Finding Vivian Maier: The Nanny with a Camera

Vivian Maier was a much better photographer than she was a nanny, but nobody knew during her relatively anonymous life. Were it not for a fateful box of negative bought on-spec at a clearance auction, Maier and her work would have quietly slipped into oblivion. John Maloof, the scrounger who “discovered” Maier & co-producer-co-director Charlie Siskel uncover the unheralded street photographer’s life and art in Finding Vivian Maier (trailer here), which opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

Given her resemblance to RKO contract player Edna May Oliver, it was probably preordained that Maier would be a nanny. Maier’s former charges all remember her carrying a camera on their outings, as well as her forceful personality, but none of the families she worked for (briefly including single father Phil Donahue) ever thought they really knew her. They certainly had no idea of the extensive photographic archive she amassed.

Ironically, Maier’s photos did not really fit the project Maloof was working on, but he recognized they had “something.” He put a few on the net and they quickly went viral. Suddenly administering the Maier collection became his calling. Somewhat to his surprise, the proper photographic art establishment has been reluctant to embrace Maier (although sage viewers might not be slack-jaw shocked to find them jealously guarding their cultural gate-keeping roles). However, some of the most striking sequences of Finding compare Maier’s work side-by-side with thematically related pictures from canonical photographers, including Diane Arbus. Needless to say, her work holds up. Indeed, a blind viewing of her photographs might lead one to guess they were the work of an artistic affiliated with the Photo League in its heyday.

Finding effectively showcases Maier’s oeuvre, but it is not hagiography. Far from being St. Vivian the Undiscovered, Maier’s behavior evidently took a problematic turn in her later years. To their credit, Maloof & Siskel never shy away from troubling incidents detailed by the grown children once entrusted to her care. After all, artists often exhibit anti-social tendencies. Considering her interest in macabre subjects (even shooting crime scenes when the opportunity arose), an armchair Freudian would readily assume she had a host of unresolved issues.

Remarkably measured, Finding does its best to present a full portrait of the elusive Maier. It is marked by a deep sense of mystery, but Maloof also vividly captures the exhilaration of discovering her rich body of work. It is considerably more of a film-viewing experience than the majority of art docs, which mostly just invite the audience to marvel at how nice such-and-such pieces might be. Instead, Finding is a tad edgy, but still oddly uplifting. Highly recommended for photography connoisseurs and anyone who appreciates documentaries executed with a bit of style, Finding Vivian Maier opens this Friday (3/28) in New York at the IFC Center and Lincoln Plaza Cinemas.

NYICFF ’14: Giovanni’s Island

If Russia successfully annexes Crimea, what happens to the ethnic Ukrainian and Tartar population? If history is any guide, we should not be shocked by forced deportations. Frankly, they should probably consider themselves lucky if they do not take a detour through a Russian gulag. Residents of the Soviet occupied Kuril Islands were not so fortunate. The Production I.G team best known for the Ghost in the Shell franchise revisits a painful episode of Japanese history with Mizuho Nishikubo’s Giovanni’s Island (trailer here), which screened during the 2014 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Giovanni and Campanella are not traditional Japanese names, but they are the main characters of Kenji Miyazawa’s fantastical classic, Night on the Galactic Railroad. Tatsuo Senō is so fond of the novel he named his sons Junpei and Kanta to roughly correlate. At the time of Japan’s surrender, the elder Senō is the island’s civil defense coordinator, but since he is not technically military, he is not rounded up with the other soldiers.

Initially, rumors spread like wildfire of what the Americans would do when they arrive. Unfortunately, it is the Soviets instead. Needless to say, their arrival is quite disruptive for the island community. Many families, including the Senōs, are displaced to make room for the occupiers. Similarly, Junpei’s class is forced to share space with the lower grades to make room for the soldiers’ children. Still, he forms an unlikely friendship with the commander’s daughter Tanya that steadily develops romantic overtones.

Sadly, the Soviets will do no favors for tweener romance.  After his father is arrested for distributing rice to needy villagers (so much for “to each according to their needs”), Junpei, Kanta, and their school teacher Sawako (who long carried a torch for dad) are forced to board the supposed repatriation transport without him. Ominously though, they do not seem to be bearing south towards Japan.

Frankly, screenwriters Shigemichi Sugita and Yoshiki Sakurai are remarkably restrained in their depiction of the Russian occupiers, perhaps for fear of reprisals. Nevertheless, the grim realities of the forcible deportations are inescapable. For all intents and purposes, the occupied islands were ethnically cleansed. Those familiar with Miyazawa’s short novel will also realize the Senō family is destined to experience acute tragedy.

Indeed, the way the Galactic Railroad is weaved into Giovanni’s narrative is quite thoughtful and literate. Hardly stuck in denial, the film forthrightly acknowledges the misfortune of Koreans displaced by the Imperial military, whom the Russians never bothered to repatriate. There are also a few decent Russians in Giovanni (such as Tanya’s parents), but the Stalinist war machine is a brutal, impersonal fact of history.

Much like Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart, Giovanni uses poetic imagery to soften the blow of the on-screen heartbreak. Yet, there is a maturity to the film and how its characters (especially the young) resolutely “endure the unendurable” that is quite powerful. Viewers will not feel bereft at the end, despite the grueling journey it takes us on. While it focuses quite intimately on the Senōs and those closest to them, it is a rather epic story. Featuring characters you will care about caught up in historical forces likely to repeat themselves, Giovanni’s Island is the sort of animated film adults will appreciate as much or more than children.

Highly recommended as a legit big screen drama, Giovanni’s Island had its first screening outside of Japan at this year’s NYICFF. Patrons should keep an eye on their website, just in case another screening is added. Regardless, it should have a long life on the festival circuit. For additional NYICFF reviews also check out Steve Kopian’s coverage at Unseen Films.

ND/NF ‘14: The Story of My Death

Remember Tony Curtis in the naughty Euro-farce, The Amorous Mis-Adventures of Casanova? Sure you don’t, but forget it anyway. This incarnation of the aging rogue is worlds removed from Curtis’s leering carouser. It is the end of the party and the close of the Enlightenment era for Casanova, announced by none other than Dracula himself in Albert Serra’s defiantly dense and stately slow The Story of My Death (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and MoMA.

Casanova has become a dirty, sacrilegious old man. He still pursues his pleasures where he may, be they pomegranates or chamber maids. Initially, this all seems like a good gig to his new manservant, whose primary duties appear to listening to Casanova pontificate on whatever. However, he becomes somewhat disillusioned with his master during their questionable Carpathian holiday. Naturally, Casanova starts trifling with the daughters of a suspiciously accommodating land owner, but the undead Count also has eyes for the lasses.

On paper, Death probably sounds like a super commercial mix of sex and gothic blood-sucking, but Serra’s approach is unapologetically meditative, bordering on the explicitly experimental. This is not Anne Rice or even Chelsea Quinn Yarbro.  It is one hundred fifty-eight minutes—and viewers will feel each and every second.

Serra might have a healthy contempt for narrative, but he has an eye for composition. Frame after frame intentionally evoke the Old Masters with their chiaroscuro effect and Serra’s extraordinary attention to mise-en-scene. Even though the score is credited to four composers (count them: Ferran Font, Enric Juncá, Joe Robinson, and Marc Verdaguer), there is not a lot of music heard during Death’s two and a half hours. Yet, in a rare genre concession, what there is sounds surprisingly distinctive and creepy.

Heading a typical Serra cast of non-traditional actors, poet Vincenç Altiaó rather livens up the proceedings, hedonistically chewing the scenery and relishing his self-consciously wicked dialogue. Eliseu Huertas also has an intriguing screen presence as the Count and his high-pitched keening is truly unsettling. Still, it is strange that he looks as old (or older) than Altiaó’s Casanova, yet his Dracula is supposed to represent coming era of Rousseau’s Romantic savagery.

Death could be considered the Hammer Horror film Terrence Malick has yet to make. Few vampire films feature half as many scenes of wind rustling through the grass. Frankly, Serra’s work demands to be considered solely on its own terms. Maddening and anesthetizing for the uninitiated, Death still takes viewers from one specific point to another. Selectively recommended for hardcore fans of Malick and Ben Rivers, The Story of My Death screens this coming Wednesday (3/26) at MoMA and next Saturday (3/29) at the Walter Reade, as part of the 2014 ND/NF.

Rob the Mob: What Could Go Wrong with that Plan?

During 1991 and early 1992, New York was about as depressed as depression gets. The only ray of hope came from a series of high profile organized crime prosecutions initiated by then U.S. Attorney Rudy Giuliani. Yet, somehow John Gotti, the “Teflon Don,” kept wriggling out of the net—at least until Sammy “the Bull Gravano” turned state’s evidence. His testimony would also reveal the locations of several mafia-affiliated “social clubs” in open court. Tommy Uva used this information for the extraordinarily daring but not particularly well thought out crime spree that inspired Raymond De Felitta’s Rob the Mob (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Uva is a loser, but Rosemarie loves him anyway. However, the rest of the Uva family still blames him and his lowlife ways for the death of his father. Uva on the other hand, vehemently blames the mafia loan sharks for their family tragedy. You could say he has a bit of a complex when it comes to wiseguys.

After a brief prison stretch, Uva gets a job with Rosemarie’s debt collection agency—probably the only business hiring during the Dinkins years. However, he is preoccupied with the Gotti trial. When he hears Gravano explain guns are verboten in their neighborhood front clubs, Uva hatches a very dangerous idea explained pretty clearly by the film’s three word title. One night, he takes in a pretty paltry score, but one of the old-timers at the Waikiki Club happened to be carrying something seriously incriminating.

As films go, Rob is about as New York as it gets. The period details are spot-on and the attitude is razor sharp. Nobody cares what the New York Times has to say in their milieu. The journalist who gets the Uvas’ story is naturally the Post’s organized crime beat writer, Jerry Cardozo. De Felitta (better known for dramedies like City Island and docs, such as ‘Tis Autumn), deftly juggles the large ensemble of gangsters, cops, reporters, and Uvas, maintaining an appealingly gritty vibe.

However, the ace up De Felitta’s sleeve is once again Andy Garcia, who plays the composite don of dons “Big Al” Fiorello with tragic dignity worthy of a Shakespearean figure. As Garcia slowly reveals his backstory, we come to understand Fiorello reluctantly reached his current position through a strange twist of fate. He is a complicated figure, but he is about the only ethically nuanced gangster. In contrast, his underlings are a craven lot and just about everyone on either side of the side thinks Gotti is complete pond scum.

While he does not quite knock it out of the park like Garcia (partly because De Felitta does not pitch him comparably fat fast balls over the plate), Ray Romano’s characteristic nervous energy and deadpan delivery still nicely serve Cardozo, a substantially straight dramatic role. While their over-the-top outer borough affectations are rather off-putting at first, Michael Pitt and Nina Arianda still develop some rather touching (and convincingly reckless) screen chemistry as the couple ironically dubbed “Bonnie and Clyde” by Fiorello’s gang. However, for real old school street cred, nobody can touch Burt Young doing his thing as aging mob lieutenant Joey D.

Granted, everyone will readily form an educated guess of the general direction Rob is headed, even if they are not familiar with the Uvas’ case, but De Felitta’s sure-footed execution will still keep viewers keyed in from start to finish. Featuring an award-worthy supporting turn from Garcia, Rob is one of the best American gangster films in several years. Particularly recommended for New Yorkers (who might be getting a glimpse of our de Blasio future as well as our Dinkins past), Rob the Mob opens today (3/21) at the Angelika Film Center.

Lars Volume One

When Lars von Trier and the increasingly controversial Shia LaBeouf collaborate on a film, it creates a certain level of expectations. Add in a generous helping of explicit sexual content and you would anticipate of perfect storm of provocation. Instead, it will be fans of the Dogma 95 co-founder who will feel vindicated by his latest bout of risk-taking. Far from a source of joy, sex is an act of existential alienation in von Trier’s Nymphomaniac, Volume One (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Seligman is a good Samaritan, who offers to take Joe to a hospital when he finds her battered in the street. She firmly demurs, only reluctantly allowing the older man to patch her wounds in his nearby flat. Joe not only blames herself for her alarming state, she rather seems to think she had it coming. She will explain why over a hot cup of tea.

Joe discovered her power turn men into animals at a young age. Like a playboy notching his belt, she regularly challenges her chum B to a contest of who can score the most men in a given period. However, B starts breaking one of their cardinal rules, allowing affection (or worse still, love) to influence her erotic pursuits. As a result, Joe becomes a solitary seducer, who deliberately leaves broken lives in her wake. Yet, Seligman insists on finding redemptive elements in each of her tales—or so he tries, in between fishing analogies and literary allusions.

Nevertheless, Joe’s self-indictment is consistently and cumulatively damning. In a particularly memorable episode, Mrs. H outdoes Medea, shaming her wayward husband and the trampy Joe by crashing their vice-pad with her shockingly young sons. Yet, Joe really is not shamed. She is already hollow inside, desensitized by her carnal compulsions.

Yes, there is a lot of sex and nudity in Volume One, but it is not the least bit seductive or titillating. Instead, this is an unrated morality tale, which explicitly cautions viewers of the dire consequences wrought by divorcing sex from love (or least like to a reasonable extent).

It should be noted, this all applies solely to Volume One seen independently of Volume Two. Based on the teaser that runs during the closing credits, von Trier apparently cranks up the lurid content of the concluding installment. Whether or not this anticipated foray into Shades of Grey territory will come with a disingenuous claim of “empowerment” remains to be seen. Nonetheless, Volume One ends at an oddly logical and unsettling point.

Frankly, it is not the naughty business that is interesting, but the conversations between the not-as-young-as-she-used-to-be Joe and Seligman. Von Trier’s language is highly literate and rich with meaning. Past von Trier alumni Charlotte Gainsbourg and Stellan Skarsgård quickly develop the darnedest screen chemistry, encompassing morbid fascination and humanist compassion. Despite the film’s explicit content, von Trier assembled quite a cast, including Uma Thurman, who knocks the wind out of viewers as the ferocious Mrs. H.

In a case of trial by fire, Stacy Martin makes a bold screen debut as the twenty-something Joe, but her character is so glacially reserved, the role better demonstrates her willingness to serve the needs of a film rather than her emotional range, per se. On the other hand, Christian Slater cannot shake off his snarky b-list persona as Joe’s henpecked father. (By the way, if any von Trier fans are wondering, Udo Kier will duly appear in Volume Two.)

With Volume One, von Trier stakes a claim to being a truly subversive contrarian. He makes sex look like no fun whatsoever. In fact, hedonism takes a toll on the soul and inextricably leads to some very dark places. Better to go fishing instead. Recommended for mature, fully informed audiences as a film in its own right, Nymphomaniac Volume One opens this Friday (3/21) in New York downtown at the Landmark Sunshine and uptown at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center.

CIFF ’14: Monsoon Shootout

It’s sort of like Sliding Doors or Kiewslowski’s Blind Chance with a lot more rain and guns. On his first day with Inspector Khan’s special anti-crime unit, a fresh recruit confronts a suspected murderer, sans back-up. He will either freeze, shoot to kill, or possibly split the difference in Amit Kumar’s muscularly moody crime drama, Monsoon Shootout (clip here), which screens during the 2014 Cleveland International Film Festival.

As the son of a totally above-board cop, the green Adi is a bit shocked by Khan’s borderline vigilante tactics. Mumbai’s top brass makes a show of tut-tutting at the frequency his suspects are shot while trying to escape, but it is clear they are turning a blind eye. Khan is determined to bring down the Slum Lord, Mumbai’s descriptively named vice and extortion kingpin. His best lead is Shiva, one of the Slum Lord’s most reckless and dangerous assassins. After a rocky start, Adi’s brief career goes from bad to worse when he faces Shiva in that classic dark alley setting. Should he shoot or stand there flat-footed letting Shiva escape? Khan will have some choice opinions regarding either decision that he will express as viewers watch Adi’s alternate timelines play out.

One of the cool things about Shootout is the way the competing narratives parallel each other in clever ways, despite the distinctly different choices made by poor hapless Adi. At various times, he seeks treatment from his ex, Anu the nurse with a social conscience. By the same token, he always tracks down Geeta, a prostitute favored by Shiva. Conversely, radically different sides of Khan’s character present themselves during each variation on the theme.

As Khan, Neeraj Kabi excels at grizzled badassery, while bringing out more human qualities when the various circumstances allow. Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s Shiva also delivers enough glowering menace to satisfy any genre fan. While not a lot of heavy lifting is required of model-turned-indie actress Geetanjali Thapa, the more traditional romantic role of Anu represents something of a departure from her migrant workers advocacy films, such as I.D. She has passable screen chemistry with Vijay Varma, who broods as well as anyone could ask, even though Adi is to a large extent a passive puppet of fate.

Even though Shootout has a somewhat gimmicky structure, Kumar deftly uses each take to build and expand the tragic irony. All three parts also hum along quite nicely as gritty procedurals.  It is a quality production with considerable genre appeal, particularly distinguished by cinematography Rajeev Ravi, who makes the rain and nocturnal slums look like visual poetry. Recommended for fans of parallel and popular Indian cinema, Monsoon Shootout screens Saturday (3/22) and Monday (3/24) during this year’s CIFF.

ND/NF ’14: A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness

You have to do something to while the time away in the northern reaches of Scandinavia and the Baltics. A Brooklyn based musician will chew the fat in a hipster commune, soak up the wonders of nature, and play a death metal gig in a grubby little club, but less adventurous viewers will still look in vain for narrative hooks throughout Ben Rivers & Ben Russell’s A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and MoMA.

Any decent sized festival ought to serve up some properly labeled experimental offerings just to prove their depth and breadth. Spell certainly fills that niche, but if you have a taste for hardcore metal, the final segment of the triptych will also give you plenty to bang your head to. Viewers will follow Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe as he wanders through northeast Europe, starting in an Estonian hippie colony. Amidst the bull sessions, one Finn tells a very funny story that we cannot describe in a family outlet, but could nicely stand alone as an amusing short.

In fact, there are a number of “lucid” moments in Spell, as when said Finn sheepishly prefaces his tale by apologizing for its length. However, his interlocutor insists stories are supposed to be long—that is the whole point of telling them. He has a point. After all, storytelling is a ritual that harkens back to the mead-grogged Vikings orally transmitting the epic of Beowulf. Ironically, the nearly narrative-free Spell helps viewers develop the vocabulary to explain why the avant-garde so frustrates them.

After leaving the commune, Lowe will spend Spell’s relatively short second movement communing with nature in the wilds of Finland. Visually, these are the most striking sequences (bringing to mind vintage ECM album covers), but they are also the most cinematically static.

Eventually, it is time for Lowe to get down to business in a small Norwegian club. As the Bens pan and re-pan the on-screen audience, we see considerably older cats than we might expect for such a fierce show, but when an out-of-town band comes to play, the locals probably go regardless. It is also worth noting the poster of Sun Ra in the backroom, which speaks well of the club’s hipness.

There is an awful lot of grasping at small details in the above analysis, but a film like Spell openly invites viewers to impose their own meanings where they may. It has some interesting bits, but it is specifically intended for a small, self-selecting audience. Deliberately languid and deliberate, A Spell to Ward Off the Darkness is recommended for those who embrace the lulling effect of video installations more than conventional bourgeoisie narratives when it screens Saturday (3/22) at MoMA and Tuesday (3/25) at the Walter Reade, as part of the 2014 edition of New Directors/ New Films.

The French Minister: Old Europe Quotes Heraclitus

In the days leading up to the Iraq War, Jacques Chirac strained French relations with the new democracies of Eastern Europe by condescendingly declaring they “missed a golden opportunity to shut up.” After the fall of Saddam Hussein, several French officials, such as the former UN ambassador Jean-Bernard Mérimée were implicated in the Oil-for-Food scandal. However, no such troubling details will intrude on the self-aggrandizement of France’s political class in The French Minister (trailer here), a rare misfire from Bertrand Tavernier that opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

Technically, Alexandre Taillard de Worms is a “conservative,” but his contempt for America is so great, he has no problem hiring a young lefty like Arthur Vlaminck to be his new speech-writer. It is hard to write for the eccentric minister, but a couple of quotes from Heraclitus usually placates him. Essentially, the Taillard doctrine boils down to this: French intervention in its former African colonies is good, but American intervention in the thinly fictionalized Lousdemistan is bad.

While Taillard often acts like a pompous buffoon, especially during a lunch with an American Nobel Prize winning novelist (supposedly based on a real life incident still remembered in hushed tones around the Quai d’Orsay), French Minister has all the satirical bite of a retirement roast. That old Taillard might be nuts Tavernier and his co-writers Antonin Baudry and Christophe Blain tell us, but he is crazy like a fox. As for any soul searching regarding French colonialism, Oil-for-Food, or France’s grand ambition to subordinate EU policy making to its own ends, do not hold your breath.

Even if you agree with the film’s extreme Chirackian-Gallic perspective, it is still difficult to watch Thierry Lhermitte’s ridiculously over the top turn as Taillard. You will see less shtick in an average Pauly Shore film. On the other hand, Raphaël Personnaz’s vanilla Vlaminck does nothing more than applaud his boss’s dramatic outbursts like a trained seal. The only measure of redemption comes from the unflaggingly reliable Niels Arestrup, who plays veteran civil servant Claude Maupas like a sly, understated cousin to Nigel Hawthorne’s Sir Humphrey in Yes Minister.

Bertrand Tavernier has made some great films, including one of the all time great jazz movies, Round Midnight, as well as the elegantly tragic historical, The Princess of Montpensier. This is not anywhere close to their league. Frankly, Pierre Schöller’s similarly titled The Minster brings far more wit and insight to bear on French politics, but frustratingly, it has yet to find an American distributor. Smugly self-satisfied and self-congratulatory, The French Minister desperately wants to soak up the adulation it hasn’t earned. Not recommended, it opens this Friday (3/21) in New York at the IFC Center.

ND/NF ’14: The Babadook

Whenever a strange book mysteriously turns up, google it before cracking it open for a bedtime story. Like Candyman, the protagonist of a creepy picture book arrives when bidden and there will be no getting rid of him in Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and MoMA.

Six years ago, Amelia husband was killed in a traffic accident as he was rushing her to the hospital. She survived to delivery Samuel, their physical healthy but deeply maladjusted son. Naturally, celebrating his birthday is always awkward affair. Prone to acting out, Samuel is a real handful. Lately, he is pushing his still grieving mother to her breaking point. Then a rather peculiar picture book titled Mr. Babadook appears.

Since Samuel is fascinated by magic and old school magicians, the hirsute creature in a top hat depicted on the cover initially suggests it might be his cup of tea, but its true nature quickly becomes apparent. Both mother and son are soon plagued by Babadooky nightmares. Before long, the Babadook seems to take corporeal form, constantly lurking in the shadows. Try as they might, they cannot lose or destroy that infernal book and its constant reminder: “you can’t get rid of the Babadook.”

On paper, Babadook might sound like an atypical genre selection for ND/NF, but former Australian TV thesp Kent is indeed a new director. She also takes a stylish approach to the material. Max Schreck’s Nosferatu would feel at home in Amelia’s severely gray, creaky old house. In a nice hat tip, the magically themed films of George Méliès are often seen on television, further setting the mood. Likewise, Alex Juhasz’s Babadook illustrates are creepy and eccentric, recalling the better work of Tim Burton before he lost his edge.

By genre standards, Babadook is an unusually accomplished production, but its two tormented leads really try a viewer’s patience. Admittedly, some serious paranormal skullduggery is afoot, but Essie Davis’s Amelia becomes rather problematically overwrought, flirting with outright melodrama. Usually, moms are the level-headed ones in times of crisis, but not here. Likewise, the clammy bug-eyed presence of her partner in this near two-hander often undercuts the drama.

On the plus side, Kent’s instincts were on spot-on perfect when determining how much of Bobby Duke she would show and in what context. The look and mechanics of the film are quite strong (with considerable credit also due to cinematographer Radek Ladczuk), but viewers might find themselves rooting for the little hobgoblin rather than against him, which is not necessarily a terrible thing. Recommended for horror fans inclined to grant style points, The Babadook screens this Saturday (3/22) at the Walter Reade and Sunday (3/23) at MoMA as part of the 2014 ND/NF.

McCanick: A Philly Cop Gets the Blues

With a name like that, there is only one thing he could be: a corrupt cop—or at least semi-corrupt. Regardless, he will fix himself up real good in Josh C. Waller’s McCanick (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

It is Eugene “Mack” McCanick’s birthday and he hopes to celebrate at a bury-the-hatchet dinner with his estranged grown son. However, he is thrown off stride when he learns Simon Weeks has been released from prison. The former street hustler was involved in the murder of a congressman. Strictly speaking, he probably was not the killer, but McCanick sent him up the river anyway. Now that he is out, McCanick is determined to keep him permanently quiet, without compromising his promotion-track partner. Needless to say, things get ugly quickly.

Basically, we already know exactly what to expect from McCanick the character and the film, but David Morse plays his grizzled angst for all its worth. Right from the start, he vividly expresses McCanick’s tragic rage and weary resignation. Beyond his considerable size, he truly has a cop-like presence. In contrast, the late Cory Monteith’s turn as Weeks suggests he was probably better served by television’s smaller frame. Still, he looks reasonably credible in this vice-ridden milieu. In contrast, Ciarán Hinds sounds ridiculously out of place as the crusty veteran Philadelphia police captain, but at least as an old pro he knows how to command the spotlight.

Evidently, McCanick is a period piece, since a now shuttered Borders store can clearly be seen in an early street montage. It is also rather hard to believe a broken down copper like McCanick could careen across the city, wreaking havoc on his colleagues with such relative ease. Still, Waller capitalizes on the gritty Philly locales, if not exactly doing a lot of favors for the city’s tourism campaign.

Waller cranks up the hardboiled vibe to eleven, but the film’s only real mystery turns out to be pretty underwhelming stuff. Morse does his thing and Waller adds plenty of local color, but the end product is just fatally okay. Recommended for fans of the cast with a taste for naturalistic cop dramas, McCanick opens this Friday (3/21) in New York at the Village East.

The Wrath of Vajra: The Hades Death Cult Get Bloody

When a martial arts cult takes its name from the Greek god of the underworld, it is safe to expect major villainy from them. Factor in their commitment to Japan’s Imperial militarism and you know they are in for a bruising in Law Wing-cheong’s The Wrath of Vajra (trailer here), which releases today on DVD and Blu-ray from Well Go USA.

According to Kawao Amano, the founder of the Hades cult, even if the Japanese military conquers territory, they will never defeat the spirit of the Chinese people until they see their regional champions publically humiliated by superior fighters. To accomplish this task, Hades kidnapped young children to be raise as fighting machines. K-29 used to be one of them, but he broke with the Hades cult when it was temporarily disbanded for being way too nuts. With the war going badly, the Emperor eats some crow and gives Hades the go ahead to open up shop again. One of their first orders of business will be challenging K-29, who has taken up robes in a Shaolin temple.

Forced to turn himself in, K-29 finds himself reunited with Bill, another former involuntary Hades inductee, who commands a captured American military unit. The rules of Hades death tournament are simple. K-29 will have to fight his way through a series of cult leaders, starting with the towering Tetsumaku Rai, leader of the Violence Clan, to get to his nemesis, Daisuke Kurashige (a.k.a. K-28). Sure, no problem. Along the way, he will work through his guilt for accidentally killing his brother way back when and reawaken the conscious of Amano’s daughter Eiko, a journalist reporting on Hades tournaments for the Japanese public.

So yeah, guess who wins and guess who loses. Frankly, Vajra is considered subtle anti-Japanese propaganda, because K-29 never gets political. Instead of greater China, he fights for the captive children. For what its worth, Eiko is also a sympathetic figure and the Americans are on the side of the angels. Still, Vajra is not exactly shy about playing to anti-Japanese sentiment.

Regardless, Shaolin monk-turned action star Xing Yu (a.k.a. Shi Yanneng) is pretty legit as child assassin-turned Shaolin monk K-29. He has the moves and his everyman presence wears well during the course of the film. Usually a supporting player lending authenticity to films like Ip Man, Shaolin, and Bodyguards and Assassins, it is nice to see him get a turn in the spotlight. Ya Mei (Zhang) also convincingly portrays Eiko’s evolution from militarist to maverick. Jiang Baocheng and “Poppin” Nam Hyun-joon (a Korean hip-hop dancer) certainly have the right looks for Rai and the herky-jerky Crazy Monkey (leader of the Zombie Clan), respectively. In fact, they essentially upstage (Korean American, not Japanese) Steve Yoo’s down-to-business K-28.

It hardly matters though if one set villains are more colorful than another. Law, a Jonnie To protégé who really made a statement with the To-produced Punished) keeps the energy level up and action director Zhang Peng stages some distinctly camera-friendly, old school fight sequences. Vajra delivers spectacular beatdowns and adds some pleasing Shaolin seasoning. Recommended for martial arts fans looking for red meat, The Wrath of Vajra is now available on DVD and digital platforms from Well Go USA.

Jodorowsky’s Dune: If Only . . .

How do you get from Alejandro Jodorowsky’s trippy cult classic The Holy Mountain to Ridley Scott’s moody blockbuster Alien? The road passes through Frank Herbert’s Dune and the legendary adaptation Jodorowsky failed to realize. It was a valiant effort that assembled much of the then unknown talent that would reconvene for the later science fiction-horror vehicle.  The behind-the-scenes story of the greatest film-that-never-was is told in Frank Pavich’s Jodorowsky’s Dune (trailer here), which opens this Friday at New York’s Film Forum.

Jodorowsky’s Dune boasts some of the greatest and most influential pre-production work maybe ever, but sadly you cannot see the final film.  In 1975, Jodorowsky was at the peak of his international success, even though his films were still unevenly distributed in America. Along with the Rocky Horror Picture Show, films like El Topo helped define the Midnight movie as a profitable phenomenon. Looking for a challenge, Jodorowsky and his producer Michel Seydoux corralled the rights to Dune.

Not exactly slavishly beholden to Herbert’s novel (which the Chilean auteur readily admits he had not read until after he committed to the project), Jodorowsky conceived an adaptation that truly boggles the mind. Still, Dune’s mind-expanding spice was perfectly compatible with Jodorowsky’s sensibilities. The prospective cast of Mick Jagger, Orson Welles, David Carradine, and Salvador Dalí alone would have guaranteed the film eternal cult status. However, Jodorowsky also assembled a technical crew of future genre superstars, including H.R. Giger, Jean “Moebius” Giraud, Chris Foss, and Dan O’Bannon, all of whom would contribute their talents to the O’Bannon scripted Alien.

Recognizing their allure, Pavich includes liberal selections of the aborted film’s concept art, even animating small snippets to really torment genre fans. Despite the short term risks, there is no way this film would not have been profitable in the long term. Which would pay more dividends in the post-1970’s VCR era, Jodorowsky’s Dune or a safe studio comedy like I Will, I Will . . . for Now? For that matter, what sort of licensing and residuals does the unwatchable Streisand remake of A Star is Born still generate, even though it was a minor hit in its day?

As a consolation, Pavich clearly suggests Jodorowsky’s efforts indirectly influenced scores of genre filmmakers, even if the experience was detrimental to his own career. Clearly, Jodorowsky is ready to talk about it, because does so in great length throughout the documentary. Fortunately, he is quite a lively interview subject. Although we also hear from Giger, Foss, Seydoux, and Jodorowsky’s son Brontis (who would have played Paul Atreides), the senior Jodorowsky’s voice dominates the film—not that his considerable fanbase is likely to object.

During the course of the film, Pavich gives viewers a vivid sense of what Jodorowsky unmade film would have looked like and provides helpful context to appreciate the time and professional milieu in which it did not happen. A fascinating and tantalizing “what if,” Jodorowsky’s Dune is highly recommended for science fiction fans and frustrated filmmakers of all stripes when it opens this Friday (3/21) in New York at Film Forum.

NYICFF ’14: Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart

Love hurts, yeah, yeah. For young Jack, it can be downright deadly. That is because his ticker literally ticks. Born on Edinburgh’s coldest day ever, Jack’s heart was frozen solid and had to be replaced with the titular timepiece. His adopted mother warns him not to fall in love, lest it overwhelm his cardiac gears, but fate has other ideas in Mathieu Malzieu & Stéphane Berla’s Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

It takes a certain kind of woman to successfully replace a heart with a cuckoo clock. Convinced Madeleine, the midwife with a wiccan-ish reputation, will be a better parent to the boy, his overwhelmed birth mother abandons Jack in her care. She subsequently drills the rules of cuckoo clock maintenance into his skull full of mush: don’t touch the hands, don’t lose his temper, and never ever fall in love. However, he nearly loses it when it first sees Miss Acaia, a young flamenco singer, performing in the city square.

For years, Jack must endure the bullying of his romantic rival while separated from his true beloved. However, when trouble forces him to leave Edinburgh, Jack sets off in search of Miss Acaia. He is encouraged and accompanied on this quest by his new friend and heart-tweaker, the tinkering future pioneer of filmmaking, Georges Méliès. Eventually, they find Miss Acaia performing in Andalucía, which is a giant carnival in Malzieu’s macabre world, but unfortunately Jack’s nemesis follows closely behind them.

Based on the concept album and children’s book by Malzieu, the frontman of the surrealist rock band Dionysos, Cuckoo is an odd bird by any objective measure. It is sort of like Hugo reconceived by Edward Gorey, with a dash of The Who’s Tommy mixed in for extra strangeness. Much like “children’s books for adults” (a category of publishing that probably applies to Malzieu’s chapter book), the film version is really a child’s animated parable for adults. Frankly, the film ends on a lyrically poetic note, but it will not be a crowd-pleaser for younger audiences.

So who is it for? Maybe fans of Méliès, Gorey, Tod Browning, Tim Burton, Charles Adams, Jack the Ripper films (yes, he makes a strange appearance), and Les Miz’s Samantha Barks, who provides Miss Acaia’s voice for the English language soundtrack (and quite nicely so). You know who you are.

Cuckoo’s computer generated animation is quite striking and richly detailed, in a darkly ominous way, and Malzieu’s songs have more substance than one would expect from an animated film (recent Oscar winners not excluded). Nevertheless, parents should fully understand this is a fable, not a fairy tale. Malzieu and Berla fully deliver on their early promise of romantic tragedy.

Cuckoo is an elegant concoction of distinctive music and visuals, but it will be daunting marketing challenge for its American distributor. Recommended for connoisseurs of sophisticated animation, Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart screens again next Saturday (3/22) at the SVA Theater, as this year’s NYICFF continues at venues throughout Manhattan.

ND/NF ’14: Quod Erat Demonstrandum

In Communist Romania, it was not what you knew, but who you knew and whether you informed on them. One gifted mathematician will prove the point in Andrei Gruzsniczki’s Quod Erat Demonstrandum (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films, co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and MoMA.

Sorin Parvu is a genius, but he is not a Party member. Hence, he has not been allowed to publish or complete his Ph.D. Increasingly frustrated, he somehow manages to smuggle a paper to a western academic journal. It has absolutely nothing to do with politics, but the Securitate still has a fit when it is printed.

Ironically, the man tasked with investigating Parvu is largely in the same boat. Alecu Voican is overdue for a promotion, but his commanding officer holds him back for the sake of his own convenience. Voican quickly uncovers a link between Parvu and Elena Buciuman, a married colleague, whom he has long carried a torch for. Ever since her husband defected while attending an academic conference in France, Buciuman has jumped through bureaucratic hoops, fruitlessly trying to obtain the necessary permits to join him. It is exactly the sort of weakness Voican intends to exploit in his campaign against Parvu.

One of the most striking aspects of QED is the characters’ lack of ideological motivation. Parvu is clueless when it comes to politics. Frankly, none of it would have come to pass had he been allowed to pursue his work for the greater glory of Romania. However, there is no denying the realities of Communism Gruzsniczki so drably recreates. Shortages, blackouts, and the trappings of Ceausescu’s personality cult are ever-present and inescapable.

While powerfully conveying the oppressive tenor of the time, QED still manages to be a remarkably subtle drama. Much is exchanged in glances and hearts are forced to break with quiet restraint. Sorin Leoveanu and Ofelia Popii develop genuine screen chemistry as Parvu and Buciuman, projecting a real sense of their years of ambiguous shared history. In contrast to their tragic dignity, Florin Piersic Jr. and Dorian Boguta vividly portray the debasing self-contempt wrought by collaboration, as Voican and Lucian Amohnoaiei, Parvu’s former friend turned informer.

QED is exactly what the doctor ordered for Romanian cinema. Granted, it hardly wears its heart on its sleeve, but it is still a tightly focused, emotionally engaging film, with real stakes involved for all its characters. It is an accomplished work of cinema and an uncompromising examination of the everyday details of Ceausescu’s police state, with particular credit also due to Christian Niculescu’s design team. Potent fare for both mind and soul, Quod Erat Demonstrandum is highly recommended when it screens Thursday (3/20) at the Walter Reade and Saturday (3/22) at MoMA, as part of ND/NF.

NYICFF ’14: House of Magic 3D

Even animators in France understand the Massachusetts economy is on life support. Forced to vote with their feet, the owners of a plucky kitten abandon him on the street when they move from their suburban Boston home. However, he will find a more distinctive abode in Ben Stassen & Jeremy Degruson’s Studio Canal-produced (English language) House of Magic 3D (trailer here), which screens during the 2014 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Thunder is not cut out for a stray’s life, but nobody seems to be eager to adopt a cat in the residential neighborhood he finds himself stranded in. There is also a rather inhospitable dog, but he will not follow Thunder onto the grounds of the big spooky house on the hill. That would be the home of Lawrence, a.k.a. Lorenzo the Magnificent, an elderly but still spry magician.

Lawrence evidently has a soft spot for cats, but Jack, his rabbit-in-the-hat and Maggie the mouse are not so welcoming. In fact, they are determined to send Thunder packing.  Still, Lawrence’s doves and his assorted sentient mechanical gizmos are happy to share their home with Thunder. Despite their scheming, Jack and Maggie will not really be House’s villains. Those duties fall upon Lawrence’s slimy realtor nephew, who wants to get his hands on his uncle’s prime real estate.

House is one of the more conventional programming selections at this year’s NYICFF, but for kids who dig kitties and bunnies, it is pretty sure fire stuff. Both Thunder and Jack are quite expressively rendered and there is nothing remotely objectionable to concern parents, unless they are realtors too.

Yes, it is all very cute and furry, but for older animation fans the real story is the quality of House’s 3D. Clearly conceived with the process in mind, the various scenes of swooping doves, leaping kitties, and skittering critters are conducive a far more dramatic and immersive experience than the occasional pointy object jutting out from the screen. Quite superior to most tent-pole 3D fixer-ups, House ranks somewhere just below the awesome spectacle of Tsui Hark’s Flying Swords of Dragon Gate.

While the 3D experience will impress viewers of all ages, the humor is definitely aimed at a younger demographic. For the record, it killed at its first NYICFF screening. Recommended for youngsters who love kitties, bunnies, and hocus pocus, House of Magic 3D screens again on Saturday March 29^th at the Village East, as part of this year’s NYICFF.

SXSW ’14: The Case of the Three Sided Dream

Even if movie fans do not know his name, they have heard his work, thanks to Quincy Jones. Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s reeds can be heard on the soundtrack for In the Heat of the Night and on Jones’ “Soul Bossa Nova,” a tune many people know as the Austin Powers theme. However, for real jazz listeners, Kirk requires no introduction. Adam Kahan pays tribute to the music and life force of the multi-reed titan in The Case of the Three Sided Dream (trailer here), which screens today at SXSW.

The tenor was Kirk’s mainstay, but some of his most famous recordings feature his distinctive flute attack. He was also the preeminent stritch and manzello player, bar none. If that were not enough, he could also get incredible sounds out of clarinets, harmonicas, recorders, and sundry whistles. A true multi-instrumentalist, Kirk played any number of horns simultaneously, at a virtuoso level. Given his remarkable showmanship and an unearthly proficiency for circular breathing, Kirk was often criticized for resorting to gimmicks, but musicians like his former boss Charles Mingus knew better. To paraphrase Phil Woods, if it is just a gimmick, why don’t you try to do it? Incidentally, Kirk happened to be blind since infancy, due to a doctor’s negligence.

In all honesty, it is probably impossible to make a dull film about Kirk, considering the power of his music and personality. Frankly, there are scores of memorable episodes in John Kruth’s biography Bright Moments that did not find their way into the film. Nonetheless, Dream is more visually ambitious than most documentaries, using animation to help convey the spirit of Kirk’s inimitable stage pronouncements, which were a show in themselves. Yet, Kahan never pursues style at the expense of his subject.

Compared to many jazz docs, Dream features a relatively small cast of talking heads, but each one counts for a lot. Particularly notable are Kirk’s widow Dorthaan, who is a jazz institution herself through her work with WBGO (the public supported jazz radio station serving the New York-New Jersey area), and Steve Turre, Kirk’s sideman and protégé, who followed the leader’s example to become a masterful jazz soloist on the conch shells.

Of course, the music is really the thing in any doc like Dream. As adventurous as Kirk was, anyone comfortable with more soulful forms of hard bop will inhale his music like ice cream on a hot summer day. Still, Kahan’s generous clips demonstrate the difficulty in classifying Kirk under any general label. It is also rather ironic to see archival footage of Kirk’s all-star ensemble on the Ed Sullivan Show, opting for “Haitian Fight Song” instead of the producer-approved “Mon Cherie Amour,” since the propulsive Mingus standard would eventually be licensed for a Volkswagen commercial, in a slightly reworked form.

Oddly enough, Kirk’s “greatest hit” “Bright Moments” is referenced but not heard in Dream. That’s fair enough, but SXSW patrons could probably use its joyous sounds after the tragic incident late Wednesday. Regardless, Kirk’s music always has a restorative effect and Kahan presents it well. Highly recommended, The Case of the Three Sided Dream screens again today (3/15), as this year’s SXSW comes to a close.

Tiger & Bunny: The Rising, Brought to You by the Sponsors of the Future

In the future, superheroes will be a lot like NASCAR drivers. They will fight crime in colorful costumes bedecked in their sponsors’ logos and earn points fighting crime in the televised hero leagues. Our dynamic duo is genuinely committed to doing good, but their prior misadventures have kept them in the second league. However, events will temporarily split up the partners in Yoshitomo Yonetani’s Tiger & Bunny: the Rising (trailer here), a feature follow-up to the hit anime series, which screens this Saturday and Monday in New York.

Kotetsu T. Kaburagi is an aging but still idealistic superhero, known professionally as Wild Tiger. His younger partner, Barnaby Brooks, Jr. fights crime under his real name, but Kaburagi dubbed him “Bunny” because of the ear-shaped thingies on his uniform. They bicker constantly, but they have been through quite a bit together. Yet, even though Kaburagi helped Brooks solve the murder of his parents, most hero-watchers think he is holding the younger superhero back.  The new boss decides to fix that, promoting Brooks to the first league and partnering him up with Golden Ryan, a preening new superhero with the power to control gravity.

Naturally, just as Wild Tiger returns to civilian life, a wave of super-powered chaos sweeps across the New York-ish Sternbild City, apparently inspired by the ancient legend of an angry goddess who once laid waste to the city ages ago. At least it is good for their ratings.

Viewers walking into Rising completely cold will have little hope of keeping straight the large cast of supporting superheroes, aside from Fire Emblem, their GLBT colleague. Nonetheless, Kaburagi, the widower single father, is an appealing working class protagonist. Arguably, T&B celebrates virtues like courage and loyalty just as much or more than it critiques consumerism. Still, Rising’s most treacherous characters are all media types. In contrast, the actual super villains are kind of cool looking, but are not well developed in terms of who and what they are.

Obviously, Rising was produced specifically with fans in mind, but it is relatively easy to pick up the gist of the Sternbild City world on the fly. It essentially plays like an extended episode, but it is entirely self-contained and moves along pretty briskly. In fact, there are a number of clever bits sprinkled throughout the action. Recommended for the pre-existing fanbase and superhero enthusiasts in need of a quick fix, Tiger & Bunny: The Rising opens today (3/14) in Los Angeles at the Downtown Independent and also screens this Saturday (3/15) and Monday (3/17) in New York at the Village East, with further screenings scheduled in select cities over the coming weeks.

Monster: the Serial Killer vs. the Vegetable Vendor

There are enough fractured families here to keep an American sitcom fully stocked. There is also a serial killer stalking them, so their limited numbers will only get smaller. However, the stone cold murderer in question may have finally crossed paths with the wrong vegetable hawker in Hwang In-ho’s dark thriller, Monster (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in Los Angeles.

Bok-soon is known in her neighborhood as a somewhat slow street vendor with anger management issues. Nevertheless, she works hard to provide for her somewhat younger sister Eun-jeong, who is a gifted student with a presumably bright future ahead of her. Young Na-ri also lived with her older sister, until she was killed by Tae-soo. Enjoying the chase, Tae-soo gives Na-ri an opportunity to run, just so he can hunt her down again. Eventually, Bok-soon and her sister take in the petrified girl. Unfortunately, Eun-jeong soon becomes his next victim.

Even though Bok-soon has an imperfect understanding of the situation, she is not one to take her sister’s murder lying down. In fact, she will go out looking for the killer’s lair, while doing her best to protect Na-ri. Meanwhile, Tae-soo continues to thoroughly creep out his adopted mother and loser step-brother, who originally unleashed the maniac on Na-ri’s sister, at the behest of his shady contacts. After all, what is the good of having a serial killer brother if you don’t use him as a free enforcer? In retrospect, he might come to regret seeing Tae-soo’s murderous proficiency up-close-and-personal once again.

The potentially exploitative perils of focusing on a mentally challenged focal character almost go without saying, especially when Hwang often has her creating various public spectacles. Nevertheless, Kim Go-eun helps rehabilitate Bok-soon with a fearlessly intense and vulnerable performance. We come to understand her own frustrations with herself and her fierce sense of loyalty, as well as the obvious fear and rage. Clearly intended as a dramatic change of pace from her breakout performance in Eungyo (A Muse), Kim looks considerably older than the Lolita-like character that ignited her career.  Young Ahn Seo-hyun is also a tad older than when she stole nearly all of her scenes as the privileged daughter of Im Sang-soo’s The Housemaid, but she is still an unusually expressive and disciplined child actor.

In contrast, Lee Min-ki’s icy ruthlessness is adequate to the film’s needs, but it is nothing we have not seen before in dozens of previous psycho killer films. On the other hand, Kim Roi-ha and Kim Boo-seon give the film its darkly comic edge as his craven half-brother and his massively in-denial Mother Dearest. Their scenes together take family dysfunction to a whole new level.

Whatever objections audiences might have to Monster’s thematic excesses Hwang overcomes through the brute force of his thriller mechanics. Tense and violent, the film is a gripping (and exhausting) viewing experience. Recommended for fans of the serial killer genre and Kim Go-eun, Monster opens tomorrow (3/14) in Los Angeles at the CGV Cinemas.