Tribeca ’11: Turn Me On, Goddammit

Has this been the naughtiest Tribeca Film Festival ever? In addition to Pinku Eiga, a short smut doc, and Spanish sex-trafficking hipster-noir, there have been two Scandinavian films about sexually precocious young girls. Oddly enough, they both won awards at the festival. At least, the good one is not at all creepy. Granted, there is no getting around Alma’s horniness, but as a teenager, that is how she is sort of supposed to be. Unfortunately, she earns quite a reputation for it in writer-director Jannicke Systad Jacobsen’s pretty darn directly titled Turn Me On, Goddammit (trailer here), which screens again today as the best narrative screenplay award winner at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Alma is very interested in the blandly attractive Artur, as are a number of girls in Skoddeheimen, her stiflingly dull provincial town. Unfortunately, when she impulsively mentions his clumsy bit of show-and-tell at a party, he publically repudiates her. Suddenly, she is shunned by her classmates as an allegedly sexually-obsessed horndog with difficulty distinguishing between reality and her overactive fantasy life, which is largely true, but completely unfair. The only person who understands her is the soothing voice at her favorite sex line, but when the phone bill arrives her Calvinist mother insists she get a job to pay for it. When that predictably leads to more awkwardness, Alma starts yearning for life in the big city, as well as the other stuff.

Just to review, Alma, a cute blonde, is ostracized in high school for her raging lust. Okay, fine whatever, but those Norwegians sure are weird cats. Be that as it may, Turn is indeed a mostly charming little film. Helen Bergsholm has a winning screen presence and a flair for outrageous comedic situations. Likewise, Malin Bjørhovde comes across realistically grounded as Alma’s last friend Sara, a frustrated activist, who wants to write to American convicts on death row, but seems a little hesitant about letting them have her address.

It is important to note this story of high school sexual angst was directed by a woman, because it shows a bit more than you might expect (though little outright nudity). Still, Jacobsen handles the potentially prurient material with a light touch, so the film never feels smarmy (except maybe in retrospect). She is particularly deft at blurring Alma’s fantasies into reality, often catching the audience off-balance as a result. Though a worthy film, it is somewhat strange Turn would win an award for screenplay, because despite the film’s energy and fresh characterizations, there is never really any doubt where it is heading.

Regardless, Turn is a gently entertaining film with real breakout commercial potential. It is one of several standouts at this year’s Tribeca, which has at times been unexpectedly tricky to write about for a family outlet. The winner of the 2011 Best Screenplay—Narrative Award, it screens again this afternoon and evening as the Tribeca Film Festival wraps.

Tribeca ’11: The What Capital? (short)

As a New Yorker, I am honor-bound to launch a protest when another city is crowned “Smut Capital of America.” Hello, Times Square? Still, filmmaker Michael Stabile makes a strong case for San Francisco in his documentary short Smut Capital of America, which screens again today at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival as part of the Off the Grid short programming block.

Evidently, Stabile has covered “the business” as a journalist, but has crossed over to the “mainstream” with a documentary about “the business,” a progression that makes perfect sense in Hollywood. Regardless, he provides a quick and lucid account of the rise and rise of adult filmmakers in the 49’er city, largely focusing on Alex de Renzy and his First Amendment court challenges.

Capital argues the enterprising pornographer’s greatest contribution was making smut boring with his ostensive documentary, Pornography in Denmark, about the newly legalized state of pornography in Denmark. While there were plenty of naughty bits, the veneer of sociological inquiry made it socially redeeming in the eyes of the court, which therefore ruled it was not obscene. For all practical purposes, this opened the flood gates for San Francisco’s cottage industry.

Stabile has plenty of (clothed) on-camera interviews with de Renzy’s surviving associates as well commentators, such as underground film cult hero John Waters, who has carved out quite a niche as a talking head in documentaries celebrating marginalized cinema, like Céline Danhier’s Blank City. However, Capital presents something of a mixed message, with Waters assuring us these films are merely fantasy with no lasting real world effects, while another on-camera expert argues they are “educational,” even suggesting viewers will try to emulate what they see on-screen, which seems to contradict the official industry line (simply stated: that what they show has no influence on people’s behavior).

Regardless, Capital is a breezy doc that takes its subject somewhat seriously, while still presenting it in the spirit audiences will expect. Considering the generous use of vintage clips, it is definitely not for kids either. The result is amusing in its way and informative for many of us squares (“educational” would be a stretch). Those knowing full well what to expect can check out Capital today (5/1) as part of the Off the Grid documentary shorts block at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: The Guard

Sergeant Gerry Boyle is too corrupt to be corrupted. The Archie Bunker of the Garda (with a dash of Hunter S. Thompson), his flaws are manifest, but misunderestimate him at your own peril in writer-director John Michael McDonagh’s The Guard, which screens during the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

When Boyle and his new partner discover a dead body connected to a trio of rogue drug traffickers, the curmudgeonly copper takes it in stride. He certainly not about to cancel his regularly scheduled assignation with two up-scale call girls imported from Dublin. However, when Boyle’s partner turns up missing, he starts to take matters more seriously.

In contrast, the FBI is quite concerned about the ruthless (but eccentric) gang, dispatching Special Agent Wendell Everett to take charge of the case. Needless to say, the straight-laced agency man clashes with the decidedly unimpressed Boyle. Unfortunately for Everett, Boyle is not only the smartest cop on the force, he is also the only one not on the take.

McDonagh’s razor-sharp dialogue is a joy to hear, particularly coming from Brendan Gleeson as the jowly and jaundiced Boyle. Gleefully subverting the jolly Irish cop stereotype, his Boyle comfortably occupies the hazy border between hero and anti-hero. Likewise, Don Cheadle is appropriately intense, but still cool, as the strictly business Everett. Their standoffish relationship and pointed banter is well beyond the stuff of standard buddy-cop fare.

Completing the package, Guard also boasts some entertainingly colorful villains. Liam Cunningham, also seen at Tribeca this year in Paula van der Oest’s Black Butterflies, chews the scenery with relish as Francis Sheehy-Skeffington, a homicidal self-styled gentleman of literary refinement. Though much more understated, Mark Strong’s turn as Clive Cornell, the gangster cynically disaffected with illicit drug trade and the crooked cops who abet it, gives the film a distinctive edge.

Cleverly written from start to finish, The Guard is the most quotable film in years. Boyle may very well be a character Gleeson was born to play. In fact, he more-or-less reprises the role in Noreen (trailer here) a very funny short written and directed by his son, Domhnall Gleeson, that also screens at Tribeca this year. His name is Con this time round and he might not have Boyle’s deceptive cunning, but the attitude is similar. Also quite funny, it has a similar appeal as Guard, so the two together would fit quite nicely. One of the most entertaining films at Tribeca this year, Guard screens again tonight (4/29) and tomorrow afternoon (4/30). Gleeson and Son’s darkly comic Noreen is definitely recommended as well. It screens as part of the Mix Tape shorts program Saturday and Sunday.

Tribeca ’11: Klitschko

Mother Klitschko is no fun. She expressly prohibited her boxer sons Vitali and Wladimir from fighting each other. Of course, that is exactly what the boxing world wants to see. Sebastian Dehnhardt profiles the two well educated Ukrainian brothers who rose to the top of the boxing ranks, got knocked down, and clawed their way back in the simply but aptly titled documentary Klitschko (trailer here), which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Growing up military brats, the Klitschko brothers’ father was an ardent Communist. However, he would pay for his blind faith, when his unit responded to the Chernobyl crisis without adequate protective gear. Fortunately, when his cancer inevitably surfaced, the Klitschkos already had sufficient means to provide their father with the best of western medicine. Coincidentally, the now cancer-free Col. Klitschko has had a complete ideological change of heart, at least according to his sons.

Though not technically twins, the Klitschko boys were always big and nearly impossible to tell apart. The older Vitali actually started out as a kick-boxer while so-called “Western martial arts” were prohibited in the Orwellian Soviet Union. Eventually, the Klitschkos switched to boxing, where fighters could make serious money. Due to inopportune injuries, they lost several high profile bouts they should have won. The elder Klitschko was especially dogged by the quitter epithet. Yet, both brothers would have their Rocky moments in the ring.

Klitschko the film is definitely produced with boxing fans in mind. However, those who follow post-Soviet politics will also find Dehnhardt’s documentary engaging. A reformer, the elder Klitschko was even elected to the Kiev City Council for two stormy terms. It is also unexpectedly (and unfortunately) topical, given the increased interest in the Chernobyl disaster following the near repeat in Fukushima.

Not surprisingly, Dehnhardt shows a whole lot of fight footage, but he establishes the dramatic import of each match quite clearly. In addition to the Klitschkos and their parents, he also includes extensive commentary from their contemporaries in the ring, many of whom, like Chris Byrd (and his young son) are truly gracious on-camera. Frankly, the film has no villains, per se (except perhaps the delegate who inexplicably took a swing at Vitali Kilitschko during a heated council session). Indeed, Dehnhardt argues the lack of a flashy nemesis has prevented the pugilist brothers from getting their proper due. Of course, they can hardly go back in time and fight Ali in his prime.

While they are certainly imposing, the Brothers Klitschko are clearly smart and articulate. Unlike UFC champ Anderson Silva who appears reticent to the point of apathy in Like Water, his own documentary also screening at Tribeca, the Klitschkos make the effort to connect with the audience. Briskly paced and quite informative, Klitschko is one of the best docs at this year’s festival. Highly recommended, it screens again tomorrow (4/30).

Tribeca ’11: Flowers of Evil

The wave of protests sweeping the Middle East started in Iran, but it was the Islamist government that supplied all the rage. Their crackdown was swift and violent. The almost-revolution was not televised, but it was on youtube, where a young Iranian expat breathlessly follows the tumultuous events rocking her country from the safety of France in David Dusa’s Flowers of Evil (trailer here), which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

When the French-Algerian Rachid (a.k.a. Gekko) first meets Anahita, he does not make a strong impression. He is the one carrying her bags when she checks into her upscale hotel. It is not snobbery. The attractive Iranian is understandably preoccupied with the government’s brutal response to the “Green” pro-democracy demonstrations. It is not just political. She has a number of friends and relative ominously missing. Yet, Rachid’s joie de vivre appeals to her, particularly as she faces the reality of Iranian oppression.

Anahita and Rachid initially connect through Facebook and social media is deeply ingrained in their daily lives. Though both are Muslim, their socio-political backgrounds are radically different. Naturally, she is the moderate though he wisely refrains from judging her occasional glass of wine (much). Initially, they appear to be a good match, with Anahita drawing off his energy, while he learns from her to appreciate the French culture he had always taken for granted. She even introduces him to the poetry of Baudelaire (hence the title). Unfortunately, her survivor’s guilt often manifests itself in bouts of depression, which the immature Rachid has little patience for.

Dusa sensitively dramatizes the expat’s dilemma, deftly incorporating actual youtube videos of the Revolutionary Government’s ruthless attacks on its own people. It is particularly shocking, because it is all true. A genuine find, Alice Belaïdi is smart, pretty, and vulnerable as Anahita. Unfortunately, the filmmaker is too enamored with the character of Rachid, (evidently based on his real-life friend Rachid Youcef, who essentially plays himself in the film), failing to recognize how problematic he is within the film’s dramatic context. Rachid cannot simply walk down the street without practicing a compulsive combination of parkour and hip hop dancing. (Indeed, how precious.) Yet, far less appealing is his rather short supply of empathy.

Considering France’s historically cozy ties to Iran, Flowers is a fairly bold film. Essentially a two-hander, it features at least one great performance. Shrewdly, it also goes directly to the online source for the straight dope on Iranian repression. Though presumably still available on youtube (the final credits even include the links), viewers should be warned some of these videos are quite graphic. Such is the nature of the Iranian regime. On balance, it quite a worthy little picture. Flowers screens again today (4/28) at Tribeca and will be available tomorrow as part of the online component of the Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Neon Flesh

America is so puritanical. Those Christian Evangelicals in particular get so judgmental about stuff like white slavery. The sophisticated Spaniards do not suffer from such hang-ups. Indeed, two lovably roguish sex slavers are the protagonists of Paco Cabezas’ stunningly ill-conceived Neon Flesh (trailer here), which screens as a late-night Cinemania selection at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Ricky is a smalltime pimp born to the streets as the son of prostitute. With his mother Pura due to be released from prison, Ricky wants to set her up as the Madam of brick-and-mortar bordello. Being an enterprising chap, he and his colleague Angelito naturally go buy themselves some sex slaves from the friendly neighborhood human traffickers. Unfortunately, when Ricky picks up dear old mom, she does not recognize him, due to a combination of Alzheimer’s and old-fashioned denial. At least she has an aptitude for the new family business. Unfortunately, their sex club attracts the attention of the ominous vice lord El Chino, who comes looking for his cut.

Cabezas would have us believe Ricky’s abandonment issues make him sympathetic, while Angelito is not such a bad guy, because he cannot quite bring himself to murder his junkie-hooker-lover Scrag, for sentimental reasons. No, seriously. Supposedly, the slaves (since they are not working voluntarily, they should not be called prostitutes) at their Hiroshima club (even the name is problematic) are fortunate to be there, given their relatively humane treatment. For instance, rather than murdering one slave’s newborn baby, Prince Ricky arranges to sell it on the black market instead. Obviously, anyone who has a problem with any of this must be a narrow-minded knuckle-dragging fundamentalist incapable of appreciating its fringe transgressiveness.

Watching Neon leaves you feeling unclean. Clearly, Cabezas is a talented filmmaker, pulling viewers through the muck on-screen at a breakneck velocity, despite their constant resistance to the problematic subject matter. Yet, no flash and dazzle can sufficiently mask the underlying depravity.

Of course, it hardly helps matters that lead actor Mario Casas is utterly wooden and inexpressive as Ricky. Conversely, as “Princess,” the transvestite sidekick with a heart of fool’s gold, Damaso Conde’s screechy over-acting gets tiresome quickly. Frankly, only Angela Molina strikes any interesting dramatic chords as the decidedly unmatronly Pura.

Anti-heroes and moral ambiguity are all well and good, but Neon is ridiculous. Essentially, the sociopathic offspring of Pulp Fiction, Neon flaunts its presumed hipness to pre-empt criticism of its unsavory excesses. Yet, rather than desensitize viewers, the cumulative effect of the violent sleaziness weighs down Cabezas’ bullet-like pacing, which is all the film really has going for it. Unnecessary and unredeeming, Neon screens again tonight (4/28) and Friday (4/29) and will also be available through the festival’s online component.

Tribeca ’11: Jiro Dreams of Sushi

Japan’s post-war economic comeback is usually defined by the rise of automotive and electronics giants, such as Toyota and Sony. Yet, during this period, Japan’s impact on world cuisine was arguably just as profound. With the rise of its global popularity, sushi became a food of the masses, but not at Jiro Ono’s restaurant. A plate will set you back $300 (or about 24,500 yen) there. Part documentary profile, part mediation on the elegance (and good taste) of simplicity, David Gelb’s Jiro Dreams of Sushi (trailer here), screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival, in collaboration with the Japan Society.

Though outwardly unassuming, the ten-seat Sukiyabashi Jiro earned a coveted three star rating from Michelin. Sushi critics swear they have never been disappointed by a meal there. Yet, Ono’s sushi is deceptively simple. No secret ingredients or unconventional techniques are employed (at least as far as we know). However, Ono’s staff cut no corners in the arduous preparation process and buys only the finest fish and rice.

Ono’s eldest son Yoshikazu is expected to eventually succeed his father, but since the master is still going strong at 85, he has lived his entire life in an understudy role. Ironically, it is the second son Takashi who his father’s blessing to franchise the family name with his own restaurant in the Tokyo suburbs.

Do not expect any family drama in Dreams. Everyone accepts their roles with apparent grace. Instead, Gelb valorizes Ono’s sushi for its aesthetic purity. Fittingly, his lush shots of appetizing rolls are accompanied by the minimalist music of Philip Glass and Max Richter. Though not originally composed for the film, their compositions segue into each other perfectly, sounding all of a piece, much like the distinctive John Adams selections heard throughout I Am Love.

Indeed, Dreams is a sensitively rendered example of cinematic minimalism that might bear comparison to Jessica Oreck’s Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo (forthcoming on PBS’s Independent Lens). However, that poetic ode to Japanese insect-collecting offers the charm of watching the creepy-crawlers through the fascinated eyes of children. In contrast, Dreams rather depends on viewers’ craving for sushi to hold their interest.

Like Ono’s sushi, Dreams would seem to be for exclusive palettes, but evidently Magnolia Pictures disagreed. They acquired Gelb’s documentary in the first reported sale at Tribeca this year. Quiet and graceful, it is another timely reminder of Japanese contributions to world culture (culinary in this case).

Tragically, our Japanese friends and allies are now experiencing a profound human crisis. Private citizens tired of the inattention of the media and the current administration can show their support by contributing to the Red Cross here or the Japan Society’s relief fund here. Sushi lovers might be particularly so moved after Dreams screens again this Friday (4/29) at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Let the Bullets Fly

Call it gangster government. During China’s lawless 1920’s, adventurers bought governorships to make a quick score bleeding the locals dry through excessive taxation. Basically, it was a lot like the Federal government’s current fiscal policy. However, one old school outlaw finds the system too corrupt to countenance in Jiang Wen’s wild Eastern Let the Bullets Fly (trailer here), which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Nick-named for the pockmarks he ought to have but doesn’t, “Pocky” Zhang is not exactly Robin Hood, but he has his limits. Hi-jacking the train carrying Goose Town’s new governor, Bangde Ma, Zhang and his six sons instead find a weasely con man looking to make a fast buck. Assuming his place as the incoming governor, Zhang and his band try to establish some legitimate law & order in town, which hardly endears him to “Master” Huang, the town’s entrenched opium lord. Thus begins a game of chess played with a rounds and rounds of bullets.

Fly gives the “new-sheriff-in-town” story several clever twists, especially with Zhang’s final stratagem to cajole the cowed populace to rise up against Huang Tea Party-style. Indeed, it is chocked full of Mexican stand-offs, impostors, and double-crosses. Granted, it is hardly unusual for Chinese action epics to incorporate high tragedy and slapstick comedy, but viewers can really feel Jiang shifting the gears here. If not a smooth ride, at least he always has his foot on the gas, delivering high energy scene after scene.

Arguably, Jiang is his own best asset, playing Zhang with world weary gravitas and super-bad charisma. Unfortunately, Chow Yun-Fat is more than a little schticky as Huang. Watching him mug and bicker with his double (also played by Chow) does not instill the sort of joyful loathing great villains inspire. In contrast, HK actress Carina Lau (also seen at Tribeca this year as Empress Wu Zeitan in Detective Dee) is a tart-tongued delight as conman Bangde Ma’s wife masquerading as “Governor” Bangde Ma’s wife.

China’s current domestic box-office record holder, Fly is an eccentric period production with big set pieces that appropriately appear to be on the brink of collapse. Cinematographer Fei Zhao also gives the harsh countryside and crumbling village an evocative spaghetti western look. Featuring a great anti-hero in need of a worthy villain, Fly is still a solidly entertaining action morality play. Definitely recommended, it screens again tonight (4/27) and Friday (4/29) during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Love Always, Carolyn

If you are considering watching her documentary, Carolyn Cassady thinks you are kind of an idiot. She has no illusions regarding people’s interest in her. Frankly, it is not about her at all, but the men she was romantically involved with: Neal Cassady and Jack Kerouac. However, Ms. Cassady is never shy correcting the myths and legends about the beats she knew so well in Maria Ramström and Malin Korkeasalo’s Love Always, Carolyn (trailer here), which screens again today at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

In the mid 1940’s, Carolyn Robinson was studying theater arts at the University of Denver, a first class, under-rated private liberal arts college (with a graduate certificate program in publishing your trusted blogger attended). Fatefully, Robinson’s promising career was sidetracked when she met the magnetic Cassady, now renowned as the model for On the Road’s Dean Moriarty. A whirlwind romance, marriage, friendship with Kerouac, and a whole mess of drama would follow.

After the substance-related deaths of both men, Carolyn Cassady quickly tired of answering the same stupid questions over and over again. She relocated to England, where she wrote her own memoir in an attempt to have her definitive say on the Beat icons that had come to define her life. However, her son John Allen Cassady somehow convinces her to return to Denver for the 50th anniversary celebration of On the Road.

Indeed, Cassady is still sharp as a tack. Euphemisms like “does not suffer fools gladly” are wholly insufficient. Perhaps most annoying to her is the unlicensed use of her famous copyrighted pictures of Kerouac and Cassady, which have become symbols of literary bromance. Of course, she is well within her rights to be upset, especially since those pictures have supplied her retirement nest-egg.

One of the cooler aspects of Always is its surprising emphasis on the roles Denver and DU played in Beat history. However, it is a real head-scratcher that Ramström and Korkeasalo did not reach out more to the great jazz-multi-hyphenated musician David Amram, who is seen briefly in performance as part of the anniversary fest, as either an interview subject or soundtrack composer. He is one of the last real deal cats who was on the Beat scene, having collaborated on Pull My Daisy and he has composed some distinctive scores, including The Manchurian Candidate. (In my experience, he is certainly approachable.) In contrast, Jan Strand’s soundtrack is serviceable, but snoozy.

Among fans, the appetite for all things Beat is eternal. For the less ravenous, Always is a bit long, even at seventy minutes. It is well worth hearing Cassady have her say, but a short doc around half an hour ought to cover it sufficiently. Definitely for self-selecting audiences, Always screens tonight (4/26) at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Detective Dee and the Phantom Flame

He was a legendarily honest and perceptive administrator during the turbulent reign of Wu Zeitan, the first and only woman to rule China in her own right. However, most westerners know him as Judge Dee, the protagonist of Dutch Asian scholar Robert van Gulik’s detective novels. Dee or more properly Di Renjie’s powers of deduction are such Wu Zeitan plucks him from prison to ferret out the truth behind a series of grisly deaths threatening to derail her coronation in Tsui Lark’s Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame (trailer here), which screens during the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

One look at the giant Buddha statue under construction outside the Imperial palace (complete with internal staircase and observation deck) should tell viewers something spectacularly disastrous is in the offing. Currently, a former associate of Die Renjie is scrambling to finish construction in time for Wu’s official ascension. Suspiciously, the court architect and lead investigator spontaneously combusted there (presumably after seeing something sinister), setting work slightly behind schedule.

Through his animal avatar, the mysterious Imperial Chaplain tells Wu Zeitan who she’s gonna call: Die Renjie. Dispatched to fetch the imprisoned Die Renjie, the trusted Jing’er finds him fending off a horde of assassins with the help of his blind prison mentor. There will be plenty more for her blade over the course of their investigation, as well as a considerable helping of sexual tension with the tentatively rehabilitated Die Renjie.

Flame combines intricately choreographed martial arts sequences directed by Master Sammo Hung with big sprawling set pieces, like that giant Buddha statue and an underground city of thieves. While it straddles the mystery and fantasy genres, much of the supernatural skullduggery ultimately have Scooby Doo-like explanations (dubious though they might be). Frankly, style, setting, and action are what really count here, as Lark pulls viewers into this eerie world of intrigue and old school revenge.

Andy Lau projects an appropriately Zen-ish sensibility as Die Renjie. However, Li Bingbing really emerges as an action star, exhibiting dramatic nuance and gritty martial arts cred as Jing’er. Likewise, Deng Chao nearly matches her step for step as Pei Donglei, an albino Imperial copper. A character as intriguing as he looks, he starts out as a jerkweed, but earns his spurs as they probe the shadowy conspiracy afoot.

In terms of artistry and ambition, Flame falls somewhere between the Ip Man franchise (which are great fun, but essentially recycle the Rocky template) and crossover masterworks like Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. With respect to ideology though, it is more closely akin to films like Zhang Yimou’s Hero, which argue in favor of a strong centralized authority, despite their occasional despotic excesses, as necessary means of unifying the country. Chinese state censors seem to like these storylines. Go figure. Regardless, Flame is a lushly rendered high-end period action film that should have appeal beyond fanboy circles (in which I should probably include myself for films of this genre). Definitely, recommended, it screens again at Tribeca this Thursday (4/28).

Tribeca ’11: The Bully Project

They say kids will be kids. Maybe that is true, but why can’t adults act like adults? While the behavior of some sadistic students is reprehensible, the craven strategies employed by teachers and administrators to avoid responsibility for those in their care might be even more shocking in Lee Hirsch’s documentary, The Bully Project (trailer here), which premiered at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

By now, we know public schools are not teaching kids at an acceptable level. If they are unable to at least maintain a safe classroom environment, what is the point of it all, beyond employing a battalion of bureaucrats? Putting a face on the issue, Hirsch follows several students, whose school experiences are fast approaching tragedy, and a pair of grieving parents, who have recently lost sons to bullying-inspired suicide. Everyone will feel for the Longs and the Smalleys on a human level. Unfortunately, as the school year progresses in Sioux City, the audience will start to worry a similar fate awaits the parents of fourteen year-old Alex.

Unlike far too many verité documentarians, who let the cameras roll while abusive and dangerous behavior is underway (take Prodigal Sons as one of many examples), Hirsh broke protocol, to his estimable credit, showing his footage of the abuse leveled on Alex to his parents and the administrators of West High. The former responded with shock and concern. The latter kicked into serious CYA overdrive.

Based on the footage of BP, unless Hirsch and editors Lindsay Utz and Jenny Golden maliciously framed her in the editing room, the West High Vice Principal charged with maintaining discipline is an absolute disgrace, who has no business working in a school, in any capacity. Her behavior surpasses denial, bordering on outright collusion. She applies a wholly inappropriate moral equivalency, forcing battered victims to “shake and make-up” with their bullies, or be labeled “just as bad as they are.” When confronted with her abject failure, she falls back on legalisms, pointing specific discrete torments that she might have technically put a stop to, but resulted in escalating abuse, which she duly ignored to preserve her deniability. Frankly, any objective observer could tell Alex has trouble verbalizing his concerns. He is exactly the kind of kid she is there to protect. Shame on her.

Much of Hirsch’s footage is a cold hard slap in the face. Yet, it is so closely tied into its titular advocacy campaign, it detracts from BP as a work of cinema. Indeed, the final twenty minutes or so chronicles rallies and offer avenues for viewers to get involved. Fair enough, it is Hirsch’s film that he conceived in conjunction with the larger Bully Project movement. Yet, the legislation they advocate would not be necessary, if teachers and administrators would start doing their jobs. Perhaps shaming them in the community would be more efficacious than lobbying state capitols.

BP will convince viewers the bullying “issue” is not mere network newsmagazine hype, but a real and pressing problem for many children. A film that will generate audience sympathy and anger, BP screens again at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival tomorrow (4/26), Wednesday (4/27), and Saturday (4/30).

Tribeca ’11: Gnarr

“We have met the enemy and he is us,” Walt Kelly told us. Icelandic comedian Jón Gnarr recently proved it is still true with his unlikely campaign for mayor of Reykjavik. What started as comedic performance art became a real deal political insurgency, documented each step of the way by filmmaker Gaukur Úlfarsson in Gnarr (trailer here), which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Gnarr once made a film with Michael Imperioli, which should preclude him from holding any office and possibly operating heavy machinery. As the 2010 municipal election season began, Iceland was still reeling from its financial tribulations. With a series of bizarre web videos, Gnarr launched his ostensibly tongue-in-cheek campaign, making a series promises emphasizing the absurdity of politics. He offered free trips to Disneyland and pledged he would not work with any elected official who had not watched all five seasons of The Wire.

So far, so good. Gnarr launched his “Best Party,” adopting Tina Turner’s cheese-drenched “Simply the Best” as their anthem. Then Gnarr started dramatically moving up the polls. Suddenly, a Gnarr mayoralty is not a joke, but a very real possibility. While the comedic actor continued incorporating outrageous improvised gags into the campaign, the tenor of his rhetoric appears to change. Absolutely, the government should pay for this or that he tells potential voters. Can it be even the smell of power corrupts? I suppose we can ask the citizens of Reykjavik. Spoiler for those who do not intimately follow Icelandic politics: According to the evil Dr. Wiki: “After the initial euphoria of the election, the city council under his leadership has raised taxes and fees while cutting expenditures on programmes. This appears to be having an influence to temper his popularity.”

Both Gnarr the man and the movie are often quite funny, particularly in the early stages of the campaign. Yet, since Úlfarsson takes a strictly observational approach, he never challenges Gnarr when he appears to pander. It might have helped him in the long run. Indeed, New York may very well be a more welcoming environment for Gnarr as he promotes his film at Tribeca.

For political junkies, Gnarr’s story is fascinating. While Úlfarsson never delves beneath the surface, he certainly captures some of recent history’s funnier moments. Whether it is an inspiring story of underdog triumph or a cautionary tale remains to be determined. A mildly whacky diversion, Gnarr screens again today (4/25) at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: The Trip

Prepare for a pitched battle of Michael Caine impressions. There will also be gourmet food. British comedians Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon play British comedians Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, respectively, in Michael Winterbottom’s pseudo-fictional road-movie buddy-comedy The Trip, which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival (currently underway in Chelsea and the East Village).

Coogan is one of the biggest stars in the UK. Just ask him, he’ll tell you. Divorced with a son he should see more of, Coogan’s personal life is pretty much a mess. His girlfriend has called a timeout and returned to America right before he is scheduled to take a culinary tour of the North of England on behalf of a major magazine. Stuck with a gig he only accepted because he thought she would enjoy it, Coogan invites along his old chum Brydon in her place.

Hardly a big star, Brydon gets paid to make silly voices on the radio. However, the working class Welsh comic knows there are worse ways to make a living. Happily married with a little girl, one hopes Brydon’s life is only thinly fictionalized. In contrast, we soon wish the moody Coogan portrayed in The Trip is largely an invented persona. They have one thing in common though. They both have very definite ideas on how Michael Caine should sound, which they demonstrate, repeatedly. Recognizing good material, Coogan and Brydon frequently return to the well and it is still funny each and every time.

Edited to feature length from the original six-part British mini-series, Trip is consistently droll, even when not plundering the Sir Michael comedy store. Stylistically very different, Coogan and Brydon play off each other quite well. Their mostly improvised bickering banter is always razor sharp, but never overly caustic. Coogan even offers a spot of credibly understated drama as his own rather miserable self. Yet, the film will not afford him the opportunity of blaming his parents, presenting them as warmly supportive and not at all embarrassing (at least by parental standards) when Coogan and Brydon pop in for a quick visit.

Throughout The Trip, viewers also get a driving tour of the North, which looks quite picturesque through cinematographer Ben Smithard’s lens. Still, one suspects 111 minutes of the Lakeland district might be just about right, unless you have reservations at some of the elite restaurants Coogan and Brydon visit. Witty without getting too cute or annoyingly self-referential, The Trip is surprisingly entertaining, definitely recommended when it screens again Tuesday (4/26) and Saturday (4/30) during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Beyond the Black Rainbow

Welcome to the early 1980’s, the era of Commodore computers and oppressive prog rock. Anyone jonesing for the garish look and casual disregard for narrative drive exemplified by the films screened by the MST3K robots will be delighted with this retro for its own sake sci-fi potboiler. The rest of us mere mortals will be left scratching their heads after sitting through Panos Cosmatos’ Beyond the Black Rainbow (trailer here), which screens late nights at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

By day, Dr. Barry Nyle torments the heavily drugged Elena in his sinister research facility. At night, he putters aimlessly around his shag-carpeted ranch style house. Yet, we can tell events of cosmic enormity are brewing, thanks to the portentous soundtrack. Perhaps Elena is related to Matthew Star, because she seems to have vaguely defined mental powers. Subverting her sedation, Elena makes a break for it, escaping through Buckminster Fuller’s acid trip, but she is not out of the woods (or desert) yet.

Rainbow often feels like it is channeling Robert Fuest’s The Final Programme, which butchered Michael Moorcock’s novel beyond human recognition. However, at least it had the novelty of a soundtrack featuring Beaver & Krause and unlikely enough, jazz legend Gerry Mulligan. In contrast, what most distinguishes Rainbow is its weak perfunctory ending. Frankly, it is such a lame cheat, it is almost a sin against cinema.

It ought to be impossible, but somehow Rainbow’s story is both simplistic and incomprehensible. Aside from a bit of sadism, the film is an entirely static one-note viewing experience. Still, to her credit, Eva Allan tries to cobble together something workable as Elena.

If you find yourself at a Rainbow screening, you can pass the time by counting walk-outs. There were ten when I saw it. For a while there were eleven, but one dude must have just gone to the men’s room. He took his time though. Rainbow is sure to have its hipster champions, but it is just a headache of a film. It screens again this Thursday (4/28) and Friday (4/29) as a Cinemania selection at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’11: Underwater Love

Adult film was never so endearing. It is from Japan, you see. So-called Japanese Pinku Eiga or story-driven softish-core has earned its share of international fans and many of its leading stars and directors have crossed over into the mainstream. Just in time for Holy Week, Shinji Imaoka’s pinku-musical-crossover mash-up, Underwater Love debuted yesterday at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, very definitely as a late night Cinemania selection.

Kappas are legendary Japanese water spirits, roughly humanoid in form, with turtle features. They live in water and must keep their scalps wet at all times. It seems Asuka’s long deceased high school classmate Aoki has become such a creature. Bored with life in the river, he would like to hang with Asuka for a while and do human stuff. This is a little awkward for her though, since she is engaged to her boss at the fish factory, not mention Aoki’s beak and tortoiseshell. However, Aoki is not simply looking for a good time. He came back to save his true love.

There is no getting around the adult nature of Underwater, but longtime Wong Kar-wai cinematographer Christopher Doyle gives it instant hipster art-house credibility (and a pleasing dream-like sheen). Yet, Sawa Masaki really supplies the film’s heart with her effervescent screen presence. Based on her charming turn in Underwater, she deserves to crossover to the mainstream.

As for Underwater, folks are probably wondering if there is any red hot human-turtle creature love. Oh yes, plenty. How about energetically goofy musical numbers? Affirmative. The Angel of Death appearing as a dirty smelly hippy? Present and accounted for. Considering how much Underwater has to offer, it might not simply be the finest motion picture ever produced, it could be the single greatest artistic achievement in the history of humanity.

Do I exaggerate? Perhaps a tad, for effect. The truth is Underwater represents the high-end of a distinctly Japanese movie genre. Though not to all tastes, Pinku Eiga has been the thin edge of the wedge for many fans who now love Japanese cinema of all stripes. It is part of a rich and occasionally strange cultural tradition that has enriched the world.

Of course, Japan is now experiencing profound challenges in the wake of the earthquake and tsunami. While Hollywood and the current administration evidently could not be bothered to take any meaningful constructive action, private citizens can support our Japanese friends and allies by contributing to the Red Cross' efforts here or the Japan Society’s relief fund here. Indeed, the eccentric yet laidback Underwater will definitely put viewers in an appreciative frame of mind when it screens again during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival tonight (4/23), Wednesday (4/27) and Thursday (4/28).

Tribeca ’11: Revenge of the Electric Car

In Terminator 2, the villain of the previous film comes back as the hero of the sequel. Such is also the case with Chris Paine’s latest film, except it is a documentary. The freshly reformed protagonist? General Motors. The times just might be changing after all in Paines’ Revenge of the Electric Car (trailer here), which premiered last night at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

According to Paine's Who Killed the Electric Car, despite positive driver feedback, GM recalled their experimental EV-1, while twisting its mustache and laughing maniacally. Instead, they ramped up production on Hummers. The end, or is it? Fast-forward a few years and meet Bob Lutz, the Vice Chairman of the automotive giant. The car executive’s car executive, Lutz is no tree-hugger. Yet, like Saul on the road to Damascus, Lutz fundamentally changed his mind about the feasibility and desirability of electric cars. Only Lutz has the prestige to put GM back in the electric business and the guts to allow their old nemesis to document it.

Revenge has other protagonists, like Elon Musk, the tech-centric entrepreneur, who made his fortune with Pay Pal before starting Tesla Motors. Sleek and striking, these sports cars are probably too elite to change the world, but they ought to make electric cool. Unfortunately, Musk has trouble filling customer orders (including Paine’s). As more mass market competition, Nissan chairman Carlos Ghosn has “bet the future” of his company on electric, but that shoe has yet to drop.

It is important to note, none of these ventures are the result of government mandates. Indeed, they are highly speculative ventures that might just short circuit careers and fortunes. To his credit, Paine himself gives due credit to the captains of industry and entrepreneurs of Revenge. Though he retracts nothing from his previous film, it is clear he and pre-government takeover GM made a lasting peace.

Of course, Bob Lutz is a major reason why. Although Paine probably has a naturally affinity for the Silicon Valley-based Musk, Lutz’s curmudgeonly charm dominates the film. The camera loves the cigar chomping old school executive far more than the icy Ghosn or the cerebral Musk. (While Revenge eventually addresses the government bail-out, most of the GM segments deal with Lutz’s early championing of the hitherto underwhelming Volt.)

The open-minded fairness Paine brings to bear on an industry he formerly excoriated is quite remarkable. Still, the film raises a few questions that remain unanswered. Granted, it would certainly be advantageous to see electric cars displace a number of gas guzzlers, particularly in light of the Obama Administration’s war on domestic off-shore drilling and contentment to import petroleum from hostile governments, like Venezuela. However, is there sufficient infrastructure in place to support them? New York apartment dwellers, for whom alternate-side parking is an eternal fact of life, might be the most inclined to switch to electric cars, but would they be able to charge them? For that matter, electricity is not magically supplied. Could the state of California, which experienced roving “Gray-Outs” in the early 2000’s, handle a significant increase in demand? Paine well might argue the marketplace can respond to these challenges, in which case perhaps Lutz was not the only one to experience a conversion of Biblical proportions.

In a pleasant surprise, Revenge is probably the most favorable depiction of corporate and entrepreneurial America seen in a documentary since who knows when? Again, Paine deserves his just due. As a result, he will probably spread the electric car gospel to previously unreceptive audiences. He certainly makes a star of Lutz (so it is a shame the current administration does not want him involved in “Government Motors”). Informative and engaging, Revenge screens again at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival today (4/23), Wednesday (4/27), and next Saturday (4/30).

Tribeca ’11: The Assault

It was France’s Entebbe. In what is often referred to as “the most successful anti-terrorist operation in history” (at least among those not involving the Israelis), French commandos stormed an airliner hijacked by Algerian Islamist terrorists on Christmas Eve. The hijackers had no intention of negotiating. Their plan was to crash Air France 8969 into the Eifel Tower. The year was 1994. The missed lessons are painfully obvious. In a case of France eating Hollywood’s lunch, Julien Leclercq vividly dramatizes the historic raid in The Assault (trailer here), which screens at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

The Algerian terrorists were Islamic and they never let their captives forget it. As soon as they secured the plane, Abdul Abdullah Yahia and his accomplices forced all the women to cover-up with makeshift head scarves. The French being French, they first tried to appease GIA terrorists. Not surprisingly, the Islamist GIA was not interested in a payoff. They were hoping to make a big statement instead. Fortunately, they were delayed so long in Algiers (where the Algerians refused to remove the gangway stairs from the airliners, yet perversely denied permission for the French GIGN SWAT team to operate in-country), Flight 8969 was forced to stop for refueling in Marseilles.

Considering the film is called The Assault, it is not much of a spoiler to say the GIGN eventually board the plane. However, there is nothing video game-like about the film’s centerpiece action sequence. This is close quarters combat, vividly depicted as a distinctly violent, claustrophobic, confusing, and messy proposition. Tense and scrupulously realistic, these scenes are unlike anything peddled by recent antiseptic Hollywood action movies.

Reportedly, the terrorists were even more sadist than they are portrayed in Assault. Of course, there are understandable limits to what a commercial release can bear (particularly in France). To his credit, Leclercq and co-screenwriter Simon Moutairou never try to ameliorate the terrorists’ crimes with sympathetic back-stories. Instead, they show them executing hostages in cold blood. Frankly, the GIA as seen in Assault can only be described as hateful savages.

Assault’s one weakness is the rather cookie-cutter characterization of the GIGN officers. Viewers only glimpse the private life of Thierry, a family man wrestling with his conscience after his previous assignment. The rest are essentially interchangeable. However, Mélanie Bernier makes a strong impression as Carole Jeanton, an ambitious Interior Ministry bureaucrat, who goes from Chamberlain-esque appeaser to a Churchillian advocate for an armed response to terror in about thirty seconds flat. Maybe it was the guns pointed at her.

The Assault is the sort of action film Hollywood ought to be producing at regular clip, but refuses to do so for petty ideological reasons. Still, though the GIGN emerges as the film’s heroes, the French government takes quite a few lumps. Recreating an important historical incident with grit and tick-tock precision, Leclercq’s Assault is easily one of the best selections at this year’s Tribeca. It screens again tonight (4/23), tomorrow (4/24), and Thursday (4/28).

Tribeca ’11: Braid (short)

Kids focus on the most superficial things. Ting is a sweet-tempered, compassionate little girl, but her classmates zero-in on her sloppy braids. It is not her fault though. Her grieving father Jie is not used to tying them. Nor does he have the heart to explain her mother’s extended absence in Chun-Yi Hsieh’s short film Braid (trailer here), which screens as part of the Take As Directed shorts block at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

One day, while being ignored by the kids playing in her neighborhood, Ting finds an abandoned kitten. Empathizing with the motherless feline, she takes it home with her. Her father is trying to care for her as best he can, but he is overwhelmed with grief. Unemployed with little prospects, the death of his wife was also a devastating financial blow. Things look truly bleak for them, but keep an eye on that kitten.

Chun-Yi Hsieh’s fifteen minute Braid is surprisingly moving, particularly for a student film. Sensitively helmed, the Taiwanese filmmaker deftly hints at the metaphysical with the conclusion to what is an otherwise starkly naturalistic work. Unquestionably though, the key to the film is the remarkably poignant, completely convincing work of Jun-Jie Du as Ting. Scores of viewers will want to adopt her two or three minutes into the film.

Braid might be a simple story, but it is powerful in its honest directness, reaching deeper places than most smugly sentimental indies could ever hope to approach. Featuring truly memorable performances, the well conceived Braid is easily a stand-out among Tribeca’s shorts this year. Highly recommended, it screens during the Take As Directed program next Thursday (4/28), Saturday (4/30), and Sunday (5/1).

Tribeca ’11: A Quiet Life

Films like Matteo Garrone’s Gomorrah and Abel Ferrara’s Napoli Napoli Napoli will give you a pretty good idea why Rosario Russo left Naples. Frankly, the former gangster was part of the problem, but a spot of bother with his former colleagues prompted him to fake his death and abandon his family. Resettled as a provincial German inn-keeper, Rosario’s past catches up with him in Claudio Cupellini’s A Quiet Life (trailer here), which screens during the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Russo is still a crack shot, but now he only kills wild game for his kitchen. He bickers with everyone, yet he enjoys his simple country life. However, when two Italian punks turn up asking for a room, Russo looks as if someone just walked over his grave. In a way, that is not far from the truth. Obviously the brains of the twosome, Diego also shares some significant history with Russo that most viewers will quickly assume, but is not formally revealed until about the film’s midway point. In contrast, his partner Edoardo is pretty much a numbskull, but he has surprising success putting the moves on Russo’s pretty waitress Doris.

Though Russo welcomes the opportunity to get reacquainted with Diego, his presence is a destabilizing influence in the household. Marking time much like the characters in Hemingway’s short story “The Killers,” Diego and Edoardo represent a constant threat of violence, which Russo recognizes only too well, yet cannot explain to his suspicious German wife Renate.

Much like his character, Russo, lead actor Toni Servillo has a chameleon-like ability to radically alter his look and mannerisms from film to film. Nothing like his tour-de-force performance as the stiffly sinister Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti in Il Divo, Servillo projects both virility and a sense of resignation as the haunted hotelier. Rather than cardboard cutout villains, Diego and Edoardo are multidimensional characters as well, rendered with nuance by Marco D’Amore and Francesco Di Leva, respectively.

While Cupellini’s pacing is more patient than breakneck, he keeps the tension cranked up quite effectively. Clearly, he is more interested in character exploration than genre thrills, but he never abandons the film’s thriller structure. An oddly meditative crime drama, Quiet is a pleasant surprise at this year’s Tribeca, well worth checking out when it screens today (4/22), tomorrow (4/23), and Sunday (4/24).

Tribeca ’11: Give Up Tomorrow

Class warfare can be ugly. When allowed access to power, it might be deadly. Just ask Paco Larrañaga. A perfect storm of sensational journalism and judicial-political malfeasance combined to rob him not just of his liberty, but perhaps even his life in Michael Collins’ documentary exposé Give Up Tomorrow (trailer here), which screens during the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival.

Larrañaga is an innocent man. Thirty-five of his teachers and classmates will testify he was nowhere near the island of Cebu when the Chong sisters disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Unfortunately, they never had an adequate opportunity to testify on Larrañaga’s behalf. Though just one of the so-called “Chiong Seven,” the media focused like a laser beam on Larrañaga, the son of the working middle class branch of the Kennedyesque Osmeña family. His trial was duly hyped up in explicit class warfare terms, creating a toxic environment for the defense.

Collins (with the close collaboration of producer Marty Syjuco, a distant relative of Larrañaga) picks the resulting kangaroo court apart like a skilled prosecutor. Right from his arrest, highly relevant information was deliberately disregarded by the police and prosecution, including the Chiong father’s close ties to reputed drug kingpin Peter Lim, whom he was scheduled to testify against the day after his daughters’ disappearance.

It seems Cebu is a small world after all, when Collins reveals several of the investigating officers also had ties to Lim. Indeed, they provide some of the most obvious lying ever seen on film when Collins grills them about their initial investigation. However, the Chiong sisters’ mother, Thelma, might be the most problematic figure in this scandal, ruthlessly exploiting her personal connections to the president at the time, the thoroughly corrupt populist (a redundancy, perhaps) Joseph Estrada, to pillory Larrañaga and his codefendants in the collusive media.

On one level, Tomorrow is a simple story: Larrañaga was railroaded for a crime he did not commit. Yet, the case developed a series of bizarre twists and turns that Collins follows with remarkable clarity. Ironies truly abound when Larrañaga, a dual citizen as the son of a Spanish national, turns to the former colonial power as a last resort. Yet, the film preserves a sense of suspense regarding Larrañaga’s ultimate fate.

To Collins’ credit, he periodically reminds viewers there are still two young women missing, tragically presumed dead. Wisely, he also readily stipulates Larrañaga’s history of run-of-the-mill delinquency. As a result, viewers never feel manipulated.

Frankly, after watching Tomorrow, it is impossible to maintain any pretense of uncertainty regarding Larrañaga’s innocence. In contrast, the Filipino legal system stands indicted on multiple charges of corruption, incompetence, and sheer abuse of power. One of the few documentaries alleging a miscarriage of justice that is fully one hundred percent convincing, Tomorrow should provoke outrage throughout the Philippines (and Spain). Co-produced by ITVS, Tomorrow is likely to find its way to PBS eventually, but for now, it is highly recommended at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, where it screens tomorrow (4/23), Monday (4/25), Wednesday (4/27), and Friday (4/29).