Atom Egoyan’s Remember

It is good for seniors to pick up a hobby, like gardening or whittling sharp sticks. Zev Guttman chose revenge. More precisely, he committed to its pursuit once his beloved wife passed. His memory is pretty porous these days, but his wheelchair bound crony Max Rosenbaum is as alert as ever. In fact, he has leads on the despised Auschwitz commandant who sent their families to their deaths. Rosenbaum provides the planning and the increasingly addled Guttman still intends to pull the trigger in Atom Egoyan’s Remember (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Somehow, Guttman and Rosenbaum were unexpectedly reunited in a Canadian assisted living complex decades after they both survived the notorious concentration camp. Guttman largely put the past behind him, building a new life with his Canadian wife, while Rosenbaum worked with Simon Wiesenthal tracking down National Socialists. Unfortunately, Rosenbaum’s failing body needs constant oxygen, whereas the dementia-wracked Guttman remains relatively hale and hearty.

With the help of Rosenbaum’s cheat sheets (bringing to mind a few indie thrillers from around the turn of the millennium), Guttman sets off in search of their prey. According to the old National Socialist hunter’s intel, their nemesis is living somewhere in the Pacific Northwest under the assumed name Rudy Kurlander. There will be four Kurlanders for Guttman to confront, so it is probably a good bet the fourth suspect will be the fateful one.

Remember’s third act implications make it dashed difficult film to take stock of. It might just be too clever for its own good. An interminably long interlude featuring a late Rudy Kurlander’s ridiculously anti-Semitic sheriff’s deputy son does not exactly help the flow much either. Nevertheless, Remember is a far cry from Egoyan’s recent misfires, like The Captive and Devil’s Knot. Regardless of its manipulations, the film pulls viewers in and keeps a hold on them.

Much credit is due to Christopher Plummer and Martin Landau, who both look like they are on death’s door as Guttman and Rosenbaum, respectively. There is a remarkable physicality and vulnerability to Plummer’s performance, whereas Landau’s crackling smart presence always gives the film an energy lift, even with his ever present oxygen tank. Jürgen Prochnow also adds some ironic bite as one Rudy Kurlander, but Bruno Ganz is largely wasted as another Rudy Kurlander.

Combining Holocaust themes with genre elements of any sort is always a tricky business. “Pulling it off” would be a strong term, but at least Egoyan maintains the film’s structural integrity while navigating some perilous straights. It is the rare sort of film that can engender intensely mixed feelings within a given viewer. Cautiously recommended for the work of Plummer and the award worthy Landau, Remember opens this Friday (3/11) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center and Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

The Admiral: When the Dutch Outsailed England and Spain

It is the second most expensive Dutch film of all time, ranking just below Paul Verhoeven’s Black Book. It is hard to fathom how the budget for a WWII Dutch occupation drama could exceed a full scale Seventeenth Century naval epic. Maybe it was Verhoeven’s lattes. Regardless, the exploits of Michiel de Ruyter never look small or cheap on-screen in Roel Reiné’s The Admiral (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select cities.

In the Seventeenth Century, naval power was everything. Britain and Spain had it—and so did the Dutch, sort of. Despite the successes of the soon-to-be-late national hero, Admiral Maarten Tromp, the battered Dutch fleet is in need of an overhaul. Cantankerous Michiel de Ruyter is just the man to do it. He has the Orangist (Royalist) background that the rank-and-file seem to trust, but he has never been overtly political. After reluctantly accepting the position, de Ruyter rather surprises himself by throwing his lot in with the republicans and befriending their leader, Johan de Witt.

Holland was indeed a republic, predating the independent United States. In fact, it was quite a prosperous one, which made it a target multiple times over for the absolute monarchs of Spain and Britain. Of course, as Ben Franklin pointed out, having a republic is one thing. Keeping it is another. The Dutch would lose theirs for some time, but through no fault of de Ruyter. The titular admiral would even continue to serve under William III, who would do quite well for himself as part of the William and Mary tandem.

Reiné and screenwriter Lars Boom and Alex van Galen cogently condense quite a bit of Dutch political history into The Admiral, but the whole point of the film is the naval action. Reiné does not disappoint, bringing plenty of spectacle and bombast, but also clearly rendering the tactical maneuvering. Frankly, it is easier to follow what de Ruyter is planning than trying to make heads or tails of America’s Cup television coverage. Reiné can also stage quite an effective mob riot, which is nearly as cinematic, but less edifying.

Frank Lammers does not exactly cut a dashing figure but he is apparently a good likeness of the de Ruyter statues you can find in nearly every Dutch public park. He plays the admiral accordingly, with plenty of prickliness and salty gravitas. You can understand why men would sail into cannon fire for him. Similarly, Barry Atsma is charismatically fiery as the cunning but principled de Witt. The reliably villainous Charles Dance really pulls out all the sinister stops as the hedonistic, Machiavellian Charles II. However, Egbert-Jan Weber’s underwhelming William III never grows in stature, even when he starts to assert his power.

The bottom line for The Admiral is the naval action, which looks great. With its three specially constructed masted vessels, The Admiral is a good example of how to augment practical effects with CGI. Recommended for fans of seafaring action (consider it the Dutch equivalent of the Korean smash hit, The Admiral: Roaring Currents), Reiné’s The Admiral opens this Friday (3/11) in Los Angeles, at the Arena Cinema.

The Blue Hour: a Thai Psycho-Sexual-Supernatural Drama

Any film that commingles sexuality and the supernatural cries out for Neo-Freudian analysis. This is often generally true of Thai cinema and particularly so in the case of Anucha Boonyawatana’s first film to break the hour mark. A bullied gay teen will find the lover he yearned for, but he will also encounter paranormal dread during their assignations in Boonyawatana’s The Blue Hour (trailer here), which is now available on DVD and VOD from Strand Releasing.

Tam is regularly beaten at school and his insensitive mother asks him to fake straight to make things less awkward around the house. Hope arrives in the form of Phum, an internet hook-up that quickly turns serious. Phum is slightly older, considerably stronger, and much more experienced than Tam. Nonetheless, they seem to fit together. However, Phum’s preferred rendezvous spot is not exactly romantic. Considering the brackish water and evil looking mold spores, the abandoned public swimming pool might be a legitimate health hazard, but at least the furtive lovers will not be disturbed there—at least not by anything mortal.

According to rumor, the pool is haunted by ghosts. Supposedly, the spirits dump missing bodies there once they have finished their sinister business with the victims. The more time Tam and Phum spend there, the more credence they give to such urban legends. However, Phum’s other choice for quality alone time is probably even more dangerous. That would be the mob-run landfill that also has its share of corpse dumping.

Of course, how much of Blue Hour is real and how much has been distorted by Tam’s warped perception of reality is the key question Boonyawatana leaves open throughout the film. Regardless, the mounting sense of menace is definitely based on something. While not consistently scary enough to be considered a horror film proper, it is still pretty darn creepy at times. That shunned swimming pool is a particularly evocative location. It just radiates bad vibes.

The youthful and frequently shirtless Atthaphan Poonsawas and Oabnithi Wiwattanawarang are also terrific as the repressed Tam and cocky Phum. They develop some realistically complicated romantic chemistry together and act convincingly freaked out when appropriate. There are other supporting characters washing in and out, but the film is essentially a two-hander. Happily, they hold up to the scrutiny quite well.

Blue Hour certainly addresses sexuality rather openly, but the latter half is so dominated by its nocturnal mysteries, it really should not be pigeon-holed solely as a LGBT programmer. Arguably, there are enough uncanny goings-on to keep genre fans focused. The mildness of its mostly implied sexual content also makes it far more accessible to a broad potential audience.

Boonyawatana leaves some things frustratingly ambiguous, but his control of the moody atmosphere is quite masterful. Cinematographers Chaiyapreuk Chalerpornpanit and Kamolpan Ngiwtong also duly capture the eerie twilight glow promised by the title. Recommended for discerning viewers of supernatural drama, The Blue Hour releases today (3/8) on regular DVD and digital platforms, including iTunes.

Marguerite: Brace Yourself for the High Notes

Florence Foster Jenkins was the William Hung of the early Twentieth Century. She loved opera, but it didn’t love her back. Her infamous rendition of Mozart’s Queen of the Night remains a perversely popular novelty recording, easily found online. The strangely immortal Jenkins’ life and art, such as it was, has now inspired a Gallic doppelganger, the title character of Xavier Giannoli’s Marguerite (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Marguerite Dumont was blessed with a sizable fortune, a love of culture, and a singing voice that sounds like cats being strangled. However, she since she cannot really hear herself, those around her willingly indulge her artistic pretensions, due to said fortune. Her philandering husband Georges owes his title to her, but he finds her private recitals excruciatingly painful to attend. Probably Dumont’s biggest booster is their imposing butler-steward-fixer Madelbos, who regularly photographs his mistress in iconic opera costumes. Yet, his deep down, motivations are crueler than the rest of the hangers-on feeding her delusions.

Tonally, Marguerite is a tricky sort of film to pull off, but Giannoli modulates it perfectly. We do not want to feel like the hipster anarchists who snarkily mock Dumont behind her back, but there is still no denying the jaw-dropping, ear-rattling spectacle of her performances. Somehow, Giannoli and his lead Catherine Frot walk that fine line quite adroitly.

Frot is indeed terrific as Dumont. She gives a big, expansive performance, but always clearly conveys the sensitivity of Dumont’s soul. The audience never resents her eccentricity or privilege. Rather, we hope against hope she will somehow start to hit those high notes. André Marcon also slowly teases out unexpected emotion from her initially cold fish-like husband, while Denis Mpunga’s commanding and somewhat ominous presence makes Madelbos a force to be reckoned with.

Marguerite is a classy period production that elegantly recreates the trapping of Golden 1920s France. It is quite amazing how easily it relates to contemporary pop culture. Frankly, Dumont and Jenkins would probably be even bigger celebrities today than they were in their day. With that in mind, it is not surprising there is a straight-up Florence Foster Jenkins bio-picture in the works, but the casting of Meryl Streep as the off-key soprano should make cineastes blood run cold. It is the subtly of Giannoli’s approach and Frot’s performance that make Marguerite such an entertaining and ultimately quietly moving film. Of course, Streep hasn’t done subtly in years.

Marguerite is a film of chaste passion and (admittedly misplaced) artistic devotion. There is something rather touching and maybe even inspiring about the portrait that emerges. Frankly, it is exactly the sort of graceful French film that could become a breakout arthouse hit. Highly recommended, Marguerite opens this Friday (3/11) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center downtown and the Paris Theatre uptown.

Hyena Road: With the Canadians in Kandahar

The media loves to compare the current War in Afghanistan with the 1979 Soviet Invasion. It’s practically a miracle their memories go back that far. Canadian military intelligence officer Pete Mitchell takes a wider view, drawing lessons from Alexander the Great (who ultimately triumphed in Afghanistan, but in a pyrrhic sort of way). However, the sudden reappearance of a heroic anti-Soviet mujahidin commander represents a significant opportunity to win over hearts and minds. Of course, like everything else in Afghanistan, recruiting the so-called “Ghost” will be a tricky business in Paul Gross’s Hyena Road (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

Also known as Route Fosters (you could really use a cold one after driving down it), Hyena Road was cut through some of the most dangerous real estate in Kandahar. Building it is an arduous process that cost the lives of many civilian contractors. Gen. Rilmen is determined to keep construction going, but with supposed allies like the not-so-secretly-Taliban associated warlord “BDK,” the going is tough. It is Mitchell’s job to find a counterbalance. The Ghost would be perfect, especially a since he holds a family grudge against BDK.

Mitchell first learns of the Ghost’s return when Ryan Sanders’ sniper team crashes an ambush intended for an approaching convoy. Surrounded by jihadists, Sanders and company prepare for the worst, but they are saved by the mysterious intervention of a village elder with different colored eyes. That detail catches Mitchell’s attention. With the help of Sanders and an intel source known simply as “the Cleaner,” Mitchell proceeds to woe the Ghost, but the war keeps getting in the way.

If you assumed we already had more than enough grunt’s eye-view films of the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars, Hyena Road is proof you thought wrong. Gross has long been a big-name star north of the border, but he never found equivalent fame here, despite appearing in Due South and Tales of the City. Frankly, Gross deserves breakout attention as both director and co-star of Hyena Road, but most critics will have trouble relating to his realistic depiction of the Canadian military.

Gross is absolutely terrific as Mitchell, an avowed cynic, “but never when it comes to the Afghan people,” as he pointedly argues. He is tough, smart, charismatic, and at times a little ruthless. Gross’s portrayal will challenge viewers’ presuppositions, but ultimately we will hope there are people like him operating on the ground. Rossif Sutherland also inspires tremendous confidence as the salt-of-the-earth Sanders. He also develops some convincing romantic chemistry with Christine Horne’s Jennifer Bowman, an operations officer struggling with their potentially career-stalling romance. However, it is impossible to match the gravitas and street cred of Niamatullah Arghandabi, a government advisor and former comrade of the real freedom fighter that inspired his character. His presence really distinguishes Hyena, giving it significance above and beyond a ripping good war film.

Gross stages several scenes of blisteringly intense combat that are also unusually crisply and cleanly filmed and therefore easy to follow. The warfighting feels real and so does the camaraderie. Frankly, the entire ensemble sound and carry themselves like military combat personnel, which is considerably harder to pull off than it sounds. Very highly recommended, Hyena Road opens this Friday (3/11) in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Monica Film Center.

Eye in the Sky: 21st Century Brinksmanship

You would think so-called “peace activists” would embrace the use of military drones. It removes military personnel from harm’s way and shifts tactical decisions higher up the chain of command to senior officers and civilian officials who are more sensitive to political and media pressure. The resulting dithering is vividly dramatized in Gavin Hood’s Eye in the Sky (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

“Refer up” is a bit of military shorthand that will become like fingernails on a blackboard to viewers during the course of Eye. It means passing the buck to next level of authority. Frankly, British Col. Katherine Powell is in no mood to refer up. Earlier in the morning, she learned a highly placed source had been beheaded by African Islamist terrorists. After briefly gaining assurances from her superior, Lt. Gen. Frank Benson, the man’s family will be taken care of, Powell preps for her mission.

From a British military base, Powell will coordinate an effort to capture Susan Danford, a radicalized British convert, who is now number two on the African most wanted list. It was planned as a capture mission to be executed on the ground by the Kenyan Special Forces, with surveillance support provided by an American drone piloted by a crew in Las Vegas. However, the Kenyans are put on hold when Danford rendezvouses with two prospective suicide bombers in a Jihadi-controlled “no-go” neighborhood in Nairobi.

With the suicide bombers suiting up, Powell requests permission to take out the safe house. To her, it seems like a no-brainer, even though a young girl is inconveniently selling bread on the street corner within the probable blast radius. When the vested-up terrorists leave in separate directions, the drone will only be able to follow one of them. Unfortunately, because of the girl and her bread, the civilian observers insist Benson begins the agonizing process of “referring up.” British ministers and American cabinet secretaries must be located around the globe, as the aspiring suicide bombers record their statements and say their prayers.

It is hard to believe this film was directed by Gavin “Redacted” Hood, because it is surprisingly, shockingly balanced. In fact, he might just overcompensate in favor of drone strikes against known terrorist targets, at least in the early going. Powell’s logic is at least as compelling as the little girl’s claim on everyone’s emotions—more will die if they do not act. Yet, it is the craven referring-up that will have the audience beating their heads against the seat-back in front of them. Somewhat problematically, the film’s climax and denouement are shamelessly manipulative (perhaps another overcompensation), but the steely Lt. Gen. gets the last word and it’s a doozy.

Sadly, Eye represents one of two posthumous releases from the late, great Alan Rickman (how was he never nominated for an Oscar?), but he clearly left us at the peak of his craft. He flat-out steals the picture in the closing minutes. As one would expect, Dame Helen Mirren is rock solid anchoring the film as the cool, calm, and collected Col. Powell, who struggles to remain that way, despite the bureaucratic indecision jeopardizing her mission. Barkhad Abdi is also quietly intense as Jama Farah, a Somali-Kenyan undercover operative, proving he wasn’t just a one-hit-wonder in Captain Phillips. Unfortunately, the usually reliable Jeremy Northam is rather facelessly punctilious as Powell’s Defense Ministry observer.

Regardless, screenwriter Guy Hibbert (who also penned the terrific Five Minutes of Heaven and One Child) defies and exceeds all expectations for providing so much grist for both sides to debate. Unlike the loaded Good Kill, Eye readily acknowledges there are pros and cons to either position. It is never lecturey, but it definitely has bite. Hood also deserves credit for the film’s tight, tense execution. No matter how viewers feel about military drones, it is worth seeing simply as a ticking clock thriller. Recommended with unexpected enthusiasm, Eye in the Sky opens this Friday (3/11) in New York, at AMC Lowes Lincoln Square and Regal Union Square theaters.

French Rendezvous ’16: 21 Nights with Pattie

Actor André Dussollier clearly bears a strong resemblance to French Nobel Laureate J.M.G. Le Clézio. Hopefully, the novelist also has a healthy sense of humor. Otherwise, he might not appreciate the way his name is dropped in Arnaud & Jean-Marie Larrieu’s 21 Nights with Pattie (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Long estranged from her hippy advocate mother, “Zaza,” Caroline Montez has come to tend to the final arrangements. It turns out the locals in the southern village absolutely adored the free-spirited intellectual, but they will not let her passing stifle their summer festivities. Pattie, Zaza’s friend and pseudo-assistant, tries to take Montez under her wing, telling the younger woman some extraordinarily intimate and often comically graphic details about her sexual dealings with the men of the district. This is supposed to loosen Montez up, but initially it has quite the opposite effect. However, she is rather charmed by an elderly gentleman who prefers to be simply known as “Jean,” whom she presumes to be Le Clézio.

Unfortunately, as soon as he arrives, her mother’s body disappears under mysterious circumstances, which seems to distress Jean even more than her. The local gendarme may have an explanation. He is convinced Zaza’s body was stolen by a necrophiliac or a spurned lover, for unnatural purposes. In fact, a notorious necrophiliac matching Jean’s description had been reported in neighboring jurisdictions. That is all pretty troubling, but it is not enough to interrupt the flow of summer wine.

Only the French could get away with a light rom com in which the practice of necrophilia plays such a pivotal role. Frankly, nobody seems to be all that shocked by the notion, except Montez. Leaving that aside, 21 Nights is a rather droll rom-com, with a devilish desire to shock, but not disgust.

Karin Viard is wonderfully earthy and animated as the oblivious Pattie, while Isabelle Carré plays off her well enough as the repressed Montez. The crafty old veteran Dussollier is indeed a good sport as the gentleman who is either Le Clézio or an infamous pervert (presumably Montez and the gendarme cannot both be right). Denis Lavant periodically pops up to deliver a few minutes of lunacy as André, the village’s incomprehensible horndog. In contrast, Laurent Poitrenaux adds some mature charm as the more-complex-than-he-initially-appears gendarme. Unfortunately, Sergi López is largely wasted as Montez’s sexually frustrated Catalan husband.

You wouldn’t think it would fit the breezy southern provincial ambience, but Nicolas Repac’s electronic blues soundtrack really gives the film a distinctive vibe. The Larrieu brothers add a touch of supernatural mysticism, but the pleasures of Pattie are mostly quite terrestrial in nature. It is all rather amusing and really only slightly naughty, in a way Francophiles will appreciate. Recommended as an indulgent confection, 21 Nights with Pattie screens at the Walter Reade this Friday (3/11) and Saturday (3/12), as part of Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Damien: His Father’s Son

In the original Omen films, Damien Thorn was truly his father’s son. In the Marvel universe, Daimon Hellstrom, a.k.a. The Son of Satan, was also the spawn of the evil one, but he rejected his infernal legacy. This time around, the potential antichrist appears to be somewhere in between. Regardless, the end times might just be coming judging from the promising first episode of Damien (promo here), A&E’s new series adaptation of the Omen franchise, which premieres this Monday.

It is hard to believe parents still name their boys Damien (or Daimon or the especially evil Damon), but apparently they do. It has be thirty-some years since the original trilogy (the subsequent made-for-TV sequel, failed mid-1990s Fox pilot, and 2006 remake do not count). Traumatized by the events of his childhood (which technically took place in the late 1970s), Thorn is now a present day war photographer who has repressed most of his early memories. He has a history of behavioral issues, but presumably he is no longer the hellion he once was. In fact, he rather earnest and responsible. Thorn even broke up with his former colleague, Kelly Baptiste, to protect her from the evil vibes that follow him around.

While on assignment in Syria, Thorn encountered an intense, chador-wearing woman who seemed to know way more about him than she should. Having been expelled by the Assad regime, Thorn seeks out help from his contacts at a Council on Foreign Relations type group to renew his visa. There he encounters Ann Rutledge, who positions herself as Damien’s equivalent of the X-Files’ cigarette-smoking man. Apparently, she has been watching Thorn for some time—and she’s not the only one.

Frankly, it is cool to see Damien reference the original films with stills of Gregory Peck portraying Robert Thorn doubling as Damien Thorn’s family photos. The pilot gives us reason to suspect Thorn will try deny his antichrist destiny to some extent. Of course, if we are to assume the series is an updated account of the events between Omens II and III, than he must inevitably turn into Sam Neill. However, it could be entertaining to watch showrunner Glen Mazzara wrestle with those constraints.

It is worth noting two intriguing characters will not survive to see the second episode, so clearly Mazzara isn’t pulling punches. Those Walking Dead habits die hard. He also shrewdly incorporates recognizable imagery from the original films, including the iconic black hellhound (or in this case hellhounds). So far, the contemporizing elements also feel quite fitting, such as the sinister business in war and oppression-stricken Syria.

It is hard to really judge from only one episode, but in the title role, Bradley James seems suitably confused while hinting at Thorn’s profound dark side. The premiere episode shows a lot of potential, but even if the rest of the season craters, horror fans should still enjoy the opener’s hat tips to the classic source film. Worth starting (and hopefully worth finishing, only time will tell), Damien debuts this Monday (3/7) on A&E.

They Will Have to Kill Us First: Sharia Law Targets Musicians

Making a short term tactical alliance with Islamist jihadists is always a long term strategic blunder. Just ask the advocates of liberal democracy who aligned themselves with Islamic fundamentalists during the Iranian Revolution and the Arab Spring in Egypt. Yet, perhaps the most tragic example came to pass in Mali, where Touareg separatists in the North joined forces with the Al Qaida backed Ansar Dine. When Islamist forces took control of northern Mali they razed ancient cultural and religious sites in the fabled city of Timbuktu and prohibited all forms of music. Johanna Schwartz follows several Malian musicians as they try to regain their voices in They Will Have to Kill Us First (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

French forces have mostly driven out the jihadists, but you still wouldn’t exactly call the northern regions safe. The government and Touareg rebels have also signed an armistice, but you wouldn’t exactly say the nation is at peace. The national scars from the Sharia-based oppression will run deep for generations to come. Musicians had to renounce their art and livelihoods or suffer the sort horrors depicted in Abderrahmane Sissako’s Oscar-nominated Timbuktu.

The musicians of Songhoy Blues all originally hailed from the famous northern UNESCO World Heritage City, but they came together as a band while living in Bamako, as exiles in their country. Alarmed by the extent to which Malian music had been silenced, they found a way to express their frustrations through “forbidden” music. Fadimata “Disco” Walett Oumar is also relatively fortunate. She is able to sing quite often with the women’s support groups she organizes in Burkina Faso refugee camps. Khaira Arby also performs somewhat regularly, mostly in private get-togethers, but she will spearhead the first public concert in Timbuktu, in the uncertain days following the fall of Sharia. Sadly, troubadour Moussa Ag Sidi had the most to learn about the realities of Sharia. Aside from complicating his musical calling, he assumed it would have little direct effect on him as a believing Muslim. Then his wife was arrested.

There are some telling moments in TWHTKUF, yet it never matches the power of Sissako’s modern masterpiece (but that is admittedly a high standard to be measured against). Frustratingly, the experiences of the Malian musicians remain all too timely, especially as Western legal jurisdictions have started proposing some form of recognition of Sharia authority within immigrant communities. This is an extremely bad idea. Remember how Kevin Bacon couldn’t dance in Footloose? Take that, raise it to the power of a million and add in public beatings and executions. That is what the Malian musicians experienced under Sharia.

There is some lovely and groovy music in TWHTKUF, but rather perversely, the doc is not a great showcase for the music (soundtrack available on Knitting Factory Records). Instead, Schwartz seems more interested in capturing a story of women’s empowerment in the face of misogynist oppression. That is certainly a valuable and often inspiring program too, but world music fans would probably still like to hear longer takes of their performances. Regardless, there is more truth in Schwartz’s film than several dozen of the latest documentaries released in theaters, all aggregated together. Chilling and stirring, They Will Have to Kill Us First opens today (3/4) in New York, at the Village East.

NYICFF ’16: Phantom Boy

Like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, NYPD beat cop Alex Tanguy will try to crack a case while he is laid-up with a broken leg. However, Tanguy will have help from a legitimate superhero. Yet, his secret weapon is also a scared little boy facing his own potential mortality. Alain Gagnol & Jean-Loup Felicioli riff on the film noir and superhero genres while keeping the human element front-and-center in the flat-out fantastic Phantom Boy (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Ever since young Leo was diagnosed with cancer, he discovered he could astral project. While resting from chemotherapy, he often leaves his body to help guide other patients’ wandering spirits back to their corporal selves. Most forget the experience when they awaken, but not Tanguy.

The hard-charging cop was ambushed by henchmen of a megalomaniacal villain who has taken New York hostage with a well-placed computer virus. Due to his bad rep, Tanguy’s captain refuses to listen to his intel, but crime reporter and potential love interest Mary Delauney is more than willing to follow-up his leads. Leo’s invisible projection will watch over her, feeding back warnings of potential danger to Tanguy through his sleep-talking body. Of course, there are limits to how long Leo can remain in his spectral form.

Much like in their Oscar-nominated A Cat in Paris, Gagnol & Felicioli’s super-stylish 2D animation lovingly evokes film noir, art deco, and comic art. They develop a number of sly gags, including the frequent interruptions of the super-villain referred to as “The Man with the Broken Face” as he attempts to tell his origin story.

Yet, it is the relationships that make Phantom Boy so poignant and endearing, particularly Leo’s quiet moments with his beloved little sister, Titi. It is also quite moving to watch through Leo’s spectral eyes as his worried parents attempt to put up a brave front for his benefit. Frankly, this film packs an emotional wallop, but it also takes care of its noir crime-fighting business with considerable panache. In fact, Gagnol’s closing line is absolute genre perfection.

Phantom is just a quality production from top to bottom, featuring expressive voice work from the likes of Audrey Tautou as the Rosalind Russell-ish Delauney and Jean-Pierre Marielle as the sinister mastermind. For extra, added seasoning, Phantom also uses various jazz recordings of “Dream a Little Dream of Me” as a recurring motif (you’d think they’d use “I Cover the Waterfront” considering how much action takes place on the docks, but so be it).

Altogether, it looks and sounds great and leaves viewers feeling like their batteries have been recharged. GKIDS has had quite a few Oscar nominations in the past, but Phantom Boy just might be able to sneak away with the prize next year. It really deserves it. Very highly recommended, Phantom Boy screens this Sunday (3/6) and Saturday (3/19) at the SVA Theatre, as part of this year’s NYICFF.

Road Games: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Calais

If you ever suspected the Richard Linklater “Before” trilogy would be better with less talking and more psycho-killers, than here’s’ the proof you have been waiting for. A scuffling British slacker and an attractive French hitchhiker decide to tag along together, because maybe they are sort of interested in each other. They can also watch each other’s backs, since a serial killer has been preying on hitchhikers and the motorists who stop for them along the quiet highways of the rural Northern provinces. However, things really get awkward when a strange older couple take them in for the night in Abner Pastoll’s Road Games (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Jack has had a hard time of it in France, losing pretty much everything but his passport and the clothes on his back. Véronique is not having much fun either, especially when the driver who picked her up stops to get fresh (or foul). Fortunately, Jack happened along in time to intervene. As a result, Véronique feels safe enough to join forces with him. Rather inconveniently, the recent rash of roadside killing (of which the British Jack is blissfully unaware) have made most motorists understandably reluctant to pick up hitchers. Apparently Bruno Grizard is an exception.

Grizard generates all kinds of suspicious vibrations, especially when he stops to grab the rabbit he just crushed, to turn it into stew. The talkative driver invites them to spend the night as guests in his large manor house. His American wife will be delighted he assures them. Jack couldn’t leave for Britain until morning anyway, because a strike has been called for the docks of Calais. That sounds a little fishy to the Brit, but this is France, so you never know.

Mary Grizard is most definitely high-strung, but she seems to take a liking to Jack. Nevertheless, the already strained atmosphere gets even tenser as the night goes on. It is pretty safe to assume the serial killer is in the house, but Pastoll will engage in all kinds of misdirection to keep us barking up the wrong tree.

Although Road Game has played a few high profile horror festivals, it is really more of a Hitchcockian suspense film, but that is a much trickier vibe to pull-off. Yet, Pastoll manages it quite adroitly. French and English bilingual fluency might actually sabotage the enjoyment of this film, because miscommunication and mistranslation are slyly employed to keep certain characters and the audience in the dark.

The cast is also first-rate starting with the legendary Barbara Crampton, who seems to be having a second career renaissance with films like We Are Still Here and You’re Next. She is perfectly elegant and agitated, yet also rather sultry. Essentially, it is Andrew Simpson’s job to be rather vanilla as Jack, but Joséphine de La Baume’s Véronique has some sort of femme fatale thing going on that definitely heats up the screen. Likewise, as Grizard, Frédéric Pierrot is not exactly shy when it comes to chewing the scenery (nor would we want him to be bashful in a genre film such as this).

Even though there is a considerable amount of sunlight in Road Games, Pastoll and cinematographer Eben Bolter still give it a sinister, almost Giallo-worthy look. There is no question Pastoll plays us, but he does it well, so it is hard to resent him for it. In fact, it is really quite a lot of fun. Highly recommended for fans of serial killer movies and psychological suspense, Road Games opens tomorrow (3/4) at the IFC Center.

NYICFF ’16: Long Way North

In 1917, the North Pole will not seem like such a dangerous place to Sasha, the daughter of Count Chernetsov. However, in 1892, it is quite a cold and forbidding place for a fifteen year-old. Nevertheless, the plucky blueblood will head thereabouts in search of her missing explorer grandfather. In the process, she will learn quite a bit about life and self-reliance in Rémi Chayé’s Long Way North (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Sasha always had a special relationship with old man Oloukine—and it was not because the seafaring national hero suffered fools gladly. The Czar has offered a million ruble reward to any crew that finds his ship, the Davai (which roughly translates as “hurry” or “get’er done”), but it has yet to be claimed after a year, perhaps for good reason. When Sasha finally gets a look at her grandfather’s papers, she realizes everyone has been searching in the wrong place. Naturally, nobody wants to hear her theories, least of all the Czar’s snobby new science advisor, so Sasha sets off on her own.

Oloukine might have taught her about charts, but Sasha is in for a real education when she heads north. Having no money, she accepts work with an innkeeper as she awaits the ship that will take her through the Arctic Sea, where she expects to find the Davai. Sailors being superstitious sailors, the crew is not thrilled to have her on board, even when she proves herself during a crisis. As luck will have it, Sasha will have another opportunity to prove her mettle when an iceberg leaves them shipwrecked.

North is a lovely film in just about every way. Stylistically, it is sort of like a cross between classical marine oil paintings and the animation of Genndy Tartovsky. As a youthful protagonist, Sasha is wonderfully charming and endearingly irrepressible. Yet, her coming-of-age story is serious business. Still, a few tense moments and a tragic inevitabilities notwithstanding, most tykes will keep up with her story just fine.

Clearly, there is all kinds of “girl power” in North, but Sasha’s defiance of authority should appeal to boys just as well. She has a substantial growth arc, which is cool. In fact, it gives historically-aware viewers hope the grown-up Sasha will have the wherewithal to survive when the Bolsheviks starts executing “class enemies” such as her. (Yes, we had to take it somewhere dark.) Regardless, Long Way North is highly recommended for animation fans of all ages lucky enough to score tickets to its sold out screenings this Saturday (3/5), Sunday (3/13), and the following Saturday (3/19), as part of this year’s New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Camino: Zoe Bell vs. Nacho Vigalondo

Anyone with an ounce of common sense will immediately suspect a leftist guerrilla who calls his well-armed comrades “missionaries” and refers to himself in the third person must be seriously bad news. However, as a card-carrying member of the media, war photographer Avery Taggert will have to find out the hard way. The hard way will be especially hard in Josh C. Waller’s Camino (trailer here), which opens this Friday in select theaters.

Taggert seems to have a Hemingway complex. She drinks hard, spars with her editor, and takes every dangerous assignment that comes down the line. Guillermo is the latest. The Spanish-born socialist revolutionary is far savvier than most of his ilk when it comes to the press. He is only too happy to have Taggert tag along with his rag-tag troupe, to snap pictures of them delivering medicine to poor villagers. However, things get a little complicated when Taggert also captures a candid shot of Guillermo strangling the young boy who witnessed his cocaine deal with some of the government’s black ops soldiers.

Shifting into damage control mode, Guillermo tries to pin the murder and the drugs on Taggert. His more fanatical and psychotic followers are only too willing to kill the photo-journalist on his say-so, but the more conscientious “missionaries” have their doubts. Pretty soon both Taggert and the increasingly unhinged Guillermo are offing missionaries in a double-sided game of cat-and-mouse.

With a cast that includes stuntwoman turned thesp Zoë Bell, Timecrimes director Nacho Vigalondo, and A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night’s Sheila Vand, Camino comes fully loaded with cult movie credibility. Waller and screenwriter Daniel Noah’s jaundiced portrayal of Guillermo probably will not win the film a lot of critical favors, but it certainly reflects the reality of Latin America in the 1980s. Frankly, the film comes perilously close to running off the rails with a head-scratching climax, but Vigalondo essentially saves it with one of the best line deliveries of the year. It still doesn’t make much sense, but we’re with it anyway.

As Taggert, Bell exhibits a quiet forcefulness and legit star power. Clearly, she can anchor an action movie, if anyone besides Waller will give her the opportunity. Vigalondo similarly delivers the villainous goods, chewing on the jungle scenery like its salt water taffy. Although Marianna, the true-believing, Guillermo-loving revolutionary does not require a lot of nuance, it further establishes Vand’s range, following her knock-out work in Girl Walks. Kevin Pollak also does his thing, occasionally walking-on to get a few laughs as Taggert’s sarcastic editor.

Despite a bit of mystical mumbo-jumbo, Camino has all kinds of grit and attitude. It definitely lives up to the exploitation tradition of jungle action, which is high praise. Enthusiastically recommended, Camino opens this Friday (3/4) in Los Angeles, at the Arena Cinema.

Mamoru Hosoda’s The Boy and the Beast

It is not easy apprenticing under the bear-like Kumatetsu, but at least the human boy Ren will not have to deal with a lot of brooms or pails of water. Cleaning up is not a high priority for his slovenly master. Kumatetsu is a fierce fighter but he cuts a shabby figure in the beastly realm of Jutengai. Naturally, the two outcasts will eventually start learning from each other, but there will be no easy shortcuts taken in Mamoru Hosoda’s original anime feature The Boy and the Beast (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Ren would rather live as a runaway on the streets of Tokyo rather than endure his late mother’s odious relatives, who legally denied his father any custody right because that is the sort of thing they do. Fortunately (probably), Ren catches the eye of Kumatetsu not long after he starts living rough. The moody warrior often comes to distract himself in the human world with his snarky chimp-like crony Tatara. Seeing some fire in Ren’s eye, Kumatetsu half-jokingly offers to make the human his apprentice. Of course, training humans is strictly forbidden in Jutengai, but when Ren inadvertently follows them into the animal dimension, they are sort of forced to accept the arrangement.

Arguably, Kumatetsu needs Kyuta (as he rechristens Ren) as much as the human needs him. The blustery warrior plans to challenge the vastly more popular Iozen to succeed Jutengai’s ruler Soshi, but no disciples have ever put up with the beastly beast’s raging temper for more than a day—until Kyuta came along. They will work for their breakthroughs the hard way, but they will have the wise counsel of the pig-like monk Hyakushubo and the bafflingly indulgent Soshi. At some point Kumatetsu will face off against Iozen, but the latter’s mysteriously sinister son Ichirohiko will be a dangerous wild card, targeting Kyuta and his master, without regard for honor or custom.

Boy and the Beast might be anime, but it is still probably the best coming of age film you will see all year. It covers approximately ten years of Ren/Kyuta’s life, during which time he will come to terms with his relationships with Kumatetsu and his human father, while also haltingly courting the scholarly human cutie, Kaede. Honestly, there are some real emotional kickers in the film. There’s also a tractor-trailer load of fighting, all of which Hosoda renders with great gusto.

Granted, the anamorphic tradition in anime is long and sometimes distinguished, but with Jutengai, Hosoda engages in some rich and wide-ranging world-building. He also creates an extensive cast of well-developed supporting characters. Hyakushubo has some particularly memorable moments (appealingly voiced for the English dub by Alex Organ). It definitely goes for the heartstrings down the stretch, but there is nothing cheap about the film’s sentiment. Hosoda earns it fair and square. Highly recommended for all animation fans and those who enjoy genre tales set where science fiction and fantasy overlap, The Boy and the Beast opens this Friday (3/4) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center and the AMC Empire.

Thomas Chapin Night Bird Song

Thomas Chapin was far and away the most significant sideman in Lionel Hampton’s 1980s bands, but tragically the legendary leader (an alumnus of the classic 1936 Benny Goodman Trio) would outlive his one-time music director. Chapin would take his music in a very different direction than Hamp’s massively swinging big band. It would be more accurate to say he explored many different directions. Yet, Chapin was poised to reach his broadest popular audiences just when he was diagnosed with Leukemia. Chapin’s Emmy-winning sister-in-law Stephanie J. Castillo chronicles his life and music in Thomas Chapin Night Bird Song (trailer here), which screens before a concert of Chapin’s music at Real Art Ways in Hartford this Sunday.

Chapin could pretty much play anything, but he is most closely associated with the adventurous improvised music scene that revolved around the Knitting Factory back in the day. He was a bright kid who was okay with playing the flute in his school band, but when took up alto everything clicked. The Phillips Academy (that’s Andover, not Exeter) must have had quite a band in his day, because that was where he met his lifelong friend, bassist Arthur Kell (FYI: a terrific musician, who I know through his gigging with Eri Yamamoto).

Thanks to some fortuitous luck and good karma, Chapin graduated from prep school and college, but his real education started in the Hampton band. Gates knew he had something special in the kid with the massive chops, so he did his best to hang onto Chapin for as long as possible. Eventually, Chapin struck out on his own, but he clearly processed Hampton’s commitment to showmanship. When he played, he put on a show and people listened.

Castillo, not necessarily a jazz expert before embarking on this project, nicely establishes the subtle shades and flavors of his music. Chapin was probably best known for his trio work with bassist Mario Pavone and drummer Michael Sarin, as well as a somewhat shifting quartet usually featuring pianist Peter Madsen, who all had an affinity for his passionate originals. Yet, he also recorded two straight ahead standards sessions for the Arabesque label. He could launch into some lofty improvisational heights, while maintaining a sense structure and rhythmic drive, allowing most jazz ears to follow him willingly.

How do you take the measure of a man’s life in one documentary film, especially an artist with the overflowing talent of Chapin? Clearly, it is a tough question for Castillo, since Night Bird Song currently clocks in at about two and a half hours. If you care about jazz and improvised music, it never drags (although there is a bit of repetition that could easily be snipped). However, it will never get the festival programming it deserves at its current length. Sadly, that’s just reality.

Regardless, what is most striking about the film is its feeling of intimacy. Castillo really gets Chapin’s friends and family to open up while reminiscing about him. The vibe will most likely be further reinforced during the early Tri-State Area screenings, when the Chapin network comes out to support the film. Eighteen years after his death, Chapin’s music remains a rich and potent listening pleasure. However, it is the connections he forged that make Night Bird Song such an emotional film to watch. This is not your typical pretentious jazz hagiography. The feelings Castillo captures are real. Very highly recommended for fans of the Downtown scene and documentary patrons with open minds and open ears, Thomas Chapin Night Bird screens this Sunday (3/6) in Hartford, at Real Art Ways.

French Rendezvous ’16: The Great Game

It is a real mystery how French publishers stay in business, considering the ugly covers they insist on designing for books. Pierre Blum’s latest title is as drab as anything else on the shelves, but what’s inside is incendiary. Technically, it was a ghost-writing job, but all of France’s insiders seem to know it was his work. That most definitely has dangerous implications for the gloomy former radical in Nicolas Pariser’s The Great Game (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Blum had one critically acclaimed novel before turning into a loser. He churned out a few articles here and there before completely packing it in. However, he once had close ties to a number a leftist radicals, which is why the sly old power broker Joseph Paskin arranges to “accidentally” meet him one night. To discredit the new, overly-ambitious Interior Minister, Paskin wants Blum to write a revolutionary manifesto to be released under the name of a notorious radical who was deported twenty years ago. He knows Blum is just the disillusioned leftist to channel his old comrade’ voice.

Frankly, Blum was never much of a believer. His activism was always more of a social thing and he has become distinctly anti-social. Unfortunately, once the ghost-written volume releases, Paskin’s rivals react with swift severity. Thugs attack Blum at his ex-wife’s gallery and Paskin’s right-hand man is murdered in a hit-and-run. With his shadowy patron in hiding, Blum takes refuge at the very hippy-dippy commune he knows is due to be raided as part of the Minister’s show of force against extremists.

The Great Game completely represents French political preconceptions that consider the right to be ruthlessly Machiavellian and the left to be infantile fools, which is totally ridiculous, right? In any event, Pariser has at them both. Essentially, the events that unfold are part of a covert civil war within the French center-right, but there is no question Paskin the conservative fixer gone off-the-reservation is the most fun to spend time with.

It is all due to the wonderfully sinister élan of the great André Dussollier, who looks like he is having a ball as the manipulative Paskin. When he is on-screen, the film hums and zings. When Melvil Poupaud is brooding on his own as the depressive Blum, not so much. It is even more awkward when he starts putting the moves on Laura Haydon, the considerably younger anarchist vouching for him at the commune. She is rather blandly played by Clémence Poésy, who co-starred in the Harry Potter franchise, but is much more likely to be recognized for her appearance in the Greek experimental short, The Capsule.

One of the delicious ironies of The Great Game is that it is the ethical ambiguous Paskin who gets Blum to re-engage with life. Dussollier certainly is a persuasive presence in the film, that’s for sure. Watching him scheme is delightfully entertaining. Recommended for his charm and Pariser’s aptly convoluted plot twists, The Great Game screens this Friday (3/4) and Saturday (3/5) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s Rendezvous with French Cinema.

Lost in Hong Kong: The Blockbuster Franchise Continues

How lost can two Mainlanders get in Hong Kong? Sure, there is the whole Cantonese vs. Mandarin thing, but the latter has become much more prevalent since 1997. However, Xu Lai’s annoying brother-in-law could get lost anywhere. The problem is the would-be documentarian never stays lost for long. He dogs the middle-aged brassiere manufacturer every step of the way as he attempts reconnect with an old flame in Xu Zheng’s Lost in Hong Kong (trailer here), which releases today on DVD and BluRay from Well Go USA.

In 1995, Xu was passionate art student romancing his bombshell classmate, Yang Yi, but whenever they tried to have a quiet romantic moment, events conspired against them. Through a twist of fate, Xu wound up marrying Cai Bo (nicknamed “Spinach”) from the management school and shelving his dubious artistic ambitions to work for her father’s ladies undergarments business. For twenty years, he kept wondering what could have been, so when Yang invites him to the opening of her latest retrospective, Xu resolves to sneak out for that long-denied smooch. Unfortunately, Spinach’s over-indulged younger brother Cai Lala is determined to film Xu for his ill-conceived documentary.

During the brief sit-down Xu grants him, the aggressively irritating Lala unknowingly films a murder transpiring in the opposite high-rise. The cops and killer will want to get their hands on Cai’s camera, but they will have to follow the quarreling brothers-in-law they dash through Hong Kong on a series of misadventures.

Like the old Hope-Crosby “Road” movies, the three “Lost” films are only loosely related thematically, usually involving some form of travel, while featuring a wackily mismatched duo. At this point, Xu Zheng is the main constant, having starred as the straight man half of the bickering tandems and serving as director and co-writer of the second two installments.

Without question, Hong Kong represents a significant step-up in quality from Lost in Thailand (which was the highest grossing Chinese film until Monster Hunt came along). There is still plenty of broad slapsticky humor, but the melodrama involving Xu’s college love triangle is surprisingly potent. Xu Zheng shrewdly takes his time establishing the relationships in a ten minute prologue that is charmingly nostalgic, even if you were not attending a Chinese university at the time. Throughout the film, he frequently tips his hat to the iconic HK films of the nineties and stocks the soundtrack with the era’s popular Cantopop hits. As a result, the more deeply steeped viewers are in HK pop culture, the richer they will find the Lost in Hong Kong viewing experience.

Still, for those who don’t know Ringo Lam from Ringo Starr, Xu ends it with a nifty action-suspense sequence set high in the air amid a skyscraper construction site. It is cleverly choreographed and entails some real drama. Granted, the horrendously shticky Cai Lala needs to be euthanized, but in general, Hong Kong is more grounded and less over-the-top goofy than its blockbuster predecessor.

By now, Xu Zheng is an expert at holding his own opposite outrageous loons, but he is also quite solid in his quiet scenes with Du Juan’s Yang Yi and (Vicki) Zhao Wei’s Cai Bo (seriously, he settled for Vicki Zhao?). Let’s just say Bao Bei’er’s work as Cai Lala doesn’t travel well (just like his character). However, cult director Wong Jing brings down the house in an extended cameo of himself, duly filming on the streets guerrilla-style, sans permit. Actually sort of recommended as a comedy unembarrassed to show its sentimental side, Lost in Hong Kong is now available on DVD, BluRay and digital formats, from Well Go USA.