My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn: When the Behind-the-Scenes are Better than the Movie

It was not a total lost when Only God Forgives, Nicolas Winding Refn’s much anticipated follow-up to Drive, bombed with the Cannes press corps. At least it should have shown Ryan Gosling how to deal with the Lido drubbing dealt to his directorial debut, Lost River. Maybe Winding Refn’s film is not looking as bad to them, by comparison. Maybe. Nevertheless, his family did not return from six months in Thailand without bringing home one highly watchable film. Alas for Winding Refn, that would be his wife Liv Corfixen’s up-close-and-personal behind-the-scenes documentary, My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

When watching Corfixen’s film, you immediately realize there was no way OGF was going to work. Winding Refn essentially admits his script makes no sense, which is never a good sign. Yet, his own contradictory impulses imply an even deeper identity crisis for the film. On one hand, he is clearly preoccupied with the pressure to repeat the success of Drive, yet he is perversely determined to produce a something utterly dissimilar. Mission accomplished on that score.

Much to her frustration, Winding Refn strictly limited Corfixen’s access to the set. It is evident from their often testy exchanges that she missed a lot of “making of” drama as a result. Still, it is blindingly obvious from the get-go this is a “troubled” production. In some shockingly revealing scenes, she captures all of her husband’s unvarnished self-doubt and self-pity, as OGF irreparably runs off the rails. Winding Refn’s references to compatriot Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier sounds especially telling. They seem like they should be two neurotic peas in a pod, but Winding Refn clearly nurses an inferiority complex.

Life should really not be dismissed as a DVD-extra, because it is hard to see anyone packaging it with OGF. After all, the shorter film basically explains why the longer feature attraction is such a chaotic mess. Short is also the right term. The actual movie substance of Life clocks in just under sixty minutes. However, Life has one thing few films can boast: their legendary family friend, director Alejandro Jodorowsky reading tarot and providing marriage counseling.

In all honesty, OGF has its moments, but they all come courtesy of the wonderfully fierce Kristin Scott Thomas and stone cold Thai movie star Vithaya Pansringarm, both of whom are seen in Life, planning their climatic scene together. In contrast, Gosling is utterly underwhelming, but to be fair, he comes across like a good sport in Corfixen’s doc, often seen playing with the couple’s young daughters. Perhaps he and Winding Refn should just leave the making of David Lynchian films to David Lynch.

Regardless, Life is a brutally honest look at the personal and emotional repercussions of a film that never worked, in any step of its production. It is also frequently very funny, in decidedly uncomfortable ways. Frankly, it is a shame we do not have similarly intimate records of the notorious production processes for films like Heaven’s Gate, but Life will be there as a cautionary example for all future filmmakers battling their expectations and egos. Highly recommended for fans of cult cinema, My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn opens this Friday (2/27) in New York, at the Elinor Bunin Monroe Film Center.

Jodorowsky’s The Dance of Reality

What is it like to grow up with a father who idolizes Stalin? It’s hard. Yet, Alejandro Jodorowsky tries not to judge him too harshly. In fact, he casts his son Brontis in the role, adding further Freudian layers to his autobiographical The Dance of Reality (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

As the son of Russian Jewish immigrants, young Alejandro would be an outsider in coastal Tocopilla, regardless. Dressing like Stalin, just as his father Jaime does, only makes matters worse. He is a sensitive youth, more comfortable around his protective mother Sara, who sings arias rather than talking in a conventional manner. The future director of Santa Sangre is bullied mercilessly by his father, but he slowly forges a relationship through his stiff upper lip—at least until Jaime vanishes on a mysterious (and purely fictional) mission of extremist political violence.

Although it does not exactly belabor the point, Reality eventually suggests Jaime’s Stalinism is a manifestation of his domineering instincts, which he should strive to overcome. That certainly seems reasonable. However, most of the film is an uneasy attempt to tell Jorowsky’s coming of age story while providing the surreal weirdness his admirers will expect, like Truffaut’s Doinel films tripping on acid. Frankly, it often feels rather forced.

To make matters stranger and more uncomfortable, Jodorowsky himself often walks into the picture Rod Serling-style to offer commentary and comfort his young alter-ego. However, it is decidedly creepy to see him drape himself over the boy, like a pervy Looper. While Jodorwosky’s manic enthusiasm is rather charming in Frank Pavich’s Dune documentary, he quickly wears out his welcome in Reality.

Surprisingly, it is Brontis Jodorowsky who takes ownership of Reality. More than just keeping his head above the flood of madness, the almost Paul Atreides vividly expresses both the intolerance and the insecurity warring within his grandfather. In contrast, his brother Cristobal is game enough as the lead of their other brother Adan’s Voice Thief, but a little of him and his thong goes a long way as the Theosophist.

Jodorowsky senior almost pulls Reality together down the stretch, gently but firmly repudiating Jaime’s paternal severity and political zealotry, but there are just too many freaks, midgets, and scenes of ambiguously oedipal nudity to wade through. Only for hardcore Jodorowsky cultists, the long awaited The Dance of Reality opens today (5/23) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

SIFF ’14: The Voice Thief (short)

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

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

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

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

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

Jodorowsky’s Dune: If Only . . .

How do you get from Alejandro Jodorowsky’s trippy cult classic The Holy Mountain to Ridley Scott’s moody blockbuster Alien? The road passes through Frank Herbert’s Dune and the legendary adaptation Jodorowsky failed to realize. It was a valiant effort that assembled much of the then unknown talent that would reconvene for the later science fiction-horror vehicle.  The behind-the-scenes story of the greatest film-that-never-was is told in Frank Pavich’s Jodorowsky’s Dune (trailer here), which opens this Friday at New York’s Film Forum.

Jodorowsky’s Dune boasts some of the greatest and most influential pre-production work maybe ever, but sadly you cannot see the final film.  In 1975, Jodorowsky was at the peak of his international success, even though his films were still unevenly distributed in America. Along with the Rocky Horror Picture Show, films like El Topo helped define the Midnight movie as a profitable phenomenon. Looking for a challenge, Jodorowsky and his producer Michel Seydoux corralled the rights to Dune.

Not exactly slavishly beholden to Herbert’s novel (which the Chilean auteur readily admits he had not read until after he committed to the project), Jodorowsky conceived an adaptation that truly boggles the mind. Still, Dune’s mind-expanding spice was perfectly compatible with Jodorowsky’s sensibilities. The prospective cast of Mick Jagger, Orson Welles, David Carradine, and Salvador Dalí alone would have guaranteed the film eternal cult status. However, Jodorowsky also assembled a technical crew of future genre superstars, including H.R. Giger, Jean “Moebius” Giraud, Chris Foss, and Dan O’Bannon, all of whom would contribute their talents to the O’Bannon scripted Alien.

Recognizing their allure, Pavich includes liberal selections of the aborted film’s concept art, even animating small snippets to really torment genre fans. Despite the short term risks, there is no way this film would not have been profitable in the long term. Which would pay more dividends in the post-1970’s VCR era, Jodorowsky’s Dune or a safe studio comedy like I Will, I Will . . . for Now? For that matter, what sort of licensing and residuals does the unwatchable Streisand remake of A Star is Born still generate, even though it was a minor hit in its day?

As a consolation, Pavich clearly suggests Jodorowsky’s efforts indirectly influenced scores of genre filmmakers, even if the experience was detrimental to his own career. Clearly, Jodorowsky is ready to talk about it, because does so in great length throughout the documentary. Fortunately, he is quite a lively interview subject. Although we also hear from Giger, Foss, Seydoux, and Jodorowsky’s son Brontis (who would have played Paul Atreides), the senior Jodorowsky’s voice dominates the film—not that his considerable fanbase is likely to object.

During the course of the film, Pavich gives viewers a vivid sense of what Jodorowsky unmade film would have looked like and provides helpful context to appreciate the time and professional milieu in which it did not happen. A fascinating and tantalizing “what if,” Jodorowsky’s Dune is highly recommended for science fiction fans and frustrated filmmakers of all stripes when it opens this Friday (3/21) in New York at Film Forum.