Submitted by Latvia: Hong Kong Confidential

For nearly twenty years, Latvian director Maris Martinsons lived in Lithuania, which submitted his first film Loss as the country’s 2008 offering for official foreign language Oscar consideration, even though it was set in Ireland. Martinsons’ world citizen ethos is again exemplified by his second film, Hong Kong Confidential, another global co-production, in this case submitted to the Academy’s foreign language division by the director’s native Latvia, though obviously filmed in scenic HK. Confidential (a.k.a. Amaya, trailer here) is one of this year’s harder submissions to pigeon hole, well beyond its multinational pedigree, yet it is strangely beguiling and certainly worthy of a product tour on the festival circuit, regardless of Oscar love.

The English-speaking Paul is not a tourist, he is a traveler, visiting far-flung Asian locales in search of traditional and exotic massage techniques. In HK, he signs up for classes taught by the Chinese master Tao, where he seems to have an odd effect on the employees. At first the attractive Jasmine resents his rather confident flirtation, but the older Amaya is intrigued by the mystery man.

Amaya is also something of an outsider, a Japanese expatriate who has made a home with her dull but loving dry-cleaner husband. She is relatively happy, but misses her grown son working in a far-off fishing village. Indeed, everyone in Confidential is missing or yearning for someone and each keeps his own secrets.

Martinsons deftly walks a fine line in Confidential, playing all sorts of narrative games in the background, while foregrounding the film with deceptively accessible relationship dramas and even moments of light comedy. Frankly, it is an odd experience watching a film that is so emotionally engaging, yet also something of a head-scratcher—but that is not a bad thing.

It all works because of the caliber of his cast. Written for the great Japanese actress Kaori Momoi (whose credits include Kurosawa’s Kagemusha and a flat-out awesome supporting turn in Takashi Miike’s otherwise disappointing Sukiyaki Western Django), she brings a mature beauty and a wonderful sense of dignity to the film as Amaya. In fact, her understated wisdom helps sell the film’s riskier, more mystical scenes. Though Andrius Momotovas’ English often sounds more than a bit phonetic, he has a fascinating screen presence, developing real chemistry with the ensemble. There is also something quite haunting about Monie Tung’s performance as the beautiful but wounded Jasmine.

What most distinguishes Confidential is the degree to which Martinsons maintains his characters auras of mystery without indulging in obscurity for its own sake, a la David Lynch. It would surely frustrate more conventional viewers, but it unquestionably establishes its own unique tone, further heightened by the original music composed by lead actor Momotovas (whose catchy song “The World is Full of Love” is at least as Oscar-worthy as nine-tenths of this year’s forty-one qualified tunes). There is no question Confidential is a long shot for the foreign language nomination, but it ought to rank in the top ten percentile of the field. If Academy members paid attention during their screenings, anything is possible.

NYJFF ‘11: Cabaret Polska

1968 was truly a year of infamy. Perhaps most notorious was the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia crushing the brief “Prague Spring” interlude of openness, but that awful year also witnessed the Polish Communists orchestrating an anti-Semitic purge, as a part of a virulent propaganda campaign against Zionism. Essentially it completed the country’s complete disillusionment with its Communist government, leaving a lingering sense of shame and loss that is expressed in unconventional but eloquent terms in Nir David Zats and Zuzanna Solakiewicz’s Cabaret Polska, which has its American premiere this coming Wednesday during the 2011 New York Jewish Film Festival.

Ryszard Wojcik is not Jewish, but the purge cost him many close friends, including Stach and Joasia Gomulka. Hounded into immigrating, the Gomulkas were forced to abandon nearly all their worldly possessions, including a book Wojcik still prizes as a memento of their interrupted friendship. Yet as Joasia Gomulka ironically remembers, many of those persecuting her family were also jealous of them, because at least they were allowed to leave (and the sooner, the better).

Cabaret is not merely an oral history style documentary. As the title indicates, there are several slightly surreal musical interludes, as well as a highly stylized animated sequence incorporating surviving photos of the Gomulkas circa 1968. While it all might sound out of place, those familiar with the absurdist theatrical productions of Grotowski and the dissident Theater of the Eighth Day will recognize and understand Cabaret’s influences. Indeed, it is a fittingly absurd way to address Communism and its institutionalized anti-Semitism.

As one probably gathers, Cabaret veers far and wide, yet it never loses sight of the big picture, delivering a number of heavy moments. At just under an hour’s running time, it is also a manageable excursion into experimental documentary filmmaking. Given the Polish experience in WWII, the 1968 anti-Semitic purges are particularly appalling. Fortunately, Cabaret is part of an organized effort to prevent that difficult episode of Polish history from slipping into the memory hole. Highly recommended to modestly adventurous viewers, Cabaret screens Wednesday (1/19) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of a double bill of long short-form documentaries during this year’s NYJFF.

Zhao Liang’s Crime and Punishment

Imagine the Keystone Cops with severe mean streak. That is pretty much what you get from the Chinese military police stationed in a hardscrabble village on the North Korean border. Watching a full day of these officers on the job is not a pretty picture, but it is often quite absurd. Such is the nature of Chinese criminal justice subversively documented by Zhao Liang in Crime and Punishment (trailer here), which screens at the Anthology Film Archives in conjunction with the long-awaited theatrical release of Zhao’s devastating Petition.

Distributed by dGenerate Films, the specialists in independent Chinese cinema, Punishment watches fly-on-the-wall style as the recruits of the People’s Armed Police (PAP) gruffly patrol the isolated border town in hopes of a more permanent and prestigious assignment at the end of their two year tours. Essentially temps, the young men do not seem to be concerned with forging any rapport with the locals. Beatings are pretty much par for the course, as the soldiers quickly demonstrate during their first case of the day.

A severely hard-of-hearing man is hauled in on suspicion of stealing a cell-phone, with the obvious irony therein completely lost on the PAP. When their interrogation flounders, they first resort to public humiliation, eventually falling back on a good old-fashioned beating. “Turn off the cameras” they instruct Zhao. We will be hearing those words several times more before the film ends.

Although they do not physically assault the subject of their next investigation, their behavior towards a dirt poor farmer collecting scrap metal without a dozen government permits filed in triplicate is arguably crueler. Watching them badger and berate the clueless old man feels like one of the longest, most uncomfortable sequences ever captured on film.

As the day progresses, it looks like the coppers might be doing some legitimate police work when they launch a manhunt for a suspected killer. However, the only prey we see them bag is a desperate farmer poaching firewood to sell for New Year’s gifts for his children. Even the arresting officers have misgivings after seeing the suspect’s truly mean living conditions. Unfortunately, they had already administered the requite beat-down by this point.

Although Zhao basically cuts the camera when he is told, he still leaves no question as to the nature of what happens shortly thereafter. Like most Digital Generation filmmakers, Zhao eschews artificial conventions like voice-over narration and talking head interview segments. Aside from a few Dragnet like title cards explaining what happened to suspects after their questioning/thrashing, Zhao simply captures the scene in his lens, letting each character speak for himself through his behavior.

While Punishment does not have the same emotional heft as Petition, it is still a rather shocking expose of the Chinese criminal justice system. Yet, for all the abuse and intimidation meted out by the PAP, their actual results are less than impressive. After three investigations and much thuggery, they have less than one thousand Yuan in fines to show for their efforts. Daring in its own right, the unvarnished Punishment is definitely worth seeing when it screens at Anthology Film Archives today (1/13), Saturday (1/15), and Sunday (1/16) in conjunction with Zhao’s staggering Petition.

NYJFF ’11: Jewish Soldiers in Blue and Gray

Judah P. Benjamin was the first Jewish cabinet officer in North America. He served as Secretary of State for the C.S.A. The historical irony is obvious. In fact, Jewish Americans willingly enlisted on both sides of the Civil War at disproportionally high rates, yet their service remains largely overlooked. Intended to rectify Civil War historians’ unfortunate slights, Jonathan Gruber’s documentary Jewish Soldiers in Blue & Gray compellingly surveys Jewish participation in the Civil War. Produced in time for the war’s sesquicentennial, it screens next Tuesday and Wednesday as part of the 2011 New York Jewish Film Festival.

Benjamin was not the only Jewish Confederate. Though it clearly discomforts several of the contemporary Jewish historians interviewed throughout Soldiers, many Jewish Americans so appreciated the welcoming home they found in the Old South, the rushed to take arms on her behalf, despite the significance of slavery within their religious faith. Likewise, Jewish Northerners also readily volunteered as an unambiguous act of patriotism, while embracing abolitionism with a special import as the descendants of the slaves of Exodus.

More than simply dressing up historical footnotes, the film identifies several instances of battle-turning valor, leading to five Congressional Medals of Honor for Jewish soldiers, a wholly remarkable total given the relative overall size of the Jewish-American population. Yet, perhaps the most unfairly ignored historical figure receiving his just due in Soldiers is that of Isachar Zacharie, Lincoln’s self-taught podiatrist, who served the president as a spy and a diplomatic envoy to the Confederate States.

Frankly, Soldiers might challenge some pre-conceived notions, essentially implying the Confederate Army was somewhat more congenial to Jewish serviceman than the Union forces. Still, it singles out one Northerner who overturned injustice for Jewish Americans whenever he confronted it. That man was indeed Abraham Lincoln.

Though Soldiers definitely looks ready-made for cable or PBS broadcast, it is legitimately educational. It also boasts some notable talent in the audio-booth, with Oscar-nominated screenwriter-director John Milius providing the authoritative narration and Sam Waterston giving voice to Pres. Lincoln.

It sounds like a tall order, but Soldiers should manage to increase most viewers’ appreciation of Lincoln. It definitely seems to have been produced from the perspective that America is place where justice and tolerance ultimately triumph, albeit at a tremendous price in this case. Well paced and informative, it screens this coming Tuesday (1/18) and Wednesday (1/19) with a special panel discussion scheduled to follow the latter night.

Injustice in China: Petition

They are the dregs of society. Scorned and maligned, they live a dangerous existence in crude shantytowns as they pursue their quixotic quest. They seek redress from the Chinese government and for filmmaker Zhao Liang, these “petitioners” are his country’s greatest heroes. The product of over ten years spent with these marginalized justice seekers, Zhao’s Petition stands as arguably the most damning documentary record of contemporary China to reach American theaters since the initial rise of the Digital Generation of independent filmmakers. A special selection of the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, Petition finally opens in New York this Friday at the Anthology Film Archives.

Throughout Petition it is crystal clear the Chinese government has institutionalized corruption and hopelessly stacked the deck against the petitioners. Those victimized by unfair rulings have limited options locally for appeal (from the same corrupt bodies), so their only recourse is through the Kafkaesque “Petition Offices” in Beijing. Never in the film do we see the bureaucrats there actually give a petitioner satisfaction. They do keep records though. In fact, the local authorities have a vested interest in maintaining low petition numbers. Hence, the presence of “retrievers,” hired thugs who physically assault petitioners as they approach the petition office.

Petition is definitely produced in the fly-on-the-wall, naturalistic style of Jia Zhangke and his “d-generate” followers, but there is no shortage of visceral drama here. Each petitioner we meet has an even greater story of injustice to tell. Perversely, it seems it is those who do not take bribes who usually find themselves prosecuted in China. Petitioners are arrested, beaten, and even die under mysterious circumstances. Yet, it is through Zhao’s central figures, Qi and her daughter Juan, that we experience the emotional drain of the petitioning process with uncomfortable immediacy. Frankly, even if you have seen a number of Chinese documentaries, this film will still profoundly disturb you.

Zhao deserves credit for both his significant investment of time and his fearlessness. Not surprisingly, filming is strictly prohibited in the Petition Offices, but that did not stop him from trying, often getting more than a slight jostle for his trouble. Indeed, Petition represents truly independent filmmaking.

Petition is the cinematic equivalent of a smoking gun. It is impossible to maintain any Pollyannaish illusions of about the rule of law in China after watching the film. Yet, like Zhao, viewers will be struck be the petitioners’ indomitable drive for justice. May God protect them, because their government certainly won’t. A legitimately bold and honest film that needs to be seen, Petition opens this Friday (1/14) in New York at the Anthology Film Archives.

Adapting Richler: Barney’s Version

Though frequently controversial in his native Quebec, Mordecai Richler was arguably the most celebrated Anglophone Canadian novelist south of the great northern border. As it not typically the case, his final novel was also one of his most acclaimed. After a prolonged development period, director Richard J. Lewis and producer Robert Lantos’ adaptation of Barney’s Version (trailer here) finally opens for real in New York this Friday, after a brief Oscar qualifying run late last year.

Introspection might not be Barney Panofsky’s forte, but a new book making scandalous accusations about him has the late middle-aged man looking back over his life. In flashbacks, we see Panofsky live life’s highs and lows, as he recollects his youthful expatriate years in Italy, the Canadian television career he is openly contemptuous of, and a particularly fateful day when his friend Boogie, a determinedly unpublished novelist, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Yet, his three marriages provide the real key to understanding the irascible Panofsky.

Despite all the years and geography Version covers, it is a relatively simple story of a nebbish anti-hero torturing himself over the one that got away. Of course, like most of Richler’s oeuvre, it is deeply informed by the Canadian-Jewish experience, but Panofsky’s relationships have genuine universality (disastrous though they might be). He is embarrassed by his broken-down ex-cop father, but also fiercely loyal to the old man. He loves his children, yet constantly takes them for granted. Wives number one and two are mistakes to varying degrees, but number three, Myriam, is a different story.

Under ordinary circumstances, Paul Giamatti and Rosamund Pike would never look like a credible couple, but they establish sufficient rapport to sell their unlikely pairing. Indeed, they have one of the better movie courtships in recent years, best described as manic rather than cute.

Panofsky is easily Giamatti’s best work in a number of outings, while Pike projects a warm, smart presence as his beloved ex. Strangely though, the supporting players are all over the map. Dustin Hoffman is legitimately Oscar worthy as Panofsky père, wonderfully conveying his not-as-dumb-as-he-looks crudeness. In a clever bit of casting, Hoffman’s son Jake also appears as Panofsky’s son Michael, doing what he can with a relatively limited role. Scott Speedman is most notable amongst the ensemble, truly electric as the problematic Boogie. However, Bruce Greenwood and Minnie Driver basically resort to grating caricatures as Panofsky’s crass second wife and Myriam’s only slightly effeminate second husband, respectively.

Working from a first draft Richler was revising at the time of his death, screenwriter Michael Konyves infuses Version’s dialogue with wit and verve, without sounding like he is trying too hard. Though the 132 minute running time is a bit on the longish side, director Lewis (primarily known for television projects) still keeps it moving along nicely. Sad, funny, and most certainly memorable, if not exactly perfect, Version is a worthy Oscar showcase for Giamatti (and Dustin Hoffman if any Academy voters are listening out there). It (re)opens this Friday (1/14) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza and Union Square Theaters.

Shortlisted: Wish 143

Wish-granting charities mean well, but they can be awfully square. They keep offering to introduce David to a British footballer. He is about as interested as an American teen would be. As he makes perfectly clear, he would much rather meet a woman, preferably naked and willing. Unfortunately time is tragically short for the young man in Ian Barnes’ Wish 143, which has been shortlisted for Oscar consideration as best live action short narrative film.

Since the “wishman” is not likely to deliver, David gets the word out himself. He even makes the newspapers, generating some slightly scary propositions. The kindly Priest associated with the hospital hardly approves of such unchecked horniness, but he understands.

In all truth, Wish probably represents the most sympathetic portrayal of a priest on film this year. Jim Carter, poised to breakout in America for his work as Carson the butler on Downton Abbey, invests the good cleric with genuine warmth and humor. He also develops an easy chemistry with Samuel Peter Holland, who is admirably convincing as the young man confronting his mortality at an all too early age. Jodie Whittaker makes a strong impression as well, despite appearing late in the film in a rather sketchily developed part.

Director Barnes and screenwriter Tom Bidwell are veterans of British television, so Wish’s pat sentimentality is hardly surprising. Still, it is executed with a dignity that elevates it above standard Hallmark original movies.

Wish is a nice, harmless little short, featuring a deeply humane supporting turn from Carter. Considering how well it synchs up with Academy tastes, it may well find its way to the final Oscar ballot. Still, Eric D. Howell’s Ana’s Playground represents superior filmmaking in this category. If Wish successfully secures a nomination, look for it play as part of the Academy’s nominated short film showcases in the near future.

NYJFF ’11: Mahler on the Couch

They were arguably the greatest Viennese cultural figures of their era, but it was only in the picturesque Dutch town of Leiden that Modernist-forerunner composer Gustav Mahler briefly encountered Sigmund Freud. Though the historical details remain vague, father-son filmmakers Percy and Felix Adlon recognized the dramatic potential of what many assume was an emergency session of psychoanalysis in Mahler on the Couch (trailer here), the official opening night selection of this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and the Jewish Museum.

Of course, Freud presupposes Mahler’s problems are fundamentally sexual in nature. In this case, he is not completely wrong. Mahler’s marriage was deeply troubled. There were many reasons for this, which we see in flashbacks as the anxious maestro reluctantly assumes the position on Freud’s makeshift couch. The simple fact of their nineteen year age difference is inescapable. Yet, Mahler’s ultimatum requiring Anna Schindler to abandon her own compositional ambitions to dedicate herself to his career is far more significant. With a profound family tragedy and a rather indiscreet affair compounding their estrangement, the Mahler union appears doomed.

While the meeting of Mahler and Freud holds an iconic fascination, like an early Twentieth Century Nixon and Elvis summit, Alma Mahler is the film’s true protagonist. The future Mrs. Walter Gropius and Franz Werfel was undoubtedly a complicated figure. The Adlons present her as an early proto-feminist who willingly subordinates her creativity to Mahler’s superior genius. It is a tricky proposition to sell, but Barbara Romaner mostly pulls it off, projecting both an earthy sensuality and the appropriate sophistication as Alma Mahler.

Fusing the intimate and the operatic is no mean feat either, but the Adlons make a credible attempt, but fall well short of the bar set Luca Guadagnino’s I Am Love. Oddly, they periodically undermine the film’s sweeping romanticism with third wall-breaking recollections of minor supporting characters. This also muddies the POV of what would be more effective as a strict memory play from Mahler’s perspective.

Granted, Couch obviously sympathizes with the Mrs., but it never shortchanges Gustav Mahler. Johannes Silberschneider portrays him as a doting father and a driven creator with a surprising amount of wit. We vividly see his fervor for music and hear the results in an elegant soundtrack recorded by the Swedish Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by L.A. Philharmonic director Esa-Pekka Salonen. In contrast, Karl Markovics is merely required to nod attentively and complain about late meals as the good Dr. Freud.

Filmed on location in Leiben and Vienna, Couch has plenty of old world atmosphere. It looks and sounds great, but somehow the Albons never fully get it together. There are just too many tonal shifts and not enough focus on the dramatic core. Ultimately, despite all its passion Couch leaves the audience somewhat cold. Imminently respectable, at least it has the right cachet to launch the 2011 NYJFF. It screens twice this Wednesday (1/12) at the Walter Reade Theater, where the festival continues through January 27th.

NYJFF ’11: Stalin Thought of You

Attention to detail and a long memory might be all well and good for office drones, but they are not so hot in dictators. Stalin was a case in point. He always remembered the little people he encountered—much to their woe. However, the tyrant saw a potential usefulness in one political cartoonist that proved to be his salvation. Indeed, the late Boris Efimov would outlive Stalin and his successors, surviving well past his centennial. It is a telling episode in Soviet history, even if Efimov himself was somewhat ambiguous about his relationship with his brother’s murderer in Stalin Thought of You (trailer here), Kevin McNeer’s documentary profile of the Communist caricaturist, which screens on the opening day of the 2011 New York Jewish Film Festival, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and the Jewish Museum.

Efimov and his brother Mikhail Koltsov were both ardent Communists who had permanently adopted their revolutionary nom de plumes. Koltsov was the more outgoing sibling, rocketing up the ladder of the Soviet journalism establishment while holding secretly working for with NKVD. He is widely accepted to have been the inspiration for the Karkov character in Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. Despite (or more likely because) of his prominence, he was executed during Stalin’s Great Purge, despite recanting his forced confession.

Obviously, this put Efimov in a difficult position as the brother of a declared class enemy, but it was Stalin himself who threw the struggling artist a lifeline with a personal request for a very specific cartoon supposedly well suited to his talents. While it was only during Khrushchev’s anti-Stalin campaign that Efimov was fully rehabilitated, his lingering sense of indebtedness to the fearsome dictator is evident all through Thought.

To his credit, McNeer presents an unvarnished portrait of Efimov, often challenging him on his loyal service to the Communist system that murdered his brother. He also often broached the subject of Efimov’s Jewish identity, but the centenarian shut him down each time. While he might simply be ambivalent, McNeer shrewdly includes footage of old Soviet newscasts using Efimov’s Jewish heritage as cover for the virulently “anti-Zionist” cartoons he was required to produce.

If not an explicitly hostile witness, it is clear Efimov was not entirely forthcoming with McNeer. Yet, rather than papering over his evasiveness, McNeer wisely exploits it to make larger points. Frankly, one comes away from Thought with a much higher regard for Koltsov than its ostensive subject.

Throughout Thought, McNeer consistently asks the right questions and provides the necessary context to fully understand the propaganda under discussion. The resulting film offers fresh insights into a dark time in human history fueled by a poisonous ideology. Selections of the New York Jewish Film Festival frequently play at subsequent regional Jewish themed film festivals, so viewers outside the City should definitely keep an eye out for it. For New Yorkers, Thought screens this Wednesday (1/12), both in the afternoon and evening, as the 2011 NYJFF kicks off at the Walter Reade Theater.

Ferrara at AFA: Happy Life

It looks like “Recovery Summer” passed over the techno specialty record shops, just like the rest of the nation’s economy. Feeling the financial pinch, an aging DJ plans to throw an old school rave to raise money for his ailing store in Michael M. Bilandic’s Happy Life (trailer here), which Anthology Film Archives has unofficially side-barred into the Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century series, since the filmmaker served as the project’s executive producer.

Keith is a true believer. He will argue passionately about the deeper sociological significance of early 90’s techno-house-whatever music and the original rave scene it fueled. Unfortunately, those glory days are gone. Kids want rap now rather than trance and Keith’s plan to wait for the world to revolve back to him does not seem to be working. Attempting a Hail Mary pass, he signs DJ Liquids, a not-so rehabbed superstar from the era gone by, to play his fundraiser-happening. At least he is finally doing something. In fact, Keith’s preparations give him an opportunity to problematically put the moves on a seventeen year-old drop-out who haunts the stoops of the neighborhood with her slacker friends.

Bilandic and his cinematographer Sean Price Williams both worked at the late lamented Kim’s Video on St. Marks. They really capture the right look and feel of the formerly funky East Village. Visually though, Happy is deliberately grungy to the point of distraction. In fact, Williams is probably better represented by his striking work on Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo and Beijing Taxi.

While there is no need to belabor the point, the real problem with Happy is the evidently unprofessional cast. Stand-up comedian Tom McCaffrey delivers deadpan sarcasm rather effectively, but he is essentially out to sea in the film’s more dramatic moments. Still, he fairs somewhat better than many of the supporting players.

Without Ferrara’s imprimatur, it is doubtful hardly anyone would give Happy a second look. Those who know their way around City record stores will want to like the potentially endearing story, but the film is just not professional grade. It screens this coming Tuesday (1/11) as an official selection of Newfilmmakers NY and unofficially as part of the ongoing Abel Ferrara retrospective, which continues through January 18th at Anthology Film Archives.

Clamor’s Soulful Sounds: Something Good

A few years ago, the notion of Charmaine Clamor’s “jazzipino” fusion of jazz and traditional Filipino music might have been perceived as an exotic hook in and of itself. And then it started to catch on. After headlining several festivals of Filipino jazz, both here and there, Clamor has built a name and a reputation as her countrymen’s leading jazz ambassador. Tonight, she returns to New York to launch her new CD, Something Good, at the Triad Theater on Manhattan’s fashionable Upper Westside.

Opening with some typical genre straddling, “Every Single Moment” clearly evokes the sound of traditional Filipino ballads (which in turn were influenced by Spanish forms), with its sensitive acoustic guitar and gentle rhythms. Clamor caresses the lyrics, combining the sensibilities of an old world balladeer and a contemporary soul singer.

Clamor then digs deep into the jazz bag with the funky Horace Silver-Jon Hendricks tune “Doodlin,’” given a partial Tagalog makeover as “‘Doodlin’ in Taglish.” It is quite a bi-lingual workout, featuring some impressive vocalizing from Clamor. It is followed by the album’s standout jazz track, the title Richard Rodgers standard. A perfect showcase for Clamor’s vocal range and her seductive interpretative flair, it is the sort of performance that should heartily appeal to Diana Krall fans.

The centerpiece of Good is the “Mother Nature Suite,” which begins with the darkly hued “Motherless Ili-Ili,” Clamor’s intriguing adaptation of “Motherless Child.” Completely shifting gears, “Let’s Take a Trip” is a snappy swinger (almost Mose Allison-esque in its upbeat slyness), while the Brazilian flavored “Flow” completes the triptych on a decidedly catchy note.

A major hit for Filipina R&B-pop artist Regine Velasquez, “Ikaw” has a crossover lineage that also seems well suited to Clamor. Nicely arranged by tenor saxophonist Robby Marshall, “Ikaw” she clearly enjoys its appealingly brassy, Rat-Packy vibe. Though Good ends “Breakfast with Bubba,” a novelty “bonus track” that somewhat clashes with the rest of the album, the real climax is “Believe in Love.” Bluesy and gospel tinged, it is a stirring conclusion to a strong album.

Clamor incorpates a lot in her music, including jazz, soul, funk, as well as the diverse Filipino and Tagalog styles. By turns playful and alluring, it makes quite a pleasing impression on listeners. Warmly recommended, Good is now available at better music retailer everywhere, which fact Clamor will celebrate with special performances tonight (1/8) at the Triad and Saturday the 29th in Broomfield, CO.

(Photo: Ned Vizmanos)

Ferrara at AFA: Mary

Abel Ferrara’s Passion of the Christ? Lord, have mercy. Actually, those prayers were partly heeded, if not fully answered. Despite his delicate subject matter and a proven willingness to offend, Ferrara’s Mary (trailer here) is nothing like the outrage one might expect. Perhaps that is why there has been so little theatrical love for the film, even with its Venice and Toronto festival credentials. Fittingly, it screens tonight as part of the Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century retrospective of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

Juliette Binoche plays actress Marie Palesi playing Mary Magdalene in risky new cinematic life of Jesus directed by and starring the self-absorbed actor Tony Childress. However, when production wraps, Palesi refuses to snap out of it. Since she already has a form of Jerusalem Syndrome, she sets off for Israel rather than returning to Hollywood.

Loving the sound of his own voice, Childress hits the publicity circuit hard on behalf of his film. He accepts an invitation to appear on Ted Younger’s television talk show, a Charlie Rose for liberal theologians and religious writers. Though he discusses faith every night, the TV host has lost his own, succumbing to a myriad of worldly temptations. Of course, this being an Abel Ferrara film, he is in for a long night of the soul.

Though there are potential warning signs all over the place, the ultimate implications of Mary are arguably not overtly hostile to Christian faith. In fact, Ferrara rather explicitly tackles themes of redemption and forgiveness. In a way, it is much like Bad Lieutenant without any of the creepy, disturbing parts.

Still, Ferrara hardly embraces Evangelical Christianity here. There are frequent references to the knuckle-dragging rabble protesting Younger’s film, though Ferrara often seems to conflate the very different controversies surrounding Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. There is also a fair amount of speculation about Mary Magdalene’s role as a privileged disciple supposedly covered up by the sexist early Church. Frankly, this might have seemed bold a few years ago, but after scores of Da Vinci Code inspired books and films, this seems like pretty ho-hum stuff today.

Befitting Ferrara’s style, Forest Whitaker’s work as Younger is emotionally raw and in-your-face immediate. It is a shoot-the-moon turn he thankfully pulls off. Also, his no-holds-barred on-camera take-down of Chisholm is just really good cinema. Binoche is perfectly cast as the Palesi, the ethereal paragon of awakened spirituality. Refreshingly, she conveys a sense of dignity through faith, never portraying the actress as a religious nut. Though often associated with wishy-washy parts, Matthew Modine actually does arrogant creeps like Chisholm rather well, entertainingly repeating his Freddy Ace shtick from Alan Rudolph’s Equinox here.

There is nothing shy about Ferrara’s go-for-the-throat approach to Mary, but cinematographer Stefano Falivene gives it a shockingly polished look. However, Francis Kuiper’s overly portentous score is somewhat counterproductive at times. It might be self-contradictory and messy, but Mary is probably ten times better than anticipated. For bold souls and curious heathens, it screens tonight (1/7), January the 11th and the 17th at Anthology Film Archives as part of its focus on the director’s largely undistributed recent films.

Post-Soviet Ukrainian Culture: Artists of Odessa

Klara Budilovskaya was the Kilroy of immediate post-Communist Ukraine. Her name appeared on street corners everywhere, along with lists of the services she supposedly rendered—but only to foreigners. It was a peculiarly insecure way to express newfound freedoms. Such cultural history remains fresh in the consciousness of many Ukrainian painters, poets, and musicians who make up the city’s artist colony. Dmitryi Khavin takes viewers on a tour of their neighborhood in his documentary Artists of Odessa (clip here), which has its American premiere this Sunday at the JCC in Manhattan.

Khavin introduces us to the Ukrainian equivalent of the Village, the historic Moldavanka district, traditionally the home of the city’s working class. Now largely de-industrialized, it is exactly the type of neighborhood that attracts the artistic and the funky. Living communally in a building that reportedly once hosted Chekhov, an older artist analyzes the layers of graffiti art on his walls like the rings of a tree. He might have to move soon, which could either be good or bad. Indeed, ambiguity seems to be a way of life for Odessa’s artists.

Many artists still seem to be processing the fall of Communism and the aftermath of the Orange Revolution. According to a colleague, artist Leonid Voitsekhov saw his share of prison cells during the Brezhnevian 1980’s for the private exhibitions he held in his flat of his sexually themed paintings. Yet, we also see hipster second-hand store owners haggling with customers over Communist-era collectibles.

While it is always perilous to make sweeping generalizations about styles and periods of art, there does seem to be a pronounced tendency among the poets towards absurdist humor. There is also a significant current of irony running through the work of Odessa’s painters, but one can also see the influence of classic Russian icons amongst the work Khavin documents. Unfortunately, the musicians heard in performance do not leave much of an impression, generally coming out of singer-songwriter or grunge-rock bags (no jazz, alas).

Though a relatively short doc at fifty-five minutes, Artists provides quite a few telling moments and liberal portions of local color. Produced with the support of CEC Artslink, it will definitely give those fascinated by the former Soviet sphere of influence a good quick fix. It screens this Sunday (1/9) at the Upper Westside JCC, followed by a special Q&A session with Khavin.

Ferrara at AFA: Chelsea on the Rocks

Last year saw the passing of the great Dennis Hopper, a true Hollywood icon and maverick. Not surprisingly, he was also once a resident of the (in)famous Chelsea Hotel, along with the likes of Jack Kerouac, Dylan Thomas, Sid Vicious, and Arthur C. Clarke. Controversial director Abel Ferrara also lived at the Chelsea while filming Chelsea on the Rocks (trailer here), a documentary about the venerable Manhattan landmark, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century retrospective of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

The Chelsea started out as a conventional upscale hotel, which is how the new management intends to operate it now. However, during its heyday under Stanley Bard’s laissez-faire supervision, the Chelsea became a magnet for the artistically inclined, including both the celebrated and the anonymous alike. Bard was famously indulgent about collecting rent, and illegal activity, like drug dealing and prostitution, was reportedly widespread. As a result, it became a congenial home for Beatnik poets, hippie rock stars, and members of the Warhol Factory. For the soon-to-be former residents Ferrara interviews, these were indeed the “good old days.”

As an interviewer, Ferrara is absolutely awful in Rocks. Often sounding completely out of it (as usual), he has a habit of mishearing something a subject says and then fixating on it, taking the discussion in a random direction his interlocutor never intended. However, in his defense, the Chelsea denizens seem comfortable opening up to the filmmaker as a both fellow resident and eccentric, relating to him some fittingly strange anecdotes.

Almost in spite of himself, Ferrara effectively captures a sense of what the Chelsea was like during the height of its notoriety. He elicits some very amusing commentary from many well known former residents, including Miloš Forman and a surprisingly funny Ethan Hawke. Unfortunately, his brief dramatic recreations of infamous episodes in Chelsea history, including the death of Vicious’ girlfriend Nancy Spungen, are ill-conceived (often approaching outright cheese), despite the participation of talented actors like Giancarlo Esposito.

Ultimately, Rocks is strongest when Ferrara simply revels in the Chelsea’s bohemian spirit. It might be raggedly uneven, but for a documentary about an institution as unconventional as the Chelsea Hotel, directed by an idiosyncratic filmmaker like Ferrara, Rocks is surprisingly cohesive and entertaining. A likable exercise in hipster nostalgia, it screens January 10th, 14th, and 18th at the Anthology.

Submitted by Iceland: Mamma Gogo

Like most Icelanders these days, this director is going broke. After his last film about “old people wandering around in the rain and fog” bombed, he cannot even land a gig directing Paris Hilton in a Viking picture. Further complicating matters, his mother’s slow mental decline is demanding an ever increasing share of his time and attention. This is definitely Scandinavian cinema, but director Fridrik Thór Fridriksson brings a surprisingly light touch to bear on his heavy subject matter in Mamma Gógó (trailer here), Iceland’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which screens this coming Sunday during the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A.

We never do hear his name, but it is clear the filmmaker was always his mother Gógó’s favorite. His two sisters certainly knew it. Even if he had not just released a film about old people escaping from a nursing home, it would be difficult for him to install his mother in such a place. Unfortunately, her bad moments are getting progressively worse, leading to considerable property damage as well as some perilously close calls. The hard truth is the demands of caring for a mother diagnosed with Alzheimer’s is simply beyond the director’s capabilities. Frankly, he is not even able to support his own family.

While the mother-son relationship undeniably represents the heart and soul of the film, there is also a sly self-referential element to Gógó. Children of Nature, the unnamed director’s financial sink-hole, was also the title of Fridriksson’s 1992 foreign language Academy Award nominee. Indeed, Gógó’s director son is pinning his hopes on his film’s Oscar campaign. Meanwhile, in the real world, there is a quite an active effort underway for Fridriksson’s Gógó.

Winner of the Edda Award (Iceland’s equivalent of the Oscar), Kristbjörg Kjeld is definitely the film’s trump card. As Gógó, her descent into obliviousness is subtle and heartbreakingly believable. It is a pretty gutsy performance in what is not always the most dignified role. Though his character is more than a bit wishy-washy, Hilmir Snær Guðnason nicely handles the film’s more satiric material, while also nicely conveying the director’s strained but loving relationship with Gógó.

Despite its overall themes and eventual destination, one would not automatically describe Gógó as a depressing film, thanks to Fridriksson’s deft balancing act. Though not necessarily amongst the leading front-runners, Fridriksson’s Oscar credentials and Kjeld’s strong lead performance, perfectly suited to Academy tastes, should at least put Gógó in the top quarter of the field. It also does not hurt that it will be screening in the greater Los Angeles-area this weekend, just as voters get serious about their ballots. Funnier and more entertaining than one might expect, it is definitely worth checking out at the WGA Theatre in Beverly Hills as part of the Scandinavian Film Festival L.A.

Julian Fellowes’ Downton Abbey

Few contemporary writers understand the foibles of the British upper class as well as Julian Fellowes. In fact, the Academy Award winning screenwriter of Gosford Park recently joined their ranks, having been named a Conservative peer in the House of Lords. Fellowes brought his keen understanding of social dynamics and biting humor to television, creating and writing most of the first season of Downton Abbey (promo here). A breakout hit across the pond, the thoroughly engaging Edwardian period drama debuts on PBS’s Masterpiece Classic this Sunday night.

Downton Abbey is a hulking behemoth of a mansion, surrounded by considerable grounds and out-buildings. The upkeep is enormous which is why Downton was entailed, a common practice amongst the landed gentry, prohibiting the sale of any part of the estate, while mandating the entire kit and caboodle pass entirely to the lord’s immediate male heir. The Earl of Grantham has had the Devil’s own time with the entail. When nearly bankrupted by Downton’s maintenance, Grantham went to New York to find himself an heiress. As luck would have it, they also fell in love, but their union has only produced daughters.

Mary, the eldest, has dutifully agreed to marry her cousin, the heir to Downton, but the first episode opens with bad news. The Titanic has sunk, taking the Grantham heirs down with it. So begins the “great problem” of Downton.

Of course, there is an heir out there somewhere. Disappointingly, Matthew Crawley is hardly a proper gentle of leisure. In fact, he is a solicitor with a dreary middle class work ethic. He and Mary instantly clash, dashing her parents’ hopes of any potential marriage between them. However, as Downton progresses, their cold war melts into a sort of Tracy-Hepburn attraction. It might sound somewhat predictable, but like everything in Downton it is smartly executed.

In the tradition of Upstairs Downstairs, viewers spend equal time with the servants of the Abbey, including Grantham’s mysterious new valet, John Bates, the Earl’s former military comrade. Overseeing it all is the butler, Mr. Carson, who naturally has his own secret past. Yet, we also learn he has a special relationship with Lady Mary. Indeed, it is those intriguing moments where upstairs and downstairs meet that really sing in Downton.

Whenever Downton starts to drag, Fellowes wisely plays his ace trump card: Dame Maggie Smith as Grantham’s mother, the Dowager Countess. Smith was born to play such parts, portraying the Countess with an acid tongue and a regal “we are not amused” air. Often laugh-out-loud funny, her scenes absolutely crackle with wit and verve.

While no one can touch a figure of Smith’s stature, the rest of Downton’s ensemble is also quite accomplished. Hugh Bonneville (primarily known for British television roles) balances Lord Grantham’s pompousness and stately maturity rather well. Brendan Coyle supplies a strong rooting interest downstairs as Bates. Perhaps most surprisingly, Dan Stevens and Michelle Dockery bicker and banter quite entertainingly, while making the most of their graver moments.

Though there is no closure at the end of episode four, Fellowes still ends it at a perfect place, wholly in keeping with Downton’s themes of change threatening social stability. ITV has already renewed it in the UK, which is good news. Despite the symmetry of his conclusion, Fellowes totally leaves us hanging. Do not be deterred by that though. Combining the best of both high period pieces and gold old fashioned melodrama, Downton is thoroughly satisfying television. A highlight of the Laura Linney era of PBS’s Masterpiece Classic (who is about as classy a host as one could find these days, with all the right theater credentials for the gig), Downton Abbey premieres this coming Sunday (1/9) continuing the next three weeks (through 1/30).

Ferrara at AFA: Napoli Napoli Napoli

It was the seat of its own Renaissance-era kingdom and a cultural center of the Roman Empire. Yet, amid a country of former city-states, Naples has been largely left behind. Abel Ferrara returned to his ancestral roots to witness how far the once glorious city has fallen in his hybrid documentary Napoli Napoli Napoli (trailer here), which screens this Saturday as part of Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century series of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

Collaborating with screenwriter-producer Gaetano Di Vaio, a former criminal turned filmmaker, Ferrara set out to interview some of the women and young men of the Pozzuoli prison, interspersing their traditional documentary footage with dramatic vignettes inspired by the convicts’ experiences. Certainly the most substantial would be Di Vaio’s story of two Camorra gangsters taking on a friend on a road trip to his eventual execution—an an episode reportedly based on his own life.

Frankly, thin would be a generous description for most of the original narrative sketches, and frankly they are not really necessary. Ferrara vividly captures of a sense of the squalid life on Naples mean streets and elicits more compelling testimony from his interview subjects. He shows an intuitive understanding of those profoundly unlucky to have been caught up in the Neopolitan web of drugs and vice. Though his interviewing skills in Chelsea on the Rocks often seem somewhat suspect, here he shows a knack for asking probing questions, simply and directly. In the case of a Nigerian immigrant lured into the drug trade, he asks how she feels about Italians. He also asks several young inmates if they have ever read a book. Of course, the 64,000 Euro question is whether they think the Camorra has been good or bad for the community.

Napoli 3 even has a hero or two, like the dedicated social worker and an elderly business man who refuses to pick up stakes and leave town. However, the film is not particularly sanguine about the region’s future. The local politicians certainly do not have any answers, though they do their best to point their fingers at the national government. Evidently, personal responsibility will not be starting with Naples’ elected leaders. Despite its odd combination of filmmaking strategies, it is a sobering look at a once great city’s decay that would be a good companion film to Matteo Garrone’s Gomorrah. It screens during AFA’s 21st Century Ferrara retrospective January 8th, 9th, 13th, 15th, and 16th.

Suleiman’s The Time that Remains

Kovacs-esque humor and revisionist grievance theater make for a strange mix, but it offers audiences far more than the typical agit-prop of “Palestinian” cinema (like the self-parodying Salt of this Sea). Though his interpretation of history is often debatable, Elia Suleiman is an accomplished filmmaker, crafting some brilliant individual scenes in The Time that Remains (trailer here), the third film of his self-referential Nazareth trilogy, which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

In 1948, most of “ES”’s family is scrambling to leave the former British Mandate rather than live together with Jews, but not his future father. Fuad Suleiman intends to stay and fight with the other weekend Fedayeen turning up in town. However, he quickly learns, not only is war difficult, the Israelis are surprisingly good at it. Instead, Suleiman père settles into a quiet life in their family home, though whether he is still clandestinely involved in resistance is deliberately ambiguous.

Drawing on his parents’ and relatives’ letters and diaries, Suleiman tells a tempus fugit story of a diasporic family. Of course, the larger geo-political events never long recede from the foreground. Indeed, Suleiman has a real aptitude for capturing the absurdity of war. In fact, some of his visual set-ups suggest the spirits of Keaton and Tati (yes, you read that right). Unfortunately, despite his inventiveness, Suleiman occasionally indulges in some incendiary manipulations, like that of an Arab woman shot in cold blood by undercover Israeli soldiers simply for pure spite, that border on the reprehensible.

Saleh Bakri, who acquitted himself rather well in Annemarie Jancir’s silly aforementioned Salt, again displays real screen presence as Fuad. It would be fascinating to see him in a more nuanced, less didactic film. Still, Time represents a quantum leap forward. Despite its reliance on hot button provocation, it is a stylishly crafted film. Suleiman puts on a clinic on the effective use of silence on screen, while cinematographer Marc-André Batigne’s arsenal of color and shadow (particularly in the evocative framing scenes) is consistently artful.

Ultimately, the sum of Time’s parts is greater than its whole. Yet, at least is has those intriguing parts. This is progress. A mixed but consistently interesting bag, Time opens this Friday (1/7) in New York at the IFC Center.

Ferrara at AFA: Mulberry St.

Why hasn’t anyone signed up Abel Ferrara for a reality TV show? Just watch this clip of the indie cult filmmaker on the old Conan show to get a sense of what it could be like. Indeed, Ferrara presents himself as quite a character in his documentary Mulberry St., which screens this Saturday as part of Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century series of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

If you had not guessed, Ferrara is Italian. He was also a resident of Little Italy. In fact, many of the nabe’s old school residents turn up in his early films. In Mulberry, Ferrara turns the camera on himself and his neighbors as they gear up for the annual Feast of San Gennaro. Of course, it is not like it used to be the old-timers tell us. They blame Giuliani for booting out the mob and the after-hours gambling. Reform is a drag.

Watching Ferrara kvetch and reminisce about his first film (a grungy porno that ironically was probably his most widely distributed) would be enjoyable television, but as a feature film, it is a bit thin. Still, Ferrara’s cronies like Butchie the Hat certainly have their charm. The frequent impromptu business confabs with Ferrara and his manager (and frequent co-star) Frankie Cee also go a long way toward explaining why so many of his films have such spotty distribution. Yet, that same eccentric Ferrara is evidently able to talk his way onto Danny Aiello’s label with only a brief cell phone introduction from the clearly bemused actor-singer.

Like Chelsea on the Rocks and to an extent Go Go Tales, Mulberry is Ferrara’s ode to the New York of yore, glorious in its grunginess. However, he never makes an overwhelming case for the superiority of the good old days. At least he is bizarrely watchable trying.

Obviously, Ferrara is wired a bit differently. Given his peerless indie cred, the IFC Channel ought to have their cameras follow him around the festival circuit. Frankly, Mulberry should be the pilot, not a theatrical documentary. Surely entertaining for his friends, but nothing resembling a breakout-comeback-whatever, Mulberry screens during AFA’s 21st Century Ferrara retrospective January 8th, 9th, 12th, 15th, and 16th.

The Romanian Wave Continues: If I Want To Whistle . . .

Under the Communist regime, incarceration in Romania used to be a brutal, hopeless proposition. Prison is still prison for one youthful offender, but his family is a more pressing problem in Florin Serban’s If I Want To Whistle, I Whistle (trailer here), Romania’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Chiscan Silviu has only two weeks left to serve in his juvenile boot camp-prison. As Whistle opens, he seems almost comfortable with the work routine. Unfortunately, everything changes when his younger brother appears for an unscheduled visit. Evidently, their long absent mother has suddenly decided to reappear, offering to take the younger brother to Italy with her, shortly before Silviu’s imminent release. It is safe to say the juvie inmate does not take the news well.

When Silviu catches a glimpse of dear old mom waiting for his brother, he more or less flips. Though the warden tries his best to paper over Silviu’s sudden acting-out, it is clear the young man is rushing towards something rash. The presence of a beautiful social worker well out of his league only stirs the pot more.

Essentially on-screen the entire film, George Pistereanu maintains quite an intensity level. He looks and feels right as a tough kid with a lot of potential, as well as a considerable capacity for dangerous, self-destructive behavior. It is pretty assured work for a high schooler in his first professional part.

Shot in a gritty, vérité style, Serban’s approach is very much in keeping with the hallmarks of the so-called Romanian New Wave. However, unlike other recent products of the movement, Whistle starts at point A and proceeds in an orderly fashion to point B, with a fair number of identifiably dramatic events happening in between. At a manageable ninety-four minutes, it is also refreshingly focused. Indeed, if not cinematic comfort food, Whistle is a relatively accessible introduction to the Romanian Nouvelle Vague.

Granted, Whistle is dark and grungy, but it offers viewers far more hooks to hold onto then some Romanian imports slated for release this year. Aside from a rather abrupt “so that’s that” conclusion, Serban’s execution is tight and deliberate. A film and a lead performance worthy of cineaste respect, Whistle begins its New York run this Wednesday (1/5) at Film Forum, with Serban appearing in-person for the opening night screening.

Ferrara at AFA: Go Go Tales

Indie auteurs are not always distribution friendly. Such has certainly been the case with Abel Ferrara. Still, it is a bit of a head-scratcher that a star-studded, accessibly goofy comedy that takes full advantage of its strip club setting never got more of a theatrical look. Anthology Film Archives addresses that oversight with Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century, a retrospective of the director’s recent unreleased and under-distributed films, anchored by the straight-up commercial Go Go Tales (not quite sfw trailer here), which begins its two week run of screenings this Friday.

Ruby seems like an unfortunate name for a strip club proprietor, but Ray Ruby has no time for historical ironies. He is busy going broke as a joke. Tourists just are not coming like they used to. Fortunately, he and his bookkeeper Jay have a responsible, proactive solution: playing the lotto. Of course, they have a system devised by some dodgy computer nerds in the local bodega. Yet, when their numbers come up, the born losers cannot recall where they stashed the ticket. Mad scrambling mayhem then ensues.

Naturally, Ruby’s Paradise is well stocked with colorful characters, including the hilariously foul-mouthed landlady Lillian Murray, who constantly threatens to evict them to make way for a Bed, Bath and Beyond, while draped over their bar. There is also plenty of flesh and jiggle, surely just to satisfy the demands of on-screen realism.

As Ruby, Willem Dafoe hams it up like Jim Carrey, but at least his energy never flags. Sylvia Miles is a profane joy as the acid-tongued Murray and Roy Dotrice brings a touch of crusty class as the impossibly Irish Jay. Italian horror diva Asia Argento is also well cast as eye candy with an edge. (Unfortunately, Asian action star Selena Khoo is somewhat under-utilized in this respect.) Although his gruff character is underwritten, Bob Hoskins still growls out some of the film’s best lines as the club’s greeter. The director’s fans will also be happy to see Ferrara regulars like Nicholas De Cegli and Frankie Cee on staff at the Paradise. Only Matthew Modine seems out of place as Ruby’s cash flush brother Johnnie.

Though filmed in Rome, production designer Frank DeCurtis nicely creates an environment of New York seediness. It is definitely a Ferrara milieu, but the filmmaker keeps things light rather than indulging in Bad Lieutenant style violence and law-of-the-jungle naturalism.

Frankly, with its Cannes credentials, Go Go has considerably more going for it than so many of the films that are inexplicably picked up by independent distributors. Though hardly perfect, if viewers can get past the sheer knuckleheadedness of its set-up, it is quite the entertaining naughty farce. Along with other films in the retrospective, like Chelsea on the Rocks, it is something of a valentine to old school, sleazy-in-the-right-way New York. Go Go screens at AFA at 7:00 every night of the Ferrara series, beginning this Friday (1/7).

The Worst Film of 2010: Wonderful World

If nothing else, at least the worst theatrical film of 2010 had the decency to stink up theaters on the first regular opening weekend of the year. As a result, for the next fifty-one weeks or so, no matter how pretentious, clichéd, or cloying a film might be, each had the merit of not being Josh Goldin’s Wonderful World.

Ben Singer had a deal many professional musicians I know would take in a heartbeat. He was a successful children’s singer, whose record label indulged him by producing an album of his snoozy acoustic guitar noodlings. However, they released it without any marketing fanfare. In response to this supposedly heinous betrayal, Singer dropped out of the music business, taking a lowly proofreading job at a law firm (ironically working more for “The Man” than he had been before). Considering how many truly talented musicians I know that must self-finance every aspect of their CD production, distribution, and marketing, Singer’s delusion is not simply problematic, it is downright offensive.

Basically, Singer spends most of his free time smoking dope, which often produces hallucinations of “The Man,” personified by the craggy-faced Philip Baker Hall (a derivative device sure to remind the audience of the infinite superiority of Woody Allen’s films). Divorced from his wife (there’s a shocker), Singer does everything humanly possible to depress and otherwise alienate his daughter Sandra during their weekends together in scenes that ring uniformly false.

The only person who can stand him is his noble Senegalese roommate Ibou, who plays chess with the miserable creep until he mercifully falls into a diabetic coma. Then the film really gets really manipulative when Ibou’s worried sister Khadi moves in with Singer as she waits and hopes for her brother’s recovery. Of course, a relationship starts to develop between them, but if that sounds too hackneyed, don’t worry, the immature Singer is sure to sabotage things before too long.

World is the sort of film in which driving an SUV is the greatest imaginable sin. Truly, every tired convention from films like The Visitor is tossed on screen, but none of them work here. Unquestionably though, the film’s greatest problem is its protagonist, Ben Singer. As the angry-at-the-world guitarist, Matthew Broderick is completely unlikable, utterly unbelievable, and stupefyingly listless. Frankly, Broderick must take a long sabbatical from film as penitence, because nobody who sat through World will want to see him again for a long time. (Yes, this film even ruins Ferris Bueller and WarGames for viewers.)

In fact, the only cast member to distinguish themselves in this dreary exercise is the young Jodelle Ferland as his long-suffering daughter Sandra. Taking into account Ferland was also saddled with the same contrived screenplay as the rest of World’s embarrassed and embarrassing ensemble, her work is rather remarkable. As a result, she deserves to have this career-killer expunged from her permanent record.

To be able to make a living in music is a rare gift. To throw it away out of some misplaced contempt for corporate commercialism is an act of nauseating self-indulgence. Unfortunately, that is basically all you get from Singer and Goldin. After my screening of World ended, I turned to someone I know with vastly different political and aesthetic sensibilities to say: “that was awful.” His response was: “I don’t understand why this is being released.” It’s a head-scratcher alright. However, for the self-loathing hoping to catch a revival screening, I imagine it plays regularly in Guantanamo as part of the interrogation process. I’d rather be water-boarded. Happy New Year.

In Contention: The Black Tulip

It is a New Year—a time for new beginnings. Hopefully that will be especially true in Afghanistan. One new film vividly represents such aspirations. Despite reports to the contrary, Sonia Nassery Cole’s The Black Tulip (trailer here) is in contention as Afghanistan’s official submission for the best foreign language Academy Award. It also boasts two of the forty-one qualifying best original song candidates. An important film in several ways, Tulip’s limited Oscar qualifying engagement is now underway in Los Angeles.

Hadar and Farishta Masouri are the sort of Afghans the media never shows—the educated middle class. Hardly immune to trouble, they have survived many grim days in refugee camps. However, following the American toppling of the Taliban regime, they have returned to Kabul to rebuild their lives and their society.

Believing Afghanistan is ready for change, they open Poet’s Corner, restaurant-coffeehouse featuring an open mic night for any interested poets and singers. This forum for free expression is embraced by the neighborhood, but the local Taliban cell is not amused. To shut down Poet’s Corner, they launch a campaign of terror against the Masouri family.

Indeed, Tulip is truly fearless in its portrayal of the Taliban’s savagery. Even more controversially, it depicts the American military as a positive presence in Afghanistan, forging links of friendship with average citizens. Yet, the most valuable aspect of Tulip is the window it opens into a moderate yet devoutly Muslim Afghan middle class most Americans probably assume does not exist. Tulip shows audiences not all Afghans are toothless mujahedeen with a Koran in one hand and a Kalashnikov in the other. Rather, there are many people like Masouris, who simply want to work hard and raise their families in peace. Yet, it harbors no illusions about the nature of Afghanistan’s social problems. Frankly, Tulip clearly suggests there is only one way to deal effectively with terrorism and it has nothing to do with sensitivity or welfare programs.

Cole displays a real talent for pacing and shot composition, with credit due to cinematographer Dave McFarland as well, who gives the film a slickly polished look. Cole was also forced to step in as a last minute substitution when the Taliban reportedly hacked off the feet of the woman she had originally cast as Farishta. Unfortunately, this improvised casting shows from time to time, even though Cole’s show-must-go-on spirit is admirable. However, the film’s greatest revelation is the consistent quality of the Afghan cast, particularly Haji Ghul Aser as her husband Hadar. American audiences will also be pleasantly surprised by Jack Scalia (no stranger to soap opera sets) taking an impressive supporting turn as U.S. commander and Corner regular Colonel Williams.

Yet, Tulip features its biggest star power on its original soundtrack recorded by Natalie Cole (no relation, who looked incredible when performing after a special screening of Tulip in Manhattan three weeks ago). While “Forever One Love” is the sort of the soul ballad that should please her fans, the stirring Farsi anthem “Freedom Song” is a phenomenal world music collaboration that well deserves a nomination.

In truth, Tulip is quite a good film, especially when considering the difficult circumstances of its production. It is an important first step for a country literally rebuilding its culture from the rubble of the Soviet invasion and the subsequent period of Taliban misrule. A good way to start the New Year, Tulip deserves support while screening at the Laemmle Sunset, now through Wednesday (1/5).