House of Blues: Hugh Laurie’s Let Them Talk

If you have spent much time in Starbuck’s lately, you have surely heard a good portion of British actor Hugh Laurie’s new CD, a tribute to the music of New Orleans. Though undeniably the beneficiary of a considerable marketing campaign, the man known as Dr. House can definitely carry a tune in his medical kit and has an agreeable touch on the ivories. Laurie explains his love for those Crescent City sounds and performs a set of jazz and blues standards in Great Performances’ Hugh Laurie: Let Them Talk (preview here), which premieres on most PBS stations this Friday.

In his introductory voice-over, Laurie tells viewers every man is entitled to one pilgrimage in his life. Laurie had the good taste to take his in NOLA. He took the scenic route getting there though, stopping off at bluesy-rootsy roadside attractions, like Euclid Records, whose mail-order operations are well beloved by many of us, and sitting in at Maggie Mae’s in Austen, Texas, with Miss Lavelle White, who can vocalize a mean harmonica.

Granted, just about anyone would sound okay fronting a band assembled by New Orleans R&B maestro Allen Toussaint, performing with special guests Irma Thomas and Sir Tom Jones. In truth though, Laurie is at least pretty good in his own right on vocals, piano, and a spot of guitar. He offers the appropriate support to Thomas, “The Soul Queen of New Orleans," on “John Henry” and backs up Jones nicely during “Baby Please Make a Change,” a soul shouter perfectly suited to the Welsh icon. Laurie also has a surprisingly strong left on the ivories, opening a real can of barrelhouse on “Swanee River” and gamely tackling the Professor Longhair classic “Tiptina.”

As a vocalist, Laurie has a strong, clear tone that expresses the plaintiveness of “St. James Infirmary” quite strikingly. Arranged with stately funkiness by Toussaint, it is obviously positioned as the concert’s showcase number, and rightly so. The highlight of the set, it is here that Laurie really puts his stamp on an old school New Orleans classic. It ought to be the title track, but it might have confused some of his House fans (though it sounds medical).

Mostly, Let Them Talk is a respectfully traditional celebration of the NOLA songbook, (though Laurie earns further credit for capturing Jelly Roll Morton’s idiosyncratic attitude in “Buddy Bolden’s Blues”). Much like the still vital local music scene one can find in the small clubs on Frenchmen Street, Laurie and Toussaint effortlessly blend jazz, blues, and R&B throughout the set. It is quite pleasant, but if it rocks your world, just wait until you check out the original recordings from Toussaint, Louis Armstrong, James Black, and ‘Fess Longhair.

While some of Laurie’s narration is a bit hokey, the music will remind many of us once again why we fell in love with New Orleans, which is what good valentines are supposed to do. There is one glaring misstep though: Toussaint’s band is never introduced on camera or allowed to take the bow they earned. An enjoyable love letter nonetheless, Laurie’s Let Them Talk airs on most PBS outlets this Friday (9/30), including New York’s Thirteen, as part of the current season of Great Performances.

Yeonghwa ’11: Hello Ghost

He wanted to become a ghost, but a failed suicide starts seeing them instead. Somewhat against his will, he becomes a good host, working diligently to grant their final wishes. While it starts out in a comedic vein (of both the broad and black varieties), as often happens in popular Korean films, heartstrings will be tugged hard in Kim Young-tak’s Hello Ghost (trailer here), which screens this afternoon during Yeonghwa: Korean Film Today, co-presented by MoMA and the Korea Society.

An orphan with no memory of his birth parents, Sang-man is ready to chuck it in, but he cannot get the job done. Waking up in the hospital, he quickly discovers he is the only one who can see the cherubic man chain smoking on his bed. It is the same for the bratty little boy, weeping woman, and crusty old man who start popping up unexpectedly. Little comes from his visit with the hospital’s shrink, but he certainly makes a strong impression on Jung Yun-soo, the cute nurse on-duty. Nevertheless, he will halting attempt to romance her as their paths continually cross. He will have the help of his spectral companions who promise to leave him be once he has helped them conclude their unfinished business.

It takes a long time for the ghosts’ backstories to be revealed, but when they are, it is waterworks time. You might kick yourself if you did not see the gist of it coming, but it all makes perfect sense in the way the film is presented. Indeed, despite a fair amount of physical possession gags a la Steve Martin in All of Me, Hello is much more in the tradition of Il Mare, the Korean tearjerker that Hollywood remade as The Lake House (copping out on the tragic ending). As it happens, an American remake of Hello is in development with Chris Columbus set to direct. However, those who want to see the concept while it is still original, mostly likely with less treacle and more angst, should catch Kim’s first take at MoMA.

As Sang-man, Cha Tae-hyun is not afraid to put the big “L” in loser. He also sells the big climax quite effectively. A luminous screen presence, Kang Hye-won is undeniably endearing as Jung. Yet, it is Jang Young-nam and Ko Chang-suk who really lower the emotional boom as the crying and smoking ghosts, respectively.

Frankly, American filmmakers (both studio and indie) have a hard time with honest sentiment. In contrast, the Korea film industry does not. Indeed, this is the sort of movie they do really well. Though nakedly manipulative, Hello pays off just the same. Recommended to those looking for a respite from irony, Hello screens again this afternoon (9/24) as Yeonghwa continues at MoMA.

Yeonghwa ’11: Rolling Home with a Bull

There were like a Korean Jules & Jim trio of friends, who dubbed themselves Peter, Paul & Mary. Peter was Mary’s recently deceased husband. He is also Paul’s old plough-driving bull. No, this is not a case of reincarnation, but there is plenty of karma in Yim Soon-rye’s Buddhist themed Rolling Home with a Bull (trailer here), which screens today as part of Yeonghwa: Korean Film Today, co-presented by MoMA and the Korea Society.

Sun-ho was Paul, the loser in the love triangle. A failed poet, he works on the family farm resenting every minute. After a typical argument with his father, Sun-ho packs up the old man’s beloved bull into the trailer and lights out for the livestock market. Finding no takers, he starts driving across Korea, looking for a buyer. Through the power of “life on the road,” he crosses paths with Mary, or Catherine to continue the Truffaut analogy. Her real name is Hyun-soo and she is still in mourning for her husband, Peter.

Interested in perhaps rekindling with Sun-ho, or at least achieving some proper closure, Hyun-soo initiates further encounters, but he is having none of it. At least the bull is starting to grow on him, which is why it irks him when Hyun-soo starts calling him Peter. However, his subconscious (or maybe the collective unconscious) is trying to tell him something important throughout his deceptively random pilgrimage.

Despite the rollicking title and the big snorting bull, Rolling is a deeply spiritual film. Though it does not completely ignore the comic possibilities of life on the road with an old grumpy cow, it treats the material very seriously. Much like Naoki Katô’s excellent Abraxas, Rolling takes what sounds like a sitcom premise and turns it into a sincere and thoughtful exploration of Buddhist tenets, particularly the need to let go of the past and embrace forgiveness.

Kim Young-pil and Kong Hyo-jin are nearly perfect together as Sun-ho and Hyun-soo, conveying all the painful history and lingering attraction that continues to entangle them. It is a well played and smartly scripted on-screen relationship that passes up several opportunities for neat and convenient conclusions, forcing the couple to really work through their issues. The bull is nice too.

Rolling is a richly rewarding film that sneaks up on viewers, bringing out hidden dimensions as it unspools. A real crowd pleaser, it has legitimate breakout commercial potential, but not as another exercise in quirky cuteness. Highly recommended, it screens again during Yeonghwa (that is Korean for “film”) this afternoon (9/23) at MoMA, so New Yorkers should contrive an excuse to sneak out of the office early.

Small Market Blues: Moneyball

In the dead of December, New York sports fans turn their attention to Major League Baseball’s Winter Meetings. Of course, Yankee fans are always hoping their well-heeled team pulls off a blockbuster deal. Yet, the business side of baseball holds a fascination, even for fans of so-called small market teams. Oakland A’s General Manager Billy Beane tried to radically alter the business operations of shallow-pocketed teams. His somewhat successful efforts spawned a host of imitators, a nonfiction bestseller from Michael “Liar’s Poker” Lewis, and a subsequent, long-in-development Hollywood adaptation, Bennett Miller’s Moneyball (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

As a teenager, Beane was recruited hard by MLB scouts. Foregoing a full-ride Stanford scholarship, Beane pursued glory on the baseball diamond and failed badly, scratching out a front office management career instead. As Moneyball opens, his team has just been knocked out of the post-season by the dreaded Yankees and is about to be gutted by free agency. With an owner unwilling to pony up the big bucks, Beane spurns the star system of free agency, using unconventional methods to select players.

With the help of his Ivy-League educated numbers cruncher, Beane signs statistically under-valued players, placing greater emphasis on on-base-percentage than sexier stats, like homeruns and stolen bases. This produces a roster full of players considered rejects by the sports media, because they mostly were. They were cheap though and could fulfill their specific roles.

Not surprisingly for a film co-written by Aaron Sorkin, Moneyball takes a few liberties with the historical record, ignoring the fact Beane’s predecessor (and current Mets GM) Sandy Alderson initiated the team’s “sabermetric” approach. Unfortunately, Alderson looks nothing like Brad Pitt, so that’s Hollywood for you. Using the Yankees as a symbol of large market imperialism is also getting to be a tired cliché, especially considering many of the plays of their late 1990’s championship team were farm system products.

However, for some baseball commentators, Moneyball’s depiction of A’s skipper Art Howe might prove to be the most controversial aspect of the film. As portrayed with icy reserve by Philip Seymour Hoffman, Howe appears to deliberately sabotage Beane’s attempts to reconfigure the team, but is only too happy to take the credit in the media when his efforts bear fruit. In fact, it seems as if Beane even does more nut-and-bolts coaching than Howe at the player level. Yet, Mets fans still trying to forget Howe’s disastrous two year stint at old Shea will probably have no trouble buying into it.

Regardless, for those who do not know or care who made the last out of the 2001 ALCS and baseball fans willing to allow for a bit of license, Moneyball is an engaging trip to the ballpark. The dialogue is sharp and snappy, which is impressive considering how much of it revolves around statistics. Whether truly accurate or not, its depiction of front office wheeling and dealing is also pretty entertaining.

Pitt certainly cranks up his star-power likability, but he also conveys a fair amount of grit as the sometimes mercurial GM. He develops a nice bantering rhythm with Jonah Hill, who is surprisingly grounded and convincing as his sabermetric lieutenant, Peter Brand, a fictionalized version of assistant GM Paul DePodesta. He also has some reasonably endearing chemistry with young Kerris Dorsey playing Beane’s daughter Casey. Indeed, it is a relationship just real enough to be humanizing, while sparing us any extraneous melodrama. Rest assured, there will be no homeruns dedicated to her while she recuperates in the hospital. Beane’s players are supposed to walk anyway.

Even though there is very little in-game action, Moneyball is a very good baseball movie. In a way though, it is paced much like the game itself. The faithful can get caught up scoring every pitch, while casual viewers can step out for a hotdog and easily pick up the narrative thread when they return. One of the smarter sports films of recent vintage that still wears its heart for the game on its sleeve, Moneyball opens nationwide today (9/23), including small markets.

Visions of a New China: Once Upon a Time Proletarian

At best, the peasants live at subsistence level. The workers are exploited and young entrepreneurs forgo today, to invest for the future. Yet, there are those making enormous sums of money and consuming conspicuously in contemporary China. Whether it is called globalism, crony capitalism, or old fashioned authoritarianism, Guo Xiaolu (born in China, based in Britain) gives a human face to those grappling with realities of today’s China in Once Upon a Time Proletarian (trailer here), which screens at the Asia Society this Sunday, launching their latest film series, Visions of a New China.

Like a documentary sampler platter, Proletarian presents twelve (or an uneven baker’s dozen) sketches of life in post-Olympics go-go China. Not surprisingly, the old peasant is bitter, expressing open nostalgia for the days of the Mao regime, when the peasantry was at the top of the country’s social hierarchy. Migrant workers are nearly as disillusioned, including those employed at luxury hotels. Though it might sound more pleasant than factory or farm work, their long shifts without bathroom breaks certainly would not pass muster with OSHA. Perhaps most intriguing is the young partner in a prospective chain of economy hotels. She is overseeing the construction of their second hotel, which when finished will cater to construction workers. That is one way to ensure quality control.

As connective tissue, Guo films young school children reading ironic stories (the term joke would be too strong) from their readers, which do not really relate to the following profiles per se, but express the peculiar zeitgeist of unbalanced times. Eventually though, Guo turns her camera on them in earnest, getting a sense of their personalities and ambitions. They are all bright and engaging. Indeed, they represent the best of their country’s future, yet for some reason, the government is trying its best to make them scarce (particularly the girls, who appear somewhat under-represented).

Though largely following in the recent tradition of so-called Digital Generation (or D-Generate) of independent filmmakers, Proletarian is far more cinematic. Guo captures a number of evocative images and her black-and-white transition scenes are actually quite stylish. As one might expect, there is also a lot of blight and angst in Proletarian, but its speed-documentary format lends it greater pacing and variety than the typical vérité films associated with the movement.

Yet, like many D-Generate filmmakers, Guo is rather subversive in her approach, challenging the Communist state with the values and vocabulary generally considered leftwing in any western context. Just to underscore the disconnect between rhetoric and reality, she concludes the film with Paul Robeson’s recording of the Soviet anthem, which is quickly drowned out by angry Chinese post-punk hardcore music. It is hard to miss that symbolism. An effective corrective to the PRC state hype machine, Proletarian is definitely recommended for China watchers when it kicks off the Visions of New China series at the Asia Society this Sunday afternoon (9/25).

HK Cinema at SFFS: Don’t Go Breaking My Heart

It must be a sign of the zeitgeist when HK action auteur Johnnie To and his frequent collaborator Wai Ka-fai set their latest film in the world of high finance in a deliberate attempt to appeal to Mainland audiences. What would Madame Mao say? Yet, their love triangle rom-dramedy is the sort of material that has appealed to average movie patrons for generations. Still, they do instill Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (trailer here) with enough in-the-now to make it quite a fitting and appropriate way to close the San Francisco Film Society’s first class Hong Kong Cinema series this coming Sunday.

Chang Zixin is smart enough to predict the recent global “hard correction,” but she is not so shrewd in love. Yet in a promising development, she has been flirting with the Cheung Shen-ran, whose fat corner office can be seen from her bullpen station. As will happen in rom-coms, he inadvertently asks both her and the hottie in the office below her out for coffee at the same time. In a moment of weakness, he chooses the one with the larger endowments and lives to regret it.

Cheung is not the only one interested in Chang. Fate also brought her together with Fang Qi-hong, a spiritually down-and-out architect, more interested in boozing than building. He gave her a little confidence after last break-up and she gave him her ex’s pet frog. She also inspired him to clean up his act and fall in love with her. Not so suddenly, the bottom falls out of the market, taking Cheung down with it. Three years later, he returns to the game as Chang’s new boss. Across the way, Fang’s new architectural firm has taken over Cheung old office space. Let the rivalry begin.

Despite the disruption of the financial bubble, Heart is not really about the sort-of-great crash. It is however, very definitely preoccupied with the near-misses and hyper-connected loneliness of contemporary urban professionals. For its three principals, the mere act of making a connection must be significant, because it is so unlikely.

Yet, if it all sounds dour and serious, rest assured To and Wai keep the tone largely towards the lighter side. They also have the benefit of three ridiculously attractive primary cast members, as well as To regular Suet Lam as an office manager very much in the Ricky Gervais tradition. However, Gao Yaunyuan’s Chang is so radiantly cute, it is hard to understand how the heck Cheung keeps blowing it with her. Not just a HK Bridget Jones, she is actually a smart, self-aware fully-dimensional woman.

Frankly, the degree to which To and Wai stack the deck in favor of Fang eventually becomes a tad ridiculous. The comfortable old-shoe charisma Daniel Wu projects as Fang further exaggerates the disparity between her suitors. While he might be rich, it is hard to fathom how Louis Ko’s preening smugness as Cheung could be appealing to anyone. Still, Chang’s investment of time and emotional commitment is understandably difficult to walk away from.

Considering how unbalanced it is, Heart ought to be termed an isosceles love triangle. Yet, somehow To, Wai, Gao, and basic human nature maintain a sense of uncertainty as to whom she will ultimately choose. That is saying something for this genre. Stylish executed (even with the 1980’s-ish pop and smooth jazz soundtrack), Heart even features an enormous CGI-skyscraper, rising as triumphant testimony to the power of love. Lehman Brothers references notwithstanding, it is essentially a old school movie romance and a rather satisfying one at that. Though doubtlessly a disappointment for most To fans, Heart will be a pleasant conclusion to the Hong Kong Cinema series this coming Sunday (9/25) at the New People Cinema in San Francisco.

Journey from Zanskar: Geshe Lobsang Yonten, Hero of the Himalayans

The geography of Zanskar is decidedly harsh. While physically cold and arid, its position as a minority Buddhist enclave amid the tinder box of Kashmir is politically and culturally precarious. As a result, the needs of Zanskaris, particularly the education of their children, have not exactly been a high priority for either the national or local Indian authorities. Concerned with the nearly uniform illiteracy in Zanskar and the potential extinction of the Tibetan language, two monks led a group of Zanskari children to distant Manali, where a place in school and hope for a better life awaited them. Their arduous trek is documented in Frederick Marx's Journey from Zanskar: a Monk’s Vow to Children (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday.

In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, “Geshe” is an honorific bestowed on the completion of an advanced course of academic studies. As a Geshe originally from Zanskar, Geshe Lobsang Yonten keenly understood the value education and was alarmed by the lack of opportunities for children in his native region. Identifying Zanskar’s most promising children, the Geshe and his order arrange their enrollment at a school in Manali, where they will be taught both Tibetan and western academic curriculum. However, getting there will be a trick.

The eastern route is considered the most dangerous, due to the Muslim extremists who frequently murder Buddhists on the roads near Pakistan. There is little risk of such violence on the western route, but it leaves them more beholden to the elements. The direct route, it would take the monks, their young charges, and the accompanying parents, over a series of mountains passes, by foot, in frigid temperatures and altitudes reaching 17,000 feet. They chose the latter (and according to Marx during a Q&A session at the Rubin Museum of Art last year, it almost killed him).

The most striking aspect of Journey is the charisma of its subjects. Though the trip wears on the Geshe as well, he exudes indomitable charm and remarkable optimism throughout their odyssey. Likewise, the kids all seem to have smiles that could light up any room. Their spirit is best represented by a scene late in the picture, when one boy tasting his first sample of nuts ever, reaches over to share with Marx.

Journey might be somewhat manipulative, but it absolutely works. Audiences will definitely root for these kids and feel for their parents, who essentially must give them up for years, in order for them to have better opportunities in life. Marx, best known as one of the filmmakers of Hoop Dreams, also deserves credit as a documentarian (along with primary cinematographer Nick Sherman), both for enduring the elements and exhaustion for the sake of the film, as well as for scrupulously keeping himself out of the picture, instead focusing exclusively on the monks and the children.

Watching Journey, it is clear these are good-hearted kids who deserve a better life. Viewers who want to help the monks’ efforts to build a school for them in Zanskar should visit savezanskar.org. A genuinely moving, highly recommended film, Journey begins its regular New York, Oscar-qualifying theatrical engagement this Friday (9/23) at the Quad Cinema.

Chris Evans Goes Grunge: Puncture

Would you hire a tattooed barely functioning drug addict to litigate a major anti-trust case? Mike Weiss made A Civil Action’s Jan Schlictmann look like a corporate clock-watcher. He got better results too, despite burning out spectacularly. His tragically flawed character is portrayed with intriguing nuance, whereas his final case is presented in the most manipulatively simplistic terms possible in Adam and Mark Kassen’s based-on-a-true-story Puncture (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Weiss is something of a junkie savant, whose drug fueled benders produce flashes of legal brilliance. He and his more conventional partner Paul Danziger get by on a combination of ambulance chaser and referrals from Houston wheeler-dealer Daryl King. The latest cast-off from their connected friend’s firm involves a nurse, Vicky Rogers, who contracted AIDS from an infected needle.

Through Rogers, Weiss and Danziger meet her mad inventor friend, Jeffrey Dancourt, who developed a safety syringe that would prevent future accidental needle sticks. Yet, hospitals are unwilling or unable to buy it. Evidently, the group purchasing organizations (GPO) designed to give health providers greater buying clout are only interested in buying from their cronies.

Not surprisingly, Puncture ignores the obvious irony that Obamacare is ostensibly built upon the same principle of greater economies through fewer purchasers that is supposedly so nefarious in GPOs. It is not big on irony in general, presenting Weiss and Danziger as earnest legal crusaders, even as the former sinks further into a drug-induced haze. In fact, the film’s greatest moment of clarity comes from a sympathetic senator, who bluntly tells the increasingly erratic Weiss his cause is just, but he is so toxic, she could never invite him to testify before her committee.

Chris Evans does manic grunge shockingly well, conveying Weiss’s descent with compelling honesty and directness. Who knew he had it in him? If Puncture were more Lost Weekend and less Silkwood, it would have been a much more effective film. Instead, we have to sit through lectures from Michael Biehn’s “Red,” a character who seems to exist only to explain how awful plastic syringes have been for the third world. The film is practically like Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest, yelling “no plastic needles.”

Despite the film’s determination to play it safe, Evans gets some distinctive support from Marshall Bell as the socially awkward Dancourt and Brett Cullen as the silky smooth corporate attorney Nathaniel Price. Unfortunately, co-director Mark Kassen proves to be fairly middling on both sides of the camera, coming across dull instead of memorably nebbish as the second banana, Danziger.

In Puncture, Evans proves he can carry a film otherwise saddled with a by-the-numbers predictability. While it might be an important film for his professional development, it is not something movie patrons need to rush out and see ASAP. A so-so outing in nearly every other respect, Puncture opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

HK at SFFS: Echoes of the Rainbow

Fifty years ago, there were still quiet family neighborhoods in Hong Kong, where everyone knew everyone’s business. Writer-director Alex Law pays tribute to this innocent world of his youth gone by in the unabashedly sentimental Echoes of the Rainbow (trailer here), Hong Kong’s recent official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which screens during the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema showcase.

Shot on-location around historic Wing Lee Street, Rainbow saved that last remnant of “old” (meaning 1960’s era) Hong Kong from redevelopment after his partly autobiographical feature won the 2010 Berlin Film Festival’s Crystal Bear in the children’s division. Run down but respectable, it is a neighborhood where a cobbler’s family might live. Times are difficult, but the Law Family sacrifices for the sake of older brother Desmond’s education. A star in the classroom and on the track field, all their hopes rest in him.

As for the slightly klepto younger brother, not so much, but “Big Ears” has his own dreams of becoming an astronaut. This explains the fishbowl he often wears around town like a space-helmet. In fact, fish factor prominently in Rainbow. Desmond fights and bonds with his younger brother over the fish they keep. Fish also play a role in the older Law’s tentative courtship of the ridiculously cute Flora. Unfortunately, just about every imaginable tear-jerking complication will thwart their budding romance.

There is absolutely no irony in Rainbow—zero, none. Instead, it wears its heart on its sleeve, which is completely endearing. Buzz Chung is a legitimately charismatic young actor, who handles Big Ears’ heavy dramatic moments quite convincingly. Whereas the photogenic Aarif Rahman and Evelyn Choi should also well satisfy tweener fans of sappy CW/WB youth soaps.

However, Simon Lam provides the real heart of the film as Mr. Law. His initial appearance is deceptively simple, a grunting man hunched over his workbench. Slowly but surely, Lam expresses with exquisite nuance all the dignity, humility, and desperation of a father who only wants a better life for his sons. It is also rewarding for American audiences to watch Lam in such a departure from his frequent gangster roles in Johnnie To movies (even though those are profoundly cool). Known more for comedic turns, Sandra Oh does a bit of fast-talking as Mrs. Law, but develops some genuinely touching chemistry with Lam. Together, they are simply devastating in late scenes, as they struggle to save their son.

Shot with gauzy sensitivity by cinematographer Charlie Lam, every aspect of Rainbow aches with wistful nostalgia. While it might sound melodramatic at times, the film’s honesty and sweetness cannot be denied. Though probably too tragic for small children, many parents and pre-teens should find it an engaging respite from the jaded cynicism of Hollywood. Yet another official foreign language Oscar submission that is considerably better than this year’s winner, Rainbow screens Saturday (9/25) at the New Peoples Cinema as part of SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

King of Clubs: Limelight

Believe it or not, the one-time undisputed king of the New York nightclub scene originally hailed from Canada. Former club kids of a certain age will know that could only be one man: Peter Gatien, the controversial figure behind legendary night-spots including the Limelight, Paladium, and Club U.S.A. His spectacular rise and epic legal battles are chronicled in Billy Corben’s latest documentary, Limelight (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Though a teenage hockey incident resulted in Gatien’s trademark eye-patch, he quickly embraced the roguish image it lent him. An entrepreneur at an early age, he used the compensation from the accident to start his first venture. Hearing of a bankrupt club in Miami, Gatien scooped it up and turned it around in record time. He quickly became the nightclub king of Florida, but in his business, he knew New York was not just the big leagues, it was the only game that counted.

Of course, Gatien made it here and stayed on top for quite a while. Indeed, some of the best sequences of the film explain how he manufactured his clubs’ popularity, identifying and co-opting the right club kids to bring in their friends, knowing the suburban wannabes would follow. Some peer leaders turned out to be a bit unsavory and just about all of them did drugs. For years, Gatien was hounded by charges of facilitating drug commerce, but not directly trafficking himself. Unfortunately, the film unambiguously suggests Gatien fell for the wrong woman who opened him up for specific financial prosecutions, as well.

Though he beat the drug related charges fair-and-square, the film rather protests too much when it frequently complains Gatien was persecuted by the zero-tolerance Giuliani administration. Do not even try to tell us Gatien did not understand illegal substances were indirectly fueling his businesses. After all, Limelight is directed by Billy Corben, the man who made Square Grouper and the Cocaine Cowboys movies. Drug docs are what he does (and that’s cool). Just level with us: the music was kicking, the drugs were flowing, and it was awesome.

In that spirit, Limelight is quite an entertaining hybrid of true crime and Behind the Music-style documentaries. Corben easily exceeds the scandal quota, which is a good thing, whereas the reflective but still steely looking Gatien is definitely an interview subject who came to play. In fact, he seems to cry out for a bio-pic starring James Woods. The blue-tinged neon lighting is also a nice touch, setting the right smoky, after hours mood.

Corben knows this beat and he keeps pace brisk. However, as a rather successful filmmaker, certainly by documentary standards, one would hope he could afford better looking graphics by now. While ultimately they are neither here nor there, their cheesy look is a bit of a distraction from the business at hand. Regardless, Limelight is an enjoyable tell-all reminiscence of slightly old school New York, recommended to the nostalgic and the gawkers when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Eastern Ecumenicalism: In Search of God

If you are taking a pilgrimage to find God, you might as well go someplace with nice scenery. Kavita Srinivasan would agree. Feeling a tad disillusioned with Hollywood (oh really, why?), she set out to reconnect with God or something big and meaningful on the idyllic island of Majuli in Northeast India. Her quest is documented in Rupam Sarmah’s In Search of God (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

As Search opens, we see Srinivasan living the Sex in the City life with her shallow friends in distractingly staged scenes. Arriving on Majuli, she is met by the monk another more substantial friend arranged to serve as her spiritual Sherpa. Bizarrely, she starts flirting Baba Ram Saikia something fierce. Patiently, the young monk takes her on a tour of Majuli’s monasteries, shrines, and scenes of divine natural beauty, all of which makes quite an impression on the pilgrim.

She might be cute, but Srinivasan is not the most incisive interviewer, asking questions like: “what do you think about God and religion?” However, the holy men are evidently indulgent enough to craft some surprisingly insightful answers. Perhaps not unexpectedly, strong parallels emerge between the moral imperatives of Vaishnavist Hinduism and Christianity. In fact, when blessing Srinivasan’s pilgrimage, a Catholic priest on the mainland uses terms suggestive of a universal ecumenicalism.

At one point, Srinivasan expresses surprise at the notion religion is something created by God to unite people, reflexively repeating old clichés about religion only leading only to division and strife. Yet, to her credit, she starts to wonder whether the opposite might be true—that a little more religious belief might lead to more peace. It certainly seems to be true on Majuli. Still, there are some issues she steadfastly refuses to plumb, such as the traditional gender roles reflected in the exclusively male sacred dances performed by her guide and his novices.

Search is well intentioned and could even provide some grist for future meditation. Frankly though, it would not kill Srinivasan to hit the books a little harder before her next documentary foray. With a sixty minute running time, it is definitely a bite sized sampler of primarily Hindu religious philosophy, but for those looking for the tour bus perspective, it might be serviceable. Whether it justifies the ticket price is another matter, but it does include the meaning of life as an extra added bonus when it opens this Friday (9/23) at New York’s IFC Center and the Laemmle Sunset 5 in greater Los Angeles.

HK Cinema at SFFS: Punished

Wong Ho-chiu is the sort of tycoon who has an ex-con on staff, just in case things need taking care. Indeed, they will. The iron-willed developer is not the sort of man you want to make an enemy of. Yet a small band of kidnappers does exactly that in Law Wing-cheong’s Punished (trailer here), which screens Saturday night as part of the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

The hard partying Daisy Wong expects her father to fund her dissolute lifestyle, despite her frequent tantrums. Wong is not inclined to indulge her, but his younger second wife and bodyguard-slash-whatever Chor do their best to cool his temper. When she is abducted, he half-suspects she is complicit in the crime. Alas, not so. After things go profoundly badly, the distraught Wong turns to Chor to provide him a measure of justice, revenge, or closure. For Wong, they are all more or less the same thing.

Produced by HK action auteur Johnnie To, Punished is quite restrained compared to his thematically related Vengeance. Indeed, Punished is more in the tradition of the moody, psychologically tormented first Death Wish film, rather than the body count-generating sequels that followed. Still, Chor has a job to do and he is the man to do it.

To regular (including in the aforementioned Vengeance) Anthony Wong is about the flintiest, steeliest older cat appearing in film today. He makes Tommy Lee Jones look like a weak-kneed old softy. While as hardnosed as ever, Wong (as Wong) forcefully conveys the father’s grief, guilt, and existential self-doubt, shockingly so, in fact. Likewise, Richie Ren (another To regular) is quite compelling and grounded as the avenging everyman anti-hero, Chor. Law and screenwriter Chi Keung-fung wisely hint at his checkered past and strained personal relationships instead of spelling out his back-story in painful detail. When the game is on though, he is all business. In the solid supporting ensemble, Maggie Cheung Ho-yee (the other one) also makes a strong impression as Wong’s smart, sophisticated pseudo-trophy wife.

While Ren administers some serious beatdowns, Punished is really a dark morality play about the ultimate costs of retribution. It might end on a nakedly manipulative note, but Wong and Ren totally sell it, nonetheless. A raw, muscular film, Punished is definitely one of the highlights of the SFFS’s HK series. Highly recommended, it screens Saturday night (9/24) at the New Peoples Cinema.

There Was Once . . . A Small Town in Hungary

Kalocsa’s synagogue was built with 40,000 bricks donated by the Archbishop, the town’s feudal ruling authority. Though relatively small in number, Kalocsa’s Jewish citizens were an integral part of the town economy and the backbone of its middle class. Surely there was the occasional expression of anti-Semitism, but none of the town’s surviving deportees remembered any before the War reached Kalocsa in earnest. Researching Kalocsa’s history, local high school teacher Gyöngyi Mago was alarmed by how few traces remained of the town’s once thriving Jewish population. Hoping to record their history and erect a proper memorial, Mago contacted every survivor she could track down, including filmmaker Gabor Kalman, who documented her efforts in There Was Once . . (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Though it still stands, the Kalocsa synagogue had been repurposed several times for secular uses. As a result, the commemorative tablets listing the names of Kalocsa citizens murdered in the Holocaust was moved to Budapest. Mago hopes to return them to the town as part of a memorial ceremony. Both the current archbishop and the town’s mayor are supportive of the idea, as is Kalman and several other former Kalocsa deportees. However, there are vague rumblings heard from Hungary’s new militant extremist party, clearly modeled on the Arrow Cross. Yet, with the official establishment firmly on-board, things proceed orderly enough.

On one level, TWO is a pretty compelling case-study of the Hungarian Jewry experience in the Twentieth Century. As a historian, Mago makes a particularly salient point explaining how Communism compounded the tragedy of the Holocaust. In fact, many more Jewish Hungarians returned to their homes than is often commonly understood. However, when they saw the inevitable rise of another totalitarian regime, they reluctantly emigrated, applying the hard learned lessons of history.

Shockingly, an ugly crime mars Mago’s carefully planned ceremony. However, this incident is left conspicuously unresolved, which gives the film an unbalanced feeling. While it raises some concerns for Mago and her family, the film concludes with something of a passing of the familial torch that should leave viewers satisfied and even inspired, nonetheless.

TWO is traditional in its approach, but obviously such subject matter resists unconventional treatment. Mago and Kalman relate tragic family histories with sensitivity and insight. Indeed, the notions of documenter and documented mix together, with Mago the historian recording the oral history of her subject, Kalman, while his camera captures Mago at work as an activist historian.

Throughout TWO, Kalocsa outwardly looks like a beautiful and inviting city. It would almost be a perfect film for the tourism bureau, were it not for the somewhat unsettling third act. Yet, everyone speaking on camera says all the right things. It is hard to underestimate the lingering psychological damage wrought by years of fascism and Communism, manifested in the Neo-Nazi-Arrow Cross wannabes. That is why the everyday heroics of Mago are so significant and why Kalman performs such a service in recording them. Informative and at times quite moving, TWO is definitely recommended when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York at the IFC Center and in greater Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5.

Funk Ed: Thunder Soul

Conrad Johnson was like a real life Mr. Holland, but hipper and more soulful. Under his direction, the predominantly African American Kashmere High School’s stage band became one of the funkiest ensembles in the country, regardless of age or professional status. His lessons and example extended far beyond music though. For many Kashmere band alumni, words were inadequate to express their feelings for the man they called “Prof.,” but music could. Their reunion-tribute concert serves as the catalyst for Mark Landsman’s documentary, Thunder Soul (trailer here), “presented by” executive producer Jaime Foxx, which opens this Friday in New York.

By the early 1970’s, big band jazz had found a toe-hold in many high schools, but most of the charts they played were largely derived from the Stan Kenton band’s book. That is all fine and good, but Kashmere did not play anything so staid. A professional musician who chose the security of teaching, Johnson wrote some of the hardest grooving instrumental funk charts maybe ever for the enthusiastic Kashmere band. Featuring driving bass lines, blistering horn solos, and outrageous drum breaks, the Kashmere band’s self-produced recordings became highly sought after by collectors and spinners, long after Johnson retired. Hearing samples of these tracks in Thunder is a revelation.

The Kashmere band swept student competitions, overwhelming their Kentonesque competition. Their winning ways ignited a renaissance of accomplishment at the school, inspiring championship seasons for all Kashmere’s athletic teams and swelling the ranks of the honor society. Invited on international tours, the Kashmere band learned to think big. However, at the height of their legitimate fame, a new bureaucrat was appointed principal, who was confused by achievement. Essentially hounding Prof. Johnson into retirement, his leveling wind leveled Kashmere into a school currently facing potential closure. One wonders if Landsman tried to track him down, because his mea culpa moment is the only thing missing in Thunder.

Many of Johnson’s students credit him for keeping them engaged in school and safely on the straight-and-narrow. Several bluntly say he is the primary reason they are alive today. Aware his health is failing, former student Craig Baldwin assembles a reunion band to give thanks to their beloved bandleader. Quite a few of the Kashmere alumni had not touched their instruments since they graduated—and it sounded that way at first. Somehow, Baldwin whips them into fighting shape, in time to give their mentor a smoking command performance, complete with a feat of circular breathing worthy of Rahsaan Roland Kirk.

As documentaries go, Thunder is pretty close to perfect. Landsman keeps the film grounded in the music, without ignoring the human element. The audience meets nearly all the alumni band members, but mostly just to get a sense of Johnson’s light, as reflected by them. When the big emotional payoff comes, it is heavy and well-earned. Most importantly though, the music grooves infectiously.

Thunder is a sad reminder of how much was lost by the International Association of Jazz Educator’s premature death by financial mismanagement. Their annual conventions used to be a great opportunity to hear remarkably talented school bands jam with the pros. It has left a void for the dedicated high school bandleaders who have followed in Johnson’s footsteps. Regardless, Prof. Johnson’s story proves great teachers can make a real and lasting difference in the lives of their students. Truly inspiring and seriously funky, Thunder is a great doc, earnestly recommended when it opens this Friday (9/23) in New York and Austin, Texas at the Alamo Drafthouse.

HK Cinema at SFFS: City Under Siege

Prepare to watch the themes and motifs of the Marvel superhero universe get put through a HK action blender. As the Marvel editors used to say in the 1980’s: ‘nuff said. Produced before his recent epic Shaolin as well as the 3-D blockbuster Captain America (that it parallels in unlikely ways), Benny Chan’s clobbering City Under Siege (down-to-business trailer here), screens this Saturday as part of the San Francisco Film Society’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

In a secret bunker in Malaysia, the Imperial Japanese military was perfecting their super-soldier formula. The results were not pretty to look at, but undeniably effective. Fortunately, an allied bombing raid halted the program in its tracks. In more or less present day, Twin-Dagger Sunny is a terrible circus performer, stuck playing the sad clown because nobody trusts him throwing knives. A bit Gumpish, Sunny is forced to help some of his less savory circus colleagues looking to plunder gold from the secret Japanese bunker. Of course, the knuckleheads accidentally let loose a major dose of the mutant soldier formula.

Yet, for reasons never coherently explained, the chemical compounds do not affect Sunny in the same manner as the others. Washing up on the Hong Kong shore (through a set of circumstances borrowing heavily from Dracula), Twin-Dagger finds himself in the Klump fat suit, but once he dries out he resumes his normal skin-and-bones body weight. Somewhat relieved, he happily stumbles across Angel Chan, the gorgeous newscaster who captures his improvised super-heroics on film.

Suffering from the criminal mayhem of Sunny’s freaky-looking fellow mutants, Hong Kong needs a hero. Seizing the opportunity, Chan becomes his agent, putting the affable Sunny on a full media tour (Steve Rogers, can you relate?). They also have the dubious protection of permanently engaged Men-in-Black, Sun “Old Man” Hao and Cheng “Tai” Xiuhua, who are using him as bait to draw in the marauding mutants. Right, good plan.

It is important to understand Aaron Kwok is a huge pop star in Hong Kong, because his underwhelming screen presence does not help Siege anymore than it did Christina Yao’s otherwise striking Empire of Silver. Still, Siege’s all-star ensemble and Benny Chan’s razzle dazzle largely compensate for the weak protagonist.

Frankly, martial arts up-and-comer Wu Jing almost usurps Kwok’s Twin-Dagger, capably carrying the film as Agent “Old Man,” while the charismatic Jingchu Zhang holds her own kicking butt as his intended. Their weaponized acupuncture is also a cool twist, neatly choreographed by action directors Ma Yuk-sing and Li Chung-chi. With Shu Qi looking radiant enough to convincingly inspire the monstrous chief mutant’s beauty-and-the-beast affections and enough pyrotechnics to level a mid-sized city, Siege pretty much hits all the bases.

Sure, Siege can be a touch melodramatic and over-the-top. It is a HK genre film. Viewers have to check their film snobbery and the door and get down with the chaos. There is definitely a lot of the latter, rendered with appropriate adrenaline. It also suggests the action pairing of Wu Jing and Jingchu Zhang is worth repeating in future films. Highly entertaining for fanboys, Siege screens Saturday afternoon (9/24) and Sunday evening (9/25) at the New Peoples Cinema as part of SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema showcase.

HK Cinema at SFFS: Mr. and Mrs. Incredible

They are Imperial China’s answer to Brangelina and Pixar’s Incredibles. They were legit crime-fighting superheroes, but Gazer Warrior and Aroma Warrior fell in love, retiring incognito to a remote provincial village. Yet, like ex-football quarterbacks, they get pulled back into the game in Vincent Kok’s Mr. and Mrs. Incredible (wacky trailer here), which screens this coming Friday when the San Francisco Film Society’s upcoming Hong Kong Cinema series inaugurates their new residency at the New Peoples Cinema.

Now known as Flint, the head of the guard for their sleepy village, Gazer can still fire off his laser eye-beams. Aroma, the former avenger of domestic abuse, is now a happy wife and greasy spoon proprietor called Rouge. She wields the aroma force-palm and the power to cloud men’s minds with scent. They both are also strong, fast, and well neigh invulnerable. They did not even fight much, until an official delegation came to town.

Something is not right about the competition, ostensibly called to re-rank the various martial arts disciplines away from the gossipy imperial court. However, the HK Incredibles are distracted by their first marital squabble. Rouge slightly resents the attention Flint is paying to Phoenix Bleu, one of the martial arts apprentices, who once had a close encounter with the masked Gazer as a little girl. She is drawn to Flint because he reminds her of her hero, for good reason.

The humor of Incredible is decidedly goof-ball, but by-and-large, it is an amiable tribute to marital love, honor, and commitment. While the slightly suggestive references are not infrequent, they are veiled enough to be lost on the target audience for the slapstick mayhem. In fact, it is somewhat similar in tone to Stephen Chow’s films, like CJ7, which Kok co-wrote and featured his Incredible co-writer, Min Hun-fung in a supporting role. It even has the occasional animatronic critter to strengthen the comparison.

Louis Koo and Sandra Ng Kwun-yu are pleasantly comfortable as the super spouses, developing some nice easy chemistry together. Li Qin is quite charming as Phoenix Bleu, but unfortunately, Kok completely forgets about her throughout the third act. Wang Bo-chieh has the right creepy vibe, but he is a bit too reserved as the villainous Grandmaster Blanc. He should be gorging on the scenery in a film like this. However, there are plenty of odd looking characters in the supporting cast to help maintain the comic book atmosphere.

Wisely, Kok never indulges in any frenetic shaky cam excesses, keeping the action clear and easy to follow. Incredible also has some surprisingly striking imagery, including a cool motion comic-style opening credit sequence and an artful rendering of some shadow puppetry. There are nose-picking gags too. Safe and silly, but likable enough for those in a like mood, Incredible screens Friday night (9/23) and Sunday afternoon (9/25) at the New People Cinema as part of the SFFS’s Hong Kong Cinema series.

Fei Mu at FSLC: Song of China

Confucianism and Communism have an uneasy history. The current regime has tried to coop its ethical authority. However, during the oppressive Maoist era, Confucianism was consistently condemned, violently so during the Cultural Revolution. Considering one of Fei Mu’s few surviving pre-WWII films, Song of China (as it is known in the west) was explicitly inspired by Confucian ideals, it is hardly surprising his reputation languished for years. Recently though, Fei Mu has come to be recognized as arguably the greatest Chinese filmmaker of the first half of the twentieth century, based on the strength of films like Song, which screens this Sunday as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s An Undiscovered Master: Fei Mu retrospective.

Song is all about filial piety. In fact, that is sort of-kind of what its untranslatable Confucian Chinese title means. A grown man rushes to his father’s deathbed. Though a bit of the prodigal, he has not been a bad son, arriving in time to experience closure with his father. As part of his loving farewell, the old man entreats his son to love the young and the old as he would his own family.

Flashing forward a generation, we see the old man’s grandson and his wife have become hedonistic wastrels, often leaving their son in the care of the original son and his wife. While they keep trying to nudge the couple towards a righteous life, the two will have none of it. The snotty wife even helps lead her sister-in-law astray, but at least young boy displays the virtues his parents lack.

Spanning decades and generations, Song is the sort of family saga that would probably run about two and a half hours if remade by Hollywood, yet Fei Mu wrapped it up in just over forty-five minutes. Call it narrative inflation. Though now it would be deemed a “short,” Song was considered the first Chinese art house feature to receive American distribution outside of “Chinatown” enclaves. Licensed by silent film star turned producer Douglas MacLean, it attracted respectable attention, but its foreign sales were not sufficient to save the factionally divided Lianhua Film Company.

Indeed, classifying Song is a bit of trick. Most would consider it a silent film, since it relies on inter-titles rather than dialogue. However, the original score was an integral part of the production, incorporating traditional instrumentation but diverse styles.

Compared to many silent films, Song’s restrained cast is never at risk of appearing corny by contemporary standards. In fact, Zheng Junli is quite compelling, aging gracefully but convincingly as the faithful son, father, and public benefactor. Unfortunately, despite trying to throw his lot in with the new regime, the leftist actor-director never successfully navigated the torturous politically straits, suffering greatly during the Cultural Revolution.

Although very much a film of moral instruction, Song is still quite engaging cinema. Yet, it is the director’s sad and beautiful Spring in a Small Town that truly approaches masterpiece status. A genuinely humanistic filmmaker nearly cast into oblivion by an inhumane ideology, Fei Mu is definitely a figure ripe for wider discovery amongst cineastes. The highly recommended Song screens again Sunday (9/18), while the even more highly recommended Spring screens today (9/17) and tomorrow at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the FSLC’s Fei Mu retrospective.

Exploiting Peckinpah: the Straw Dogs Remake

“Dueling Banjos” must be expensive music to license. It is about the only thing missing from the formerly indie Rod Lurie’s red state-phobic remake of Sam Peckinpah’s career-defining film, Straw Dogs. Transferred from the English countryside to the Deep South, the once edgy examination of violent human nature is now a standard issue killer hillbilly movie (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

The prodigal television ingénue Amy Sumner tells her screenwriter husband David her hometown of Blackwater, Mississippi is properly pronounced “Backwater.” There you have the film’s flash of wit. It also tells viewers what to expect of the locals. Everyone watched her canceled show, including her former high school beau Charlie Venner, whom her husband hires to fix their hurricane damaged barn. In retrospect, this is a bad idea.

Venner, his brother Darryl, his other brother Darryl, and their wacky next door neighbor, the unmistakably psychotic Norm, do not exactly hustle on the job, taking plenty of breaks to leer at her and deride his manhood, such as it is. Things quickly escalate when one of the good old boys strings up the family cat in their closet. Yet, Sumner will not confront them directly, preferring to confuse them with his cryptic beating around the bush. Eventually though, things get way out of hand, forcing Sumner to defend home, hearth, and Jeremy Niles, a developmentally disabled grown man with an implied history of inappropriate behavior, whom the gruesome foursome and their former football coach, Tom Heddon, are out to lynch.

Strangely, Lurie’s adaptation hardly ever deviates from the basic structure of Peckinpah’s original, yet he clearly has no clue what made it so effective. For one thing, the 1971 film pulled a cultural reverse, unleashing a violent maelstrom against the picturesque backdrop of Cornwall, while casting a Yank as the pacifist victim. However, a city slicker terrorized by a pack of southern hicks is a real dog-bites-man story in Hollywood.

As a nebbish mathematician, the responses of Dustin Hoffman’s Sumner also made more sense in the context of Peckinpah’s film. It is not hard to imagine he might have been bullied before and is reverting to old survival strategies in his attempts to befriend his antagonists. In contrast, James Marsden’s snobby jag-driving outspokenly atheistic screenwriter never seemed to have a bad day in his life before he got to Blackwater. Frankly, Venner might be a knuckle-dragging neanderthal, but he has a point when he tells Sumner it was rude to walk out during the pastor’s sermon. Of course, in real life he should not be brutalized for such boorishness, but in a sleazy exploitation film (which is really what the new Straw is) it is a close call.

There is no question Lurie is demonizing the gun-and-religion clinging Red-Staters, but at least he refrains from playing the race card in his Straw. Though savage, Venner and his crew are really not portrayed as racists, per se. In fact, they more or less respect the town’s African American lawman, Iraq War hero John Burke. Of course, as an authority figure, they still have problems with him.

At least Lurie gets down to business during the climatic siege, delivering the old school payback with efficient directness, though again he more or less replicates the methods of execution employed in the original film. He also includes the notorious rape scene as well, but the reactions of Kate Bosworth’s Amy Sumner are never ambiguous (indeed, it is hard to blame him for “wimping out” in this respect).

Marsden and Bosworth make a pretty dull, unlikable couple. Alexander Skarsgård is not a particularly flamboyant villain either, but at least he adds an intriguing dimension, hinting at Venner’s possible sense of remorse. Naturally, it is up to James Woods to ham it up something fierce as Coach Heddon, a mean drunk if ever there was one.

It is hard to understand why this film was produced. If Lurie wanted to make a southern fried grindhouse movie, he should have done so without invoking comparison to such a controversial (and superior) film. Faithfully violent but often outright silly, Lurie’s Straw is just about what you think it is. Not recommended (except perhaps as an ironic trip to the drive-in for fly-over country), it opens today (9/16) in several New York theaters, including the Regal Battery Park.

Tykwer’s 3

Simon has a cool job. He constructs industrial sculptures and corporate logos. He also has a pregnant wife, a male lover, and regular chemotherapy treatments. Holy Cats, it’s like the 2.0 release of the old Friends sitcom in Tom Tykwer’s reality-challenged wish fulfillment threesome drama 3 (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Hanna was not there when Simon was whisked off for an emergency procedure, because she was busy getting some with Adam. At least she does her level best to be there for her longtime partner during his recovery. In fact, their relationship improves to the point they decide to finally get hitched. They still guard their private time though. Hanna likes to nip away for the occasional quickie with Adam, while Simon swims laps at a cool looking pre-fab retro-modern indoor pool. He also engages in more than your basic congressional towel-snapping in the locker room with the very same Adam.

As expected, it is only a matter of time before Simon and Hanna show up as a couple at a hipster soiree Adam also happens to attend. Predictably, we witness a series of near misses, hasty retreats, and longing glances. Of course, if Tykwer does not put all three together in a room soon enough, audiences would demand their money back. A fair amount of melodrama follows, but everyone knows exactly where it is headed, since the one-sheet and even the very title give the game away.

The best part of 3 is the cool contemporary architecture of Tykwer’s locations, showing areas of Berlin rarely seen on film. The rest is pretty middling stuff, aside from a rather gross bit of business with bodily secretions. (Those who enjoy that in film should have the opportunity, but it ought to be properly labeled so it does not scandalize naïve Sex & Zen reviewing film writers.) However, probably the most shocking aspect of 3 is how pokey it is during the long second act, considering it was helmed by the director of Run, Lola, Run.

Maybe some will find the two male leads appealing, but it is hard to understand their shared interest in Sophie Rois’s Hanna, who is not very attractive on any level. As the mysterious other man times two, Devid Striesow seems to be doing a young Rutger Hauer impression, well enough one supposes. Without question, the strongest work in the film comes from Sebastian Schipper, whose Simon is pretty credible grappling with some big issues, like cancer and his sexuality.

Tykwer still has a sense of visual flair, even if his pacing is uncharacteristically sluggish. It is just very difficult to invest in at least two sides of the relationship triangle. Not recommended, 3 is basically a film to satisfy narrowly focused fetishists (pregnant women, bald chemo patients). However, if this describes you, 3 opens tomorrow (9/16) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Happy, Happy: Domestic Bliss in Norway

Even by Scandinavian standards, Kaja’s provincial home is cold, snowy, and remote. It ought to be conducive for some quality time with her husband Eirik, but he is not interested in her anymore. Fortunately, one of their new neighbors is. It is a case of adultery Norwegian-style in Anne Sweitsky’s Happy, Happy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Elisabeth and Sigve look like the perfect couple to Kaja. Sophisticated city professionals with an adopted Ethiopian son, they seem to have it all, even singing talent. However, their marriage is going through a rocky patch. Resolving to get past her “brief, meaningless” affair, they have moved out to nowheresville, where there will be no distractions as they work to rebuild their relationship, or not. There is Kaja though, who idolizes Elisabeth, and is delighted when Sigve appreciates her attentions.

Before long, Kaja and Sigve are carrying on rather openly in front of the kids, while Elisabeth is shifting into serious ice-shrew mode. As for Eirik, he is also interested in the new neighbors, but not in a way that would maintain the expected symmetry, if you follow.

Actually, it is not quite as naughty as it all might sound, though Happy’s very cool French one-sheet faithfully captures a memorable episode. Essentially, Sewitsky presents two couples as they struggle to decide whether their marriages are worth saving, in rather dramedic fashion. However, her scenes with the two young sons engaged in a long-running racially-charged game of “slave,” are pointlessly provocative, pushing all sorts of hot buttons, but never paying off in any meaningful way. Still, the odd Nordic-country-chorale music (including “Careless Love”) helps lighten the mood, setting an effectively eccentric atmosphere.

Somehow, Agnes Kittelsen is both creepy and endearing as the compulsively eager to please Kaja. Maibritt Saerens also brings genuine human dimensions to the sharp-elbowed Elisabeth. The guys (adults and kids) on the other hand, are a rather dull, colorless lot.

Surprisingly, Happy does not exactly wrap everything up neatly and tidily, though it definitely ends on what is intended to be a crowd pleasing note. Indeed, its optimistic messiness serves it well. While a mixed bag, it is overall a pleasant if not essential viewing experience. Recommended for those who prefer their international cinema on the quirky side, Happy opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Very White Russians: Silent Souls

Russia might not be the most hospitable of homes for its ethnic minorities, but the simple forces of time and assimilation are far more responsible for the waning cultural identity and appreciation of the Merja Russians, ethnic cousins of the Finns. However, one Merjan writer’s efforts to preserve his cultural heritage takes him on a fateful road trip with his grieving boss in Aleksei Fedorchenko’s Silent Souls (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Though much traditional Merjan culture has faded from everyday memory, Miron knows his friend Aist is fully versed in their people’s traditional funereal rituals. The son of a well regarded Merja poet-laborer, Aist researches and records nearly forgotten Merjan lore as a private passion. More Nordic than Slavic, Aist is not a talkative man, but he will provide Silent’s narration. Indeed the rough hewn character of his (or actor Igor Sergeyev’s) voice makes him one of the most effective narrators heard on film in recent memory, subtitles notwithstanding.

Miron and Aist will drive across the frozen west central Russian landscape to Lake Nero, the site of his honeymoon with his much younger, yet now tragically dearly departed wife Tanya. There they will build her funeral pyre in much the same manner the Norsemen did millennia ago. For company, they have themselves, their memories, and two caged buntings Aist recently purchased. Those birds are not just for show. Like everything else in Silent they might appear to be a causal impulse buy, but their significance will become apparent later.

Though relatively unheralded among last year’s New York Film Festival selections, Silent was one of the strongest films at the festival. Elegiac in multiple ways, it is a powerful meditation on the death of an individual and the protracted demise of a culture, without ever becoming heavy-handed or overly maudlin. While it is deliberately paced, it actually head towards someplace specific, both geographically and cinematically.

Throughout the film, Fedorchenko handles his themes and cast with a deft touch. Though his symbolism is inescapable, it is always accessible and disciplined, rather than pretentious or obtuse. While in lesser hands, Silent’s ending might have been problematic, Fedorchenko’s methodical groundwork makes it feel logical and fitting, without outright telegraphing it clumsily. Fedorchenko and cinematographer Mikhail Krichman also take full advantage of the evocative landscape, presenting some striking winter vistas.

Whether it is engaging in salty talk with Miron or ruminating on what it means to be Merjan, Sergeyev brings a remarkable naturalness and genuine gravitas to the film as the protagonist-narrator. It is the sort of accomplished work that is often unfairly overlooked due to its lack of affectation.

Though it requires viewers’ full attention, there is great depth beneath Silent’s austerely chilly surface. An excellent film featuring a great lead performance, Silent opens this Friday (9/16) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.