Tribeca ’18: The Girl and the Picture (short)

John Gillespie Magee was an eye-witness to history. He helped officiate FDR’s funeral and served as a chaplain to his successor, but Magee is most remembered for documenting the atrocities of the Nanjing Massacre in still photos and 16mm film while in-country as an Episcopal missionary. Xia Shuqin is his most famous subject. Magee’s photo of her and her four-year-old sister put a human face on the horrific tragedy. It happened eighty years ago, but “Madam Xia” has forgotten nothing and she insists the rest of the world remembers it too in Vanessa Roth’s short documentary, The Girl and the Picture (trailer here), which screened during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Xia was truly cursed to live an eventful life. She and her little sister survived by hiding under the corpses of their murdered family—parents, siblings, and uncles. Unfortunately, Magee arrived too late to do anything but document the crimes. Many times, he was able to stop the Japanese amid their war crimes, simply through his commanding presence and the authority of his collar, but such was not the case for Xia’s family. Soon thereafter, a beloved uncle took custody of Xia and her sister, but they would face considerably more adversity. They lost everything thanks to the invaders’ scorched earth tactics. Incidentally, the Cultural Revolution was no bed of roses for them either. Yet, she persisted, even becoming an unlikely activist on behalf of Nanjing survivors.

Madam Xia now lives with her granddaughter Xia Yuan and her seven-year-old great-grandson. How to explain the horrors his great-grandmother endured is a question that preoccupies her granddaughter. Remembrance is also a concern for Chris Magee, who has come to China on a kind of pilgrimage, in tribute to his revered grandfather. Indeed, this film is all about honoring memory, which presumably made it a perfect editorial fit for the USC Shoah Foundation.

Yet, this is not a dry assemblage of oral history. Madam Xia is still very actively engaged with the world and a rather lively screen presence. Likewise, the scenes with Magee’s grandson are no mere travelogue. When he carefully handles the missionary’s 16mm camera (treated like a religious relic at the Nanjing memorial museum), we can see the emotional connection it represents. When he finally meets Madam Xia, it is a heavy moment.

These are, in fact, two rather remarkable families, connected by fate. The film doesn’t even mention one of Magee’s sons was John Gillespie Magee Jr., the Royal Canadian pilot who died during WWII, but is still remembered for his poem “High Flight” (Pres. Reagan quoted it in his Challenger disaster speech). Roth helms with a sensitive touch, but she never lets it get slow or maudlin. To the contrary, this film is just bursting with humanity. Very highly recommended, The Girl and the Picture should have a considerable festival run and hopefully Oscar consideration after its New York premiere at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Zoe

In the very near future, the Singularity means never having to say you’re sorry. Apparently, it will be even harder to find a mate, but not for any perceivable apocalyptic reasons. Fortunately, there is a company that can help. One division can test prospective couples to determine their future compatibility within a narrow margin of error. Then there is a unit that produces synthetic humans. Sure, it sounds creepy, but with the advancements in artificial intelligence, who is to say their emotional responses are not genuine? There is also a pharmaceutical division, when all else fails in Drake Doremus’s Zoe, which screened as the centerpiece of the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

The titular Zoe has long been enamored with her colleague Cole, the celebrity-scientist in charge of the company’s robotics program, but when she contrives a way to test their compatibility, they score a nearly impossible zero percent. That is because he knows something about her that she does not. Zoe is the very first “synthetic” that he programmed. Unlike those that followed, she was not designed to be aware of her own artificial nature.

When the truth comes out, Cole spends a good deal of time helping process and accept who and what she truly is. Lo and behold, they fall in love, or into something that sure looks like it. Zoe even passes an informal Turin test, when Cole introduces her to his child and his former lover, Emma. She understands what Zoe is, whereas their son does not, but both are charmed by her. It is all lovey-dovey until a sudden turn of events vividly illustrates Zoe’s technical lack of humanity. This is where the romance ends and the brooding angst begins. It is also where the drugs come in.

Note the lack of diacritical markings. Zoe is indeed pronounced like “Zo,” as in Alonzo Mourning. Hearing her name pronounced so weirdly truly makes us wonder just what kind of weird dystopian world is this, anyway? Regardless, synthetics can clearly get just as depressed and self-destructive as humans, judging from the agonizingly long self-pitying portion of the film. Character-driven science fiction can be a wonderful thing, but in this case, Zoe the film is undermined by its maudlin wallowing. Ironically, had Richard Greenberg’s screenplay been more cerebral and more interested in exploring the relationship between artificial intelligence and emotion, the payoff would have hit home much more forcefully. Instead, the film is sort of like Love Story, if Ali MacGraw had a hard-drive in her head.

Still, Léa Seydoux gives a remarkable performance as Zoe, portraying some profoundly human pain and confusion. In fact, she might even be too good, because the depth and passion of her feelings is so blindingly obvious, it is hard to get what Cole’s problem is. As Cole, Ewen McGregor is stuck with some motivation issues that he never fully sweeps under the rug, but he develops some potent chemistry with Seydoux during the film’s good times. Theo James also stands out, managing to be both sensitive and destabilizing as Ash, the synthetic carrying a torch for Zoe.

Frankly, Doremus’s Equals was considerable better than critics gave it credit for, but perhaps the emotional reserve mandated by the film’s Big Brother rather helpfully forced the filmmaker to exercise restraint. In this case, Doremus dips too deeply into melodrama, undercutting his very premise. There is some good stuff here (Seydoux and elements of the world-building), but the vibe is too dreamy and gauzy. That makes Zoe so frustrating, because we don’t want to throw it all out with the bathwater, but it is hard to recommended the whole, flawed package, which is what viewers will pay to see. Proceed with caution, after Zoe premiered at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: In the Soup

Today, “independent film” is a marketing term that inspires skepticism, but in the early 1990s, it was an institution that enjoyed a high level of public confidence. Since then a lot of mediocre and dreadful indies have disappeared into the obscurity they deserved, but this one was different. In many ways, it is the prototypical 90s indie, but it fell out of circulation due to the bankruptcy of its distributor and serious damage to the only surviving archival copy. The difficult but pristine-looking restoration of Alexandre Rockwell’s In the Soup had its world premiere at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival—and repertory engagements are sure to follow.

In 1992, we were willing to believe film about a nebbish filmmaker struggling to finance his pretentious art film could hold intrinsic importance. In 2018, we can nostalgically look back on it for capturing a time when the Lower Eastside was still considered a slightly sketchy neighborhood. It was an era of punk clubs that Rockwell and his cast were comfortable navigating.

Adolpho Rollo has no money and a five-hundred-page screenplay. With rent due to his thuggish landlords, Rollo takes out a classified ad, offering to sell his unfilmmable monster for five hundred bucks (seems like a fair price on a per page basis). However, he immediately receives a call from “Joe,” a grifter-gambler, who offers to finance Rollo’s film—sort of.

Rollo is not as dumb as he looks, so he suspects Joe is looking to scam him somehow. However, until that shoe drops, he reaps the benefit of Joe’s largesse, including rent money and plenty of boozy parties. He even starts to think he might be able to make his film, which would allow him to save Angelica Pena, the neighbor he carries a torch for, by casting her as his lead.

Steve Buscemi plays Rollo, which is a major reason why In the Soup still sounds like an entertaining way to spend ninety-some minutes. In retrospect, it looks like the Expendables of nineties indie movies, because Buscemi is joined by independent stalwarts such as Seymour Cassel, Jennifer Beals, Will Patton, Stanley Tucci, Jim Jarmusch, Carol Kane, Debi Mazur, and Sam Rockwell.

As Rollo, Buscemi is definitely doing his indie shtick, but there is also a poignant naivete to his performance. He is a likable loser, but he has some guts too. Cassel is in his element, hamming it up as hammy “Joe.” The perennially under-appreciated Beals’ sensitive, multi-layered portrayal of Pena might surprise some viewers, but it really shouldn’t. Jarmusch, Kane, and Tucci all play outrageous caricatures, but their obvious enjoyment is contagious.

As a veritable time-capsule from the early 1990s, Soup is a fascinating and nostalgic viewing experience, but it is also fun. Sure, we have a good idea of how the beats will line up, but it is so much more earnest and energetic than the parade of calculatingly eccentric indies that followed it. It is hard to believe a Sundance Jury Grand Prize winner, with such a notable cast, could come so close to being lost. Fortunately, it is back and worth looking for when it comes around again. Affectionately recommended for the New York nostalgia, the freshly restored In the Soup had a special retrospective screening at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: The Dark

Many zombie movies will briefly show us young undead children, but there never have the guts to focus on them for an extended period of time. However, we will spend quite a bit of time with the formerly living Mina. Frankly, we might only know she is a zombie, because publicity materials describe her that way. She could just as easily be some kind of grudge thingy that died a horrifically violent death. Either way, she is extremely pissed off, but she will take on a new role as protector of the innocent in Justin P. Lange’s The Dark, which premiered at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

The neck of the woods known as Devil’s Den is as evil as it sounds, mostly because that is where Mina stalks her prey. For some reason, the fugitive pedophile Hofer feels compelled to go there, but we never understand why. In any event, Mina is waiting for him and gosh, are things going to get ugly. Apparently, that is business as usual for her, but she is rather taken aback when she discovers Hofer’s latest victim under wraps in the back seat of his car.

Poor Alex has been blinded, perhaps to foster a dependency on Hofer. He has also been terrorized into thinking his compliance will protect his family from harm, perhaps not without some cause. Nevertheless, a bond quickly forms between the two victimized children as they try to figure out what to do next.

The Dark wants to be a provocative allegory about child abuse, but the glaring narrative gaps distract from the higher level of significance it strives for. We do not understand why Hofer has come to Devil’s Den and we are not sure if the next batch of meat Mina runs through her grinder are also part of his pedophilia ring. Even the final payoff scene has a disconcertingly ambiguous vibe. As a result, viewers will be so distracted wondering why things happen, the big picture takeaways will most likely buzz right by them.

It is a shame, because the first twenty minutes or so constitute a breathlessly intense mini-arc. All three featured thesps hold up their ends of the film, especially young but remarkably bold Nadia Alexander as Mina and Karl Markovics, from The Counterfeiters, who is spectacularly sleazy and sinister as Hofer.

Cinematographer Klemens Hufnagl gives the film a chillingly eerie, washed out look, while she and Lange fully exploit Devil’s Den’s sense of isolation. There is a little bit of gore here and there, but the worst of it is kept off camera. Alas, the same is mostly true of internal logic as well.

A good deal of talent went into The Dark, but the screenplay could have gone through five or six more drafts. Too often things happen just to facilitate something more important happening down the line. A lot of genre fans will be frustrated by its gaps and glossed over shortcuts, but impressed by its cold, clammy atmosphere. Mostly just recommended for its core horror audience, The Dark next screens during Fantaspoa in Brazil, following its world premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

(FYI, also check out the Tribeca round-table wrap-up at Unseen Films, with J.B. and Steve Kopian, moderated by Peter Gutierez, here.)

Tribeca ’18: Ryuichi Sakamoto Coda

Even if you are not familiar with composer Ryuichi Sakamoto or Nagisa Oshima’s Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (starring David Bowie) you will probably recognize “Forbidden Colours,” which he wrote for the soundtrack. A vocal version even charted in the UK. It is unusual when a classical-ambient piece develops such a life of its own, but it is even rarer still for such a cerebral composer to attain rock star status. Stephen Nomura Schible documents the composer at a pivotal juncture in his life—commencing work on score for The Revenant after enduring successful cancer treatment—in Ryuichi Sakamoto: Coda (trailer here), which had its North American premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

You can think of Sakamoto as a Japanese David Byrne, but with stronger orchestral chops. He won an Oscar for The Last Emperor, a BAFTA for Mr. Lawrence, and a Golden Globe for The Sheltering Sky. He also scored Little Buddha, Takashi Miike’s Hara-Kiri, a couple of De Palma misfires, and the Binoche-Fiennes Wuthering Heights. His music is particularly well-suited to grandly operatic canvasses, but he still releases his own albums. However, his fight against cancer understandably slowed him down.

During the early scenes of Coda, Sakamoto still tires easily. Nevertheless, he has returned to work on both the Revenant score and a Paul Bowles concept album he shelved years ago. Around about the second act, Sakamoto renews his commitment to the Japanese anti-nuclear campaign, newly invigorated in the wake of Fukushima. At rallies, Sakamoto advocates a complete ban on nuclear power throughout Japan, yet he never suggests where the rolling blackouts should start each day or how long they should last. Seriously, it is absolutely impossible for Japan to do former without instituting the latter.

Be that as it undeniably is, there is great poignancy in Sakamoto’s spiritual journey into the exclusionary zone, both to bear witness in general and to search for a battered but intact piano that reportedly survived the devastation, taking on mythic significance as a result.

Throughout Coda, Schbile clearly tailors his style to Sakamoto’s aesthetic. Frankly, it is exactly like what you would expect a Sakamoto doc should be. It often looks and not infrequently sounds like ECM albums (which he, like Byrne, should have an affinity for). It is also fascinating to hear a composer of Sakamoto’s stature talk so candidly about his creative process. In fact, it would have been an even stronger film if there were more of Sakamoto on music and less of Sakamoto on nuclear power.

Cinematographers Neo Sora and Tom Richmond create a dream-like vibe that perfectly matches the man and his music. It is a classy package, but there is probably still room for a more conventional survey documentary, covering the full diversity of his film work, including Tokyo Decadence and The Adventures of Milo and Otis. Recommended for Sakamoto’s admirers and students of film scoring, Ryuichi Sakamoto: Coda is scheduled to open this Summer in New York, following its premiere at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival (it also screens 5/6 during the upcoming Dallas International Film Festival).

Tribeca ’18: Studio 54

That storied disco club did something rather remarkable. It caused many elite New Yorkers to turn against the enforcement of tax laws. After all, for club owners like Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager, all those tax code regulations could be so complicated—and doesn’t everyone keep large containers of cash in their drop ceilings? Especially for small change, right? Rubell and Schrager only owned and operated the famous club from 1977 to 1980, but they had quite a run. Matt Tyrnauer chronicles their glory years in Studio 54, which screened during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Tyrnauer makes a convincing case Studio 54 came along at just the right time to catch the wave of burgeoning interest in tabloid-style celebrity pseudo-journalism. In fact, their former publicist still has her bonus rate card for placing Studio 54-related stories and photos. Naturally, the front page of the New York Post was the biggest get—and she got a lot of them. Rubell also shrewdly positioned the club as a haven for LGBT patrons. Somehow, that combination of the privileged and the marginalized created a buzz everyone wanted to experience.

Of course, there was also the exclusivity factor. We do indeed hear plenty of stories revolving around the velvet rope. Oddly though, there is little talk about the actual music. Nile Rodgers is one of the few musicians interviewed in the film, but he mostly discusses his experiences as a patron. For those interested in disco as a musical phenomenon, Record Man, the profile of disco-era producer Henry Stone is probably still the best doc out there.

Frankly, Tyrnauer’s 54 follows a very predictable beat sheet—rise, fall, legacy—while employing very conventional techniques. It is fitting that the film carries the imprimatur of A&E, because it has the look and feel of something cobbled together for cable. Still, it is hard to resist pop culture nostalgia, especially when served up in bulk quantities. Tyrnauer does a nice job of evoking the tenor of the time. You will hear names you haven’t heard for decades, like Bianca Jagger, the Kardashian of the 1970s. At the time, she was one of their prime publicity-generating regulars, along with Liza Minelli and Truman Capote. Honest, all this really happened.

Nevertheless, the film’s fast-and-loose skim of the legal case brought against Rubell and Schrager is conspicuously sympathetic. The film also ignores the building’s fascinating history before and after the Rubell/Schrager era. Currently, it is a Broadway theater, but it has also served as an opera house, a WPA theater, a New Wave club, and CBS soundstages.

Maybe you just had to be there, but how could you, if Steve Rubell wouldn’t let you past the velvet rope? In fact, you can hear some of the talking heads sounding a bit wistful for the time when they were the cool kids with access. It must have been fun at the time—and some of the dishy reminiscences capture that spirit. As a diversion, it holds the audience’s attention, but there is nothing earth-shaking here. Recommended primarily for fans who were there, Studio 54 had its New York premiere at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival (and it also screens today 4/29 at the Montclair Film Festival).

Tribeca ’18: Mary Shelley

There is a chapter devoted to Percy Bysshe Shelley in Paul Johnson’s The Intellectuals, so it is probably safe to assume he was difficult to live with. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin would agree. Her scandalous relationship with the poet brings her no end of grief. Yet, she can also recognize his merits. It is a complicated relationship that eventually inspires one of the greatest literary monsters of all time. Godwin’s artistic development and her eventful early years with her future husband, most definitely including the fateful 1816 summer in Lake Geneva, are dramatized in Haifaa Al-Mansour’s Mary Shelley, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Mary Godwin never knew her mother, feminist philosopher Mary Wollstonecraft, but she always took pride in her nonconformist principles and lifestyle. By the same token, she instinctively recoiled from her stepmother’s puritanical attitude. Ironically, this made her a willing target for Percy Shelley’s seductions. Despite the fact he was already, strictly speaking, married, they openly consorted together in a very public romance. Naturally, it severed her relationship with her philosophically permissive but personally righteous father, but her sister Claire Clairmont remains loyal. In fact, she will do her best to follow Wollstonecraft Godwin’s example with Lord Byron, which explains how all three came to be Byron’s guests at his Swiss villa.

At least three films have been devoted to that literarily significant summer, but Ken Russell’s Gothic is the one cineastes will most likely compare with Mary Shelley. Arguably, it is Dr. Polidori who gains the most stature in Emma Jensen’s screenplay and under Al-Mansour’s direction. In fact, the respect and sympathy that develops between him and Wollstonecraft Godwin might even be the most memorable element of the film.

On the other hand, Tom Sturridge’s Lord Byron is considerably creepier and more predatory than Gabriel Byrne’s in Gothic. It is hard to fathom spending more than one night as his houseguest, but it needs hardly be said, they were not thinking very clearly during this time.

Somewhat playing against her arrested-development-teenager type, Elle Fanning is much more forceful and confident as the titular Mary Shelley than you might expect, which is a very pleasant surprise. She also develops some convincing dysfunctional codependent chemistry with Douglas Booth, who is perfectly cast as the snide, self-absorbed Percy Shelley. Sturridge is flamboyantly sinister as Byron, while Ben Hardy and Stephen Dillane provide dignity and humanistic reality checks as Polidori and Godwin, respectively. Alas, Maisie Williams does not get enough screen time as Wollstonecraft Godwin’s Scotts friend Isabel Baxter, whereas Bel Powley’s petulant Clairmont quickly tries our patience.

Obviously, there is a pronounced feminist angle to the Wollstonecrafts and Al-Mansour’s film. Much has been made of parallels (arguably over-exaggerated) between chauvinistic Nineteenth Century England and the misogynistic Saudi setting of Al-Mansour’s debut, Wadjda. Yet, there are also echoes of the Percy Shelley and Lord Byron that Johnson would have us know. We definitely see a dramatic disconnect between the poets’ lofty rhetoric and their frequently appalling behavior. “Free love” might sound great in pamphlets, but it is more problematic when introduced into real relationships. Yet, there is also a theme of responsibility running throughout the film. At one point, the future Ms. Shelley will express the sentiment, if not in so many words: she made her bed, so now she will have to sleep in it.

Of course, Mary Shelley is in no way intended to be a horror movie, but you have to give Al-Mansour credit for including some rather sinister and cinematic hat-tips and pre-figuring sources of inspiration. As a result, Frankenstein fans (which is surely all of us, right?), should feel a warm attraction to the film. Indeed, it is quite a classy looking and cliché-challenging period drama. Highly recommended, Mary Shelley screens again tonight (4/29), during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Homeless—The Soundtrack (short)

Jenni Alpert studied with the great Kenny Burrell at UCLA’s Herb Alpert School of Music (presumably no relation). That is definitely impressive, but her most significant musical association might just be with her biological father. It was a long time coming. Removed from her birth parents at a distressingly young age, Alpert has recently reconnected with her troubled father. Music has been their common ground and lingua franca, as viewers directly witness in Irene Taylor Brodsky’s twenty-six-minute documentary short Homeless: The Soundtrack, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Alpert studied jazz, but it sounds like she largely performs in pop and pop-country bags these days (thereby demonstrating the flexibility of jazz-trained musicians). It is probably just as well, because those seem to be the idioms Don Logsdon is comfortable playing. When they jam together, everything makes sense. However, it is clear his problems have not all melted away with their reunion.

Some viewers might be a bit put off to see Alpert pick up Logsdon from his squat under a bridge and even more turned off by her insistence he wear a blindfold during the drive to her house. However, you should respect her for having the backbone and foresight to protect herself from potential substance abuse backsliding and who knows what else. Thanks to her, he is clean and in treatment for various ailments, but you cannot be too careful with anyone coming out of a junkie’s existence.

Still, this is a good news story. Obviously, their reunion has made life richer and happier for both father and daughter, but Brodsky also makes it clear plenty of challenges remain. In terms of filmmaking, Homeless: The Soundtrack is stylistically pretty straight forward, but its honesty is impressive. The film never over-simplifies the messiness of the world, but it offers up some welcome cause for optimism. Recommended for general audiences, Homeless: The Soundtrack screens again this afternoon (4/28) as part of the Home Sweet Home documentary shorts block, at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Earthrise (short)

When I was a kid, many of us had NASA space photography posters in our rooms. Astronauts were cool and we were the leading nation for space exploration. So much has changed for successive generations. Viewers can recapture a taste of the idealism and optimism we have lost in Emmanuel Vaughan-Lee’s short documentary Earthrise, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

The three-man crew of Apollo 8 make it clear nobody had given any prior thought to taking photos of the Earth from space. When designated camera man Bob Anders had time, he was supposed to focus on the Moon, especially while passing behind the dark side. Of course, their plans changed when they started to take in the stunning sight of our blue planet. Yet, it was the sight of the Earth rising above the Moon’s horizon as they emerged from the Moon’s shadow that would become one of NASA’s most defining and iconic images.

Earthrise is one of the mot poetic space docs ever produced, which makes it distinctive and cool. However, the film’s greatest merit is perhaps its poignant reminder of just how triumphant the now somewhat hazily remembered Apollo 8 mission was at the time. They were the first to leave Earth’s orbit and fully orbit the Moon—arguably the single biggest leap forward before the Apollo 11 Moon landing.

Vaughan-Lee includes long, thoughtful reflections from all three crew-members, Frank Borman, James Lovell, and William Anders, which also makes Earthrise a pretty significant film document. Their perspective is both humanistic and galactic.

Unfortunately, the film brings us back down to Earth when it accurately points out only twenty-four astronauts have experienced this spectacular Earthrise view. Vaughan-Lee leaves unsaid the cold hard truth that we currently do not have the capacity send manned spaceflights back to Moon or anywhere else beyond our atmosphere, but we will spell it out, because it needs to be emphasized. Regardless, Earthrise is a very well put together film that engages on emotional and cerebral levels. Very highly recommended, it screens again this afternoon (4/28) as part of the Home Sweet Home documentary shorts block, at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: To Dust

Albert is no Mr. Wizard. He is an embittered community college professor gone to seed, but Shmuel wouldn’t know the difference. For the Hasidic cantor, any participation in scientific inquiry is sinful, but the recent death of his wife leads to a desperate obsession with human decomposition in Shawn Snyder’s Best New Narrative Award winning To Dust, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Shmuel takes Orthodox teaching very seriously, particularly the part about “dust to dust.” In fact, he becomes consumed with anxiety, worrying his beloved wife’s soul will be in torment until her body fully returns to the earth. His concern is so troubling, he will even sin himself by seeking answers at a local community college. The initial meeting with Albert goes badly—the cantor keeps calling the professor “doctor” and the professor keeps calling the cantor “rabbi.” Nevertheless, the divorced, pot-smoking instructor tries to give Shmuel some answers using a rather graphic 1960 study of pig decomposition. Imagine his surprise when Shmuel drags him into his own practical experiments, using swine.

To Dust probably sounds like it pushes the line of good taste, given the prominence of dead pigs in the narrative. However, it is refreshingly thoughtful and sensitive it the ways it addresses Orthodox Judaism. Above all else, this is a deeply mournful film that readily forgives its characters’ foibles and excesses. There are indeed some rather grisly images, including the archival footage from 1960 and some morbid nightmare sequences, but they are always counter-balanced by the human element. It could very well appeal to the audience for Avishai’s Sivan’s Tikkun, but it is a dramatically warmer, more grounded, and more humanistic film.

Géza Röhrig (from Son of Saul) is quite remarkable as Shmuel. It is a quiet performance, but his anguish always feels very real and acutely pressing. He develops genuine chemistry with Matthew Broderick’s Albert that is hard to define or describe but is tangibly potent. Even though Broderick is playing another self-loathing man-child, he does his best work in years teasing out humanizing subtleties in the failed academic.

To Dust is an Alfred P. Sloan Foundation-supported film, which speaks volumes about the seriousness of Snyder and co-screenwriter Jason Begue’s science. Viewers could probably even recreate some of the experiments, but we would advise against trying that. Yet, it is the not-quite-buddy relationship that really lies at the core of the film. For extra added novelty, Ron Perlman served as one of the producers, so you’d better take note. Highly recommended, To Dust screens again Saturday night (4/28) and twice on Sunday (4/29), as an award-winner, at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Into the Void Shorts

For genre fans, the words “to be continued” are a real double-edged sword. It’s nice to know there will be more of something good, but frustrating that we will have to wait. Those words most likely apply to several, or nearly all of the shorts in the science fiction Into the Void short film programming block, which screens at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Many of the sf Void shorts sure seem like they were intended as proof of concepts for a prospective feature or series, but Andrew Bowen’s The 716^th is probably the second worst offender when it comes to cliffhanger endings. It is sort of like MASH in space, but with more shooting. The last human medics have been shunted off to what was a quiet corner of the war, but their quadrant has just heated up considerably. After a long day of triage, they naturally fix themselves moonshine highballs, but “Doc” rather impulsively decides to commandeer a shuttle to save the last human soldier on the planet and her battle android. Things do not go well for him, but it is not for a lack of brisk action and snarky humor. This is definitely enjoyable space opera—concept proved.

Zach Strauss’s Bad Peter is the most self-contained film in the program, yet it is also the least satisfying. Essentially, it plays like the What to Expect When You’re Expecting version of Stephen King’s short story Quitters Inc., but it should be fully stipulated Frankie Shaw from SMILF is absolutely terrific as the mega-pregnant Rachel.

Travis Bible’s Exit Strategy also tells a full and complete narrative, but it also gives the time loop movie a wildly original twist. The day starts innocently for Matt the fire-fighter, but his egghead brother Shane has been down this road many, many times before. He has to convince Matt to help him prevent a tragic forest fire, but time and fate keep conspiring against him, to bring about the same predestined result. The twists are impressive, but the film’s emotional heft is what really distinguishes it from the field of less engaging feature length films in the time travel/Groundhog Day sub-genres.

Jesse Atlas’s Let Them Die Like Lovers could go either way. It would be relatively easy to expand this story of a body-hopping La Femme Nikita, but he still ends it at a logical stopping point (how novel). Like his deeply resonant Record/Play, Like Lovers is a psychologically and emotionally sophisticated film. It turns out, jumping into the bodies of trusted loved ones to assassinate their nearest and dearest takes a toll on Alexa’s psyche, even though her targets are some decidedly bad cats. It is a well-made, handsomely crafted film, but it doesn’t have Record/Play’s profoundly romantic and tragic sensibility.

Johannes Mücke & Patrick Sturm’s UI—Soon We Will All Be One looks completely amazing, as you might expect from a collaboration between a special effects specialist and a graphic designer. For this cryptic alien invasion tale, they create some of the most striking alien architecture since 2001, but the narrative comes across like a mere sketch to introduce the world. Still, it is worth seeing, literally for the spectacle, especially on the big screen.

Jocelyn Stamat M.D.’s Laboratory Condition is by far the best short in the Void block (with Exit Strategy coming in a strong second), but it has the most intense and maddening cliffhanger ending since maybe The Italian Job. It also boasts one of the eeriest and most inventive concepts since the original Flatliners. Dr. Holloway is an emergency room doctor, whose recently deceased patient has been purloined. It turns out he was dubiously requisitioned by Dr. Marjorie Cane, a senior researcher at the university. Her project hopes to document the exit of the soul from the lonely old man’s body. However, their completely sealed observation tank has trapped his soul, preventing it from going where it must. Yet, only Dr. Holloway can see his frantic desperation. Then things get really, really sinister.

This film gives goosebumps, both because it is pretty darned scary and the execution is so crisp and smart. It also has an amazing cast for a film of any length, most notable including Marisa Tomei as Dr. Holloway and Minnie Driver, who is absolutely fantastic as the curt and high-handed Dr. Cane. Obviously, this is intended as a proof of concept for a feature that is proved several times over. With this nifty Macguffin, the first-rate cast, and the wickedly impressive production design, it can’t miss,

Laboratory Conditions is very highly recommended, but once you see the short, you will want to watch the rest of it. In fact, the entire Into the Void is recommended with a good deal of enthusiasm, especially for Exit Strategy, The 716^th, and Let Them Die Like Lovers. 

Science Fiction fans might also be interested in Steve Kenny’s short film, Time Traveler. Even though it has no science fiction elements, it quite affectionately pays tribute to Back to the Future. Barry Ward proves he could well be the next Michael Fassbender with his sensitive portrayal of an Irish Traveler father of a young boy building a scale replica time machine, whose caravan-home is being evicted from their longtime camp site. Gritty and bittersweet in the right ways, it screens tomorrow (4/27) and Saturday (4/28), as part of the Make or Break shorts program, while the Into the Void program also screens on the same days.

Tribeca ’18: The Saint Bernard Syndicate

The underlying business plan has potential. Dogs are definitely a status symbol for China’s privileged elite and growing middle class. Hence, the success of A Dog’s Purpose at the Chinese box office. A darker manifestation of the trend is the rapacious demand for Tibetan mastiffs, as seen in Pema Tseden’s Old Dog. Frederik Jorgensen wants to breed and sell Saint Bernards, starting in the go-go city of Chongqing, but he is profoundly ill-suited to doing business in China. His new Danish investor seems even sillier, but his guileless blundering might be slightly more effective, but only slightly, in madcap documentarian Mads Brügger’s narrative feature debut, The Saint Bernard Syndicate, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Even though Rasmus Bruun attended one of Denmark’s most prestigious prep schools, he has worked crummy retail jobs all his adult life. Even though Jorgensen attended the same school, he has squandered his father’s patience with one failed investment scheme after another. When they reconnect at a reunion, Bruun is skeptical of Jorgensen’s pitch, but when he is shockingly diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), he decides to take a chance and live a little in China. Of course, he does not have the kind of inheritance Jorgensen assumes, but it will not matter if they can quickly line up a Chinese investor. Their ace in the hole will be Dollar, a big slobbering Saint Bernard Jorgensen kidnaps from his father.

Needless to say, the ins and outs of Chinese co-ventures are trickier than Jorgensen assumed. He also resents Bruun’s determination to be an active participate in all stages of the process, especially when potential investors keep assuming he is the primary boss. Yet, when things really get dicey, they will have to rely on each other.

Given Brügger’s track record as a New Journalist provocateur, it is impossible to watch Syndicate and not wonder what it could have been if he had made it as documentary, in the style of The Ambassador, especially since selling Saint Bernard dogs in China should be considerably less dangerous than trying to smuggle diamonds out of the Central African Republic using dodgy diplomatic credentials (but this is Xi-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed Jinping’s China, so maybe you never know for sure).

The attitude is still unmistakable subversive and intended to foster free-thinking. It is safe to say Chinese joint-ventures do not look like such a swell idea after watching Syndicate. You can also see a kinship between the real-life comedy team of Bruun and Jorgensen with Simon Jul Jorgensen and Jacob Nossell, who joined Brügger in North Korea for the propaganda expose Red Chapel, and Frank Hvam and Casper Christensen, the duo responsible for the Klown franchise.

Bruun and Jorgensen adroitly play off each other, developing some intriguingly ambiguous chemistry. Li Boyang is also a charismatic good sport as their loyal Chinese assistant, Beyond. However, Odessa totally steals the show as Dollar, which should come as no surprise.

Brügger vividly captures the big, intimidating nature of Mainland mega-cities. This would be a hard place to be scuffling, especially if you had accrued a lot of bad karma. Just ask Jorgensen. Syndicate is funny and sad in way that are quite perceptive. It is a good, solid film, but fans will really want to see another Mad Mads Brügger docu-provocation. Recommended as the smart, honest work of cinema that it is, The Saint Bernard Syndicate screens again tonight (4/25), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Blue Note Records—Beyond the Notes

It started with recordings of boogie woogie piano masters Meade Lux Lewis and Albert Ammons, but Blue Note Records would become synonymous with 50s and 60s Hard Bop, exemplified by artists like Horace Silver and Lee Morgan. They might sound stylistically disparate, but everyone on the classic Blue Note label was totally authentic and swung hard. The label’s past, present, and future are celebrated in Sophie Huber’s Blue Note Records: Beyond the Notes, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff were fans, not businessmen. Wolff presciently immigrated to America amid the rise of National Socialism in Germany, joining his boyhood friend Lion in New York. With Blue Note Records, they just started recording music they wanted to hear. Somehow, the venture became sustainable (barely), but it was never a commercial power house. Due to cash flow issues, they were forced to sell out to Liberty Records in 1965, but they were never comfortable working in a more corporate environment. Lion retired, Wolff passed away, and the new Capitol/EMI masters consigned the label to dormancy in 1979. Ordinarily, that would be the end of the story, but fan reverence for Blue Note was so deep and their backlist catalog sales were so strong, Capitol revived the label in 1985.

When an institution like Blue Note refuses to stay dead, it most definitely means something. Huber does a nice job explaining the many reasons fans have such respect and fetish-like collectors’ zeal for the label. Of course, the music is first and foremost. Lion and Wolff discovered, nurtured, and extensively recorded many great musicians, including Thelonious Monk, Bud Powell, Jimmy Smith (who is oddly shortchanged in the film), Herbie Hancock, Lee Morgan, Joe Henderson, and “Sweet Papa” Lou Donaldson, who consistently livens things up with his candid interview segments, as anyone who has heard him in the clubs would fully expect.

Due credit is also given to Reid Miles’ boldly modernistic cover designs and Wolff’s remarkable photographs taken at the sessions (incidentally, a few covers were designed by a cat name Andy Warhol, but he never amounted to much). (Some colleagues asked me how legit Wolff’s photography was after a press screening—does two collections published by Rizzoli and exhibitions at the Smithsonian and the Jewish Museum in Berlin answer the question?).

Huber and her interview subjects also acknowledge the mastery of Rudy Van Gelder, Blue Note’s regular engineer (who had a particularly good ear for jazz but recorded every style of music under the sun) and the respectful and productive atmosphere fostered by Lion and Wolff. Unlike other labels, they paid musicians to rehearse, allowing their artists to bring in sophisticated charts, instead of just blowing head arrangements on some impromptu blues.

Huber views this musical legacy through the prism of a studio session for Robert Glasper, one of the label’s most prominent and talented contemporary artists not named Norah Jones (who also duly appears to pay tribute). Past and present meet when Hancock and Wayne Shorter join Glasper’s group, with the label’s current president Don Was proudly looking on from the control board. That kind of says it all for a lot of Hard Bop-focused Blue Note fans—yet it still leaves much unsaid.

Frankly, Beyond the Notes could have easily been a four-hour Amazon documentary, in the tradition of Long Strange Trip. Admittedly, some editing is usually a good thing, but it is rather problematic that Huber ignores Blue Note’s avant-garde/free jazz legacy, because these jazz artists are always the most likely to be marginalized. Unless they recognize a few album covers that flash across the screen, viewers would have no indication “outside” and explorative musicians like Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, Don Cherry, Eric Dolphy, Sam Rivers, and Andrew Hill recorded for Blue Note.

Blue Note has such a rich history, distilling it down to ninety minutes would be a daunting task.  Yet, a good deal of time is devoted to arguing Blue Note is suddenly more “relevant” in the current cultural and ideological climate. However, the truth is Blue Note was never very political, especially when compared to Impulse Records or Flying Dutchman. Yes, jazz is descended from the blues, which was born out of slavery, but it is still frustrating Huber feels compelled to justify the music on the basis of some fleeting political relevancy instead of having confidence in its intrinsic and enduring value.

Blue Note is a record label. Ordinarily, those were just words on a sticker covering the dead wax of an LP, but Blue Note was, and to a considerable extent still is special. It was the artists, the look and the sound. It was the total package. Huber mostly gets at the essence, but there is so much more to the story, like Long Tall Dexter Gordon, whom many viewers who don’t know Blue Note from Blue Thumb will recognize from his Oscar-nominated performance in Round Midnight.

Even coupled with Julian Benedikt’s straight-over-the-plate Blue Note: A Story Modern Jazz, a great deal of significant Blue Note history and music is left out of the picture, but that means you are entitled to a feeling of discovery for everything you ferret out yourself (tip: start with Freddie Redd). Recommended (despite a few frustrations) for jazz fans and viewers with open ears, Blue Note Records: Beyond the Notes screens again tonight (4/25) and tomorrow (4/26), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Freaks and Geeks, the Documentary

What if Brandon Tartikoff had canceled the low-rated Cheers in 1983, instead of having faith in its long-term potential? NBC would have missed out on a crucial piece of its vaunted “must-see TV” Thursday line-up. Fans of Freaks and Geeks argue that is basically what happened when their beloved but mis-scheduled show was prematurely axed. Given the subsequent success of its cast-members and the recent trend towards more complex, single-camera TV comedies, they might have a point. Cast-members and network executives reflect on the series’ inception and demise in Brent Hodge’s Freaks and Geeks, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Everyone gets a little nostalgic for the high school programs they watched during their high school years. Who doesn’t still love Happy Days, but you probably had to be there for the original 90210. Freaks and Geeks was the Square Pegs of its era. It was critically acclaimed and adored by its core audience, but it just could not catch on with a mass audience.

In retrospect, F&G’s pedigree looks sterling. It was created by Paul Feig, executive produced by Judd Apatow, and starred James Franco, Seth Rogen, Jason Segel, and Busy Philipps. Unfortunately, NBC president Garth Ancier just didn’t get it, but you have to give him credit for explaining his decisions on-camera, even though he surely knew he was appearing in front of a hostile audience.

In fact, the most interesting aspect of Hodge’s doc is the chronicle of the behind-the-scenes network politics. Frankly, anyone who just had their first pilot picked-up should watch F&G: The Doc, for perspective. Collectively, everyone associated with the show makes a convincing case for its just-ahead-of-the-curve influence on the current wave of single-camera network comedies. It is also vividly (but not necessarily nostalgically) transports us back to the last gasp of big-four network hegemony. Hodge, who also helmed The Pistol Shrimps and I Am Chris Farley has the right touch with this kind of documentary, nicely balancing the sentimental reminiscences with dishy trade-story details.

NBC might have let something big get away that could have temporarily forestalled the inevitable dominance of Netflix and Amazon over episodic television, but most people involved landed on their feet. Hodge keeps it all briskly paced and engaging, even for viewers who were not on board when the show was on the air. Recommended for fans and aspiring show-runners, Freaks and Geeks: The Documentary screens this Thursday (4/26), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: Jonathan

They are like the Corsican Brothers, but more symbiotic—and weirdly codependent. They do just share a flat and some DNA, they cohabitate in the same body. Each gets his own shift from 7:00 to 3:00. If you question the sustainability of this arrangement, your skepticism will be validated in Bill Oliver’s Jonathan, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Jonathan is the tidy and responsible one, who gets the day shift. John is the sloppy but social one, who lives by night. Obviously, they can never be present together, but at the end of each shift they leave each other video messages, recapping their interactions with people, so they will not be caught flatfooted during their shifts. However, John has been out of sorts ever since Jonathan read him the riot act about pursuing a long-term relationship with Elena, a pretty young waitress completely unaware of their condition.

Much to Jonathan’s alarm, John stops leaving messages. He is even more concerned when he discovers their doctor and surrogate mother, Dr. Mina Nariman has been treating John for depression. However, he really starts feeling guilty when he pursues his own relationship with Elena.

Jonathan is billed as science fiction, but the radical treatment the J-men have undergone does not feel very speculative at all. To an extent, the film plays like a more innocent cousin of Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly. Nevertheless, the fraternal relationship and the rules they embrace or chafe under to make their co-existence possible are intriguing and inherently dramatic. Yet, the film is never mind-blowing in the way it clearly hopes to be. Despite a few fresh wrinkles, the multiple personality subject matter is largely confined to familiar territory.

Still, Oliver’s execution is tight and stylish. He is particularly adept at conveying Jonathan’s closely guarded emotional state. Ansel Elgort and Suki Waterhouse also give career-best performances (thus far), which might sound like a bold declarative statement, but it based on an underwhelming field of films, including November Criminals, The Bad Batch, and the “Ent” franchise.

Credit is still due, especially for Elgort, who clearly delineates Jonathan, who provides our sole POV and John, seen only in video messages, without ever resorting to cheap tics or tricks. Of course, Patricia Clarkson is always reliable, but she really deepens the film with her subtle but forceful portrayal of Dr. Nariman. If anyone earns award consideration for Jonathan, it will be Clarkson, but Shunori Ramanathan should earn consideration for bigger roles for her sensitive turn as Jonathan’s concerned co-worker, Allison.

There are some obvious logical questions Oliver co-screenwriters Peter Nickowitz and Gregory Davis just hope viewers do not think to ask. Yet, there is something about the synaptic Cain and Abel relationship that resonates on a gut level. It will not stretch your mind or your consciousness, but it will get under your skin. Recommended on balance for the ensemble work, Jonathan screens this afternoon (4/24) and Saturday (4/28), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Tribeca ’18: 7 Stages to Achieve Eternal Bliss, Etc., Etc.

They dig their cults in LA. Just review the recent history: the Mansion Family, the Source Family, the SLA, Synanon, a satellite office of the People’s Temple, and of course, L. Ron’s Thetans. It is easy to see the cult of the Holy Storsh gaining traction here, but that is bad news for Claire and her underwhelming boyfriend Paul. They rented the apartment where Storsh shuffled off his mortal coil, so they must contend with a steady stream of cult members intending to follow his example. However, the malleable losers will adopt a policy of “if you can’t beat them, join them” in Vivieno Caldinelli’s 7 Stages to Achieve Eternal Bliss by Passing Through the Gateway Chosen by the Holy Storsh, which screens during the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival.

Claire should call her dad, because she is in a cult. To put it more accurately, she aspires to join a cult, which is sort of sad. Sadder still, her support network entirely consists of her unemployed boyfriend Paul, who is even weaker than she is. Initially, they are freaked out by the Storsh-heads who break into their flat to kill themselves after performing an absurd set of rituals, but one day Claire starts reading one of Storsh’s little red books left behind by a cultist—and suddenly it all starts to make sense to her.

Of course, she carries along the spineless Paul with her enthusiasm. Suddenly, they start ushering the Storshies into the tub and even help them take their final exit. In fact, Claire gets super enthusiastic about assisting their suicides. However, they also have to keep the detective assigned to Storsh body-processing at bay.

The first fifteen minutes or so are mildly amusing, but 7 Stages Etc., Etc. never goes above, beyond, or below the level of a sketch comedy show routine. Basically, the film plateaus at a constantly level of one-liners and carefully calibrated bits of mildly transgressive slapstick. A film about a suicidal death cult should never become formulaic and repetitive, but that is what happens here. As a further source of annoyance, Caldinelli and the producers cast a number people like Dan Harmon, whom the entertainment media are constantly telling us how funny we find their work, but have no appreciable following with real people, aside from a few dozen podcast listeners.

Frankly, Harmon is excruciatingly embarrassing as the neurotic Det. Cartwright. It is also uncomfortable for very different reasons to watch how hard Kate Micucci tries to make it work as Claire. On the other hand, Sam Huntington takes the intentionally annoying character of Paul and makes him utterly nauseating. Yet, to give credit where it is due, it is duly stipulated Taika Waititi is thoroughly and profoundly eerie as old Storshy (seen in flashbacks).

I’m sure we are all looking forward to the day when 7 Stages plays on a triple bill with Who is Harry Kellerman and Why is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Seriously, a ridiculously long title has to be the cheapest gag possible. In this case, its fitting. Not recommended, 7 Stages screens again this Saturday (4/28), as part of this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.