Street Crime on DVD: The Exterminator

For a so-called grindhouse film, it had killer ad copy. It also featured contributions from two very talented but very different Stans. Eventually, it spawned an inferior sequel not involving its original creator that hardly helped its reputation. Decades later, James Glickenhaus’s The Exterminator (trailer here) is ripe for a critical reappraisal with today’s release of the unrated director’s cut in special Blu-Ray combo pack from Synapse Films.

John Eastland will become the Exterminator, the man the ad campaign told us “they pushed too far.” New York’s Ché Guevara loving Ghetto Ghouls gang (as evidenced by the décor of their hideout) did that when they attacked and paralyzed Eastland’s best friend, Michael Jefferson. During the Viet Nam prologue (featuring a beheading rendered by special effects artist Stan Winston, Stan #1), Jefferson saves Eastland from the sadistic Viet Cong, a depiction most definitely not approved by Jane Fonda. Close friends and co-workers, Jefferson was always the outgoing man of action, while Eastland was the more reserved one.

Unlike Paul Kersey in the original Death Wish, Eastland tracks down the specific thugs responsible for the crime (with the brief help of the flame-thrower featured prominently on the posters), extracting some frontier justice. Concerned for the future of Jefferson’s family, Eastland then abducts a mobster from the Old Homestead steak house to extort their financial security. This episode gets a little bloody. Eastland also starts to understand New York needs his extermination services.

Of course, the most (only) talented cop on the force makes it his business to track down the man calling himself the Exterminator. Still, Det. Dalton finds time to put the moves on the smart and attractive ER Dr. Megan Stewart (played by Samantha Eggar, perhaps the cast’s biggest name), even taking her to an outdoor Stan Getz concert (yep, Stan #2, at a time when he was pretty deep into the electric bag). He is not the only government employee interested in stopping the Exterminator. With the election fast approaching, Eastland’s efforts are embarrassing the administration, who promised but failed to deliver law and order (since The Exterminator was originally released in September 1980, this must be the Carter White House). As a result, the CIA is dispatched to eliminate the Exterminator.

Synapse’s cover copy is also quite shrewd, boldly quoting a negative review from Roger Ebert decrying it as a “sick example of the almost unbelievable descent into gory savagery in American movies.” So there, you rabble. Yet, in retrospect, it seems quite tame compared to the sicko torture porn of Eli Roth. Granted, some of Eastland’s exterminations are rather grisly, but the real carnage mostly happens off camera, conveyed to viewers through his grimaces and their shrieks. Like Michael Winner’s original Death Wish, Eastland is also rather angst-ridden, naturally upset by his friend’s misfortune and carrying his own ghosts from the Viet Nam war, and never revels in his work.

Exterminator is also significant for an early appearance from one of the best action actors of the late twentieth century. It is not Robert Ginty, who was literally hired to play Eastland because of his non-descript everyman look. Nor is it Christopher George, who received top billing as Det. Dalton. However, the former U.S. Marine and Rat Patrol actor was a laudable throwback to the patriotic Hollywood of old, who participated in recruiting films and USO tours on behalf of the service.

For action lovers who came of age in the late 1980’s, Steve James was cult superstar, whose presence and attitude made the cheap actioners ground out by Cannon Films great fun. While he began the American Ninja series as Michael Dudikoff’s sidekick, the third installment, Blood Hunt, saw his Curtis Jackson stepping out as the co-lead. The ringer of the series and also the best, James seemed to enjoy cutting through faceless ninja hordes for a living. Just try to not have fun watching it. Yet as the ill-fated Jefferson, James showcases his dramatic chops far more than his martial arts skills. His tragic death at the far too young age of forty-one makes his work in Exterminator even more poignant.

To Glickenhaus’s credit, he saw it right away, casting James as Jefferson even though he had auditioned for a smaller part. Glickenhaus also deserves a bit of a critical reappraisal himself, having helmed the leanly muscular Shakedown, one of the most unfairly overlooked cop thrillers of the late 1980’s. Do not feel badly for him though. He is now a portfolio manager at his family’s investment firm, Glickenhaus & Co. Back in the day, he had a real feel for gritty, grimy way-pre-Giuliani New York, conveying a sense the City on the brink of abject anarchy.

Frankly, the CIA subplot is a bit of a silly distraction, like something out of blaxploitation films. In contrast, the street level story is pretty compelling drama, but a far cry from the fascist incitement suggested by critics at the time. Arguably, there is nearly as much psychological turmoil as there is violent payback. Certainly a touchstone film within the vigilante genre, The Exterminator is recommended to the open-minded but not the faint of heart. Glickenhaus’s cut is now available on Blu-Ray and standard DVD, with commentary from the director.

Street Crime in TX: Bang Bang

It is sort of like Gran Torino without the grouchy old white dude. Indeed, adult supervision is distinctly lacking for the young people involved with Asian gangs in Byron Q’s gritty urban coming-of-age drama Bang Bang (trailer here), which screens in Austin, Texas this Wednesday and Thursday.

Justin has a difficult relationship with his mother, but that is more than can be said for his long absconded father. Much to her frustration, Justin has become involved with a street gang. In fact, he has been tapped by their leader Rocky as an up-and-comer. Out of frustration, she has kicked him out of the house that she herself is often absent from, which probably is not the best way to nudge him back onto the straight-and-narrow.

Justin crashes with his friend Charlie, a rich kid whose parents spend most of the year in Taiwan. Nobody considers him a potential kingpin, yet Charlie aspires to join the gang out of existential revolt and parental resentment. In contrast, Justin would prefer to get out of the thug life to pursue a spinning career and a relationship with the lovely Jenn, notwithstanding her boyfriend abroad. Unfortunately, gang rivalries and Charlie’s increasing instability make it difficult to plan for the long term.

Though BB certainly has the low-def DIY look and allowed space for its cast to improvise, it should not be considered yet another dreaded mumblecore movie. Rather, this is a film with a strong narrative drive and a surprisingly sharp, street-smart sense of humor. Although it follows the general hoodlum-trying-to-get-out story arc, writer-director Byron Q takes it in interesting directions, particularly in the ways Justin’s relationships with his mother and Rocky evolve.

While very much a product of urban sensibilities, BB acts as a pointed rejoinder to suburban kids’ idealized embrace of the hip hop gangster lifestyle. To that end, David Huynh is frankly rather creepy depicting Charlie’s descent into self-destructive wannabe madness. Though lacking physical presence, Thai Ngo plays Justin refreshingly smart, showing a rare facility for deadpan dialogue (whether scripted or improvised). Conversely, the camera loves Jessika Van, who brings a credible human dimension to Jenn, BB’s clear representative of the straight life (a student with a job).

As an independent feature debut, BB deserves far better than the patronizing label: “it shows promise.” Rather, it is a genuinely visceral and direct street crime drama. It is definitely worth catching as Byron Q barnstorms across the country. The next stop is the Galaxy Highland Theater in Austin this Wednesday (9/14) and Thursday (9/15).

Shut Up Little Man: The Curse of Peter & Raymond

They were the most unlikely underground-cultural superstars ever, yet for the oh- so-ironic, Peter Haskett and Raymond Huffman became icons for the recordings of their booze-fueled arguments, recorded surreptitiously by their scenester neighbors. Funny and sad in roughly equal measure, the oblivious roommates and the cult following they inspired are documented in Matthew Bate’s Shut Up Little Man (trailer here), which opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

The diminutive Huffman was a raging blue collar homophobe. The snippy Haskett was bigger and more . . . flamboyant. They both liked to drink—gallons. At first they scared the willies out of their new neighbors, Eddie Lee Sausage and Mitchell D., who still use their hipster handles throughout the documentary. Alarmed at first, the young men started recording their misanthropic neighbors to serves as evidence should their chaos escalate. However, the lunacy of their whacked-out benders fascinated them. Once they began sharing their tapes with friends, they spread exponentially.

Named after Haskett’s catch-phrase, “Shut Up Little Man” started out as shareware, but as it caught on, the tapers began asserting their copyright protections. Suddenly Sausage and D[eprey] were making money off their neighbors, when the legality of the recordings themselves was something of a gray area. As others sought to cash-in on Haskett and Huffman’s bickering, the suddenly ambitious roommates had several falling outs with former friends. Yet, the big issues Shut Up sets out to investigate are whatever happened to Peter and Raymond and just what were they to each other anyway?

To Bate’s credit, he addresses just about every question viewers will have about both sets of roommates, while maintaining some sense of the mystery surrounding Haskett and Huffman. Though “Sausage and D,” now family men approaching middle age (if not already there), cooperate throughout the film, they do not always appear especially sympathetic. “Sausage” in particular, comes across rather mercenary in his continuing efforts to capitalize on the “Shut Up” cult following. However, the fact that their friendship appears genuine and enduring helps humanize both.

Briskly paced, Shut Up is often very funny, in large measure due to the original recordings themselves. Though problematic on several levels, they captured Haskett and Huffman in all their inebriated glory. Indeed, there is no denying the mismatched roommates were mad as hatters, who could turn an obscenity-laden phrase with the best of them.

Bate also incorporates several droll animated sequences as well as some trenchant observations of the phenomenon of cult phenomena. Cleverly executed but ultimately forgiving of human foibles, regardless of how freaky they might appear to outsiders, Shut Up is a very entertaining documentary. Recommended with a weird affection, despite the nagging guilt it engenders for indulging voyeuristic impulses, it opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the IFC Center.

Bruegel & Majewski’s The Mill and the Cross

Pieter Bruegel the Elder was a truly subversive old master. Known for his paintings of the Dutch peasantry as well as Biblical episodes, his five hundred character masterwork The Way to Cavalry depicted the Spanish Militia then occupying Flanders as the Roman soldiers crucifying Christ. While Bruegel’s pointed commentary on the Spanish occupation is inescapable, the painting is rife with hidden signifiers, which the painter himself explains in Lech Majewski’s unclassifiable The Mill & the Cross (trailer here), a painstakingly crafted cinematic recreation of The Way to Cavalry, which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.

Employing state-of-the-art computer generation, scores of seamstresses and artisans, and an enormous 2D background recreation of Bruegel’s celebrated work (painted by the director himself), Majewski brings the great tableaux to life on the big screen. Amongst those five hundred characters are Brueghel and his friend and collector, Nicholas Jonghelinck, to whom he explains his projected new painting, The Way to Cavalry.

It is impossible to hang a pat label on Mill. Though it screened as part of the 20111Sundance Film Festival’s New Frontier track for more experimental work, such a rubric really does not fit Majewski’s film. It certainly is not non-narrative filmmaking, since it encompasses the greatest story ever told. However, it completely challenges linear notions of time, incorporating Christ’s Passion and the world of 1564 Flanders, in which Bruegel and Jongelinck are simultaneous observers and active participants.

Years in the making, Mill is an extraordinarily ambitious undertaking. Majewski represents the complete social continuum of Sixteenth Century Flanders, recreating the mean living conditions of the peasants, the clean, unadorned quarters of the relatively middle class Bruegel, and the privileged environment of the well-to-do Jongelinck. Majewski’s visuals are often arresting, like the scenes of art director Stanislaw Porczyk’s towering mill, which resembles the enormous set pieces of Terry Gilliam films. Perhaps most stunning are the wide shots of the Cavalry landscape, with the figures literally coming alive on Bruegel’s canvas. Yet, Majewski also captures moments of both tender intimacy and graphic torture, rendered with powerful immediacy.

Indeed, the wealthy collector clearly serves as the conscience of the film, decrying the capricious religious persecution that was a fact of life for Flanders under the Spanish Militia. Despite the almost overwhelming visual sweep of the film, Michael York gives a finely tuned performance as Jongelinck that really sneaks up on viewers. Rutger Hauer (worlds away from his other 2011 Sundance film Hobo with a Shotgun) also brings a forceful heft to the rather mysterious artist.

A brilliant personal triumph for Majewski, who also served as producer, co-cinematographer, co-composer, and sound designer, Mill effectively blurs the distinction between film and painting, yet it is more of a “movie” than nearly anything ever deemed “experimental film.” A unique, category-defying viewing experience, Mill is very highly recommended indeed when it opens this Wednesday (9/14) in New York at Film Forum.

Music and Textiles: A Weaverly Path

As a child, the Swiss-born Silvia Heyden shared meals with refugees from National Socialist Germany and would later cross over from East to West Berlin just as the wall was nearly completed. Yet, the greatest inspiration for her innovative tapestries has been the Eno River in peaceful Durham, North Carolina. Heyden’s life and work are profiled in Kenny Dalsheimer’s A Weaverly Path (trailer here), which screens this coming Tuesday at the Missouri History Museum.

Heyden might be the tapestry artist of her time, period. Never merely adapting pre-existing paintings from canvas to textile, Heyden conceives each piece specifically for her medium. Thread by thread, her kinetic forms takes shape on her loom. They do not always hang straight, but her use of color and form are always intriguing.

Though we do observe Heyden’s methodical work up-close, unlike Sophie Fienne’s slow-going Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow, Weaverly never assumes watching an artist quietly putter about their studio for long stretches of time is sufficiently explanatory or engrossing. In fact, we hear Heyden give her basic primer on tapestry as an art form, which should deepen viewers’ appreciation not just of her work, but of her medium in general.

Though rarely heard on-screen, Dalsheimer draws out the artist quite deftly. He clearly establishes her influences, including a supportive father (himself a frustrated artist) and a Bauhaus education, without driving each point into the ground. Rivers are also important touchstones in her life, with Rhone prefiguring the Eno as a source of inspiration. Yet, music is nearly as significant as nature in shaping her art. In fact, her two arguable masterworks, Passacaglia and Chaconne, directly reference the baroque music she still plays with her string ensemble.

Appropriately enough, Weaverly has a beautiful soundtrack, consisting largely of music licensed from the Brooklyn-based AUM Fidelity label (in addition to Heyden’s own playing) that impeccably matches the film’s striking visuals and contemplative mood. Particularly effective are the selections from jazz pianist-composer Eri Yamamoto, including “Circular Movement,” a duo recording with Hamid Drake that perfectly evokes the rhythms of Heyden’s loom. Originally conceived as a part of a new soundtrack for Yasujirō Ozu’s silent classic I Was Born But . . ., the jaunty “A Little Escape” also helps propels the film along nicely, while the richly melodic “Thank You” (another duo track, with Federico Ughi) establishes a relaxed but sophisticated vibe.

Artfully crafted in its own right, Weaverly is one of the more accessible and engaging art documentaries currently on the festival circuit (featuring one of the best soundtracks). Recommended for its sights and sounds, as well as Heyden’s smart, likable presence, Weaverly screens Tuesday afternoon (9/13) as part of the Missouri History Museum’s History on the Side series, where its sixty-two minutes will be worth stretching St. Louisans’ lunch hours.

(Eri Yamamoto photo by Rita Cigolini)

Love in Space and Other Points

In space no one can hear you sweet talk. It comes through loud and clear in Sydney and Beijing though, but a Chinese astronaut’s two sisters still are not hearing much of it. Of course, they are doing their best to sabotage their budding romances while their big sis orbits the Earth with her ex in Wing Shya and Tony Chan’s latest multi-character rom-com, Love in Space (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

After years of training, Rose is finally posted to China’s space station. Unfortunately, she is serving under Michael. Each blames the other for their breakup, suggesting perhaps communication was the major issue. Lily also left home to study art in Sydney. However, a bad break-up left her with a serious case of germ-phobic OCD. Giving up painting, she mostly just cleans her apartment compulsively. Yet, Johnny, the intrepid young garbage collector, will try to win her over.

Back at home, Peony still lives with their fussing mother Mary, despite her fame as actress. She is not very good though, as her recent win for worst actress at China’s equivalent of the Razzies attests. Determined to improve, she works incognito as a waitress to prepare for her upcoming musical romance. There Wen Feng, a penniless poet, as if there were any other kind, who falls for her as the bespectacled Xiao.

Everyone is ready for some unabashed cuteness, right? If so, the oddball romances of Space definitely deliver. The cast is attractive, the clothes are funky, and the space station effects are better than one might expect. Of course, there are no surprises where each story is headed, which is probably a good thing if you like rom-coms.

Surprisingly, the best story is that of sanitation man Johnny wooing the sanitizing Lilly. Though it might sound like the film’s most self-consciously quirky arc, Gwei Lun Mei’s ridiculously endearing screen presence and Eason Chan’s easy-going charm totally sell it. In contrast, despite the credible sets and frequent nods to Kubrick’s 2001, the space story is the least engaging, perhaps because René Liu and Aaron Kwok come across as too similar: dull type-A workaholics.

That leaves Peony/Xiao and Wen Feng, somewhere in the middle. Chinese pop-star Angelababy brings genuine energy and conviction to the former, but Jing Boran’s sullen reserve as latter undercuts their chemistry (despite having been paired up together in the director prior outing Hot Summer Nights). Still, costume and production designer Sean Kunjambu’s color explosions help set the right mood, nonetheless.

Guaranteed to be one hundred percent irony free, Space is a good date movie for cineastes past the getting to know you stage. Frankly, its goofy romanticism is rather refreshing. A guilty pleasure or a sweet confection, depending on your tastes, the China Lion distributed Space opens today (9/9) in New York at the AMC Empire and Loews Village 7.

My Kingdom: The Art of Stage Fighting

Early Twentieth Century China was a rough and tumble place. If the Shaolin monks could mix it up with warlords and imperialists, why shouldn’t the actors get in on the act? Two adopted brothers will play parts in a high tragedy of almost Biblical dimensions in Gao Xiasong period action revenge drama, My Kingdom (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Young Er Kui’s singing voice saved his life. Unfortunately, the rest of the Meng clan, including his little sister, were beheaded by the cruel Prince Regent. Adopted by Master Yu, a revered opera performer, raises Er Kui with the slightly older Guan Yi Long to be his apprentices. Opera is serious business in 1920’s China, especially when Master Yu is awarded a golden plaque designating him “The Mightiest Warrior.” Drawing a full contact challenge from the resentful Master Yue (with an “e”), Yu must “break his spear,” and retire from the stage after losing the duel under somewhat questionable circumstances.

Now both brothers yearn for vengeance. Yi Long is determined to regain their master’s golden plaque from Yue, while Er Kui is determined to bring down his wrath upon the Prince who bestowed it. The first proves relatively easy, but enormously cinematic. The latter will be more difficult, considering the offending Prince is dead. He had seven sons though, but maybe not for much longer. Further complicating matters is Xi Mulan, Yue’s lead actress and former lover. She now shares the stage with the brothers who have taken over Yue’s Beijing Opera troupe, which is more than a little awkward.

Kingdom is somewhat akin to Kon Ichikawa’s truly classic Revenge of a Kubuki Actor, combining a behind-the-scenes view of traditional theater with a good old-fashioned payback story. However, Kingdom has far less angst and much more melee, with Master Sammo Hung serving as action director (as he did for Detective Dee and the Ip Man franchise). He puts quite a stamp on the film, choreographing the fight scenes with appropriately theatrical flair.

As the showboating Yi Long and the slow burning Er Kui, Chun Wu and Geng Han are respectably solid action protagonists. However, Barbie Hsu is an awesome femme fatale, smoking up the screen and keeping viewers guessing as Mulan. She also looks great in the 1920’s fashions. Surprisingly (but pleasantly so), Kingdom does not have the requisite stereotypical western bad guy increasingly common in popular Chinese cinema. Though General Lu of the Shanghai police (playing with icy reserve by Louis Lu) is most definitely villainous, but he is also all Chinese.

An artfully crafted period piece, the design team, including art director Yang Haoyu and particularly costume designer Gino Xie, create a sense of genuine spectacle on screen. Gao Xiasong also keeps the drama charging along nicely, not overplaying the Cain and Abel themes. Hugely satisfying, Kingdom is one of the best martial arts imports of the year. Enthusiastically recommended for action fans, it opens today (9/9) in New York at the AMC Empire, Village 7, and Fresh Meadows, courtesy of China Lion Entertainment.

Propaganda without Context: The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceaușescu

There was a time when Nicolae Ceaușescu got all the Iron Curtain’s favorable press. Many in the foreign policy establishment considered him reasonable, even reform-minded, based on some shrewd public relations moves, like his measured criticism of the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. However, the 1989 Revolution ripped down the façade, revealing to the world the monster that had long oppressed Romania. Of course, every dictator sees themselves as an enlightened Caesar and has the state-produced propaganda to prove it. Culling 180 minutes from over 1,000 hours of archival footage, Romanian director Andrei Ujică assembled a video-collage of Ceaușescu’s life as it was perceived by the dictator and recorded by his state cameras in The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceaușescu (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Defiant to the end, Nicolae Ceaușescu refuses to cooperate in the hastily assembled trial, following the Revolution (he would say coup) that removed him from office. Indeed, his has been a life of destiny as we watch his storied career in flashbacks, courtesy of the state propaganda ministry.

From his meteoric rise following the death of his Stalinist mentor Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, Ceaușescu might have displayed a bit of independence in foreign policy, but aside from his support for Prague Spring, this usually manifested itself in uncharacteristically warm relations with the Warsaw Pact’s Eastern rivals, the Chinese and Vietnamese (here was a man who could appreciate a personality cult). Still, he certainly seemed to enjoy entertaining western heads of state, including President Nixon (who also appears to relish his photo ops with one of the few world leaders he physically towered over).

We watch as Ceaușescu celebrates birthdays, receives dignitaries, and opens party conferences, over and over again. He briefly condemns a spot of hooliganism in Timişoara and then suddenly he is facing an ad-hoc inquest. Of course, the real story is much more dramatic and far bloodier.

More or less billed as an object lesson in film as a propaganda tool, Ujică did not set out to create a revisionist history or to humanize the permanently deposed dictator. However, the film might have that unintended effect on audiences not privy to Ujică’s underlying concept or his past work documenting the 1989 uprising in Videograms of a Revolution. This is a particular risk here in New York, where art-house patrons consider themselves politically sophisticated but are easily manipulated by propagandistic images exactly like those assembled in Autobiography.

Running a full three hours, Autobiography is a hugely ambitious work, but frankly it is a punishing viewing experience. One scene of Ceaușescu fondling the bread of a well-stocked Potemkin market during a photo op makes the point. The second constitutes overkill. In fact, there is constant and deliberate repetition throughout Ujică’s film, as each Party conference and state visit blends into the next. Perhaps, this is a deliberate strategy to convey the rigidly homogenous nature of Ceaușescu’s artificially constructed reality, but is wearying for viewers looking for a lifeline to grasp unto.

As the highly problematic Autobiography stands, there is no footage that even mildly criticizes Ceaușescu’s twenty-five year misrule. How could there be? Any employees of the propaganda ministry not properly lionizing their master would have faced severe (probably fatal) reprisals. As a result, the entire film is much like Kim Il-sung’s massive welcoming ceremony, a hyper-real but static spectacle, ironic in its conspicuous lack of irony.

Ujică proves himself a daring filmmaker, but to what end? Autobiography is ultimately a film for those who have an affinity the vintage aesthetics of the Soviet era, regardless of the messy history involved, essentially unreconstructed leftists and ironic hipsters. Not recommended, it opens today (9/9) at the Elinor Bunin Munro Film Center.

All the Principal’s Geeks: Beware the Gonzo

By definition, nobody can be popular if they are despised by ninety-nine percent of the student body. Likewise, it is numerically impossible for that same one percent to bully the rest of the school—no teenagers are that industrious. Yet, it seems a lot of indie screenwriters were picked on during their high school years. At least Eddie “Gonzo” Gilman tries to stand-up for some wider principles in Bryan Goluboff’s social misfit wish fulfillment tale, Beware the Gonzo (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday as part of the upcoming showcase of Tribeca distributed films.

Young Gilman wants to be the next Woodward or Bernstein. He ought to be looking to Matt Drudge for inspiration instead, but so be it. After being fired from the school newspaper by Gavin Reilly, a popular jock and administration suck-up (and not improperly so, given his hyperventilating prose), the Gonz follows the siren song of underground newspapers. Who amongst us hasn’t started one? Yet, his broadsheet catches on because of all their telling truth to power. As it turns out, his predictably geeky writers can dig up good dirt because nobody notices them.

With the addition of Evie Wallace, the reputed campus tramp out for revenge against her ex Reilly, the alternative paper is fully staffed. As a club kid, she is a natural gossip columnist. She also tells Gilman about this thing called the internet and supplies his first serious dose of sexual tension, while Reilly and the evil Principal Skinner-wannabe plot their counter-revolution.

In truth, Beware is considerably better than the thematically related Tribeca film, The Trotsky, in large measure because it does not idolize a mass murdering dictator. A low bar to clear perhaps, but Goluboff gets credits where it is due. In fact, his script wisely eschews a lot of hopey-changey politics, focusing on good old fashioned government corruption and abuse of power at the school level. Perhaps most refreshingly, it presents a young person forthrightly owning up to mistakes he has made and accepting the consequences.

As Gilman, Ezra Miller is a bit bland, but likable enough. Unfortunately, the film suffers from a wholly underwhelming villain. Your friendly neighborhood reviewer might be a rangy old goat compared to these prefabricated teenagers (many whom look like they were bought straight off the shelf at Ikea), but the weak-chinned white-bread Reilly is simply impossible to buy as the big bullying jock, utterly lacking any sense of menace.

Still, there are some engaging supporting turns found throughout Beware. Zoë Kravitz certainly displays a good measure of poise and screen presence as Wallace (which one might expect given she is the daughter of Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet). Some of the best, if creepiest, one-liners come from Stephanie Y. Hong playing the somewhat stereotypically intense Asian staffer. Campbell Scott also has some nice moments as Gilman’s patient father, but Amy Sedaris’s comedic talent is criminally wasted in the throwaway role of his nagging mother.

There is nothing really objectionable to Beware. In fact, it expresses a decent message about the importance of personal responsibility. Ultimately though, it simply is not all that memorable. Regardless, for those looking for a quick and painless high school fix, Beware opens a weeklong run tomorrow (9/9) in New York at the Tribeca Cinemas.

Transitions: Night Train

A large group of strangers pile in to a confined space, carrying with them considerable sexual tension. There is a murderer too. Indeed, all the classic noir elements are in place, but Jerzy Kawalerowicz gives them an unexpected twist in his 1959 classic Night Train, which screens as part of a sidebar tribute to actor Zbigniew Cybulski during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s upcoming Transitions retrospective of recent Polish cinema.

A man named Jerzy is acting suspiciously. Donning black shades, he has bought up both tickets for a sleeper rather than mix with his fellow passengers. However, Marta, a distraught mystery woman, has already taken possession of one of his bunks. Tired of fussing, they decide to make the best of it, causing no end of gossip on their car. Of course, for most of the travelers, the number one topic of conversation is the fugitive wanted for murdering his wife. However, a married woman looking for a fling is far more interested in Jerzy, while Marta’s rejected lover Staszek is preoccupied with her.

Kawalerowicz effectively exploits the claustrophobic environment of the train, hurtling its way through the night to its Baltic resort destination. Frankly, it is hard to see how the crew navigated the gear and cameras through the narrow passageways thronged with extras. As a noir thriller, Kawalerowicz also pulls off some rather devious misdirection. However, the biggest shocker is its unambiguous critique of the mass mentality coupled with what certainly appears to be some Christian symbolism in its third act climax.

Given Kawalerowicz’s professed atheism (often reflected in his films), it is hard to judge his intentions in this sequence. In fact, he is something of a tricky filmmaker to take stock of in general. Basically falling in line with the Socialist authorities during the early Solidarity years, Kawalerowicz had a bit of trouble plying his craft in the years immediately following the collapse of Communism. That is the danger with playing it safe.

Cybulski is quite good as the overwrought Staszek, but he is definitely a supporting player in Train. This show really belongs to Leon Miemczyk and Lucyna Winnicka, who build up all kinds of chemistry as Jerzy and Marta, while closely guarding their secrets. Indeed, there is something almost poetic about their final scenes together.

Jan Laskowski’s gorgeous black-and-white cinematography creates the perfect atmosphere of mystery, further heightened by Andrzej Trzaskowski’s cool jazz soundtrack (riffing on Artie Shaw’s “Moon Rays”), featuring vibes, trumpet, and wordless vocalizing. Altogether, Train is a noir masterwork, hinting at things Kawalerowicz should have spoken louder or perhaps left unsaid. Now digitally restored, it screens tomorrow (9/9) and Wednesday (9/14) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the FSLC’s Transitions retrospective.

Transitions: Lost Town of Switez

So deeply ingrained are the images of a devastated Poland during WWII and the Soviet era, many Americans forget the millennia old country was one of the great European powers during the Middle Ages. Poland’s Casimir III was the first crown head of Europe to grant legal protection to Jewish subjects. It was also one of the few European countries untouched by the Black Death, perhaps the result of good national karma. The glory of Medieval Poland is evoked in Kamil Polak’s visually arresting animated short The Lost Town of Świteź (distributed internationally by New Europe Film Sales, trailer here), which screens this Saturday as part of the shorts program during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Transitions retrospective of recent Polish cinema.

Based on Adam Mickiewicz’s epic poem, one of many celebrating Poland’s folklore, Town begins on the proverbial dark and stormy night. A nineteenth century nobleman’s carriage is waylaid by the inclement weather. Far from a sanctuary, this forest appears to be enchanted. Seeking refuge from spectral horse-soldiers, the man finds himself transported to the mythic city of Świteź, where he witnesses its destruction at the hands of the hordes pursuing him. As the city faithful send up orisons to heaven, a choir of angels comes down to bear witness to man’s carnage (and perhaps the salvation of the next life).

Combining specially commissioned oil paintings, rendered in a style suggestive of great Polish artists like Józef Chełmoński and Aleksander Gierymski, with state of the art computer animation, Town has a rich, ethereal look unlike any recent animation. Some enterprising film festival ought to program it with Lech Majewski’s The Mill and the Cross, which in many ways is the nearest comparable film.

Perhaps though, what is most striking about Town is the unapologetically powerful Christian imagery. Completely without irony, Polak’s film conveys an apocalyptic Christian vision with far greater overwhelming immediacy than anything attempted in recent Evangelical cinema. Yet, it can also be enjoyed simply as a Slavonic variant on the Atlantis archetype, perfectly scored by Irina Bogdanovich, whose compositions unambiguously suggest the Middle Ages, but with a hint of romanticism.

Town truly proves animation can be both a form of entertainment as well as high art. Best appreciated on the big screen, Polak will present his painterly canvas in-person when Town screens this Saturday (9/10) at the Walter Reade Theater, as part of Transition’s shorts block. It will also screen again in New York later in the month (9/23) at the 2011 NYC Short Film Festival as part of program A.

A New Yorker in Canada: The High Cost of Living

Evidently, French Canadians have quite a demand for methadone and other prescription drugs. Business is so good New Yorker Henry (not Henri) Welles sets up shop in Montreal, overstaying his term of legal residency. As a result, he is not inclined to stop and do the right thing when he accidentally hits a pregnant woman one dark boozy night. Still, he has that conscience nagging at him in Deborah Chow’s The High Cost of Living (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday as part of the upcoming showcase of Tribeca distributed films.

After a hard night’s work meeting customers in bars and clubs, Welles is totally loaded. He is also carrying barrel full of pills. He could have at least offered some to Nathalie after running her over. Very pregnant, the French Canadian had woken up alarmed by early contractions. With her workaholic husband not answering his phone, she had been trying to hail a cab when Welles struck her going the wrong way on her street.

Though the baby was killed, the hospital does not induce delivery, claiming concern for her overall health. Naturally, still carrying her deceased daughter causes much psychological trauma for Nathalie, essentially spelling the end of her marriage. Fortunately, she makes a new friend, who is Johnny-on-the-spot when she needs a bit of support at the local pub: the apparently generous and nonjudgmental Welles. Thus begins their chaste courtship, unfolding as the police pursue the hit-and-run driver.

Given the rather awkward truth, the audience spends the entire film anticipating the big confessional scene. When it finally arrives, writer-director Chow (pictured below) displays a deft touch, largely avoiding the histrionics viewers have been dreading. In fact, it is impressively honest and matter-of-fact scene. Unfortunately, the long set-up of their quirky but sensitive getting-to-know-you period quickly becomes tiresome and repetitive.

Scrubs’ Zach Braff is just about passable as the sad-eyed pill-pusher, but not exactly a revelation here. In contrast, Isabelle Blais is quite good as Nathalie, expressing a broad gamut of emotion with convincing restraint. However, Chow’s real find might be Julian Lo, who makes a strong impression as Johnny, Welles’s teenaged delivery-boy neighbor, whom he inadvertently pulls into his legal quagmire.

A major problem for Cost is the surfeit of obvious unasked questions that would have hastened the conclusion. (Frankly, it might have made an interesting thriller, with Welles knocking off everyone putting two and two together.) Still, it is never cheap or convenient it its handling of the heavy themes of forgiveness and redemption, which is definitely significant. Imperfect but showing promise, Cost begins a week of screenings this Friday (9/9) at the Tribeca Cinemas, along with other Tribeca distributed films, including the wickedly effective little horror film Grave Encounters.

The Angst of the Privileged: Tanner Hall

For many, boarding school films bring back a flood of memories, presumably of snobbery, puberty, and peer pressure—not that us working stiffs would know. However, it is a world well familiar to a debut filmmaking team, whose blood is about as blue as it gets. Tatiana von Furstenberg is who you suspect she is: the daughter of designer Diane von Furstenberg and Prince Egon von Furstenberg, as well as the step-daughter of Barry Diller. Her co-writer-director is Francesca Gregorini, the daughter of Count Augusto Gregorini and actress Barbara Bach (and the step-daughter of Ringo Starr, no less). The privileged world of an elite Northeastern girls’ schools inspired their scrappy little indie-that-could, Tanner Hall (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Rooney Mara plays Tanner Hall upperclassman Fernanda, who will eventually attend Boston University, where she will have the profound misfortune of dating a creepy but wicked smart Harvard computer science student, but that is for a different film. Tanner concerns itself with Fernanda’s senior year, which starts rather awkwardly when she realizes her childhood sort-of friend Victoria has transferred to the swanky school.

Naturally, Victoria is artificially attractive in the requisite Gossip Girls way. She has also always been something of a trouble-maker, even when Fernanda knew her. Unfortunately, her roommates fall somewhat under the sway of Victoria’s rebel persona. Ordinarily, Fernanda might battle her for the soul of Tanner Hall’s senior class. However, as her flirtations with Gio, the live-in boyfriend of her mother’s old chum, grow more serious (and possibly illegal), the notion of sneaking out of the cloistered Hall suddenly does not sound so bad.

It is impossible to imagine Mara as Lisbeth “Dragon Tattoo” Salander when watching her in Tanner. Still, she is a reasonably likable junior Natalie Portman. She is not the film’s problem (indeed, she is obviously the reason for its long-in-coming release). Conversely, Georgia King is kind of grating as Victoria, the crying-on-the-inside bad girl. Strangely though, Chris Kattan is not nearly as annoying as usual playing the hen-pecked English teacher Mr. Middlewood. In the predatory Lolita role, Brie Larson is certainly convincing enough, toying with Mr. Middlewood like a cat with a mouse. Unfortunately, Amy Sedaris never really gets a chance to cut loose as Mrs. Middlewood, the sexually frustrated hall director.

Largely lacking tonal consistency, Tanner veers all over the place, grasping at nearly every convention of boarding school dramas in hopes that one will click. Adult supervision though, is conspicuously lacking. Frankly, the film could use a Miss Jean Brodie. While its humor is rather smarmy (not much of a shock, coming from Sedaris and Kattan) it does nicely convey a sense of some of the (still) girls developing a sense of themselves. Nevertheless, the problematic and most likely prosecutable relationship between Fernanda and Gio is a big clumsy distraction, never properly resolved.

To the credit of von Furstenberg and Gregorini, Tanner never gets draggy. Though it might be over-the-top at times, the film holds viewer attention, in part because of the ragged edges. Substantially flawed but certainly not torturous, it is a somewhat common examination of upper class angst. For the curious, it opens this Friday (9/9) in New York at the AMC Empire.

Transitions: All That I Love

Punk rock is supposed to be subversive. For Communist Poland poised on the brink of Martial Law, it was downright revolutionary, in spades. Yet, young Janek and his friends were not trying to be political. Of course, this is exactly why their music is so threatening in Jacek Borcuch’s All That I Love (trailer here), Poland’s most recent submission for official foreign language Academy Award consideration, which screens this Saturday as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s new retrospective, Transitions: Recent Polish Cinema.

Janek’s brother also plays in his hardcore punk band, All That I Love, affectionately known as ATIL for short. His mother is a nurse, which is all fine and good, but his father is a mid-level officer in the Polish Navy. Ordinarily, this is a good thing, leading to a few modest perks for the family. However, when courting Basia Martyniak, the very cute daughter of Solidarity organizers, it is not so hot. The rebellious nature of his music does not cut much ice with the Martyniaks either, but Basia is impressed.

Though not necessarily impressed himself, Janek’s father is still supportive enough to arrange rehearsal space on the local base. Clearly, the naval captain is not the typical Communist apparatchik, a fact not lost on Sokołowski, the neighborhood Party snitch. Resenting the boys’ ill-concealed interest in his Cougarish wife, Sokołowski targets them where it will hurt the most—their music.

Throughout the film, Borcuch juggles a number of disparate elements quite sure-handedly, including a rather tender coming-of-age romance and some paint-peeling punk, based on the music of the era-appropriate Polish band WC. It is also a story of human tragedy, directly resulting from an inherently oppressive political ideology. Yet, part of the irony of ATIL is that Janek’s family will probably be far better off in the new Poland that rises from the ashes of Communism for having gone through their tribulations in the film. Unfortunately, viewers can surmise the short term will be rather long and difficult for them in the December of 1981.

There is no denying the charismatic appeal of Borcuch’s teen-aged leads. Mateusz Kościukiewicz’s Janek could have walked out of Tom Hanks’ That Thing You Do into Jaruzelski’s police state, while as Basia, Olga Frycz resembles a considerably younger and warmer Nicole Kidman. Yet, arguably Andrzej Chrya serves as the lynchpin of the film, investing Janek’s father with humanity and integrity that will first challenge and then reconfirm all our assumptions of Poland’s Communist military.

With convincing period detail, Elwira Pluta’s design team faithfully recreates the bleak look of Martial Law era Poland, when Brutalist-style Soviet housing projects were considered desirable. Nevertheless, despite the apparent downer ending mandated by history, ATIL is a surprisingly uplifting film, deriving optimism from the spirit of its characters. An excellent kick-off for the FSLC’s Transitions series, ATIL screens this Saturday (9/10) and next Thursday (9/15) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Burke & Hare: the Return of John Landis

William Burke and William Hare would definitely be considered working class, but they probably never put in an honest day’s labor in their lives. They do grasp some basic economics though. Edinburgh’s celebrated anatomy colleges have a large unmet demand for fresh cadavers. Even these two idiots understand how to increase the supply in John Landis’s Burke & Hare (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

For those who have been wondering where Landis (the director of such iconic comedies as Animal House, The Blues Brothers, and An American Werewolf in London) has been for the last decade or so, he was back in the UK (amongst other places, presumably), where B&H was shot on location in Edinburgh and at the storied Ealing Studios. Indeed, B&H has a charming period look, evoking the spirit of early Hammer horror films and Roger Corman Poe adaptations (which Landis can probably quote chapter-and-verse).

The two Williams are not evil per se, but they are definitely low lives. Largely they sponge off Hare’s wife Lucky, who rents rooms to elderly pensioners. When one tenant passes away before settling for the month, she makes the lads dispose of the body. However, when they discover the ambitious Dr. Robert Knox will be five pounds a pop for fresh bodies, it opens up a whole new business venture for them. Of course, it also attracts some unwelcome attention.

Though there is plenty of gross-out humor and a not inconsiderable body count, B&H might be too gentle for many midnight screening patrons. Rather, the film has a nostalgic feel, nicely established with Angus the Hangman’s introductory tour of the city. The Hammer vibe is further reinforced by an appearance from the great Sir Christopher Lee as Old Joseph, one of the gruesome twosome’s early victims.

Andy Serkis obviously gets it, reveling in Hare’s roguish degeneracy. However, Simon Pegg’s put-upon shtick as Burke gets a little tiresome, particularly with the subplot involving the manipulations of a gold-digging actress he is smitten with. After all, according to the old nursery rhyme: “Burke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief,” not the knebbish soft touch.

However, as Knox, “the boy who buys the beef,” Tom Wilkinson chews the scenery with relish, channeling Peter Cushing and Vincent Price as a sophisticated man of science led astray by his enthusiasm and arrogance. He even gets off a mother joke at his rival’s expense worthy of Tracy Morgan. Indeed, B&H has a great supporting cast, including Tim Curry as the clammy Dr. Alexander Monro and Downton Abbey’s Hugh Bonneville, as Lord Harrington, the Solicitor General.

With an epilogue that could almost, but not quite, be considered educational, B&H is strangely endearing for a film about grave-robbing cutthroats. Yet, Landis manages to keep the tone light and breezy, while paying homage to the more innocent costumed horror films of old. It is entertaining enough to lead movie lovers to hope it is the beginning a full-fledged return to narrative features for Landis (who has been a talking head in scores of recent documentaries, including American Grindhouse and Machete Maidens Unleashed). Amusing and atmospheric, B&H is definitely recommended for genre fans when it opens this Friday (9/9) at the IFC Center in New York.

Shaolin: Respect These Monks

The Shaolin monks of the early twentieth century Chinese Republic were highly skilled practitioners of the martial arts. Brothers of charitable mercy, they believed in turning the other cheek. However, they could only be pushed so far, as one power mad warlord learns in Benny Chan’s Shaolin (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

When Hou Jie’s vanquished rival took refuge in the Shaolin monastery, the warlord went in after him. Hou Jie’s hubris told him he was on the brink permanently consolidating his control over the region, but karma will say otherwise. Expecting to betray a key ally at the dinner celebrating their young children’s arranged marriage, Hou Jie finds himself triple-crossed by his lieutenant, Cao Man. Escaping with his life, the fallen warlord finds sanctuary with the very monks he so lately dissed.

Mourning his daughter, Hou Jie shaves his head, finding solace in the life of a novice. Of course, his former “little brother” is still out for his head, but Cao Man is also busy colluding with the evil westerners, using up and discarding desperate workers in their malevolent public works projects, which at least have the merit of being “shovel-ready.” A spectacular showdown is inevitable, especially considering the monks Robin Hood relief work.

A richly detailed period production, Yee Chung-man’s design team meticulously recreated the imposing Shaolin Temple on Mount Song, for the express purpose of watching it all eventually come crashing down. In fact, the audience is so thoroughly immersed in the ancient sets, it is difficult to get an accurate bead on the film’s exact timeframe. Action director Corey Yuen (who served a similar role on little films like The Expendables, X-Men, and Red Cliff) choreographs some impressive fight sequences, including both the sweeping macro battles and the hand-to-hand combat at the micro level.

It is also entertaining to see Jackie Chan as Wu Dai, the Shaolin cook, still mixing it up, but in ways appropriate to his advancing age and battered body. His big fight scene is arguably more closely akin to the work of Jacques Tati than Bruce Lee. Wu Jing however, is all business as senior brother Jing Neng. Looking his nearly fifty years as well (particularly when sporting the Picardian look), Andy Lau is appropriately intense as Hou Jie, convincingly handling the action sequences as well as his characters transition to Zen-like resignation, if not full enlightenment. As an added bonus, Fan Bingbing is as radiant as ever portraying his grieving wife Yan Xi.

Aside from the clichéd white devil imperialist villain (an already tired convention of Chinese popular film), Shaolin is quite a rich martial arts morality play. Frankly, it is refreshing to see a film with genuine respect for religious service that also takes themes of redemption profoundly seriously. It also delivers ample spectacle and a generous supply of beat-downs. Enthusiastically recommended, Shaolin opens this Friday (9/9) in New York at the Cinema Village and in Colorado at the Denver Film Center/Colfax.

Pitch Hard: Brother’s Justice

Dax Shepard thinks he’s famous. You are supposed to recognize him from films like Employee of the Month and more likely NBC’s Parenthood. However, Shepard is about to throw a curve ball to those who might be fans, giving up comedy to become a martial arts superstar. His transformative vehicle will chronicle the Justice Brothers’ fight against a vicious crystal meth-dealing biker gang, or something like that. This dubious project will be pitched many times in Brother’s Justice (trailer here), a mockumentary of the film-within-a-film’s early development, or lack thereof, which has its belated New York opening this Friday as part of a showcase of Tribeca distributed films.

Shepard picks his indulgent friend Nate Tuck to produce his proposed Brother’s Justice, securing his agreement to split all the development costs. Given the industry’s interest in the project, this will probably only involve a few trips to Starbuck’s. Yet, Shepard plugs on, trying to call in favors with the big names he knows, including the likes of Jon Favreau and Ashton Kutcher, playing themselves in guest appearances (as well as one surprise saved for the post-closing credits stinger). Tom Arnold however, has a major supporting role as himself, promising to pitch the film to his pal James Cameron, in return for a part (opinions vary as to which it should be).

Essentially, Justice is sort of a more Hollywood-centric version of Eric Schaeffer and Donal Lardner Ward’s My Life’s in Turnaround and its pseudo-sequel, while still allowing Bradley Cooper and David Koechner an opportunity to slum it up in an indie in between their Judd Apatow and Todd Phillips comedies. In fact, they are both very funny in two extended centerpiece sequences, constituting considerably more than mere cameo walk-ons.

Frankly, Shepard is not the most charismatic screen presence and I knew far more martial arts at thirteen than he ever will (which is all part of the joke). Still, he establishes some decent bromantic chemistry with Tuck, while convincing his famous friends to ham it up like nobody’s business. Arnold in particular, seemed to require little prompting in this regard. Perhaps the closest analogs to Justice are old school Burt Reynolds films, in which viewers are supposed to appreciate how much fun he and Dom DeLuise had making them. Believe it or not, that makes for a pleasant weekend afternoon Netflix streaming (where it is already available).

Throughout Justice, Shepard takes plenty of shots at Hollywood business practices, but nothing so pointed that it might jeopardize his career (real or fictional). It is not The Player, but it has some clever moments. Though interested viewers can stay at home and watch it, Justice also kicks off a weeklong run this Friday (9/9) at the Tribeca Cinemas.

DocuWeeks LA ’11: The Mexican Suitcase

Many writers, most notably including Hemingway and Malraux, tried to write the Spanish Civil narrative for a worldwide audience. However, it was the work of trailblazing war photojournalist that supplied the images for the Republican cause célèbre. Unfortunately, thousands of his negatives were lost, suspected to be somewhere in Mexico. Through the efforts of the International Center of Photography (ICP), founded by the photographer’s late brother Cornell, the not-so apocryphal case was found and its contents have been catalogued and preserved. The story of the photos and the photojournalists behind the camera are told in Trisha Ziff’s The Mexican Suitcase (trailer here), which is currently screening as part of the 2011 DocuWeeks in Los Angeles.

Not really a suitcase per se (strangely, it is not pictured on the film’s one-sheet), the suitcase was a small partitioned box crafted by darkroom assistant Imre “Csiki” Weiss. Inside were not just scores of Capa negatives, including some of his best known images, but also those of his wife Gerda Taro and close colleague David Seymour, a.k.a. “Shim.” In fact, the suitcase led to many photos previously considered part of the Capa canon to be reattributed to Taro or Seymour.

Those who only know Capa as a name and perhaps for the iconic “Falling Soldier,” supposedly taken at Cerro Muriano (the authenticity of which has fallen into dispute), should certainly gain an appreciation of his work through Suitcase. Though it was impossible to compose shots in a traditional sense during the heat of battle, he clearly had a talent for framing the action on the fly. The film also gives Taro and Seymour their proper due for battlefield fearlessness.

Unfortunately, Suitcase is overly simplistic in its treatment of the Spanish Civil War, perhaps reflecting the involvement of groups dedicated to promoting the legacy of the Communist-oriented Abraham Lincoln Brigade. As a result, Suitcase strictly adheres to the “good war” Party line, ignoring the sometimes bloody Republican in-fighting between Communists and Anarchists, the Republican atrocities committed against the Catholic Church, the purges perpetrated by Republican sponsor Joseph Stalin (by this time generally public knowledge amongst the educated classes), and the bitter divisions amongst ALB veterans stemming from the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. That is unfortunate, because it robs the film of nearly all the irony and messiness that made the war such a compelling episode of world history. Indeed, which would you rather read, Ernest Hemingway’s undeniably pro-Republican but still nuanced For Whom the Bell Tolls or Alvah Bessie’s Party approved propaganda?

As art history, Suitcase is fascinating stuff, lucidly establishing the significance of the suitcase’s recovery and the further light its contents shed on the work of Capa, Taro, and Seymour. It also serves as an effective commercial for the ICP and its talented staff. On the other hand, as historical commentary on the Spanish Civil War, the film is rather shallow and should in no way be considered definitive. A mixed bag, recommended at least for photography buffs, Suitcase screens through Thursday (9/8) in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5, after which point it should be officially qualified for Oscar considered, unless cancelled New York screenings during Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene affect its standing.

Sion Sono’s Love Exposure

Japanese Christians are a small but hardy band. Just as they endured centuries of shogunate oppression, they also survived Sion Sono’s epic, borderline sacrilegious cult thriller mash-up Love Exposure (trailer here), which opens today in New York in all its 237 minute glory.

Yû Honda’s mother was practically a saint, but her dying wish that her son find a wife like the Virgin Mary complicates his sexual development. His relationship with his father Tetsu is even more strained. Turning to the priesthood in his grief, the elder Honda first becomes a kindly reassuring priest. However a detour through temptation turns him into an abusive fire-and-brimstone moralizer. Yet, he eases up again when he picks up living in sin with aging party girl Kaori.

To get his father’s attention in the confessional, Honda begins a career of petty crime. However, he largely gives up the punk life when he falls for Yoko Ozawa, the attractive daughter of Kaori’s interim lover, whom Honda saves from a gang of street thugs on the one day he happened to be dressed in drag as a result of a lost wager. Unfortunately, Koike, a recruiter for the Zero Church cult, assumes the identity of his “Miss Scorpion” persona to seduce Ozawa, the love of his life who he is now supposed to consider his sister. End of first hour, maybe. From there, things get a little crazy.

While it has a boatload of sexualized religious imagery, Exposure is so wildly idiosyncratic, it defies any pat ideological label. Considering our protagonist is a budding panty-peaking pornographer, this film is definitely for adventurous audiences only. Yet, it is not as kneejerk anti-Catholic as it might sound, thanks to the acutely flawed but deeply human portrayal of Father Tetsu. Still, by the same token, several major characters turn out extremely screwed-up because of abuse suffered at the hands of ostensive Christians.

One thing is certain, by the time Exposure is over, you know you have seen a film. For four hours or so, Sion goes for broke, pulling it off more often than not. Indeed, it is rather amazing how outrageous Exposure gets without ever going irrevocably over the top. It is also a credit to the large ensemble cast, who sell the madness with deadly earnest. As Koike, the master manipulator, Sakura Andô is really scary and totally hot. Atsurô Watabe gets a real acting workout as Father Tetsu, whipsawing back and forth between psychotic and hen-pecked. Hikari Mitsushima turns the Japanese school girl stereotype on its head as the brawling man-hater Ozawa, while Takahiro Nichijima maintains a Candide-like sense of innocent confusion as poor passive perverted Honda.

Make no mistake, Exposure is not your father’s Japanese school girl fetish movie. Frankly, words fail to adequately describe it. Apart from the more hot button content, Sion’s depiction of the Zero cult’s inner workings are wholly sufficient to thoroughly creep viewers out. This is bold filmmaking, telling a fantastical narrative, chocked full of provocative material, at an absolute breakneck pace. Truly the work of an auteur, but not for the faint of heart, Exposure is strongly recommended to those who are not scared off by everything they just read. It opens today (9/2) in New York at the Cinema Village.

Long Distance Warrior: Bill McGowan, Entrepreneur

Remember television commercials for collect calls? How about dialing in account numbers before making long distance calls? These were actually considered breakthroughs at the time, made possible by Bill McGowan, the driven CEO of MCI who turned telecommunications into a legitimate industry—and a rather competitive of at that. Underappreciated outside of telecom business circles, McGowan’s contributions are documented for a popular audience in Sarah Holt’s Long Distance Warrior (promo here), which airs on New York’s WNET this coming Sunday.

Though of working class Pennsylvanian stock, McGowan had the soul of a cowboy. Entrepreneurial by nature, he never settled for the life of a company man, unless it was his company. In the late 1960’s, Microwave Communications Inc. reached out to McGowan to help finance their planned network of microwave relays. Though designed to carry truckers’ radio communications, the lines could also handle long distance business calls. AT&T did not like that, challenging MCI’s plans in court. This attracted the government’s attention, indirectly leading to the mother of all anti-trust suits. Eventually, MCI won and AT&T lost, at least in court.

Though reaction to the federal litigation that ultimately broke up AT&T cut unevenly across political lines, Warrior largely ignores the debates of the time, instead pointing out how well and how quickly the hidebound AT&T adapted to a competitive environment. Yet, the real eye-opener of McGowan’s story is the extent of his vision. Under his watch, MCI was an early developer of e-mail and cell phone communications. Frankly, they were too far ahead of their time to properly capitalize on their innovations.

Warrior makes a compelling case to consider McGowan alongside Silicon Valley idols, like Bill Gates and Steve Jobs. However, the straight-from-the-hip capitalist never cultivated a hipster-friendly image. Indeed, he somewhat resembled a decidedly frugal version of James Garner’s good old F. Ross Johnson in Barbarians at the Gate.

Though not especially artful in its presentation, Warrior tells a fascinating story, conveying a good sense of the late McGowan through those who knew him best—his MCI co-workers. In fact, it is something quite rare on television: a film knowledgeable of business and sympathetic to the entrepreneurs who bear considerable risks in hopes of reaping future economic rewards. Whip-smart TV, Warrior is definitely recommended when it airs this coming Sunday night (9/4) on New York’s Thirteen.

Covi & Frimmel at AFA: La Pivellina

Circus work is difficult, especially on a freelance basis. The last thing a group of ragtag performers needs is another mouth to feed, but that is exactly what they get in La Pivellina (or Little Girl, trailer here), the first foray into narrative features from the Italian and Austrian documentary filmmaking team of Tizza Covi & Rainer Frimmel, which kicks off its premiere theatrical run in New York today as part of the Anthology Film Archives retrospective of their work, presented in conjunction with the Austrian Cultural Forum New York.

Crimson haired Patty was in the park looking for her dog Hercules. Instead, she found Aia (which the middle aged woman assumes is short for Asia), a two year old girl abandoned by her mother. Being a decent woman, Patty takes Aia home with her, but not without some trepidation. After all, the Carabinieri are not kindly disposed to itinerant circus roustabouts. Her husband Walter is even more concerned about what the law might make of the situation, as well as the added costs the young girl represents. However, the novelty of looking after Aia appeals to their thirteen year-old neighbor Tairo. Before long, even Walter is won over by her cuteness. Yet, it is not clear how long they can act as guardians without legal status.

Though technically a dramatic feature, the documentarians’ observational filmmaking techniques remain largely the same. Their small “nonprofessional” eponymous ensemble all play roles quite close to home, firmly rooted in the hardscrabble back alleys and industrial parks of Rome’s outer suburbs. While Covi is the duly credited screenwriter, Pivellina definitely has an unscripted feel. Yet, the dialogue is far sharper than the mumblecore industry standard. In fact, Patty and Walter are sometimes rather amusing bickering and bantering together.

Patrizia Gerardi is absolutely fantastic as the reluctant Italian godmother, proving working class women of a certain age can be divas too. Walter Saabel plays off her quite well, without becoming a curmudgeonly caricature. Little one Asia Crippa is sufficiently endearing, while Tairo Caroli exhibits some real screen charisma as the surprisingly domestic teen.

Pivellina definitely builds to a dramatic if intentionally ambiguous climax. However, there are undeniably moments of “drift” as it works its way there. A bit more narrative focus would not have been a bad thing. Still, there are plenty of revealing moments to be found throughout the film (including a candid look at contemporary Italian attitudes towards Mussolini). Though Frimmel’s handheld verité cinematography is not particularly appealing visually, it is appropriate to the film’s subject and milieu. Austria’s official submission for best foreign language Academy Award consideration this year, Pivellina is bittersweet but unmistakably humanistic at its core. Respectfully recommended, it opens today (9/1) at Anthology Film Archives.