NYJFF ’16: Projections of America

It was sort of a combination of the Voice of America and the WPA. To aid the war effort, many Hollywood screenwriters and assorted behind-the-camera creatives joined the Office of War Information to produce propaganda short subjects for audiences in non-aligned nations and the newly liberated Europe. Widely screened at the time, these films have been largely unseen since the early 1950s. Peter Miller surveys the films and celebrates the filmmakers who collaborated on them in Projections of America (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 New York Jewish Film Festival.

Robert Riskin helped establish the term “Capra-esque” with his screenplays for Meet John Doe and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, but he was not interested in joining his former colleague on the Why We Fight project. Instead, he envisioned a warmer, softer series of films, much in the vein of the Frank Sinatra short, The House I Live In. Of course, the more popular selections were the less political releases, like the anti-Fascist Arturo Toscanini conducting Verdi and The Autobiography of a Jeep, following the exploits of one such trusty vehicle.

There is a real lesson to be learned from Riskin’s work regarding the importance of “soft power” in any geopolitical struggle. For instance, Willis Conover’s Jazz USA program on the VOA won over many hearts and minds during the Cold War, simply by playing a style of music that was fundamentally based on the exercise of free expression. Unfortunately, this lesson has been lost on our current policy makers.

Rather problematically, Miller and some of his interview subjects play political favorites to the film’s detriment. First they wax rhapsodic about the extent of the left wing politics War Information filmmakers were able to slip into their productions and then demonize congressional Republicans for raising hay and cutting the budget. In fact, there are some rather awkward moments in retrospect, such as the performance of “The Internationale” in the Toscanini film.

Still, Riskin is a compelling central figure to focus on. His romance with wife Fay Wray (yes, that Fay Wray) is quite touching and his patriotic dedication was admirable. He even pulled Meet John Doe out of consideration for screenings in newly liberated territories, because he thought its caustic portrayal of moneyed interests might send the wrong message during wartime. Again, there is a lesson in there worth chewing on. Somewhat informative but overly didactic (a film about propaganda films that is propagandistic? Say it isn’t so), Projections of America is very much a mixed bag-split decision, with reservations, when it screens twice this Wednesday (1/13) at the Walter Reade, with Autobiography of a Jeep, as part of this year’s NYJFF.

The Forest: What Happens in the Aokigahara Stays in the Aokigahara

Japan’s Aokigahara Forest has long been one of the world’s top suicide sites. Some estimate it ranks just below the Golden Gate and Nanjing Yangtze River Bridges as a final ending place. It is hard to say for sure, because many lost souls enter with the intention of never being found. Unfortunately, it seems Sara Price’s twin sister Jess was one of them. It has been five days since she walked in the woods. Generally, that is more than sufficient time to conclude the worst, but Price feels she is still alive through their twinster connection. She will duly go into the notorious woods after her in Jason Zada’s The Forest (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

For years, the Price sisters only had each other, but Sara has since married Rob. He is usually a stable lump of husband material, but he often loses patience with Jess’s drama. However, Price understands her sister has always had a greater affinity for the dark side and therefore makes greater allowances. After freaking out everyone at the school where Jess taught English (or teaches, if we share her optimism), Price retraces her sister’s steps to Aokigahara, the destination of their recent field trip that now looks rather ill-conceived.

Finding Jess will be difficult, even assuming she wants to be found. It’s like a forest in there. Yet, Price seems to have good fortune when an aspiring American journalist and an off-the-books guide agree to accompany her into the woods. At least Meryl Streep isn’t in there, so how bad can it get?

Real bad, of course. Michi is a decent fellow, but the local knows enough to be scared of the forest. There is no way he will spend the night out there. Aiden on the other hand, is more than game. Inevitably, Price starts to suspect the hipster expat had a hand in Jess’s disappearance. By this time, her mind has obviously been clouded by the forest’s malevolent power, but that does not mean she is wrong about Aiden.

The Forest is not dazzlingly original by any stretch, but it is cool to see Zada incorporate a lot of J-Horror influences without getting slavish in his homages. Zada taps into the Aokigahara folklore rather effectively, even if the film was shot in the Balkans rather than Japan, judging from all the Serbian names in the credits. He also profitably invests a good measure of time exploring the Price Twins’ respective psychological hang-ups.

Nobody will be working to remind Academy voters about Natalie Dormer’s performance this time next year, but she is not bad at all playing the twins. Frankly, the extent to which she glams down might be what is most impressive. Most of the time, it looks like she is uncomfortably damp and her feet are hurting her. Conversely, Taylor Kinney’s Aiden never comes across as particularly trustworthy or outdoorsy, so it is hard to understand why Price ever thought he would be good to have around. Most of the Japanese cast serve in helper roles, including Yukiyoshi Ozawa’s Michi, but Rina Takasaki nicely covers both ends of the horror movie spectrum as the mysterious lost schoolgirl, Hoshiko.

It seems foolish to belabor The Forest’s shortcomings in a week when the nasty gristle of Uwe Boll-produced zombie ugliness called Anger of the Dead also opens. Although it basically ranks alongside middling Blumhouse productions, a good deal of style went into The Forest, including Bear McCreary’s evocative score. Even casual genre fans will have seen far worse. Not classic, but presentably distracting, The Forest opens in theaters today (1/8), including the AMC Empire in New York.

Only Yesterday: It was Worth the Wait

At twenty-seven, Taeko Okajima ought to be too young for a midlife crisis, but she carries a lot of baggage from her difficult childhood. However, she might finally start to work through her issues when she lugs her “fifth grade self” along on her vacation to the countryside. Although it was a Japanese box office hit in 1991, Isao Takahata’s animated memory play remained the one Studio Ghibli film that was never theatrically distributed in North American. Fortunately, GKIDS has rectified this frustrating situation with a proper release of Takahata’s straight-up masterpiece Only Yesterday (trailer here) which continues it special two-week, twenty-fifth anniversary release in New York, at the IFC Center.

Okajima’s desire to vacation in the country can be immediately attributed to the frustrations of her childhood. As she boards the train taking her out of Tokyo, she remembers with bitterness being the only member of her fifth grade class who did not have a country getaway lined-up for summer break. Her parents seemed to have two specialties, berating her for her low marks in mathematics and dashing her dreams. However, young Okajima is not the perfect picture of innocence either. In fact, the memories that will be most difficult to work through involve her guilt for mistreating less popular classmates.

In contrast, her time spent with her bother-in-law’s rugged country relations is quite pleasant for Okajima. She genuinely enjoys harvesting the safflowers, a blooming thistle whose pigments are used for cosmetics and dyes. She and Toshio (the second cousin of her sister’s husband) hit it off particularly well. There could even be something more than friendship between them, but it is not clear Okajima’s head is ready for it.

You do not see very many films, live action or animated, that are as emotionally complex as Only Yesterday. While the 1966 flashbacks were based on a successful manga, Takahata developed the original 1980s wrap-arounds, which really take on a life of their own. In fact, seeing the psychological ripple effects years later make the childhood sequences far richer. Consequently, when Takahata delivers the massive payoff, it happens in the eighties.

Of course, Only Yesterday looks absolutely gorgeous. Studio Ghibli’s affinity for safflower fields hardly needs explaining for their fans. The figures are also rendered with unusual sensitivity, particularly 1980s Taeko and Toshio. If you do not quickly take a shine to them, you must be one grumpy old goat. Yet, what really stands out in the film is Takahata’s confident patience to let dialogue fully play out. Early in the film, Toshio and Okajima have a long conversation while he drives her to the farm from the station. It deceptively sounds like small talk, but it really establishes both their characters, as well as the film’s major themes. Frankly, they are just worth listening to.

For the English dub, GKIDS scored a bit of a coup with the casting of Daisy Ridley, currently seen in something called The Force Awakes, as the voice of twenty-seven year old Okajima. However, Japanese pop singer Miki Imai is so perfect in the role, it is still worth opting for the subtitled original version (which the IFC Center is also running for the film’s screenings after 8:00 pm).

Some animation fans consider Only Yesterday a watershed for its mature and realistic portrayal of a woman in adulthood. That may well be so, but it is such a human and humane film, just about everyone ought to be able to relate to it. A wonderful example of studio Ghibli’s artistry, Only Yesterday continues its special, worth-the-wait engagement at the IFC Center, with a national release later scheduled for February 26^th.

Anger of the Dead: the Zombie Apocalypse at its Ugliest

For some reason, in horror movies, medical researchers who have devoted years to academic study and public service turn into Jigsaw from the Saw franchise as soon as the zombie apocalypse hits. Evidently, it is true of Italian co-productions as well. At least these undead cannibals come with European tax shelter benefits, judging from the notorious Uwe Boll’s producing role. Low expectations will still be disappointed by Francesco Picone’s Anger of the Dead (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Alice just discovered she was preggers when the infection hit. Her husband and five year old daughter are now long gone, but her baby is clearly due soon. She has teamed up with the bickering Stephen and Peter, who have more-or-less agreed to check out reports of a ferry leaving for an island safe haven. Unfortunately, to get to the port, their paths will cross that of Rooker, the sadistic leader of the so-called “sanctuary.”

Within the former government institution, scientists repeatedly torture an unnamed woman for no constructive purpose. However, Rooker seems to think she is “The One,” whose apparent immunity can help him save his full blown zombified wife. Just how the regularly scheduled raping will help him do that makes sense only to Picone (and probably Boll).

This is just a damn ugly film, filled with completely unnecessary brutality, even by hardcore horror standards. Technically, Anger is considered a feature fixer-up of Picone’s somewhat superior short of the same title, but he inexplicably jettisons its most memorable character: the motorcycle-riding zombie killer.

Almost perversely, Aaron Stielstra gives the most the film’s best performance, but Rooker is so irredeemably vile, it is impossible to enjoy his villainy. Roberta Sparta and Désirée Giorgetti are serviceable enough as Alice and “The One,” but there is no way they can salvage this material. Frankly, Anger suspiciously parallels the narrative of Wyrmwood: the Road of the Dead, but it lacks the Australian film’s wit and invention. In terms of zombie satisfaction, fans will get more out of the mash-up, The Walking Deceased.

Based on Picone’s film, the Dead have a right to be ticked off. Granted, it is more polished and the causality of events are more logical than Boll’s own cinematic disasters, but that is a low bar to clear. Not recommended, not even for ravenous zombie fans, Anger of the Dead opens today (1/8) in New York at the Cinema Village.

Diablo: Scott Eastwood Rides a Hard Trail

It is strange how often former Union soldiers are the villains of revisionist westerns. Who do they think fought the Confederates? (They must have been bad, since their flag is the embodiment of all evil.) Jackson is one such bad cat. They say he was Sherman’s best killer. Given his very particular set of skills, it is probably a bad idea to kidnap his wife. Yet, a band of outlaws go and do it anyway in Lawrence Roeck’s Diablo (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in Los Angeles.

At least those outlaws do not waste time with exposition. As the film starts, they have just abducted Jackson’s wife Alexsandra and lit his barn ablaze. Unfortunately for them, the Union veteran manages to get his horse out safely before collapsing from smoke. With help from his neighborly neighbors, Jackson is able to right himself quickly and light out after the bandits. He will be stalking his prey on decidedly dangerous trail. A psychotic named Ezra is also prowling about, gunning down people for sadistic sport. To survive long enough to catch up with his wife, Jackson will have to kill better than Ezra.

By far, the best scenes in Diablo involve the Native people who give the injured Jackson shelter. Adam Beach and Samuel Marty are terrific as Nakoma and his young son Ishani, which is why the dark, seemingly random direction Roeck and co-screenwriter Carlos take their side plot is so disappointing.

If Scott Eastwood couldn’t ride a horse, it would be a scandal. He has the appropriate scruff for Jackson, but he doesn’t have anything close to his father’s piercing stare. On the other hand, Walton Goggins (from Justified and Sons of Anarchy) has the loquacious killer thing down cold. Danny Glover notches another greybearded western cameo, while Camilla Bella hardly gets any screen time as the Macguffinish Alexsandra.

Diablo starts out as a mildly revisionist western that suddenly becomes massively revisionary in the third act. However, that big twist feels out of place in the genre. It would be spoilery to explain why, but it leaves viewers feeling like they misspent their investment in the characters. It is nice to see filmmakers try to give the big screen western a shot in the arm, but it just doesn’t work here. Interesting for its ambition, but not really recommended, Diablo opens this Friday (1/8) in Los Angeles at the Arena Cinema.

My Sweet Audrina: More V.C. Andrews on Lifetime

When it comes to the publishing industry, nobody has disillusioned as many readers as the V.C. Andrews estate. Take My Sweet Audrina. For years, it was known as one of her few stand-alones, but she will finally release a sequel this summer—almost thirty years after her death. Everyone understands it wasn’t spectral writing that generated her last sixty-some books. That’s how it goes when something works. Apparently, V.C. Andrews television movies have also been working for Lifetime. This time, they have adapted her number one bestseller, My Sweet Audrina (trailer here), which premieres on the network this Saturday.

Believe it or not, Audrina Adare has had a really messed up childhood. She is actually the second Audrina Adare. The first was her late older sister, who brutally raped and murdered in the woods outside the stately Adare manor, Whitefern. Audrina II was named after her, and groomed to take her place. Good luck with that baggage.

Still grieving Audrina I, Damien and Lucietta Adare tightly control Audrina II’s life, forbidding her to step outside by herself. She never attends school and boys, like the obviously interested caretaker’s son Arden Lowe are absolutely out of the question. Yet, somehow they are never around when Audrina II is bullied by her cousin Vera, who apparently thinks she is Audrina II’s step-sister, so she probably is, this being based on a V.C. Andrews novel. For some reason, Vera and her mother, Lucietta’s sister Elisabeth live with them in Whitefern. That Vera will be tough to get rid of, even after her mother takes a tumble down the grand staircase. Indeed, it will be quite a dangerous architectural feature of Whitefern.

Look, at least Audrina II and Lowe are not brother and sister—that’s not even a spoiler, per se. All things considered, the Adares are pretty healthy in comparison to other V.C. Andrews families. Audrina II will even start to grow up and assert herself before shocking and scandalous stuff starts happening again.

My Sweet Audrina is laughable in obvious ways, but it is still a fairly competent production. It is just impossible to take this luridly purple YA hothouse tale and transform it into the Magnificent Ambersons. Still, there are weird distracting elements, like the wealthy Damien Adare, who will decide to renovate Whitefern on a whim, but cannot afford a Bic razor. Also, Vera seems to have an enchantress’s powers of seduction, but it is lost on the screen.

On the other hand, India Eisley, whom probably nobody in the film’s target demographic will recognize from the anime live action remake Kite, is appropriately lovely and delicate as porcelain doll. Even if you are snarking at the film, you will sort of feel for her.

Veteran television director Mike Rohl never really pulls viewers into this macabrely cloistered setting and the look of the picture just screams made-for-TV. It is goofily over-heated, but that is probably how fans want it. Highly riffable, My Sweet Audrina airs this Saturday (1/9) on Lifetime, the V.C. Andrews network.

The Abandoned: Ghosts and Scary Homeless People

Successful horror films are like franchise restaurants—location is key. Technically, a number of creaky old courthouses and a Civil War bunker were edited together to serve as the unfinished and uninhabited faux Gilded Age apartment complex, but it still feels like a very real and creepy place. That setting generates a whole lot of dread in Eytan Rockaway’s The Abandoned (known as The Confines at this year’s Los Angeles Film Festival, trailer here), which opens tomorrow in select markets.

Julia Streak is a single mother with a fistful of scripts from various psychiatrists. She needs to make her new night guard gig work if she wants to continue to see her daughter. That should not be a problem, considering her partner Cooper has been there for years. He has a toxically bad attitude and also happens to require a wheelchair. Their building should have been the poshest address in the city, but the developers ran out of money. Now only a skeleton security crew works there to keep out the tramps and squatters. Streak will do the patrolling, while Cooper watches on the many closed circuit cameras. At least, that’s the idea.

Streak happened to pass one such vagrant on the way to her first day of work. Despite his aggressive behavior, she lets him in when he asks for shelter from the storm. In retrospect this will be a mistake. However, his hostile behavior pales in comparison to the dark forces that start toying with her. It seems she always had a sensitivity to spooky stuff and there is a heck of a lot of it in the sub-basement.

Production designer Akin McKenzie and the location scouts deserve a good deal of credit for Abandoned’s scariness. The vibe and atmosphere are spot on throughout. As Streak and Cooper, Louisa Krause (from Ava’s Possessions) and Jason Patric bicker and sulk quite well together. Frankly, Rockaway keeps the tension cranked up well into the late innings, rather exceeding genre norms. Unfortunately, he tacks on a wholly unnecessary big twist ending that we’ve seen before and don’t really need here. The film is effectively hair-raising without it.

To his credit, Rockaway does not overplay the surveillance motif. In fact, his execution is rather strong overall. Cinematographer Zack Galler further heightens the moody mysteriousness of a very technically accomplished horror package. If nothing else, it should convince viewers not to let strange homeless men into cavernous deserted buildings they are responsible for keeping secure. Recommended for genre fans, The Abandoned releases tomorrow (1/8) in theaters and on VOD, from IFC Midnight.

PSIFF ’16: Atomic Heart

As part of his 2009 fiscal reform package, Ahmadinejad offered a subsidy of roughly fifteen dollars to all Iranians, but somehow supporters of his political party seemed to be the only one who got it. It doesn’t mean anything to Arineh and Nobahar, since their relatives will be claiming theirs. However, it will make it impossible to withdraw money on the night of the mass deposit. That will be dashed inconvenient when their night on the town takes a surreal turn in Ali Ahmadzadeh’s indescribably weird Atomic Heart (clip here), which screens during the 2016 Palm Springs International Film Festival.

Arineh and Nobahar much prefer western style toilets—and who can blame them. They will wax poetic about them, claiming they were in fact an Iranian invention. However, their riffing often sounds like it holds a doth-protest-too-much sarcasm. Regardless, they probably wouldn’t be in a film that wears its Pink Floyd references on its sleeve, if they were not somewhat progressively inclined. They certainly aren’t getting anything from Ahmadinejad and they understand only too well why their friend Kami is immigrating to Australia. Unfortunately, shortly after picking him up from the side of the road, Arineh has a minor fender-bender.

Typically, these matters are resolved on the streets of Tehran with a quick cash payment. Of course, that is not an option tonight, thanks to the big “welfare” payout, as Arineh mockingly calls it. However, a stranger comes along, who eventually pays off the other driver, after snarkily observing for a while. As strangers go, he is particularly strange—and intense. He has no car of his own, but wherever the two women go, he mysteriously appears. They are in his debt and he is not about to let them forget it, but he will beat the long way around the bush before explaining how he intends to collect. First, he will introduce them to his old friend Saddam Hussein, who is supposedly still alive, living in hiding in his favorite city in the world: Tehran.

Whether demonic, extraterrestrial, psychotic, or some combination of the three, the stranger is one of the smoothest, slickest, creepiest characters you will ever want to meet on film. Mohammad Reza Golzar (former guitarist for the Persian pop band Arian) calls and raises every Tarantino movie ever with his sinisterly charismatic, pop-culture reference-dropping monologues. He is absolutely electric. Atomic Heart will leave most viewers reeling he is a major reason why.

On the flip side, Mehrdad Sedighiyan is almost impossibly laid back as the laconic Kami, but quite memorably so. In between, Taraneh Alidoosti and Pegah Ahangarani bicker and banter together in perfect synch. It is obvious they are smart, but frustrated by life, choosing aimless mediocrity, because why not?

The irony in Atomic Heart is massive, perhaps even cosmic. Ahmadzadeh gives us reasons to believe and doubt the stranger really is some kind of being from beyond and the world is on the brink of an apocalypse. Then again, it probably often feels that way in Tehran. One of the oddest, most wonderfully unsettling films to come out of Iran in recent years, Atomic Heart screens this Saturday (1/9) and Sunday (1/10), as part of this year’s PSIFF.

Neighboring Scenes ’16: A Monster with a Thousand Heads

Sonia Bonet’s family is a real risk-pool buster. Sure, her husband’s experimental treatment is easy enough to disallow, but her resulting crime spree is harder to sweep under the rug. Their lucky son Dario gets to witness it all in Rodrigo Plá’s A Monster with a Thousand Heads (trailer here), which screens during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Neighboring Scenes: New Latin American Cinema film series.

Plá and screenwriter (wife) Laura Santullo do not waste time with a lot of medical rigmarole. Sonia’s husband Guillermo is dying of something, but a radical new treatment caused measurable improvement. However, they had to mortgage their home for the first round of narrative widgets. To continue, they need their insurance company, Alta Salud, to reverse its decision. Unfortunately, Guillermo is relapsing rather badly. Desperate for help, Bonet camps out waiting for his doctor at the corporate headquarters, which makes Alta Salud look more like a managed care conglomerate. Of course, Dr. Villalba and the front office staff give her the run-around so Bonet follows him home, taking the doctor and his wife hostage in a half-planned act of madness.

Thanks to the sympathetic Mrs. Villalba’s information, Bonet heads off to the racquet to target the company president and HR director (who really shouldn’t have anything to do with customer coverage issues). The old president is a pretty cool cucumber, but the slimy HR hack makes a lunge for Bonet’s, taking one in the leg as a result. That should basically seal Bonet’s fate, as we can gather from the suspense-killing flashforwards to her criminal trial, but she still has an extended dance to play out with Alta Salud’s morally ambiguous president.

Plá and Santullo made a big international splash with the class conscious La Zona (The Zone), which had its excesses, but still manages to pull viewers through at a brisk gallop. While Monster shares surface similarities, it lacks the best known collaboration’s super slickness—and it is rather missed. In a way, Monster manages to be half-pregnant most of the time, wagging its finger at insurance/managed care companies at what they have reduced Bonet to, but it never lets her cut loose like an Uwe Boll leftist vengeance-taker.

Jana Rulay is convincingly frantic and frayed as Bonet. Plá forces her to walk a precarious tightrope with righteousness on one side and full blown psychosis on the other, but she largely pulls it off. Arguably, Emilio Echeverria’s performance as the president is either the film’s greatest strength or weakness. It is a surprisingly subtle, nuanced turn that makes it difficult to demonize the old goat. That would be problematic if Monster were a true revenge thriller, but Plá is not about providing vicarious satisfaction.

Monster is so frustrating, because there is so much visceral energy in individual scenes, yet it does so much to undermine its overall impact. Plá is a filmmaker worth following, but La Zona remains his most successful politically charged thriller to date. Primarily for those looking to applaud its message, Monster with a Thousand Heads screens this Saturday night (1/9) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s Neighboring Scenes film series.

PSIFF ’16: A Korean in Paris

A mystery in Paris sounds romantic, but this one is anything but. Sang-ho could desperately use the help of an Inspector Maigret, but he is very much on his own in the cold, foreign city. He will guide us through the gutters and prostitutes’ working corners in Jeon Soo-il’s A Korean in Paris (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Palm Springs International Film Festival.

Sang-ho originally came to Paris on his honeymoon with Yeon-hwa, but we he stepped away to buy cigarettes, she was abducted, presumably by some sort of sex trafficking racket. Just how the affluent Sang-ho was reduced to sleeping in the street is never explained in blow-by-blow terms, but here he is nonetheless. Sang-ho regularly haunts areas where Asian prostitutes congregate, solely in the hopes someone will recognize a laminated picture of Yeon-hwa.

Apparently, it has “just” been a few year’s since Yeon-hwa’s disappearance, but today’s Sang-ho looks like a completely different person than the man seen in flashbacks with her. The time on the street and his extreme alienation from French society have caused his social skills to deteriorate along with his body. As a result, he is rather confused when Chang, a French Korean prostitute, reaches out with an offer of platonic friendship. Despite his lingering doubts, Sang-ho keeps plugging away, falling deeper into the abyss.

Actually, it is even more depressing than that. A Korean in Paris is no An American in Paris. It makes The Lower Depths look like The Sound of Music. However, it is quite a fine film. There is something quite remarkable about Cho Jae-hyeon’s minimalist performance as Sang-ho. He is almost completely closed-off and soul-dead, yet something about him feels primed to explode. At times, Mi-kwan Lock’s Chang is even more frightfully vulnerable and exposed, but the frustrated humanity she conveys is just devastating. Based on her turn, the French-born, Madagascar-raised Lock should be a rising international star to contend with.

Jeon and cinematographer Kim Sung-tai capture some fantastic images, proving that the back alleys of Paris are nearly as cinematic as its landmarks. The film can be painfully deliberate and revealing, but the work of Cho and Lock is absolutely riveting. While not exactly optimistic by any stretch, Jeon incorporates enough Good Samaritan characters to leave the audience some remaining shreds of faith in human nature. Recommended for those who appreciate a bit of mystery and a truckload of uncompromising naturalism, A Korean in Paris screens this Saturday (1/9) and Sunday (1/10), as part of this year’s PSIFF.

Hell and Back: Orpheus Gets Rude, Crude, and Animated

It is heavily unionized and the entertainment is all boy bands. Yes, welcome to Hell. You will be hearing that a lot in Tom Gianis & Ross Shuman’s absolutely not for kids stop-motion animated feature Hell and Back (trailer here), which releases today on DVD.

Remy, Augie, and Curt are three incredibly foul-mouthed losers who still work in their town’s decrepit carnival. The entire place is safety hazard, including its signature descent-into-hell ride. When Remy stumbles across an enchanted demonology volume in the fortune teller’s quarters, he thinks its literally weeping portrait of Satan might be the new attraction they need. Unfortunately, he convinces Curt to pledge a foolish blood oath on it, which he has no intention of honoring. Alarmed to see their friend suddenly swept into Hell, Remy and Augie follow him into the vortex.

To satisfy the demons’ union, the Devil agrees to sacrifice Curt in a grand ceremony. It is all rather annoying for the Prince of Darkness. He would much rather be putting the moves on Barb, the naughty angel, who periodically visits as a messenger from upstairs. Obviously, the two slacker mortals need the help of a specialist, so they team up with the half-human, half-demon Deema, to track down her father Orpheus, who knows a thing or two about sneaking mortals out of Hell. However, in the years since classical antiquity, the mythological figure has become a boorish womanizing drunkard, so he and Remy get along like a house on fire.

The humor of H&B is crude, lewd, and pretty funny. By affording Orpheus a significant role, it is also far more literate than you would expect. There are even some surprisingly witty barbs aimed at unions, boy bands, public education, and general political correctness. It is basically a scatological force for good, in the South Park tradition.

Only in Hell would Nick Swardson be considered a bigger star than Mila Kunis, so maybe that explains why he gets top billing over her here. Nevertheless, he voices Remy with all due snark and snide. Kunis is game enough as Deema, but Susan Sarandon is the queen of all good sports singing a duet with Danny McBride (as Barb and Orpheus) that is so raunchy it makes the songs from the South Park movie sound like “Some Day My Prince Will Come” (what a shame it wasn't submitted for Oscar consideration).

The animation is not quite at Aardman or Laika levels, but it definitely exceeds expectations. In fact, the environs of Hell are rather suitably baroque. Even running a hair shy of ninety minutes, H&B starts to run out of steam, but it still has more originality, energy, and attitude than the cliché-ridden Boxtrolls. All and all, it is most satisfyingly subversive. Recommended for animation fans who can appreciate it cheerful unruliness, Hell and Back releases today (1/5) on DVD.

Cruel: The Lonely French Serial Killer

Pierre Tardieu is sort of like the French version of Paddy Chayefsky’s Marty, except he also happens to be a serial killer. The world sees him as an unassuming man in his late forties, who works menial temp jobs and cares for his dementia-suffering father. He also has a secret dungeon. However, his life gets really complicated with a normal woman responds to his overtures in Eric Cherrière’s Cruel (trailer here), which releases today on DVD.

His grandfather built that underground chamber to hide Jews during the war. Sadly, Tardieu now uses it for evil purposes. He keeps them alive for a good while, not necessarily torturing them, but to watch and observe. By serial killer standards, he is quite disciplined when it comes to keeping souvenirs—I.D. cards only. Of course, he maintains a detailed journal on each. Since he deliberately alters his M.O. each time, the Toulouse coppers do not even know there is a serial killer in their midst.

One of Tardieu’s few healthy relationships is with the owner of the independent bookstore he used to frequent as a child. Acting on the best of intentions, the old proprietor introduces him to Laure Ouari, an attractive music teacher. Having some mysterious tragedy in her past, Ouari is rather receptive to Tardieu’s halting shyness, which she understandably but wrongly equates with a gentle nature. Things start to click between them, but Tardieu still has his latest victim on his hands.

Cruel starts with all the typically sadistic serial killer business in the first act, but it makes a welcome shift into more Hitchockian territory once Tardieu and Ouari meet. Ironically, this deceptive dance is arguably more psychologically twisted, as well as much more fun to watch. That means viewers should understand Cruel gets considerably better as it progresses.

Jean-Jacques Lelté is terrific as Tardieu, all sad-eyed and tightly wound, but with an electrically charged sense of underlying menace. We come to understand how he became such a monster, but we never identify with him. Magali Moreau’s Ouari is also unusually smart and engaging for a potentially blind-sided victim. In his brief scene, Stéphane Henon memorably lays a further smackdown on the film as the existentially frustrated investigating detective.

Cruel will definitely make viewers squirm, but mostly in the right way. Cherrière takes his time establishing the characters and laying the groundwork for future twists and turns, but the film never feels slack or labored. In fact, it develops into of quite a strong thriller, especially compared to other recent films also focusing on a serial killer’s POV. Recommended for fans of dark, moody genre fare, Cruel is now available on DVD from Film Movement’s Omnibus label.

IIFC ’16: Definition of Fear

Apparently, Sarah Fording is majoring in bad karma. For her thesis project, she has the bright idea to invite her friends for a weekend at her prof’s cabin, where she will film them experiencing the scares she has pre-planned. Right, because what could go wrong? Of course, she has some unexpected help in James Simpson’s Definition of Fear (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Idyllwild International Festival of Cinema.

With her closed circuit cameras in place, Fording arrives with her pals Victoria Burns, Frankie Toms, and Rachel Moore. Mostly Fording has prepared recorded bumps in the night and the like. However, Burns goes off script when she insists she saw a menacing psycho-stalker in the woods. Oh, that’s just Oddle, the handyman Fording assures everyone. Nonetheless, the weirdness starts to pile up, so the women logically seek answers from the Ouija Board. Soon they are in touch with the spirit of “Mary,” who freaks them out even worse.

Definition has the distinction of being the American movie premiere of Sri Lankan Bollywood star Jacqueline Fernandez, so probably millions more viewers will it in than your average indie horror film. Somewhat fortunately, the film is actually rather good for what it is. Simpson cranks up the dread steadily and surely and the initial Ouija sessions are impressively tense. Yet, as is par for the spooky movie course, the women ultimately turn into gimpy quarterbacks who stay in the pocket way to long. When Mary tells them to “GO” they should be out the door, no more questions asked.

Despite a few such shortcomings endemic to the genre, the attractive cast handles the supernatural business rather well. It is her showcase and Fernandez does indeed make quite an impression during Fording’s sultry scenes of possession (regular genre viewers will definitely want to see more of her). As the “sensitive” Burns, Katherine Barrell seems genuinely terrified. Blythe Hubbard’s Moore is refreshingly down-to-earth and relatively proactive, while Mercedes Papalia shows pleasantly surprising range as Toms.

The fab four all hold up their end, but none of their characters seem like logical candidates to be the “final girl,” if you know the rules—not that anyone will object. Still, they mostly keep it clean, despite a game of Truth or Dare. It is a far cry from this year’s It Follows, but if you dig old dark house movies, it is certainly entertaining. Recommended for horror and Bollywood fans, Definition of Fear screens this Thursday (1/7) and Saturday (1/9) at the Idyllwild International Festival of Cinema.

Neighboring Scenes ’16: The Gold Bug, or Victoria’s Revenge

Who produces better films, feminists or anti-colonialists? Supposedly, a prominent Swedish feminist filmmaker and her grungy Argentine colleague will be joining forces to co-direct a typically co-financed, festival-only kind of film, but nobody is working in concert on this shoot. Every kind of ism and all sorts of international film production conventions are skewered in Alejo Mouguillansky & Fia-Stina Sandlund’s self-referential many times over The Gold Bug, or Victoria’s Revenge (trailer here), which screens during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Neighboring Scenes: New Latin American Cinema film series.

Moguillansky, playing himself, is about to start co-directing an explicitly feminist film with the Swedish Sandlund, funded with hipster European grant money. The idea is to make a bio-treatment of Swedish feminist author Victoria Benedictsson. However, unemployed actor Rafa convinces his colleagues to make a film about failed radical Leandro N. Alem instead, because he has come into possession of a map to buried treasure outside the city of Alem.

Frankly, the town has nothing to do with Alem besides being named in his honor, but that hardly matters. Caught up in his enthusiasm, Moguillansky calls Sandlund to convince her to make the eleventh hour switch (swapping one Nineteenth Century suicide for another), shamelessly playing the colonialism card. He can bamboozle the European producers, but Sandlund remains dubious. Presumably, since she is stuck at a feminist conference in Miami, she will be powerless to stop them. However, like Charlie on the phone to the Angels, the heard but never seen Sandlund will exert a powerful force from the shadows (remember the second part of the title).

Of course, the meta-meta film isn’t called The Gold Bug for no reason. Just as in Poe’s story, the map is only one clue to the treasure’s location. There is also a cryptogram to be cracked. Naturally, this will require a lot of madcap running around. Unbeknownst to Rafa and his cronies, two women on the crew, acting with Sandlund’s counsel, are conspiring to grab the treasure for themselves. There is also an incomprehensible anti-colonialist, supposedly feminist film to be made—not that they have a script to follow.

Obviously, Gold Bug follows in the tradition of chaotic movie-making films, like Day for Night and Irma Vep, but it has distantly sharp satirical edge. When Moguillansky and Sandlund were thrown together as part of some grant-writing, international financing deal in real life, the concept grew out of the absurdity of their situation. Frankly, they expose a lot of the sausage-making of multinational “prestige” filmmaking for ridicule.

Sandlund’s frosty voiceovers are absolutely hilarious and Moguillansky delivers some of the film’s best lines as the (hopefully) fictionalized version of himself. As Rafa, Rafael Spregelburd (recognizable from The Critic) deftly balances raging insecurity and manipulative game-playing, which probably comes naturally to many actors. In fact, the entire ensemble seems to have a collective talent for rapid-fire cross-talk.

Gold Bug was co-written by Mariano Llinás, who wrote and directed the utterly brilliant Extraordinary Stories (not to be confused with Extraordinary Tales or Wild Tales). We can easily see his Russian doll influence in the narrative digressions and intriguing historical flashback interludes. It might be too clever for its own good, but anyone who has seen an unwatchably pretentious film at a festival and wondered how it got produced may find their answers here. Recommended for cineastes who do not mind a little metaphorical ox-goring, The Gold Bug, or Victoria’s Revenge screens Thursday (1/7) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s Neighboring Scenes film series.

Porumboiu’s Treasure

You might call this Romanian style tomb-raiding. Instead of ancient crypts, Costi’s unemployed neighbor invites him to help plunder his own family history. If Adrian’s grandfather really did bury something in his backyard on the eve of the Communist nationalization, the two men hope to find and split it. Of course, that will be a big “if” in The Treasure, Corneliu Porumboiu’s wry comedy of manners and bureaucracy (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Facing foreclosure on his flat, Adrian offers Costi a deal. If he can pay the eight hundred Euros necessary for a professional metal detecting service, they will share the proceeds of everything they might find. Based on his late grandfather’s cryptic words to him, Adrian is absolutely convinced there must be something there, sort of how George Bluth, Sr. would say “there’s always money in the banana stand.”

For a mild mannered government office worker like Costi, eight hundred Euros represents a considerable investment. Just taking time away from work to schedule the appointment arouses his supervisor’s suspicions, in an absurdly droll scene that could very well be a defining example of Porumboiu-ism. However, Cornel offers them an off-the-books special behind his boss’s back. For half the price, he agrees to meet them with the gear in Islaz, the site of the 1848 democratic uprising. However, they must be secretive about their scheme, because the government is entitled to claim anything deemed to have national cultural significance.

Given the discreet, severely reserved nature of Porumboiu’s style, you might not realize in-the-moment how much lunacy unfolds during The Treasure. It has the heart of It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad World, but the tone of Porumboiu’s “greatest hit,” Police, Adjective. However, whenever a supposed authority figure saunters into the frame, the absurdity that follows is impossible to miss. The toxicity of the Communist era also lingers over their best laid plans, like an annoying ghost.

Deceptively stone-faced, Toma Cuzin slowly but surely brings out Costa’s endearing everyman qualities. Adrian Purcarescu, Porumboiu’s filmmaker colleague, whose own metal-detecting exploits inspired the film, is uproariously neurotic as his namesake. Similarly, real life metal-detector Corneliu Cozmei is a pitch perfect Droopy Dog foil for the resentful Adrian. Their caustic bickering is wickedly droll and acutely realistic.

That is also pretty much true of Porumboiu’s film in general. It is understated as a Stephen Wright monologue, but it builds to an uncharacteristically satisfying conclusion. This is not just Porumboiu’s most accessible film, but perhaps the most reachable and diggable film to be broadly associated with the Romanian New Wave. Highly recommended for sophisticated palettes, The Treasure opens this Friday (1/8) in New York, at the IFC Center.

IIFC ’16: Eva’s Legacy & The Wager (shorts)

Somehow, elderly British upper crust ladies and gents, can be either reassuring or wickedly scary, depending on the context. Perhaps they are merely products of their idyllic or macabre country manors. Regardless, the tradition of British gothic horror continues rather nicely in Simon Frith’s Eva’s Legacy (trailer here) and Joss Maines’ The Wager (trailer here), which both screen as part of short film blocks at the 2016 Idyllwild International Festival of Cinema.

Eva’s Legacy will be a human interest story. At least that is what the reporter who has come to interview her thinks. The heirless titular Eva has announced she is bequeathing her grand family home to a children’s charity. It seems appropriate, since the estate once sheltered several children from the chaos of the London blitzes. Eva vividly remembers one little boy in particular . . .

Frith has assembled a lovely setting and classy British cast for what feels like a proof of concept short. Frankly, it seems like Legacy is just getting started when it ends (but it is far worse when a film feels like it has been over long before its credits roll). Frith controls the build-up nicely, maintaining a vibe not unlike the under-appreciated Dominic West film, The Awakening. Sue Morley is subtly mysterious as Eva and Elizabeth Twells makes an effectively contemporary gothic heroine. It would be nice to see this one expanded.

In contrast, Maines’ The Wager is more self-contained, but it is even more satisfying for genre fans. It sort of plays like the Hammer Horror version of the favorite Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, The Man from the South. After fleecing two associates in a not-so friendly game of cards, Peter, their wealthy host, offers the financially desperate younger man a fateful bargain. If he can spend a night in a reportedly haunted room of the old dark house, he will forgive all his debt and throw in all the takings from their game. Needless to say, it will be easier said than done.

The atmosphere of The Wager is wonderfully Hammer-esque and the house’s backstory is appropriately sinister (eerily evoking Abelard and Heloise). As Peter and the other old-timer Harry, Ian Hogg and Stephan Chase look they could have been wizards in the Harry Potter franchise or apprentices of Peter Cushing and Sir Christopher Lee, which is a very good thing.

Both Eva’s Legacy and The Wager are impressively produced, suitably British supernatural horror films. They represent a lot of talent contributed by their respective casts and crews, so they are easy to recommend for genre fans. The two shorts would screen well together, but they are in separate programs at this year’s IIFC, with the former screening this Wednesday (1/6) and Saturday (1/9) and the latter screening Friday (1/8) and Sunday (1/10).

Japan Society Monthly Classic: Gate of Hell

In one chapter of the Heiji Rebellion, Lady Kesa serves as both the Trojan Horse and the Helen of Troy figures. The lady-in-waiting bravely volunteers to impersonate her mistress in the hope she can lure away the attacking Minamoto clan. However, her courage inadvertently causes her samurai escort to fall recklessly in love with the married noblewoman. Tragedy is inevitable in Teinosuke Kinugasa’s Academy Award winning Gate of Hell, which screens this coming Friday as part of the Japan Society’s Monthly Classics series.

When Lord Kiyomori, the warrior-monk leader of the ruling Taira clan is away from the palace, the Minamoto forces target the emperor. Initially, their attack seems so well timed, many turncoats join the Minamoto, including Morito Endo’s opportunistic brother. Remaining faithful to Kiyomori and the emperor, Endo guards the Lady Kesa’s decoy carriage, allowing the real emperor and empress to slip out the back gate. Meeting Lady Kesa later after the tides of battle have turned, the roughneck Endo is struck by her courage and grace.

In fact, Endo is so smitten, he asks Kiyomori to arrange their marriage when the general ceremonially rewards his loyal warriors. Kiyomori is willing enough until he learns thee good Lady is already married to the high-ranking Lord Wataru Watanabe. Much to his own appalled surprise, Endo continues to press for the favor granted in haste. Kiyomori tries to arrange some cooling-down meetings, but they have the opposite effect. Endo is obsessed with Lady Kesa and will resort to any sort of dishonorable violence to possess her.

Produced two years after Carmen Comes Home, Gate of Hell was the first Japanese color film to screen widely internationally. Again, this was definitely a case where Kinugasa got his money’s worth of Eastman Color. Ironically, the vivid hues of the Kodak process were very nearly lost to posterity, but they have since been restored to their original vibrancy. There are indeed some visually striking, exquisitely crafted scenes, such as the use of scroll paintings and outfits so lush they garnered an Academy Award for best color costume design (in addition to the then equivalent of the best foreign language Oscar).

The legendary Machiko Kyō is at her most ethereal as Lady Kesa. She seems like she is as much orchid as she is woman, yet her character is proactive rather than passive. In a way, the overly enflamed Endo is nearly as piteous a figure. Kazuo Hasegawa duly expresses all the compounded insecurities of a provincial samurai with a treasonous brother. The blue-blooded effeteness of Isao Yamagata’s Watanabe completes the perfect storm of tragedy.

The Gate of Hell title is somewhat misleading, potentially priming contemporary audiences for something along the lines of Jigoku. In this case, it refers to the arch where Kiyomori hangs the decapitated heads of his enemies. It is metaphorically appropriate for Endo, who spends a good deal of time brooding there. This is one of the most achingly beautiful, deeply passionate, and remorsefully angst-ridden Jidaigeki films ever. Highly recommended, it screens Friday (1/8) at the Japan Society in New York.

Paris Terror Attack: Charlie Hebdo, on the Smithsonian Channel

At the time, it seemed as if the terrorist attack on the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo wouldn’t wake up the world to the profound threat of terrorism nothing would—but as usual, it didn’t. However, the cost of the Western world burying its head in the sand would become tragically clear during the coordinated Mumbai-style attacks in Paris this November. In fact, the January 2015 murders and hostage crisis are explicitly identified as forerunners of the larger atrocities to come in the special report, Paris Terror Attack: Charlie Hebdo, which air this Monday on the Smithsonian Channel.

Lest we forget, the terrorists targeted Charlie Hebdo not out of frustration with unemployment, but because their Islamist ideology could not abide a few jokes at the old prophet’s expense. You can hear them scream precisely that during their murderous assault. PTA includes most of the highly disturbing closed circuit camera footage of their crimes, but it cuts away at the fatal moment when the vicious Kouachi brothers shoot Muslim Parisian policeman Ahmed Merabet point blank in the head.

There are a lot of inconvenient truths in PTA, like the fact the Kouachis and their former prison mate Amedy Coulibaly were native born French. Also, no doubts should remain as to why Coulibaly chose to take the patrons of a kosher Hypercacher supermarket hostage. According to one survivor, he tellingly told her: “you Jews love life, but we Muslims prefer death.” Details like that have been grossly under-reported, but PTA duly includes them.

American coverage of the Hebdo and Hypercacher incidents were pretty sketchy at the time, because the media is always uncomfortable reporting Islamist terrorism. As a result, the special’s tick-tock chain of events is quite illuminating. There is also a good faith attempt to present Merabet’s grieving parents as the voice of moderate Islam. Yet, when they condemn extremists of all faiths, we cannot help thinking their beloved son was not killed by radical Unitarians.

Regardless, PTA’s underlying thesis arguing the Charlie Hebdo attack was an unheeded warning of greater terrorism to come is totally on-point and tough to argue against. By chronicling the horrific events, step-by-step, it gives us another chance to come to grips with Islamist terror, but we will probably ignore it again. Recommended for anyone who wants to better understand issues of terrorism and homeland security, Paris Terror Attack: Charlie Hebdo premieres this Monday (1/4) on the Smithsonian Channel. Happy New Year.