes a lot of logistical and physical preparation, since Richter is on-stage at the piano for something like seven hours.

It would be interesting to know what the average deviance is for concert length. Do musicians ever say: “wow, seven-and-a-half hours, we really galloped through it.” Are they ever getting the universal “wrap it up quickly” circular hand gesture after eight-and-a-half hours? A lot of musicians and friends of musicians will probably have even more questions about the performance experience itself.

What we could do without are the shallow reflections from audience members, many of whom seem intent on making it a political rather than personal experience. At least Richter and his manager-wife have some intelligent things to say about the music and process.

Frontline: The Battle for Hong Kong

Hong Kong democracy protestors often shout their name and ID numbers when they are arrested by the HK police, because they are afraid they could very well disappear permanently. The cops have not been forthcoming about who they are holding, and footage of mysterious transports headed across the Chinese border have fueled grim speculation. That is the sort of helpful context that is completely missing from Frontline’s highly problematic report on the Hong Kong demonstrations, The Battle for Hong Kong, which premieres tomorrow on PBS stations.

Essentially, the hour-long report directed by Evan Williams endorses and promotes the general contention of Chinese Communist Party propaganda that there has been violence committed by “both sides.” To support this specious contention, they boiled down the last six months of social unrest to the attack on an off-duty HK police officer and another attack on a Mainland tourist, both of which were allegedly committed by overzealous democracy protestors.

Of course, the exposure of undercover cops trying to act as agent provocateurs is scrupulously ignored during Battle. Likewise, the report spikes any mention of the troubling incidents of police brutality that have surfaced. Carrie Lam and her enforcers do not want you to know about the allegation a 16-year-old teenager was gang-raped by Hong Kong police on September 27^th—and Williams and the Frontline editorial staff dutifully oblige.

There are serious estimates 80% of Hong Kong residents have been exposed to tear gas. That’s only coming from the cops. At one point, the narrator suggests large segments of the population were turning against the protestors, yet the overwhelming victory of democracy activist in the late November 2019 local elections, in which pro-democracy candidates captured 389 seats out of 452 (despite widespread documented cheating by the pro-Beijing government) strongly suggests otherwise.

Animation First ’20: Marona’s Fantastic Tale

Your dogs better understand life than you do, so just scratch them behind the ears and toss them a ball. That is definitely the message of recent films like A Dog’s Purpose and Art of Racing in the Rain and this animated feature definitely concurs. According to the puppy who comes into the world as “Nine,” it is a dog’s life when you are dog, but hers will be even doggier. Yet, there will be grace notes too in Anca Damian’s Marona’s Fantastic Tale, which screens today as part of this year’s Animation First.

As is often the case for strays, “Nine” was the product of an unplanned pregnancy. Her mother is warm and sheltering, but she will not remain in her care long. Instead, she is given to the owners of the pure bread who was tomcatting with her mother, but they abandon her shortly thereafter. She will subsequently live with three owners, who call her Ana, Sara, and finally Marona (or Miruna, in the case of the family’s grouchy grandpa).

It is a sad tale, but Marona still loves the owners who showed her love in return. Burly Itzvan, the well-meaning construction worker is probably the best of the lot, but his shallow wife is another story. Isn’t that always the way for a dog? It certainly is for Nine/Sara/Marona.

Marona’s Tale is definitely a dog story for adults. There is absolutely no mature subject matter, but the new agey fable-like story will be too sad and Damian’s style of animation will be too abstract for younger children. In fact, most viewers will need a little time to acclimate to the wavy collage-like swirl Damian’s visuals, rendered in collaboration with artist Brecht Evens. Utilizing 2D, 3D, and old school Reiniger-esque cut-out, Damian creates an immersive and disorienting world, convincingly approximating a dog’s eye view on life.

Of course, it is all necessarily a bit of a downer, since the story unfolds in media res, after Marona/Nine is hit by a car, prompting her life to flashback before her eyes. You really have to look for those grace notes, but that is the whole point of Anghel Damian’s screenplay. Somehow, the film makes its point without belaboring it. Of course, the charm of the titular dog helps a lot.

To Hong Kong with Love: Lost in the Fumes

Alas, there is really no suspense to be found in the political campaign this film documents. That is because the Beijing-controlled government of Hong Kong would do anything to prevent the election of an independent-minded (and independence-minded) candidate like Edward Leung. The fix was in, but he and his allies continued to fight the good fight throughout Nora Lam’s documentary profile, Lost in Fumes, which screens as part of the Metrograph new film series, To Hong Kong with Love, inspired by the democracy movement bravely demanding the HK government recognize its commitments to democracy and personal liberties as agreed to in the binding Joint Declaration.

Ironically, CCP propaganda claims the protestors seek to undermine the “One China Two Systems” doctrine, but it really Carrie Lam’s puppet government that has undermined the “two systems” part of the equation. Most of the protestors are advocating a real return to “One China Two Systems.” However, Leung is a different case. He and his Hong Kong Indigenous party were indeed advocating independence, which should have been their right, if Hong Kong were a more democratic system—but it isn’t.

There is a bit of street thuggery captured in the film, but the 2017-2018 period now looks like the calm before the storm compared to the systemic, orchestrated military-style campaigns of police brutality unleashed on the “Yellow” democracy movement in 2019. Yet, throughout the doc, we see the insidious ways Lam’s administration has institutionalized biases against competing political agendas into the fabric of the government. As a result, Leung and his running mates struggle with the dilemma of how their independence party can even stand for election when they must sign a pledge repudiating independence in order to be certified as candidates. For Leung, this is a profound quandary that literally drives him sick, physically and emotionally.

Nora Lam obviously had intimate access to Leung over the course of several years, but the portrait she creates is not slavishly starry-eyed. We definitely see Leung lose confidence and perhaps even start to wrestle with the depression that had plagued him before his activist days. Yet, that is exactly what makes Fumes so powerful. At the time of filming, Leung was only 25 years-old, but he was nearly reaching the point of burn-out. That is the effect Lam and her master Xi were having on the future generations of HK—and that was before they exposed an estimated 80% of the population to toxic tear gas.

Waiting for Anya

Writing holocaust-themed novels for the young adult market is a tricky proposition. Adapting them for the big screen is even trickier. Mark Herman’s The Boy in the Striped Pajamas did a better job of it than the 2008 film generally gets credit for, because it gets pretty darned honest and tragic down the stretch. The challenges are even more apparent for this big screen treatment set amid the picturesque Pyrenees, blessed with excellent grazing land for sheep and conveniently located a stone’s throw away from Spain. A teenaged shepherd does his best to aid and comfort a small group of hidden Jewish children in Ben Cookson’s adaptation of Michael “War Horse” Morpurgo’s YA novel, Waiting for Anya, which opens today in Brooklyn.

Jo is a better shepherd than a student, but he still flees in panic at the sight of a bear. He is a little defensive when he discovers a mysterious stranger witnessed the full incident, but he quickly understands the man has more to lose than he does. Benjamin is in fact a Jew who escaped the transports, who made his way to his widowed mother-in-law Horcada’s mountain farm, hoping his missing daughter Anya will also make her way to their agreed rendezvous point. The not-knowing is killing him, but he is still determined to help the half dozen or so children who have also found refuge with Horcada.

After meeting one of the little urchins, Jo agrees to shuttle supplies from town to Horcada’s remote farm house. However, he remains rather confused by the situation. The National Socialists stationed in town, with Vichy’s blessing, seem like agreeably rugged outdoorsy types to him, especially “The Corporal,” who seems to have misgivings over the way his colleagues have prosecuted the war. Grieving his daughter lost during an air raid, the NCO tries to take Jo under his wing. He also has unexpected affection for a developmentally challenged village boy, whose knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time will become a major source of tension throughout the film.

Waiting for Anya is a well-intentioned film, but everyone in it looks way too healthy, even the hidden children. Unlike the devastating confrontation with reality Striped Pajamas builds towards, Cookson manages to avoid any graphic depictions of atrocities. In fact, there is only one incident of violence for evil’s sake that viewers have already been primed to expect, with an annoying sense of tragic inevitability.

Animation First ’20: The County Fair (short)

Forget about Seth MacFarlane’s Ted. These Belgian plastic figurines had perfected the foul-mouthed toy shtick long before he ever came along. Actually, they keep it relatively clean during their latest misadventure, but Cowboy and Indian are just as stupid, self-centered, and offensive as they ever were in Vincent Patar & Stephane Aubier’s latest short film in the A Town Called Panic universe, The County Fair, which screens as part of a showcase for the production company Autour de Minuit, during this year’s Animation First Festival.

Fans will not be surprised when Cowboy and Indian tank their latest test at school. Horse, their mature guardian is so disgusted he threatens to withhold the tickets he bought for this year’s county fair. This will be sufficient motivation for the two dim-witted toys to knuckle down and ace the make-up test. However, when events conspire to still prevent them from attending the fair, they do what any wildly irresponsible cartoon character would do. First, they try stealing tickets, then they resort to time travel to avoid the obstacles in their way.

Sundance ’20: Happy Happy Joy Joy

Roman Polanski is human garbage, but somehow that doesn’t spoil Chinatown or Rosemary’s Baby for most viewers. Animated franchises are somewhat different. We feel a more personal connection to the characters and therefore often project a kindly Geppetto image on their creators. That is why it is so disappointing when animation stars disgrace themselves. Sadly, John Kricfalusi, the man behind Ren & Stimpy, is a case in point. Ron Cicero & Kimo Easterwood chronicle the up-and-down history of the beloved show and its problematic creator in Happy Happy Joy Joy: The Ren & Stimpy Story, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Technically, The Simpsons predated Ren & Stimpy, but it was still one of the original prime time weekly cartoons that developed a popular following for its rude style of humor. It was a breakout hit for Nickelodeon, but success went to Kricfalusi’s head. Eventually, he made diva-like demands of the network, including complete creative control, even though they owned the property. Not surprisingly, Nickelodeon was forced to fire Kricfalusi, who subsequently gave his darker impulses free rein while mismanaging his own studio.

Frankly, the clear “hero” of HHJJ and by far the most sympathetic figure we hear from is former Nickelodeon executive Vanessa Coffey. She is the one who zeroed-in on the Ren and Stimpy characters during Kricfalusi’s very different initial pitch and asked him to develop a show around them. She was also the person who curbed his excesses, at least for a while. Throughout her interview segments, Coffey has nothing but affection for the characters and her comments on Kricfalusi are far more diplomatic and reflective than he has a right to expect.

A good chunk of the film is devoted up-front to a deep dive into the show’s world and its assorted characters. It might even be too deep for non-fans or even casual admirers. However, things start to get interesting about halfway through when Cicero & Easterwood provide a detailed blow-by-blow of Kricfalusi’s network conflict. Then they become uncomfortable.

Animation First ’20: The Swallow of Kabul

Yasmina Khadra ran for the presidency of his native Algeria (not so impressively), but his most celebrated novel (written in French) tells of life in Afghanistan under the Taliban. The truth isn’t pretty, but the animated film adaptation is strikingly beautiful. Islamist extremism deepens and compounds a freak tragedy in Zabou Breitman & Elea Gobbe-Mevellec’s The Swallows of Kabul which screens during the Alliance Française’s 2020 Animation First Festival, in New York.

Mohsen and Zunaira Ramat were a modern educated couple. Now she must wear a burqa and must be accompanied by her husband whenever she leaves the house. Despite his reasonableness, Mohsen gets caught up in the mania of the moment and joins the fatal stoning of a convicted prostitute (whether she truly was one is anyone’s guess). Zunaira does not take his confession well. Rather fatefully, it causes an argument that leads to a horrible accident that Zunaira will be harshly punished for.

She will be the latest captive in the prison Atiq Shaukat oversees. In fact, she is the only prisoner, because the others have already been put to death. If Shaukat was ever troubled by the torture and executions, he is numb to it all now—at least until he spies Zunaira. Of course, he was not supposed to. This is not a Sybil Danning women-in-prison movie. Only female trustees should ever see a women prisoner without her hazmat suit. Sadly, she just doesn’t care anymore, but the pathos of her situation just might stir some feelings in Shaukat. Ironically, his terminally ill wife Mussarat is happy instead of jealous at the prospect of Shaukat’s emotional re-awakening, because it alleviates some of the guilt she feels for the way his life ended up. Nevertheless, Ramat is due to be executed as part of a Taliban public extravaganza, so Shaukat’s questions only bring anger and suspicion upon himself.

Thematically, Swallows is quite similar to Nora Twomey’s The Breadwinner, but its lush, watercolor-like animation is even more elegant, whereas the GKIDS release is probably somewhat more emotionally involving. Swallows still packs quite a punch. The adaptation credited to Breitman, Patricia Mortagne, and Sebastien Tavel maybe slightly softens Khadra’s ending, but the tragic inevitability of it all will definitely haunt viewers.

Sundance ’20: The Father

At this year’s Sundance, Angelica Sakurada sniffed out the buzziest films, allowing us to focus on our specialties. First, she provided a voluntary supplemental review of Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari, which went on to win both the Audience and Jury Awards. She follows up with a brief look at The Father, which is already considered a potential Oscar contender for Sir Anthony Hopkins and Olivia Colman, provided below as a courtesy to our readers:

Most people have someone in their family or extended circles of relations who suffer with Alzheimer or other forms of dementia, so they understand how difficult it is to understand what happens inside that person’s mind and why they act the way they do. It is particularly hard (and many times miserable) to be the family member who is responsible for the care of the person suffering from such illness. That is a common, relatable experience that serves as the foundation for Florian Zeller’s The Father, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

This is a very intelligent adaptation of a play from stage to big screen that makes the viewer question if they really understood the film in the end (and eventually want to watch it again to confirm). The use of small changes in scenarios and the original time-looping technique, shows in a unique and creative way the confusion of the affected mind and the suffering and confusion that result for the afflicted person. It really puts you in their head.

Sundance ’20: Exam (short)

Kids should be able to be kids, but Sadaf never stood a chance. She feels pressure from both sides of the social spectrum: her severe Islamist school administrators and her loutish, drug dealing father. The last thing she needs from either of them is unnecessary stress on a test day, but that is what they give her in Sonia K. Hadad’s short film Exam, which won the Special Jury Award for Acting at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Sadaf’s father often uses her as a courier or his drug deals. It disgusts her, but she usually just acquiesces. This fateful morning, the old man has volunteers her services, without asking her first. Sadaf happens to have an important exam at school today and she is already running late. She is not happy about it, but she doesn’t have much choice. However, it is not the people making low-end drug transactions who represent a serious danger to Sadaf—it is the busybody moralizers who run her school.

Exam is a few seconds shy of 15 minutes, but it gets acutely tense, awfully quickly. It definitely follows in the tradition of Persian films that depict extreme moral dilemmas, so aptly demonstrated by the films of Asghar Farhadi and Massoud Bakhshi’s Yalda, a Night of Forgiveness, which also stars young Sadaf Asgari and screened at his year’s Sundance.

Cane River: Restored and Finally Released

For years, only LP collectors had heard of Horace B. Jenkins’ debut film, but our knowledge was limited to a rare soundtrack LP featuring funky jazz vocalist Phillip Manuel. The album existed, albeit in limited quantities, but the film was never properly finished. After one work-in-progress festival screening, Jenkins tragically passed away before he could finish mastering it. Years later, the negative and audio tracks were rediscovered and fully restored. Finally, nearly thirty-eight years after it was first produced, Jenkins’ Cane River opens its first legit theatrical run this Friday in Brooklyn.

Peter Metoyer has just returned to Cane River, a traditional Creole community outside New Orleans, where he is the most eligible bachelor, as a scion of the most prominent family. They are successful horse ranchers, but they are not exactly rich, at least not anymore. Yet, Metoyer has ambitions of reclaiming the family lands his crazy grandmother was swindled out of. It was a pressing concern for him, until he meets Maria Mathis and gets a little sidetracked.

Metoyer and Mathis are not exactly Romeo and Juliet, but his Creole relatives and her dark-skinned African American family are deeply skeptical of their relationship, especially Mathis’s widowed mother. She fears the socially established Metoyer is just toying with her daughter. Nevertheless, their mutual attraction is quite real, even though their perspectives are very different. Frankly, it is hard for Mathis to come to terms with Metoyer’s heritage as the ancestor of a slave-owning matriarch, whose family openly sided with the Confederacy. Louisiana: complicated state.

The soundtrack, composed by Roy Glover and showcasing Manuel’s vocals is indeed smooth and soulful. Musically, Cane River is catchy and distinctive, as you would expect, since this used to be all that survived of the film. In fact, the film functions as an inadvertent time-capsule, capturing the vintage sleaze of the French Quarter in the early 1980s, as well as the wide-open spaces of the Northwest Country.

It is pleasant sinking into the film, but Jenkins’ unhurried pace and his tendency to soak up the landscape will try many viewers’ patience. There is a whole lot of gamboling in here. It is not even entirely clear what the central conflict of Cane River happens to be, until late in the third act.

Sundance ’20: Amulet

This titular figurine is said to be either a harbinger of evil or a protection against it. Perhaps that makes it the perfect artifact to come into the possession of a philosophy post-grad like Tomaz. He could ponder its meaning and essence through several schools of thought, but he hasn’t pursued his studies in years. Instead, he lives in self-imposed hand-to-mouth exile on the mean streets of London. When he is suddenly offered permanent room-and-board, it comes with a sinister catch in Romola Garai’s Amulet, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Tomaz’s war is never explicitly identified, but it bears a strong resemblance to the Balkan War. Regardless, he suffers from some debilitating PTSD and is perhaps justly tormented by overwhelming guilt. Even though his is an egghead academic, Tomaz is surprisingly handy, so a rather chipper nun offers him a deal. He should stay with the socially stunted Magda and her unseen invalid mother, paying for his keep by fixing up the decrepit house.

Although Tomaz nearly leaves several times, concern for Magda’s well-being and a taste for her cooking keep him coming back. Although she keeps her dying mother out-of-sight, Tomaz can tell there is something profoundly off about her, judging from the bite marks on Magda and the sounds of violent altercations. She is more than your average mad woman in the attic.

Amulet is a seriously confounding film. Garai (the thesp best-known for classy historical dramas, like The Hour and Atonement) creates a vibe of creeping dread as well as anyone. This film has a real tactile, textured feel. You can practically smell the dry rot. However, when the big revelations come, instead of shock and awe they produce moments of “wait, what happened” befuddlement. Just when you think you understand the evil designs, she adds weird coda to re-obscure any sense of viewer clarity.

That is definitely a problem, especially considering how challenging it is to slog through the deliberately slow and excessively fragmented first act. Yes, it then comes together, only spin out into left field once again.

Nevertheless, Imelda Staunton still might be worth the price of admission as the flamboyant nun. She chews the scenery, swings for the fences, and generally upstages everyone and everything in this film. Seriously, it could very well be the best horror movie performance of the year, by the standards of both critics and fans alike.

Animation First ’20: The Bears’ Famous Invasion of Sicily

For decades, Sicily was a stronghold for Italian monarchist politics. It must have been because of the bears. According to Dino Buzzati’s 1945 children’s book, the bruin-kind were once in charge here. In fact, the bear king was rather popular, until his administration fell victim to the sort of jealousies and shortsightedness that are typically the specialty of mortal men. Lorenzo Mattotti adapted Buzzati’s epic fable, The Bears’ Famous Invasion of Sicily as a French-Italian animated co-production, which screens as the opening night feature of the Alliance Française’s 2020 Animation First Festival, in New York.

This will be a tale told by Gedeone the troubadour, wisely selected to appeal to the bear, whose lair he entered uninvited. Leonce was a wise bear king, but he slides into a funk of depression when his beloved son Tonio is abducted by hunters. His brooding inaction even jeopardizes the survival of the bearsfolk, since winter is fast approaching. Fortunately, a sage elder bear convinces him to invade the Grand Duchy of Sicily, in the hope of finding both food and Tonio. It will be a pitched battle, with momentum swinging from the bears to the tyrannical Grand Duke and back again. The wildcard will be the court sorcerer De Ambrosiis, who was never fully appreciated by his corrupt boss.

Eventually, the bears defeat the Duke, largely because the humans are well ready to be rid of him—De Ambrossiis first and foremost. However, Gedeone’s attentive audience has the second part of the story. Alas, Leonce won the war, but it turns out he lost the peace, largely because when the bears accepted the mantel of human power, they started exhibiting human corruption, arrogance, and ambition. Turns out Lord Acton’s dictum and Public Choice Economic Theory apply just as much to bears in power as they do to men.

Sundance ’20: Relic

Horror movies are usually about monsters, but in real life, nothing is scarier than family. That is particularly and tragically so when age and disease turn family members into strangers. Kay assumes her mother is succumbing to a conventional form of dementia, but there are uncanny forces at work in Natalie Erika James’ Relic, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Kay and her daughter Sam have rushed out to her mother’s home, after her neighbors called with their concerns. Old Edna has not been seen for days and she does answer their calls. It turns out she is legitimately missing rather than dead or incapacitated inside. In fact, she will suddenly turn up again, apparently oblivious to all the fuss she caused. That should be all fine and good, but Edna is acting a little weird. After her reappearance, she exhibits a bit of a mean streak. She also says some slightly unsettling things. In fact, some of her crazy talk suggests there is some sort of malevolent supernatural business going on in the house, which could well be the case, given the fact this is a horror movie.

In fact, the house itself turns out to be a spectacular work of genre set and production design, but it would be spoilery to explain how. In any event, Relic is quite thematically and stylistically compatible with James’ impressive short film Creswick, so hopefully some programmers will have the vision and latitude to pair them together. Clearly, both films demonstrate James talent for crafty a moody horror atmosphere, as well as her interest in telling more ambitious stories through the genre.

Sundance ’20: Tesla

Nikola Tesla is probably the only inventor to have a heavy metal band and an electric car named after him. His great rival Thomas Edison can’t say that. Fittingly, he now also has the idiosyncratic distinction of being the subject of a Michael Almereyda film. It is concretely based on Tesla’s life, but there is nothing conventional about the way it unfolds on screen in Almereyda’s Tesla, which won the Alfred P. Sloan Prize for use of science in cinema at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Yes, Almereyda covers all the major beats in Tesla’s life, including his early years in Croatia, his brief tenure at Edison’s workshop, his success developing alternating current, his difficult relationships with the Morgan family, and his iconic (or infamous) experiments in Colorado Springs and at Wardenclyffe Tower. However, this is about as far from straight biography as you can get. Instead, Almereyda starts with the approach of his fascinating Stanly Milgram film, Experimenter, cutting loose all narrative restraints and doubling down on surreal stylization.

This time around, he frequently utilizes similar rear-screen projections for disorienting effect, but he also employs the torch-carrying Anne Morgan as a wholly unreliable, fourth wall-puncturing narrator. The film freely skips around the Tesla timeline and often wistfully depicts long hoped-for incidents that never happened in life, much like the fantasy scenes in Annie Hall. The resulting spectacle resembles Milos Forman’s Ragtime if rewritten by Charlie Kaufman, but with a weird mix of mischievousness and wistfulness that is all Almereyda.

If you have seen Experimenter it will help prepare you for the sort of hyper-real effect Almereyda achieves throughout Tesla, even though the earlier profile-in-science was considerably more grounded. This is the sort of film you have to roll with, but if you can maintain your sea-legs and your bearings to any extent, Almereyda’s woozy kaleidoscope is absolutely dazzling to behold. Admittedly, Tesla’s third act crooning of Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” is wacky bridge too far, but hey, who’s to tell Almereyda he should start holding back at that point?

Two of the major reasons Tesla works so well are Ethan Hawke and Kyle MacLachlan, who are perfectly cast as Tesla and Edison, in ways that best contrast their differences. Hawke’s Tesla is the king of all brooders, who has contempt for the success he chases. He is an introverted man, uncomfortable in his own skin, somewhat akin to the shy teen Hawke played in Dead Poets Society. In contrast, Edison is a brash American striver. Yet, MacLachlan conveys all his insecurities and fears of failure. He is a rival to Tesla, but not a villain.

Sundance ’20: Worth

Finally, someone aspired to create the Great American actuarial movie. Sadly, it was made possible by one of the worst human tragedies in American history—the horrific terrorist attacks of 9-11. In the short-term, most victims just wanted the terrorists and their enablers to pay, but trial lawyer Ken Feinberg knew some cash payouts would provide tangible help over the long-run. His stewardship of the September 11^th Victims Compensation Fund is the focus of Sara Colangelo’s Worth, which screens today during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Feinberg is the sort of colorfully cynical attorney who can lecture his law students on the art of putting a dollar figure to a human life and leave them impressed by his wit. Sitting down with the grieving victims of the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and hijacked airliner crashes will be a different matter. Nevertheless, he jumps in with both feet when the Federal government creates the fund as a way to indemnify the airlines against potentially bankrupting lawsuits. Here’s the tricky part: for the fund to stave off class action suits, it should have 80% participation by the filing deadline. No problem Feinberg thinks. Then he has his first informational session with victims, where he shoves both feet in his mouth, up to his knees.

Soon, Charles Wolf emerges as a leader of the families and the chief critic of Feinberg’s one-size-fits-all formula for compensation. Yet, the legal bean-counter insists on his methodology, despite the heart-breaking one-on-one meetings conducted by his chief lieutenants: partner Camille Biros and Priya Khundi, a new associate, whose previous firm was headquartered in the World Trade Center.

There are a number of problems with Worth, but they all boil down to the central truth: a film addressing an event like September 11^th really can’t make a mediocre job of it. This should be a serious, nonpartisan film, but Colangelo and screenwriter Max Borenstein just cannot resist depicting Pres. George W. Bush as a cartoon blowhard, which immediately cheapens the film. Yes, there are emotionally devastating moments when families discuss their loved ones, but the manipulation is glaringly obvious. Frankly, the real suspense of Worth is built around whether or not Feinberg will finally start to connect with people on a human level, before it is too late.

Sundance ’20: Run Sweetheart Run

You can’t hardly call horror films “date movies” anymore, because its like they’re trying to keep people apart. The horrors of blind dates are already pretty well established, but you’d think you could trust a fix-up from your boss, right? Sadly, Cherie will learn otherwise in Shana Feste’s Run Sweetheart Run, Blumhouse’s latest women vs. men horror production, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Cherie’s last boyfriend was such a violent thug, she has been a bit skittish to start dating again, so her boss fixes her up with a wealthy client, who owns a picturesque mission-style mansion in the middle of downtown LA. Of course, the well-heeled Ethan is profoundly bad news. The date is great, but the coffee-after at his place turns nightmarish. Suddenly, is on the run from her date-turned hunter, who confidently promises their “game” will end at sunrise, one way or another.

The cops won’t help (they’ve either been bought off or just don’t care) and the hookers and street people are too scared to get involved. The only helpful advice Cherie gets is to seek out the mysterious Blue Ivy. She is so desperate, Cherie even seeks refuge with her ex’s gun-wielding friends, but they are no match for Ethan. He has superhuman strength and can literally smell her blood. To make matters worse, it is a certain time of the month for Cherie, as the film establishes with a number of uncomfortable scenes. Ethan’s only weakness seems to be a fear of dogs.

Unlike Blumhouse’s Black Christmas remake, the gender politics of RSR do not drown out the blood or the fun of its fundamental horror business. However, there is a rather glaring credibility issue. It makes no sense for Cherie’s boss to pimp new victims for Ethan so close to home. Regardless, Feste builds the tension and exploits the generally creepiness of LA night life quite effectively. She also riffs on ancient monster legends in hip and clever ways.

Sundance ’20: Be Water

Bruce Lee is one of handful of movie stars who are just as popular now as they were at the height of their careers. He even spawned a cottage industry of films about his first great Wing Chun master Ip Man, targeted at fans hungry for more, because his family so tightly controls rights to his likeness. With their cooperation, Bao Nguyen chronicles his life through the words of those who knew him best in the ESPN-produced documentary Be Water, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Action fans already know the broad strokes of Lee’s story, as well as many of the finer details. Lee was a cocky kid who was sent to America to avoid trouble. Despite the hardships of life as an immigrant, he gained some notoriety as a Kung Fu instructor, but struggled to translate it into a Hollywood acting career. Instead, Lee returned to Hong Kong, where his martial arts films produced by Golden Harvest launched him into international superstardom. Yet, he would tragically die just as he was poised to attain crossover-Hollywood stardom. None of this will be spoilery for anyone interested in this film.

Frankly, Be Water largely revisits the same biographical ground covered in Pete McCormack’s I am Bruce Lee. In fact, both films are structured around the famous “Be water, my friend” interview with Pierre Berton, but Nguyen takes a dramatically different stylistic approach. There are no talking-head shots in Be Water (aside from interview footage of Lee himself). Instead, the disembodied voices of colleagues and family reminisce over photos and video of Lee. It should keep the focus squarely on the legendary subject, yet Nguyen feels compelled to constantly put Lee’s career in the context of the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s, as if he needs to justify our continuing interest. Seriously, he’s Bruce Lee—there’s no call for such defensiveness.

Sundance ’20: Nine Days

You’re being watched, so try to do something interesting. In this case, the surveillance isn’t dystopian. It’s cosmic. Someplace outside of existence, a lonely caretaker watches 25 lives unfold on POV TV screens, until he suddenly has a vacancy in LA-based Brazilian filmmaker Edson Oda’s revelatory feature debut, Nine Days, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

This little prairie house looks like could be a location in Fargo, but instead it is found on a plane beyond our own. It serves as Will’s headquarters, where he observes the 25 mortals he approved to be born into life. His only occasional contact is Kyo, he serves in some sort of coordinating capacity for a number of such outposts. He will be visiting more frequently while Will interviews prospective souls after the unexpected death of one of his 25 lives.

She was his pride and joy, but for some reason, the classical musician appears to have taken her own life. Maddeningly, the video is ambiguous, so Will obsessively reviews her archive, looking for clues. Regardless, he must choose her replacement, so he begins the nine-day process of elimination with the group of souls mysteriously summoned to the house. The top candidates seem to be the tough-talking Kane and the free-spirited Emma. For better or worse, the recent tragedy colors his selection, but his own experience weighs just as heavily. Unlike most of the characters existing in this space, Will was once alive, but it didn’t work out so well.

Clearly, Nine Days bears the influence of Kore-eda’s After Life, both thematically and stylistically. At the very least, you have to give Oda credit for ambition by picking such an incomparable film to pay tribute to. That makes it even more impressive when Nine Days steps out of its shadow and indelibly establishes its own identity. Be warned, Oda aims for a massive emotional crescendo and pulls it off with devastating impact. We are talking about the full “Captain, my Captain,” getting-choked-up-in-spite-of-yourself effect here.

Sundance ’20: Sergio

It was not exactly the United Nation’s finest hour when Turkey was tapped to co-chair the human rights committee that accredited NGO’s, despite its dismal record of press censorship and oppression of the Kurds. Hypocrisy and corruption have long been rife throughout the UN bureaucracy, especially during the days of Kofi Annan’s administration. The one shining exception was Brazilian diplomat Sergio Vieira de Mello. He had the unique distinction among his UN peers for actually brokering equitable peace deals, but he was tragically killed by the Al-Qaeda faction that evolved into ISIS. After chronicling Vieira de Mello’s story in documentary form, Greg Barker retells it as the Netflix-produced narrative feature Sergio, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Vieira de Mello opposed the Iraq War—a fact Barker and screenwriter Craig Borten clearly do not want us to forget. In fact, they revel in his disagreements with Paul Bremer, the Administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority of Iraq. Alas, it is no spoiler to mention the titular diplomat was killed during his Baghdad posting, because Barker uses it as a narrative device, flashing backwards to happy times, while U.S. Sergeants Bill von Zehle and Andre Valentine, firemen in civilian-life, struggle to unearth Vieira de Mello and his colleague, Gil Loescher, from the precarious rubble. Obviously, the prognosis looks bad.

Those better days include Vieira de Mello’s tenure as the UN’s Transitional Administrator for East Timor, where he negotiated the new nation’s peaceful independence from Indonesia. East Timor is also where the divorced High Commissioner meets Carolina Larriera, a micro-finance expert, who becomes his lover and UN colleague. Unfortunately, such business leads Vieira de Mello to neglect his sons. Indeed, family time is rare and awkward for the diplomat (sadly, a big pot of delicious shrimp moqueca gets neglected during a short-lived family reunion).

Sergio’s biases are blatantly obvious, but they still probably could have been worse. Arguably, Bradley Whitford’s cartoonish portrayal of the nebbish Bremer as cynical villain is the most egregious aspect of the film. On the other hand, it forthrightly depicts the heroic efforts of von Zehle and Valentine to save Sergio and Loescher. It is worth noting von Zehle served as a technical advisor, which is a major reason why the rescue sequences are so tense and realistic.

Borten’s screenplay readily admits Vieira de Mello’s decision to evict the U.S. forces guarding the UN’s headquarters in Iraq left it directly vulnerable to terrorist attack. However, for some dubious reason, it omits al-Zarqawi’s cited motivation for the bombing in his statement of responsibility: the East Timor deal that result in a net loss of territory controlled by the Islamic Caliphate—in that case the Indonesian government.

As a film, Sergio moves along at a good place and convincingly recreates the major events of his time, even though Barker and lead actor Wagner Moura are transparently mindful of protecting Vieira de Mello’s reputation throughout the film. They show some self-doubt and human weakness, but just enough to provide an opportunity for redemption. Ana de Armas is pretty credible expressing frustration with his workaholism and commitment phobia, but the character is largely defined in relationship to him.