Benson & Moorhead’s Something in the Dirt

Maybe it is no accident Los Angeles is such an unlivable city. Maybe it was part of a deliberate conspiracy. That is a pretty sinister thought, but two down-on-their-luck losers are pretty are starting to believe it. Somehow, it all relates to the strange and potentially otherworldly force that manifests itself in their apartment building throughout Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead’s Something in the Dirt, which opens Friday in New York.

Levi Danube has just moved into John Daniels’ dingy little complex, occupying that one unit that has not been rented for years. While lending him some furniture, Daniels witnesses some kind of something—like a trick of the light, but more. Eventually, Danube sees it too, so they decide to start studying and recording it. The ultimate goal would be to release the ostensive documentary we’re now watching, but don’t worry. This is not found footage.

It also becomes clear from brief interviews with the various editors and technical advisors the two neighbors brought in, their collaboration process was not entirely smooth. For one thing, Daniels will be a bit disturbed to discover Danube’s sex offender record. Conversely, Danube becomes increasingly uncomfortable with his partner’s rapid descent into conspiracy theory mania. Daniels starts to suspect the phenomenon they witness in his sort-of-friend’s apartment is related to Pythagorean cults, which perhaps dictated the original design of the city of Los Angeles. It is hard to really explain the foxholes they dive into, but the visuals are pretty cool.

Benson and Moorhead are talented genre filmmakers, who also appear this time around as Danube and Daniels, respectively. Clearly, they have a firm grasp on conspiratorial paranoia. Based on Something, the filmmaking duo would be the perfect candidates to direct an adaptation of Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49. That is a short book for a reason, though. The nearly two-hour Something would have been much stronger if it had pared back some of the two neighbors’ bickering and kvetching.

Still, there is so much detail to their paranoid vision, Something will have viewers diving into their own rabbit-holes out of curiosity. Good luck finding any info on Los Angeles city planner and Pythagorean cultist William Thomson. Regardless, it is clear they have absorbed a lot of conspiracy theories, because they understand the elements that hook people in.

David Robert Mitchell’s Under the Silver Lake

It is often the case that those who are most convinced they can see clearly enough to decipher the hidden signs and cabals covertly governing the world are actually the most befogged by booze and controlled substances. That is not a matter of irony—it rather follows. Sam is a perfect example. The nothing slacker will interpret no end of clues hiding in plain sight all around us. Yet, somehow, they might just lead him to some answers regarding his missing neighbor in screenwriter-director David Robert Mitchell’s Under the Silver Lake, (his follow-up to It Follows) which opens today in New York.

Sam has developed a huge crush on Sarah, who probably is not equally enamored with him, but she is friendly enough to get stoned together, which is encouraging. However, when he comes looking for her the next day, he finds Sarah and her roommates have vanished. The apartment complex manager is not inclined to be helpful, because Sam is seriously in arears on rent. Instead, Sam will get some crucial intel from a comic artist who draws Under the Silver Lake, a zine about Los Angeles’ secret history and urban legends, like a serial dog killer and the Owl’s Kiss, a black widow-like bird creature.

Sam’s investigation will take him to the exclusive corners of the town, where the super-rich and highly strange rub shoulders. He learns to interpret hobo symbols from the 1930s and the subliminal lyrics in a hipster band’s specialty EP pressing. Conveniently, many of the clues are buried in the ironic pop culture he is so familiar with. Nevertheless, the unfolding of the conspiracy’s details is oddly fascinating. Unfortunately, Mitchell’s ultimate rabbit hole is just too deep and outrageous. Most viewers will be incredulous to find out what it is really all about. Still, the getting there is surprisingly entertaining.

Indeed, Lake is a pleasant surprise, considering how divisively mixed critical opinion has been up to now. It does not hurt that Mitchell loads the film up with film noir conventions and homages. A detour to Griffith Park? But, of course. Frankly, some of the most important work comes from the art and design teams, who created the art of the Silver Lake zine, the vintage magazines, the hobo handbook, and the eccentric knick-knacks generously distributed throughout the featured apartments.

Andrew Garfield manages to be just the right degree of twitchy as Sam. We can easily envision him as one of the nutty commentators on Room 237, but he is hardly a sad, non-functional figure, like Mel Gibson’s character in Conspiracy Theory. Riley Keough also so convincingly balances charm, seductiveness, and mysteriousness, we can easily buy into Sam’s determination to find her. Plus, Bobbi Salvör Menuez, Grace Van Patten, Riki Lindhome, and Wendy Vanden Heuvel all make strong impressions as various women co-existing in Sam’s warped world.

Mitchell just takes the film a little too far, but the real news is just how much of Silver Lake genuinely works. It is hard to believe nobody has taken a crack at adapting Pynchon’s Crying of Lot 49, but Mitchell’s film gives us a taste of what it might be like. Recommended for fans of LA noirs and conspiracy fiction, Under the Silver Lake opens today (4/19) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center.

Mike Boy: Conspiracies, Prophesies, and Bogus 1st Editions

Conspiracy theories are the secular religion of our time, so it makes sense they would produce their equivalent of the messiah. It turns out the put-upon waiter at an Egyptian restaurant is the prophesized one, or whatever. Of course, he has no idea what that means, but it is not clear screenwriter-director Hamzah Tarzan knows either, judging from Mike Boy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

Mike Boy is such a doormat, the hostess of his restaurant even shorts him on tips. He grew up an orphan, so he is understandably psyched when his bossy girlfriend Charlotte (she prefers to be called Lara) gives him a first edition of Oliver Twist (it turns out it was a flimsy tradepaperback published by Penguin. Who knew?). It wasn’t such a big deal for her because her father is an antiquarian bookseller, whose expertise might just factor into the caper later.

Shortly after an old Sopranos-looking gentleman spies Boy’s horse pendant, “Agent Chris” pays him a visit. Supposedly, two shadowy cabals have been secretly waging war for global domination. According to prophesy, Boy is the vengeance-seeker with the Andalusian horse necklace who will help Chris’s faction, the D’s, permanently overcome the Russian Mobbed-up Two Bones. To avenge his murdered mother and fulfill his destiny, Boy will have to complete a series of baffling transactions by midnight.

Okay, so far, so good, even though it takes the film way too long to get to this point. Unfortunately, what follows is a series of meaningless exchanges of one package for another, with instructions of where to go next. Naturally, the Two Bones are following along behind him, killing the parties to his obscure dealings, even though they should be more prepared, considering they understand what is going on better than Boy does.

Everyone digs a good conspiracy theory, so we all come into MB primed for a climatic showdown in its Masonic Lodge from Hell. Regrettably, Tarzan never pulls back to give us a more macro view of the secret history afoot. Instead, the film starts to feel like an especially dull episode of Deal or No Deal, as Boy keeps trading one generically ominous package for another.

Hugh Massey is not bad in the title role, but he has zero chemistry with Emily Killian’s Charlotte/Lara. The supporting cast is genuinely colorful, but most of them seem confused about their characters and motivations—like we can blame them. More fundamentally problematic, the film doesn’t move along briskly enough for a paranoid thriller.

The best films in this subgenre regularly reward us with shocking revelations, but for every answer they introduce several new mysteries. Tarzan rather maddeningly keeps everything in a black box. Ultimately, that means none of it has any meaning. It is memorably weird in spots, but that hardly makes Mike Boy worth recommending when it opens this Friday (9/1) in Los Angeles, at the Laemmle Music Hall.

Fantasia ’16: Man Underground

Geologists ought to be pretty down to earth (so to speak), but Willem Koda is flaky as shale. Even his friends (both of them) will admit he is ragingly paranoid. However, that doesn’t mean “they” aren’t ought to get him in Michael Borowiec & Sam Marine’s Man Underground (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Fantasia International Film Festival.

Koda used to be a Federal contractor, but those days are long gone. Now he makes a poor living as a speaker on the nutter circuit. Todd Buckle sort of inherited Koda’s friendship from his late UFO-watcher uncle, maintaining it out of loyalty and loneliness. Koda might have his faults, but he is polite, which impresses Flossie Ferguson, an aspiring actress stuck waiting tables in her sleepy hometown. Oddly enough, she inspires Koda to follow-up on Buckle’s innocent suggestion. The trio will expose the truth by making a microbudget film of Koda’s life.

For a while, this seems almost remotely doable. However, as Buckle steadily falls for Ferguson (despite her jerkheel yuppie boyfriend), Koda finds the personal revelations increasingly painful. Of course, he might not be the only one feeling alarmed by the film’s content, if you know what we mean.

Ostensibly, Underground is an X-Files style sf-conspiracy thriller, but it is actually a wise and sad portrait of a true believer. George Basil has the appropriate hound dog presence for the world weary Koda. He nicely turns some surprisingly poignant moments, as when he realizes how he froze out his long-suffering ex-wife after playing a scene from their ill-fated marriage with Ferguson. As Buckle, Andy Rocco is also amusingly droll in a laidback, unassuming way. Somehow, Pamela Fila just doesn’t feel like she fits in as Ferguson, but its not for a lack of trying.

Underground is definitely a film composed in a minor key, but it has its rustic indie charms. Basil proves you can fully commit to character, without indulging in shtick or histrionics. It is a nice film, but not a revolutionary revelation. Recommended for conspiracy cinema fans, Man Underground screens again next Wednesday (8/3), as part of this year’s Fantasia.

Moonwalkers: Idiots Will Believe It

Conspiracy theory nutters have widely cited the French film Dark Side of the Moon for supposedly exposing the “Moon Landing Hoax.” The problem is William Karel’s ostensive expose is actually a mockumentary poking fun at the very same tone deaf loons taking it for Gospel. Therefore, it would not be surprising if the same anti-social paranoids conclude this silly, somewhat slapstick farce is also a defiant act of Trufe-telling. Break out your tinfoil hat, because Antoine Bardou-Jacquet’s Moonwalkers (trailer here) opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

As the wackos heard throughout Room 237 make abundantly clear, there are people out there who really think Stanley Kubrick dummied-up the Moon Landing footage for the CIA, which makes no sense if you know anything about his iconoclastic aversion to ideology and bureaucracy. Nevertheless, CIA agent Tom Kidman has been ordered to recruit Kubrick to produce said video, just in case. In point of fact, it is indeed true some projections gave the Apollo 11 astronauts only a 30% chance of survival.

Of course, through what is meant to be a comedic chain of events, Kidman is forced to really on Jonny, a nebbish would-be rock band manager and the band of hippy dippy experimental filmmakers he sometimes does drugs with. Jonny also happens to be deeply in debt to a London loan shark, who tried to collect from Kidman’s briefcase full of cash. Of course Kidman had different ideas, resulting in several dead thugs and a whole lot of bruised underworld egos. Further complicating matters, a platoon of Langley Boy Scouts arrive just as the PTSD-suffering Kidman starts to go native.

There is way more blood in Moonwalkers than you would expect in a silly mash-up, which might be the best thing to say about it. As usual, Ron Perlman is seriously bad and drily funny as Kidman, even with all the tie-dyed bedlam going on around him. Maybe you have to have nostalgia for the Harry Potter franchise to get Rupert Grint. Otherwise, his Jonny just comes across as an annoyingly pathetic drip. Robert Sheehan and Tom Audenaert deliver shtick and more shtick as Jonny’s hippy filmmaker pals. At least Erika Sainte generates some heat with Perlman as the counter-culture vamp, Ella.

Buzz Aldrin would probably like to give screenwriter Dean Craig a knuckle sandwich and who could blame him? It takes one of the most triumphant moments in American (and human) history and reduces it to sex and drug jokes. They could have at least been funnier. Yet perhaps most problematically, Craig and Bardou-Jacquet openly invite the audience to cheer with bloodlust for the third act deaths of all the CIA agents not named Kidman. Frankly, both the astronauts and CIA agents who have sacrificed their lives for this country deserve more respect. Not recommended, Moonwalkers opens this Friday (1/15) at the Laemmle theaters in Los Angeles.

Tentacle 8: Microbudget Conspiracy Myth-Making

There is something uniquely tragic about conspiracy theory-mongers, who cannot understand why the world refuses to acknowledge the shadowy connections they see in the raft of coincidences they desperately cling to. Fictionalized treatments of their murky theories have the advantage of only requiring compelling narratives rather than bourgeoisie “proof.” Unfortunately, there is still not a lot of substance for us to process in John Chi’s microbudget paranoia trip, Tentacle 8 (trailer here), which opens this Thursday in New York.

Raymond Berry is a super-secret cryptographer and computer programmer, working undercover at a used bookstore, where he slips top secret correspondence to Tabitha Lloyd, a CIA field op, with whom he is secretly romantically linked. During the initial half hour of non-sequiturs, we also watch as tech start-up guru Rolland Towne is forced out of his company and the suits at the NSA go into full CYA mood when a data breach is discovered.

Soon, Berry is renditioned off to someplace more hush-hush than Guantanamo for some enhanced interrogation, until he is sprung by a mutual friend of the shadowy Mitchell, a long-vanished station chief who may or may not be involved with Tentacle 8, a fifth column organization buried within the intelligence establishment. Or something like that—who’s to say for sure?

To be fair, Chi will eventually lash these strands together in some fashion, but he takes several awkward narrative leaps to get there. Of course, the needlessly confusing flashback structure does not do any favors for narrative clarity either. To make matters even worse, he exploits the September 11^th terrorist atrocities in the rather baffling conclusion. Everyone has a right to hold their own conspiracy theories as articles of faith, but they should have the decency to respect other people’s tragedies.

Despite the narrative confusion (both deliberate and unintentional), T8’s ensemble is surprisingly professional. As a result, they often seem quite credible, while making ridiculous statements. In fact, as Berry and Lloyd, Brett Rickaby and Amy Motta (who both have an extensive list of television credits) are shockingly compelling in a number of key scenes together.

Running a tad past the two hour mark, T8 feels excessively long, yet it seems to be missing scores of establishing scenes. There is no question where the responsibility lays. Frankly, if Chi is worried about intrusive government surveillance and data mining (which are legitimate concerns), he should forgo further filmmaking and volunteer for Rand Paul (who really is the only candidate who will curtail such practices). Well-acted, but poorly constructed and ploddingly paced, Tentacle 8 is safely skippable when it opens this Thursday (6/18) at Anthology Film Archives. Why is it opening now when it is already available on DVD? It is all part of the master plan, which includes a VOD launch on the 25^th and availability on IndieFlix sometime in July.

ND/NF ’12: Generation P

Only a bold film would invoke the name “Ishtar,” but Victor Ginzburg is clearly a bold filmmaker. The context is much different here of course, but Elaine May’s notorious box office dud might have been quite popular in the old USSR, since it co-starred Reds helmer Warren Beatty. As it happens, Soviet era nostalgia plays a significant role in Generation P (trailer here), Ginzburg’s adaptation of Viktor Pelevin’s Illuminatus!-esque novel of late Yeltsin-era Russia, which screens this week as part of the 2012 New Directors/New Films.

Eventually viewers learn the Babylonian goddess Ishtar has a special relationship with Russia and its secret history. Though previously oblivious to the byzantine machinations of the behind-the-scenes power players, Babylen Tatarsky has always felt a kinship to all things Mesopotamian because of his name, originally conceived as a hybrid of Yevtushenko’s poem Babi Yar and Lenin. A failed poet working in a kiosk owned by the Chechen mob, Tatarsky falls backwards into a “creative” gig at one of the upstart Russian advertising agencies catering to the nouveau riche industrial class.

Tatarsky specializes in calibrating campaigns to appeal to Soviet nostalgia. He does not believe in it himself though, because he does not believe in anything. That ideological flexibility allows him to advance to larger, more connected firms. However, he has a spiritual advisor in the person of Gireyev, a Buddhist mystic and expert harvester of psychedelic mushrooms.

The “P” in Generation P is an ironic reference to Pepsi, the cola of Glasnost. Though it never outright glamorizes terrorism, P is not that far removed from V for Vendetta, exhibiting similar anarchistic inclinations. However, the closest comparison might be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, giving viewers a hallucinogenic tour of Russia worthy of Hunter S. Thompson.

P arguably peaks halfway through. At its most inventive, it mixes Mesopotamian and Soviet imagery to evocative hint at ancient mystic secrets. However, once Tatarsky reaches the inner circle, the film gets bogged down in rather standard dog-wagging conspiracy rigmarole.

Beyond its heavy-handed critique of consumerism, it is hard to get a bead on P’s exact ideology. While Tatarsky’s cynical nostalgia campaigns are clearly intended to be problematically simplistic, the only real reference to Russia’s Communist past are the fondly remembered Pioneer Days, which are presented with a Norman Rockwell like patina of lost innocence.

The film also has little love for Yeltsin, but plot developments ironically absolve him of much of his buffoonery. Likewise, there is constant white noise equating all capitalists with oligarchs, but they constantly wind up assassinated for running afoul the mob or the government. Yet, the similarities between a blunt-talking nationalist “reformer” literally created on a hard-drive and the current Russian president who refuses to relinquish his grip on power are difficult to miss.

Amidst the maelstrom of satire and metaphysics, Vladimir Epifantsev somehow creates a memorable, multidimensional portrait of Tatarsky, the everyman turned insider. Ginzburg also keeps viewers’ feet solidly on the ground, giving them plenty of narrative handles to guide them through the complicated and surreal storyline. It is a very accomplished work, but it is not clear what it all adds up to, particularly for those coming from what the film somewhat mockingly refers to as a “Soviet mentality.” A strange, sometimes dazzling film certainly worth attempting to decode, but in no way should be considered the final word on the immediate post-Soviet years, Generation P screens this Friday (3/30) at the Walter Reade Theater and Sunday (4/1) at MoMA, as this year’s ND/NF concludes in New York.

The Foul-Mouthed Operatives of Operation: Endgame

Those cloak-and-dagger types are so villainous. They always want to eliminate America’s mortal foes. Of course, that just won’t do under the new Obama administration. It is time to reward our enemies and punish our allies, which leaves a cabal of old school assassins out in the cold in Fouad Mikati’s Obama-era spy spoof Operation: Endgame (trailer here), now available on DVD.

It is inauguration day, but something is definitely amiss in the underground bunker shared by Alpha and Omega, two rival black ops agencies deliberately established to counter each other—a scheme that makes sense only in Endgame’s paranoid world. Still, it supplies a decent set-up for some rude but admittedly funny office place humor. In fact, the first half hour zings along quite nicely as the explicit, politically incorrect insults fly back and forth between the assassins.

Unfortunately, it is blindingly obvious Mikati considers anyone who is not a lifetime subscriber to Mother Jones an unredeemable psychopath. Naturally, all matter of evil skullduggery is ascribed to Bush and Cheney, while the film wildly exaggerates the popularity of the incoming President, even though buyers’ remorse was by then already setting in.

The McGuffin kicking things off is botched operation to blow-up the warehouse that held all the evidence against the outgoing administration, conveniently centralized in one location. When it goes sour, it somehow ignites a death struggle between the Alpha and Omega factions. While both teams derive their codenames from tarot cards you can tell Alpha is evil because their ranks include an African-American Republican and a Southern girl who attended a mega-church. Subtly thy name is not Mikati (nor that of screenwriters Sam Levinson and Brian Watanabe). By contrast, Omega is a somewhat likeable collection of drunks, the very hot “High Priestess,” and the new guy who got tagged with “The Fool” on his rough first day on the job.

As Alpha and Omega go at each others’ throats they must improvise weaponry from common office supplies, leading to a few more grisly laughs. Indeed, Endgame could have been quite entertaining if it was not so intent on grinding its ideological axe. Rob Corddry (formerly of the Daily Show) proves to be a master of foul-mouthed insult humor as the DTing “Chariot.” Bob Odenkirk also deadpans his way to some decent laughs as “Emperor.”

Looking pretty scary, Ellen Barkin chews the scenery rather shamelessly as “Empress.” However, Maggie Q is indeed quite attractive as “High Priestess,” while also bringing some legitimate action movie cred to the proceedings. Unfortunately, Zach Galifianakis is largely wasted as the anti-social “Hermit.”

A truly squandered opportunity, Endgame potentially could have been a very funny espionage movie send-up (albeit darkly so). While Corddry and Maggie Q give the film a boast of energy whenever they appear on screen (for very different reasons), it ultimately sabotages itself with the constant halting distractions of its contemptuous political score settling. As a result, the cynical Endgame already feels dated. A real coulda-shoulda film, it releases on DVD today.

NYAFF ’10 & Japan Cuts ‘10: Golden Slumber

Nostalgia—it’s a killer. Poor, hapless Aoyagi learns that the hard way. One minute he is listening to Beatles covers with an old college friend and before he knows it, he is the fall guy framed for the assassination of Japan’s Prime Minister. Freely remixing the familiar Oswald mythos for today’s celebrity culture, Yoshihiro Nakamura’s Golden Slumber (trailer here), screens in New York this week, as a joint presentation of the New York Asian Film Festival and the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts: Festival of New Japanese Film.

Aoyagi is one of the few average Joe deliverymen with his own fans. Several years ago he had twenty minutes of fame after coming to the rescue of a Japanese Pop Idol. Not particularly bright, that modicum of notoriety makes him a perversely fitting patsy for the evil scheme afoot. Thanks to his old (and now late) college chum, the noose has been fitted fairly well around Aoyagi’s neck, but he proves to be an unexpectedly elusive fugitive.

With its ever widening conspiracy and the frequent flashbacks to Aoyagi’s college years, Slumber is not unlike a more grounded version of 20th Century Boys for boomers. Similarly, there are some clever plot points that show how events from the past can influence the present. Still, it is a bit problematic that one of Aoyagi’s few allies is an apparent serial killer—and not of the Dexter variety either.

Reflecting the postmodern information age, nobody really seems to believe Aoyagi is guilty, despite the mountain of doctored evidence the authorities release to the public. Indeed, he is frequently compared to Oswald by name throughout the film. However, the compliancy of the news media in key moments frankly does not seem credible, given the current zeitgeist informing the film.

While we are mercifully spared most of the details of the meta-conspiracy itself, what we get is also predictably out of an Oliver Stone bag, with the anti-American firebrand eliminated in favor of an old political deal-maker (a tired cliché even in Japanese cinema.) Fortunately, the fugitive-on-the-run material works very well, celebrating the humanity of small acts of mercy Aoyagi experiences along the way. In fact, beneath the paranoia, there is a real heart to Slumber.

Earnestly likable, Masato Sakai heads a strong cast, bringing surprising depth to the film as Aoyagi. Yuko Takeuchi (seen on ABC’s Flashforward before the network sabotaged the show with annoying scheduling games) is an intelligent and charming presence as his old flame, Haruko. Akira Emoto seems born to play grouchy old men (as in All About Us), but again, he is also quite watchable as a prickly hospital patient who aids and abets Aoyagi.

There are a few head-scratching scenes in Slumber, but there are some genuinely endearing moments as well. One of the more sentimental conspiracy thrillers you are ever likely to see, it screens at the Japan Society on Friday (7/2) and Tuesday (7/6).