ND/NF ’16: Kill Me, Please

Kids will be kids. This dark pseudo-horror story is set in Brazil, but you could just as easily find girls similarly struggling with peer pressure, craving attention, obsessing over grisly crimes, and somewhat repressing latent lesbianism in Uruguay. There is a head fake towards old school genre filmmaking, but thrills and chills are too crass and bourgeoisie for Anita Rocha da Silveira’s Kill Me, Please, which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films.

Bia has a morbid fascination with the victims of a serial killer striking on the outskirts of Rio, but she is sort of entitled, given they all bear a striking resemblance to her. Her anti-social brother would be the prime suspect in most films, but da Silveira has no interest in such tawdry thriller business. We have no idea where their parents might be. In fact, we hardly see hide nor hair of any parental unit in Kill Me, Please.

Before long, Bai and her social circle start to view everything through the prism of the murders. Some their classmates take up old time religion, like the ex-boyfriend Bai recently deflowered. Perhaps not surprisingly, the girls will start to act increasingly erratic an occasionally violent.

The instructively titled Kill Me, Please is maddeningly frustrating, because it has all the raw ingredients of a nifty little exploitation film. Unfortunately, da Silveira refuses to go there. Although several scenes initially evoke a John Carpenter vibe, she chokes off all suspense before things get the slightest bit messy.

It is a shame, because the world can always use another twisted cult film that finds its audience over time. Instead, the self-consciously mannered will come and go from the festival circuit, without hardly making a ripple. The youthful cast is mostly adequate, but there is an important distinction to be drawn between looking bored as demanded by the dramatic context and the ill-disguised boredom of the cast.

Throughout Kill Me, Please, there are flashes of the Kevin Williamson film it could have been, particularly with respect to da Silveira’s use of music. Unfortunately, she seems rather sheepishly guilty when it comes to her genre inspirations, opting to give the world a warmed over art film instead. Disappointing by most standards, Kill Me, Please screens this Thursday (3/17) at MoMA an Saturday (3/19) at the Walter Reade, as part of the 2016 ND/NF. 

Farhadi’s Fireworks Wednesday

It is the time of Red Wednesday, the Festival of Fire, or Chaharshanbe Suri. Throughout Iran and the Persian diaspora, the Wednesday before Nowruz is a time for families to come together, but that will not be happening in an Asghar Farhadi film. The Oscar-winning director of A Separation and About Elly was never a stranger to family dysfunction. He had already explored some of its extreme manifestations in 2006’s Fireworks Wednesday (trailer here), which re-releases this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Rouhi is young cleaning woman working for a temp agency who is just giddy at the prospect of her approaching marriage. The married couple that will employ her today will do everything possible to curb that enthusiasm. Like so many Iranian films, the act of leaving is a major theme in Fireworks. Morteza and Mojdeh will be leaving bright and early the next morning for Dubai, at least for a vacation, but possibly longer. You never know about these things when leaving Iran. Unfortunately, their flat is in state of shambles. Partly, this is a result of the collision Morteza’s fist had with the window the night before.

It was Morteza that retained Rouhi from the agency, but once he returns to the office, Mojdeh tries to dismiss her. Although they definitely get off on the wrong foot, Mojdeh eventually finds work for the guileless girl. She sends her next door to snoop on the woman she suspects is having an affair with Morteza. This is relatively easy to do, since the divorced Simin runs an unregulated beauty salon out of her apartment. Rouhi takes a genuine liking to the semi-scandalous woman, who is already struggling with a landlord determined to evict her. She hardly needs Mojdeh’s neurotic accusations in addition.

According to the Islamist rules governing the Iranian film industry, men and women are not allowed to touch on-screen, but exceptions often seem to slip through, as when the exasperated Morteza strikes out at Mojdeh. It is an ugly moment, but Farhadi frames it in a way that lessens the jarring impact. Morteza immediately regrets his action, but it keeps the audience on-guard for the rest of the film, as well they should be.

There are several Iranian filmmakers who can deftly build tension through claustrophobic family drama, but Farhadi is the master. As soon as Rouhi enters that flat, we get the sense very bad things will inevitably happen. Much like Separation and Elly, Fireworks is an exhausting film that might telegraph some of its twists, but Farhadi still manages to make them feel devastating in the moment. Hadieh Tehrani is absolutely riveting and at times down right harrowing as the overwrought Mojdeh. In telling contrast, Pantea Bahram lends the film grace and dignity as her presumed rival. Taraneh Alidoosti is convincingly immature as Rouhi, but that makes her an appropriately confused witness to the angst and recriminations that unfold.

Although Fireworks is not a political film per se, it is clear Islamist attitudes towards women are not doing Miss Simin any favors. In fact, it makes her awkward position all the more difficult to maintain. The sex fiend known as “The Bat” that has apparently been preying on single women also might have thematic significance, but Farhadi leaves it under-developed. Regardless, there are plenty of domestic pyrotechnics to supply plenty of shock and awe. Highly recommended for fans of Farhadi, Persian cinema, and ruthlessly naturalistic family dramas, Fireworks Wednesday opens this (Red) Wednesday (3/16), at Film Forum.

ND/NF ’16: Behemoth

Just for the record, China’s leading documentarian has explicitly likened the country to Hell through a deliberate and unmistakable extended cinematic metaphor. Zhao Liang takes viewers on a guided tour of the environmental devastation wantonly inflicted on Inner Mongolia, with only Dante’s Inferno provided for commentary. The Divine Comedy becomes a Communist tragedy in Zhao’s Behemoth (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films.

Zhao will take us to three specific locations, or rings of Hell if you will. The first is in the east, where the coal industry gives strip mining a bad name. The nomadic herders almost find themselves outrunning the collapsing earth under the feet, like a Wile E. Coyote cartoon rendered, well yes, in Hell.

The furnaces and blackened faces of the western iron forges could not could well be what inspired Zhao’s poetic use of Dante. It is literally a subterranean inferno. Just watching this section might cause lung damage and burn trauma.

The concluding segment takes in the spectacle of the Kangbashi New Area, the eerily empty sprawling residential high rises and office buildings that stand like a monument to hasty overdevelopment in Ordos City. Evidently, some recent documentaries have suggested Kangbashi is no longer as uninhabited as once reported. However, it still looks pretty darn desolate in Zhao’s recent footage. Maybe it still is not yet the right time to pursue that Kangbashi Quizno’s franchise after all.

Zhao, who serves as his own cinematographer, captures some striking, stunning, and altogether staggering images. However, he consciously de-emphasizes the human element, which makes Behemoth a much more challenging viewing experience than his profoundly powerful Petition or the daring muckraking of Crime and Punishment. Indeed, the film has an experimental ethos, in the most forbidding sense of the term.

Nevertheless, Zhao just sends truth cascading over the audience. It is impossible to watch Behemoth and not conclude the Communist government and its oligarchical cronies have recklessly plundered the provincial environment past the point of criminal negligence, directly and perhaps deliberately endangering the regional ethnic populations that depend on the land for their livelihoods. Zhao’s visuals stand as an overpowering indictment, but they might also overwhelm less adventurous viewers. Recommended for sophisticated cineastes, Behemoth screens this Thursday (3/17) at MoMA and Friday (3/18) at the Walter Reade, as part of the 2016 ND/NF.

Naomi Kawase’s Sweet Bean

Dorayaki is the favorite sweet treat of manga character Doraemon. Consisting of two pancakes stuffed with sweet bean paste (“an”), they resemble large Macarons (which in turn, are very different from macaroons). Sentaro has no taste for them, yet he manages a dorayaki stand. Of course, neither Sentaro or his two closest associates need to be told life is not fair. However, the experiences of septuagenarian Tokue will profoundly move him and their teen-aged friend. Food and natural beauty will provide some consolation in Naomi Kawase’s Sweet Bean (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Sentaro is a quiet, solitary man. He rarely speaks to his customers, but he makes an exception in the case of Wakana. Unlike her shallow classmates, she will probably not be attending college. Instead, her neglectful mother expects her to start working fulltime. Work represents something entirely different for Tokue. She is willing to take half the wages Sentaro is offering for a part time assistant, but her age and scarred hands make him skeptical. However, when he tastes a batch of her home-made sweet bean paste all his reservations melt away.

Despite his reserve, Sentaro quickly warms to Tokue and their customers quickly warm to their greatly improved dorayaki. Unfortunately, their pleasant days together will not last. According to the owner of the dorayaki stand, to whom Sentaro. is deeply indebted, Tokue is a long-time resident of the quarantine center-turned assisted living facility for Hanson’s disease patients. That would be leprosy, so she naturally wants Tokue out. Sentaro will drag his feet, but he is employee just as much as she is.

Sweet Bean could well be Kawase’s best and most accessible film to date. There is still the hushed vibe, but the drama is acutely human. Frankly, Sweet Bean is a lot like Japan’s Oscar winner Departures, but the emotions it draws out are even subtler and more complex. Despite the relatively brief amount of time Tokue spends with “the Boss” and Wakana, the connections they forge are deep and meaningful.

Kirin Kiki is quite remarkable as Tokue. Earnest yet down to earth, she keeps the film from descending into maudlin melodrama. Her real life granddaughter Kyara Uchida is also soulful beyond her years. Yet it is Masatoshi Nagase (the coach in Kano) who really lowers the boom down the stretch. There are no fireworks in Sweet Bean, but the central trio play off each other perfectly.

All the thoughtful hallmarks of Kawase’s auteurist style are present in Sweet Bean, but none of her wind-rustling-through-leaves excesses. Granted, there are plenty of character establishing scenes that do not necessarily advance the narrative (as when Wakana reads to a little boy in a library), but those are the moments that really stick with viewers. Like Tokue’s bean paste, Sweet Bean is lovingly crafted and richly rewarding. Highly recommended for general audiences, it opens this Friday (3/18) in New York, at the Lincoln Plaza.

SXSW ’16: Papagajka

The apartment complex where Damir lives and works probably looked great as a scale model, but the hulking brutalist building does not exactly have a homey feel. There hardly seems to be any people living there, but it is probably just as well. He isn’t much of a night watchman. His life is about as modest as it gets, yet a mystery woman will try to take control of it anyway in Emma Rozanski’s Papagajka (trailer here), which screens at the 2016 SXSW.

The building definitely stands out, but Damir prefers to go through life unnoticed. He only interacts with a handful of residents, including the party girl, Kamala, whose interest confuses him. One day, Tasya starts wandering through the complex’s once grand external staircases, lugging a suitcase behind her. Approaching Damir, she claims to be a tourist, whose purse and passport were stolen. Somehow, Damir agrees to let her stay in his flat until she can sort herself out. Clearly self-assertion is a problem for him, but saying no to Tasya will be particularly difficult.

Soon Tasya drops all pretenses of leaving. She shrugs off questions about her friend and starts clearing out Damir’s possessions. She even starts to have an ominous effect on his dreams. With both his mental and physical health suffering, Damir loses the strength to fight Tasya’s dominating control games.

Rozanski studied under Bela Tarr at his Sarajevo based film.factory and it is not hard to discern his influence on the debut filmmaker—so viewers should consider themselves warned. Indeed, this is exactly the sort of story that works better with more genre trappings. The locale is wildly sinister, but the pace is art house extreme, all the way.

Still, for those willing to cowboy-up for some slow cinema, Rozanski’s control of mood and atmosphere are quite impressive. Adnan Omerovic (resembling Iggy Pop’s malnourished grandson) is deceptively quiet and reserved, expressing volumes with hardly any words. Susanna Cappellaro is also keeps the audience consistently off-balance. There is something hard to describe but eerily disconcerting about her presence.

Aside from the recognizable building itself, there is little about the film that readily identifiably Bosnian per se. It is tempting to read into the Bartleby’s character’s existential annihilation some sort of analogy for the atrocities of the Balkan Wars. However, it is healthier to see the film as a sign Bosnian artists are ready to process other topics and sources of inspiration. Recommended for a narrow strata of cineastes, the aesthetically demanding Papagajka screens again tonight (3/14) and this Thursday (3/17), as part of this year’s SXSW.

Psycho-Pass: The Anime Movie

There had to be some honest and conflicted cops in Orwell’s 1984. If so, Akane Tsunemori could relate to them. She is an inspector in a dystopian Japan, tightly regulated by the Sibyl System. She tries to only enforce legitimate, threat-to-the-general-populace crimes, but she clearly has her doubts. Nevertheless, she will somewhat knowingly become a pawn in a scheme to export the Sibyl System into Southeast Asian during the course of Katsuyuki Motohiro & Naoyoshi Shiotani’s mostly stand-alone-ish anime feature Psycho-Pass: the Movie (trailer here), which screens nationwide for two days only this Tuesday and Wednesday.

The Philip K. Dick echoes in the Psycho-Pass universe are obvious and intentional. The world is in anarchy, except Japan. There, the Sibyl System closely monitors each citizen’s mental state, calculating the probability each might develop criminal tendencies. When their Psycho-Pass reaches unacceptably high levels, the Public Safety Bureau quarantines them. The system is not fool-proof. Those who are “criminally asymptomatic” record artificially low “crime coefficients.” Some of them have even penetrated the Bureau.

In the two seasons of the regular anime, Tsunemori has seen enough of the inner workings of Sibyl to make her skeptical of its ultimate intentions. However, she remains within the system, unlike her former colleague, Shinya Kogami, who has gone rogue. In the opening action sequence, Tsunemori’s unit takes down a terrorist cell, only to have them ominously whisked away by her superiors. Based on information extracted the hard way, they learn the terrorists had contact with Kogami in SEAUn, the Southeast Asian Union. Tsunemori is sent to investigate and hopefully capture him, presumably because she is both competent and expendable. However, once in-country, she finds the oppressive government has somehow perverted the newly installed Sibyl system, allowing the criminals to exploit the innocent with impunity.

There are a heck of a lot of challenging themes in Psycho-Pass, starting with the fundamental and increasingly timely question: how much liberty can free people afford to relinquish for the sake of security? Although Tsunemori’s place in this world is ambiguous, Acton’s maxim is stamped all over it.

Tsunemori is also a well-developed character, who really grapples with her reservations (and provides a brief interlude of fan service). Boldly, screenwriters Makoto Fukami and Gen Urobuchi further challenge viewer preconceptions with the thuggish mercenary who frequently quotes anti-colonial Marxist critical theorist Frantz Fanon. There is also quite a bit of action and sophisticated intrigue, but the film clearly presupposes viewers will be familiar with the anime, especially when a significant character makes an eleventh hour appearance, with little or no explanation for who he might be.

Still, it is worth rolling with the late inning wrinkle (which really has little bearing on the overall narrative), because you will not find a lot of films, animated or live action, that so seriously explores issues of freedom and the social contract. Those new to the franchise will be motivated to catch up with the anime and returning fans should dig this self-contained outing. Recommended for science fiction buffs (especially those who often read Prometheus Award winners), Psycho-Pass: the Movie screens this Tuesday (3/15) and Wednesday (3/16) in select theaters, including the Village East and Chelsea Bowtie in New York.

NYICFF ’16: Little Door Gods

They are sort of like lawn gnomes, except they have serious action cred. Traditional Chinese door gods are either threshold figurines, or as in the case of the old school restaurant operated by Raindrop’s grandmother, colorful New Years’ posters portraying mythological heroes. They bring luck to those who hang them in our world and sustaining karma to the depicted demigods in the spirit realm. Unfortunately, the soulless materialism of our day and age has caused an economic crisis in the spirit world. The worlds will collide in Gary Wang’s animated 3D feature Little Door Gods (trailer here), which screened at this year’s New York International Children’s Film Festival.

Raindrop’s grandmother has the last poster of two once popular door god brothers affixed to the entrance of her similarly once popular wonton house. In the spirit world, the handsome Yu Lei and the portly Shen Tu guard a mystical mountain, because that is the strange sort of gig that used to be readily available for door gods. Unfortunately, they have been put on probationary notice. They are required to attend mandatory retraining sessions and present themselves for a midnight roll call (evidently, these recessionary rituals have particular resonance on the Mainland, but Westerners definitely ought to get the general drift).

Meanwhile, a predatory nouveau riche fast food franchisee is conspiring to sabotage the restaurant Raindrop’s mother will soon inherit. She had a hard time of it in Beijing, so she wants to stay in her hometown and make a go of things, even though Raindrop feels lonely and isolated there. However, the little girl will forge a connection with both door gods when each happens to save her from a roving pack of rabid mutts. Yu Lei has come to unleash the Nian, a legendary monster that darned near destroyed both worlds before it was trapped behind three seals. He figures mortals might start to appreciate the gods again if they save them from the apocalyptic beast. It’s a really ill-conceived plan, but sometimes there’s no talking to a demigod. Shen Tu followed Yu Lei across hoping to dissuade from his mad scheme, but he gets sidetracked helping Raindrop and her mother save and maybe even slightly modernize the family business.

There is much that is familiar about LDG, but there are a number of neat little variations. Having the less dashing door god serve as the primary, uncompromised hero is a particularly nice change-up. Yet, it is the specific Chinese cultural currents, both ancient and contemporary, running through the film that really elevate and enrich it. Most viewers should easily pick up on the class inequities, bureaucratic arrogance, and contempt for tradition that combine to jeopardize our new favorite wonton house. The door gods themselves and the correspondence between the human and spirit worlds are also deeply rooted in ancient folklore.

First time helmer Wang’s animation team (several of whom were headhunted from Pixar and DreamWorks) has created some lively and reasonably expressive figures as well as a few truly eye-popping fantastical backdrops. It always looks as good as any Hollywood studio animation release and has a handful of Ghibli worthy moments.

Raindrop and Shen Tu are each also very sympathetic characters, who are easy to identify with, regardless of cultural backgrounds. Thanks to them, LDG could very well appeal to boys and girls equally well. It has a good heart, a healthy energy level, and some cautious criticism of China’s oligarchical crony-capitalism. Recommended rather affectionately, Little Door Gods should have a long festival life ahead of it, following its screenings at this year’s New York International Film Festival (which by the way, screens the terrific Case of Hana and Alice today and next Sunday).

SXSW ’16: Carnage Park

At the Oscars, Chris Rock demonstrated racism directed towards Asians is still perfectly acceptable in Hollywood. In a similarly depressing development, Mickey Keating’s latest retro exploitation offering proves prejudice against Vietnam era veterans also encounters little or no objections within the film industry. Brace yourself for yet another bulging-eyed psycho killer vet when Keating’s Carnage Park screens at this year’s SXSW.

For Vivian Fontaine, this will be one of those frying-pan-into-the-fire sort of days. While getting turned down for a loan to save her family farm (and sexually harassed in the process), Fontaine is taken hostage by two knuckle-dragging bank robbers. Unfortunately, Scorpion Joe’s partner is rapidly expiring. He will be the lucky one.

Scorpion Joe manages to give the deputies the slip, but he does so by barging onto the desert survivalist compound of Wyatt Moss, who has recently returned from Vietnam in even worse mental condition than when he left. Apparently, Moss has been hunting stranded motorists like he’s a Rob Zombie character and every day is Halloween (frankly, Carnage made 31 look classy in comparison when they played at Sundance).

Of course, Moss has plans for the chloroformed Fontaine, as she quickly deduces after waking up handcuffed to Scorpion Joe’s decapitated body (it doesn’t even make sense for a hunter to opt for the less sporty quarry). Basically, she will be on her own, unless Moss’s ineffectual brother, who also happens to be the ineffectual sheriff, finally starts to man-up. In fact, it will be Fontaine who tries to protect a previous victim still writhing in a bear trap.

Thank you so much Mickey Keating smearing the uniformed veterans who served and sacrificed for their country during a time of war. Really, you shouldn’t have. Sure there is a sad tradition of the Vietnam vet exploitation horror film, but that does not mean he needed to perpetuate it. There is also a tradition of blackface comedy, but nobody therefore expects a reboot of Amos & Andy.

To be fair, the opening titles are pretty cool in an old school exploitation kind of way, but it all goes south from there. Ill-advisedly, Pat Healey seems to go out of his way to emphasize the twitchy, drawling, tic-ish stereotypes that make Moss so offensive. In contrast, Ashley Bell is perfectly professional running for her life as Fontaine. Larry Fessenden offers a bit of grizzly character as the poor sod who managed to get his chest caught in the trap at an inexplicable angle. However, there is nothing remotely credible about the decent good old boy sheriff reluctantly casting a blind eye on his brother’s killing spree.

This is just a bad movie. Frankly, it is almost impossible to discern Jack Straw once Fontaine descends into Moss’s tunnels, but by that point, nobody cares anymore. You are just waiting for Carnage to end, so you can start complaining about. The combination of predictable and offensive just doesn’t cut it. Absolutely not recommended under any circumstances, Carnage Park screens again this Tuesday (3/15) and Friday (3/18), during this year’s SXSW.

SXSW ’16: Silicon Cowboys

Somehow the original Compaq Computers were more compatible with the IBMs they were cloning than some IBMs. Big Blue never understood the personal computer market, despite dominating it for years—and they really never got the portable business. That opened the door for an upstart clone to slay the dragon. Jason Cohen chronicles the rise, fall, and legacy of the Houston start-up that could in Silicon Cowboys, which screens at this year’s SXSW.

Ron Canion, Jim Harris, and Bill Murto had been middle managers at Texas Instruments, who found themselves at loose ends. Deciding to form a company, they kicked around a few terrible ideas, like a Mexican restaurant, before settling on an underserved niche of the IBM clone market. At the time, there was an allegedly portable IBM clone selling considerably better than it deserved to. The Compaq team came up with a sleeker design that included a revolutionary feature called a “handle.”

What really set the Compaq apart was its 100% compatibility with IBM software. That was a feat of reverse engineering even IBM could not match with its own slapped together portable. Yet, the corporate giant still refused to take the underdog Houston-based competitor seriously, until it was too late.

On one side of the coin, Cohen tells Compaq’s story (which inspired AMC’s Halt and Catch Fire), while on the flipside he depicts the arrogance and inflexibility that ultimately made IBM vulnerable to the disruptively scrappy upstart. Time and again, they made face-palm worthy decisions and doubled-down because they were Big Blue. They were practically the phone company. Perhaps this is most tellingly revealed by the vintage television commercials that make Silicon such a blast-from-the-past time capsule. IBM featured a Charlie Chaplin figure in their ads, because nothing expresses technological innovation like a silent movie star. In contrast, Compaq enlisted the unapologetic snark of John Cleese.

It is also pretty mind-blowing to watch some of the public access looking computer news broadcasts that were really the only media outlets reporting on the formative years of the industry. Cohen’s interview subjects compelling argue breakthroughs like the portability of iPods and the compatibility of the internet can be traced back to Compaq. They were also the first to establish an indulgent techie office culture. However, the doc could have also emphasized how longtime chairman Ben Rosen’s relatively modest investment helped establish the tradition of high-tech venture capitalism as we now know it.

Watching Silicon really brings home how much the world has changed in a relatively short span of time. Cohen scored interviews with just about all the notable players, who candidly and mostly nostalgically recount their tales from the IBM Clone Wars. It is a big, Texas-sized story, but Cohen captures all the personal idiosyncrasies that reportedly made Compaq such a great place to work. Entertaining and authoritative, it represents a long overdue counterbalance to Hollywood’s Steve Jobs-centric view of computing history. Highly recommended, Silicon Cowboys screens again today (3/12), Monday (3/14), and Tuesday (3/15), as part of the 2016 SXSW.

Sweet 20: The Vietnamese Miss Granny

In Korea, she is known as Oh Mal-soon. In China, she is Meng Li Jun. She is about to pop up again in Vietnam as Mrs. Dai, with Japanese doppelganger waiting in the wings. This time around, Korea’s popular Miss Granny gets a Vietnamese remake in Phan Gia Nhat Linh’s Sweet 20 (trailer here), which opens today in Los Angeles.

Stop me if you heard this before. Miss Dai is a real handful of a mother-in-law, who literally worries her daughter-in-law sick. When the poor woman is finally hospitalized for exhaustion, Miss Dai starts to feel some judgmental vibes from her family. Walking the streets in an Edward Hopper kind of mood, Miss Dai wanders into a mysterious photo studio. She wanders out restored to her perky self at twenty.

Initially, Miss Dai tries to avoid her friends and family, but she when her spoiled grandson hears her rock an open mic, he recruits her for his scuffling back. Transforming them from punk rock hacks into a straight-laced pop group, Thanh Nga (as she now calls herself) attracts the eye of a handsome music producer, both professionally and romantically. The leads to some awkward jealousy from her grandson and Brother Be, the torch-carrying old crony who knows her secret.

Sort of like Fincher’s slavish remake of the Swedish Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, if you’ve seen the previous 20 Once Again (or presumably the Korean original), you essentially know exactly where Sweet 20 is headed, beat for beat. Miu Le is appealing cute and goofy as the newly young Thanh Nga, but maybe not quite as winning as Yang Zishan. However, the musical numbers are less saccharine and more nostalgically retro. Doi Thu also offers greater emotional substance as the long suffering daughter-in-law, whereas the ugly duckling jokes directed at Brother Be’s daughter Duyen (played by Thu Trang) are unfair and frankly not even based on reality.

Still, first time helmer Phan keeps the two-hour plus film moving along and the sentimental pop songs are rather pleasant. Obviously, this concept works, considering Sweet 20 is now the highest grossing domestically produced film at the Vietnamese box office. It is nice to have some Vietnamese cinema in theaters, but two Miss Granny remakes might be enough for casual viewers (we can probably at least sit out the Japanese and Thai versions, maybe returning for the Indonesian Oh/Meng/Dai). Recommended for first time viewers as a heartfelt rom com, Sweet 20 opens today (3/11) at the Regal Garden Grove Stadium.

Creative Control: VR Finally Comes to Brooklyn

Brooklyn is home to the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Scott Baio, and Deborah “Debbie” Gibson. The borough just isn’t as cool as it thinks it is. That is probably not going to change in the near future. However, the technology of the supposedly edgy new Google Glass competitor a boutique Brooklyn ad agency starts handling is imperceptibly different from that of six months ago. Prepare for some whiny hipsters and naked VR constructs in Benjamin Dickinson’s Creative Control (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

In David’s echo chamber world, even working at an ultra-hip agency like Homunculus constitutes selling out. He hates himself for actually working an office job, but his fragile ego craves recognition. It seems his moment has arrived when he is given creative control of the Augmenta campaign. His first decision to recruit musician-comedian Reggie Watts as their spokesman goes over like gangbusters, because apparently broad based market penetration is not the client’s goal.

In contrast to his career upswing, David’s personal life is in shambles. He barely talks to his self-absorbed ragingly neurotic (even by Park Slope standards) live-in girl-friend Juliette, who occasionally works as a yoga instructor and blames all her failures on him because she might as well. David carries a torch for Sophie, the clueless girlfriend of his cheating dog fashion photographer best bud, but she politely discourages his guarded overtures. As a plan B, David programs a virtual Sophie in his Not-Google Glass, with whom he regularly has hot, sweaty assignations with at a W Hotel. In fact, David sees so much of his programmed Sophie, he starts to have trouble distinguishing her from the genuine article.

Maybe ten years ago, the idea of a man becoming emotionally involved with his virtual reality sex partner would have been edgy, but it is pretty old hat in a world where Joaquin Phoenix had a relatively healthy romance with his operating system. Seriously, is anyone flabbergasted by the idea of anti-social tool using technology for sexual purposes?

Still, there is no reason Creative couldn’t work to some extent if it were executed with wit and style. In fact, it has plenty of the latter, thanks to Adam Newport-Berra’s distinctive black-and-white cinematography. However, the only jokes that land come in a recurring gag regarding the campaign for a prescription anti-anxiety drug, but those bits would not be out of place in an episode of Bosom Buddies. For the most part, its alleged satire of hipster Brooklyn is toothless and its future speculation is behind the times.

Frankly, by casting himself in the lead role, Dickinson becomes his own worst enemy. Whatever the opposite of screen presence might be, he seems to have a lot of it. Nor does it help when Paul Manza, the hippy yoga instructor in Dickinson’s profoundly irritating First Winter turns up as a hippy yoga instructor once again.

With the admittedly lovely black-and-white look and classical music soundtrack, Dickinson is clearly striving for a Kings County analog of Woody Allen’s Manhattan. Unfortunately, he falls far short, even though swapping out the creepy underage relationship for autoerotic VR is definitely a wise trade. Honestly, this film would have been superfluous five years ago. Now it is just self-indulgent and tiresome. Not recommended, Creative Control opens today (3/11) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

And Then There Were None: U.N. Owen Throws a Dinner Party

The nursery rhyme that inspired Dame Agatha Christie’s greatest bestseller has gone through several politically correct facelifts. Currently, it is ten little soldiers who expire one by one. For years, those soldiers were Indians and we never speak of what they were before that. The story also evolved when Dame Agatha wrote a more upbeat ending for her equally successful theatrical adaptation. Most film versions have followed the stage play, but screenwriter Sarah Phelps went back to the original novel for a new television miniseries commissioned to commemorate the 125^th anniversary of Christie’s birth. In any event, ten stranded house guests will be bumped off in an orderly fashion unless they can figure out who among them is the killer in And Then There Were None (promo here), which premieres this Sunday on Lifetime.

A lot of you already know who the killer is, yet you will watch anyway. Even knowing the big twists, And Then There Were None (a.k.a. Ten Little Indians) continues to fascinate us. It has often been dramatized in film and on-stage and it has been ripped off even more regularly. It is back again and just as welcome, thanks to an ensemble of first-class character actors.

The premise remains unchanged. Ten strangers are lured to “Soldier Island,” an isolated isle with spotty ferry service, under a variety of false pretenses. It turns out their mystery host, “U.N. Owen” (as in unknown) has concluded they have all unjustly escaped punishment for their own capital crimes, so he intends to execute them one by one. His judgment also applies to the servants, who had unknowingly play his prerecorded accusations and thereby launch the murders that will roughly correspond to the nursey rhyme.

Former governess Vera Claythorne still does not seem to belong in the company of killers, such as the unrepentant mercenary, Philip Lombard. At least he readily cops to the crimes attributed to him. Everyone else maintains their innocence, at least until panic and cabin fever start to jog loose the truth.

It all still works. In fact, the Lifetime/BBC version might just surprise a few viewers who only know the Hollywood ending. To be completely honest, the two-part, three-hour running time feels a tad bit padded (the great 1945 and 1965 movies were both just a smidge over ninety minutes). Most of the flashbacks to the ten houseguests’ crimes are wholly unnecessary, but they do build dramatic tension rather effectively in the case of Claythorne.

In any case, the cast pulls viewers through those slow patches and really digs into the meat of Christie’s iconic thriller. Toby Stephens falls to pieces pretty spectacularly as the unnerved Dr. Edward Armstrong. Noah Taylor and Anna Maxwell Martin are suitably twitchy as the butler and cook. Aidan Turner broods and glowers like a champ as Lombard, while Charles Dance portrays Justice Lawrence Wargrave with elegant gravitas and a withering stare. Sam Neill certainly looks the part of Gen. John McArthur, but he gets somewhat shortchanged on screen-time. Maeve Dermody (from Serangoon Road) is relatively okay as Claythorne, but there are times she seems to problematically fade into the background.

There is a reason Christie’s story has been so enduringly popular. In some ways, it taps into some of our unspoken frustrations (especially this one). After The Most Dangerous Game, it established the other great template of the presumably psychotic madman scrupulously following his own set of rules. Well worth seeing, especially for (more or less) incorporating the novel’s arguably superior climax, And Then There Were None begins this Sunday (3/13) and concludes the following Monday (3/14) on Lifetime.

Backgammon: Lifestyles of the Rich and Neurotic

Miranda sure loves to play that ancient board game. Maybe her house guest Lucian should try to cross her up with a game of Acey-deucey. It probably wouldn’t matter. She is a much better games-player than he is. The rich and neurotic will duly play each other in Francisco Orvañanos’s hothouse chamber drama Backgammon (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

The idea was for Lucian to chill out with his uptight girlfriend Elizabeth and his well-heeled pal Andrew, at the latter’s family vacation home while on break from Yale. Unfortunately, they arrive finding Andrew’s sister Miranda and her parasite boyfriend Gerald are already there, drinking and bickering like characters in an early draft of a Tennessee Williams play. Andrew bails almost immediately and Elizabeth will soon follow him. She is especially keen to leave when she apparently catches Lucian in a somewhat compromising position with Miranda.

Realizing what a drag Gerald is, she finally gives the supposed painter the heave-ho. According to Miranda, he left in a snit, but Lucian starts to suspect Gerald has returned to play petty mind games with them. The prime evidence is a large unfinished nude study of Miranda that someone has steadily worked on since his departure. That actually might be a decent device for generating suspense if there was any sense of danger in Backgammon (aside from the very real possibility someone might develop cirrhosis of the liver). Instead, Orvañanos strangely opts to avoid any such tacky thriller elements.

As a result, it is hard to say just what Backgammon is supposed to be. There is a fair degree of tension, but it is mostly rooted in the characters’ obsessive hang-ups. Consider it a peak into the privileged world of the rich and neurotic. They certainly make middle class respectability look appealing.

Still, you have to give Brittany Allen credit for a rather bold performance. Sometimes kittenish and sometimes twitchy, she always conveys a sense Miranda is just a McMansion full of trouble. On the other hand, Noah Silver’s Lucian is duller than dishwater. At least Alex Beh seems to enjoy Gerald’s boorish behavior, whereas Olivia Crocicchia appears just as bored by Elizabeth’s joyless nagging as the rest of us are.

There are a handful of revelations that suggest Backgammon was originally envisioned as an exercise in suspense of some sort, but there are never any stakes at risk. It is just a perfectly good getaway weekend sabotaged by the dysfunctional characters. Allen is weirdly fascinating to watch, but even she cannot jumpstart the film’s energy level. A baffling oddity that doesn’t really have a niche to fill, Backgammon opens tomorrow (3/11) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

CAAM Fest ’16: Thanatos, Drunk

They are not kidding about the drinking. Their claims to camaraderie are something else. Two brothers and their gigolo buddy share a bachelor flat, but it is hardly a happy home. Of course, none of the three have really had much domestic nurturing. They will run wild and court danger, eventually finding more than they bargained for in Chang Tso-chi’s Thanatos, Drunk (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 CAAM Fest.

While his gay older brother Shang-ho was in America, Rat’s hopelessly alcoholic mother became clingingly codependent. As a result, when Shang-ho returns, Rat is more than primed to bolt from the coop. In their new digs, Shuo becomes the de facto head of household. Both brothers fixate on him. For Rat, he is a role model, but Shang-ho’s interest is cautiously romantic. Lustful might be more accurate. Technically, Shuo has a girlfriend, but her trust is quickly evaporating. In contrast, Rat has the closest thing to a healthy relationship to be found in the film when he starts courting a mute prostitute. However, he also buys some long term trouble for Shuo when saves the meek street walker from an abusive gangster who frequents Shuo’s club, scarring him in the process.

Or something like that. Frankly, Chang’s narrative is so inert and the atmosphere is so boozy and bleary-eyed, it is often hard to follow the film as it staggers about erratically. It is a crying shame because the relationship between Rat and the prostitute holds genuine potential. As Rat and the silent woman, Lee Hong-chi and Chang Ning develop some potent chemistry. Unfortunately, whenever the lads start drinking in their crash pad, the film essentially takes a standing nap.

Frankly, Chang is also rather klutzy when trying to handle issues of sexuality. Yet, probably the most awkward scenes involve Rat’s inexplicable fascination with pigs’ head and dead fish. It is like a metaphor that isn’t worth unpacking. Still, there is plenty of tragic bite to Lü Hsueh-feng’s flashback appearances as Mommie Dearest.

Chang Ning is indeed heartrending as the vulnerable prostitute and Wang Ching-ting shows a much appreciated flash of crazy as Shuo’s girlfriend. However, it is tough for the three chaps to overcome Chang Tso-chi deliberate sense of entropy. There is a lot of young talent in Thanatos, but Chang’s approach does not do them any favors. It is sort of like he is trying to combine the least appealing aspects of Charles Bukowski and Brett Easton Ellis. Something of a disappointment after Chang’s charming A Time in Quchi, Thanatos, Drunk is not particularly recommended when it screens this Saturday (3/12) and next Saturday (3/19) during CAAM Fest in the Bay Area.

The Automatic Hate: Families Do Not Get Anymore Dysfunctional Than This

Think of it as a Northeaster’s version of Cousin Cousine, except more awkward. Make that way, way more awkward. At first, Davis Green is keen to meet the cousins he never knew he had. Eventually, he will learn why the two sides of the family were kept apart—boy, will he ever. Scandal is inevitable and the truth is far from liberating in Justin Lerner’s The Automatic Hate (trailer here), which opens this Friday in Los Angeles.

When Alexis Green first introduces herself to the Boston chef as the cousin he never knew he had, he is skeptical to say the least. However, after a little bit of snooping and some agitating questions for his declining grandfather, Davis Green soon discovers an irreparable rift opened up between his father and the uncle he never met. Confused and intrigued, Davis visits Cousin Alexis in the sleepy Upstate New York burg that is home to Uncle Josh’s side of the family.

It turns out Alexis has two sisters and they all like to drink. Suddenly, having siblings seems like a heck of a lot of fun to Green, the only child. However, there is something else going on between him and Alexis. The Green cousins are clearly attracted to each other. Obviously, this could lead to all sorts of problems, especially since Green is already involved with an emotionally fragile ballet dancer. However, the Green family has a few more shoes to drop.

Snobby Floridians say the more north you go, the more south you get. Apparently, this is also true in New York State as well. Of course, Davis Green’s wing of the family hails from Boston, so who knows what sort of bizarre behavior seems completely normal to them? Regardless, Lerner is not shy about regularly upping the provocative ante. Yet, despite the outrageous nature of the revelations, Automatic never comes across as exploitative.

There have been some memorably disastrous dinner parties in cinema history, but Automatic really takes the biscuit. Lerner and co-screenwriter’s O’Brien’s screenplay is razor sharp and ruthlessly cutting. If there is video of their early pitch sessions, it would probably make a terrific DVD extra. However, it is hard to get why anyone would fall for Cousin Alexis, given her conspicuously unstable behavior.

Be that as it is, Joseph Cross is convincingly wide-eyed and freaked-out as Cousin Davis. Deborah Ann Woll is way more forceful than you would expect as the moody prima ballerina. It turns out she is the normal one. However, the real show starts when Richard Schiff and Ricky Jay face off against each other as the estranged brothers. As usual, Ricky Jay can deliver an acerbic line like nobody’s business.

When it is all said and done, anyone who sees Automatic will leave feeling thankful and relieved they are not part of either Green family (and that kind of strong reaction definitely has its legitimacy). Frankly, it is just impressive how far Lerner is willing to push this material. Cinematographer Quyen Tran and the wardrobe department also deserve a lot of credit for the perfectly rendered 1970s era home movies that plays such a pivotal role in the Green’s secret history. If you are not intimidated by the third rail running down the center of the picture, it is really quite compelling. Recommended for patrons of genuinely edgy indies, The Automatic Hate opens this Friday (3/11) at the Laemmle Monica Film Center.

Rise of the Legend: Wong Fei-hung the Early Years

He was played by Jet Li in the Once Upon a Time franchise and Jackie Chan in the Drunken Master series. Other actors taking on the role of Wong Fei-hung include Andy Lau, Gordon Liu, and David Chiang. If you take on the part, you’d better bring you’re A-game, because there are plenty of predecessors to be compared with, going back to the 1940s. Eddie Peng Yu-yen assumes the mantle in a highly fictionalized account of the martial artist’s early years, nicely exceeding expectations in Roy Chow’s Rise of the Legend (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Abandoned and ailing on the streets of Guangzhou, Wong is nursed back to health by his soon-to-be adoptive father, Wong Kei-ying, a respected physician and martial artist in his own right, with help from his brother (adoptive and sworn), Huo, a.k.a. Fiery. Soon, they form an inseparable foursome with fellow orphans Chun and Orchid, until the latter girl is ripped away by the city’s criminal element.

That would be the rival Black Tiger and North Sea Gangs. Led by the imposing Lei Gong, the latter outfit is probably the more formidable, so Wong temporarily joins their ranks a dozen or so years later. As a reward for dispatching the head of the North Sea Gang (and bringing said head as proof), Lei anoints Wong as his fourth “godson” (in a very “Godfather” kind of way). However, Wong is secretly coordinating with the righteous new Orphans Gang, led by Huo and Chun, relying on Orchid (now a courtesan) as their go-between.

Rise has a reasonably sweeping narrative, but it all boils down to Wong Fei-hung putting fist to gang-member face. Fortunately, action director Corey Yuen keeps things appealingly gritty and old school. He lets them get it on, which is what we want to see.

Peng also deserves serious props. Some viewers might know him more for his romantic comedies or as the dandyish villain in the Tai Chi Zero/Hero films, but he exhibits hitherto unseen steeliness and legit action cred as the early twenties Wong. He really rises to the occasion.

Of course, Master Sammo Hung makes a larger than life villain as Lei. For extra, added gravitas, “Big” Tony Leung Ka-fai dispense wisdom and flashes some moves as the good doctor, Wong Kei-ying. Wang Luodan shows poise and sensitivity as Chun, but Angelababy’s Orchid gets all the juicy dramatic bits, which she makes the most of. As Fiery, Jing Boran also demonstrates some considerable skills, but he is largely overshadowed by flashier characters (nickname notwithstanding).

Rise definitely has plenty of good stuff for fans of martial arts cinema and costume historicals. It is just tragic enough to stay true to tradition, but not to the extent it becomes maudlin. The fight scenes are crisp and energetic, while the period production values are quite high. It is not the ultimate exemplar of the genre, but it is a thoroughly satisfying addition to the Wong Fei-hung canon. Recommended with enthusiasm, Rise of the Legend opens this Friday (3/11) in New York, at the Village East.

Reichardt’s River of Grass

Cozy Cole just might be the only jazz drummer to hit the charts with a drum solo recording. He played with everyone, from Louis Armstrong to Benny Carter to Cab Calloway. Therefore, he was a fine choice for jazz drummer turned police detective Jimmy Ryder to name his daughter after. Of course, a name like Cozy could lead to certain assumptions, but the dissatisfied wife and mother might be okay with that. She is looking for trouble and kind of-sort of finds it in Kelly Reichardt’s digitally restored debut film, River of Grass (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Cozy just doesn’t care anymore, even though her husband and father are still respectably plugging away. Unfortunately, Det. Ryder is in a bit of an awkward spot, having lost his department revolver, much like Toshiro Mifune in Kurosawa’s Stray Dog, but under much more embarrassing circumstances. The missing piece soon finds its way to Lee Ray Harold, a slacker who still lives with his mother. He might have a serial killer name, but he has none of the drive or resourcefulness.

To make up for nearly hitting Cozy on the way to a roadhouse, Harold offers to buy her a drink. One beer leads to many and soon they are crashing strangers’ backyard pools. When Harold’s old high school teacher barges in on them, Cozy accidentally takes a shot at him. Believing the unscathed pool owner is dead, Cozy and Harold resolve to go on the lam, as soon as they can raise a little money.

During their four days spent laying low, the two aspiring outlaws only manage to rack up a few petty crimes. They are more Nancy and Sluggo than Bonnie and Clyde. However, Ryder is still jumpy with his gun and his daughter still at-large. It doesn’t make him feel much better when he discovers the two issues are closely linked.

Arguably, River came along at the perfect time in 1994, when just about any fusion of quirkiness and noir could find a sympathetic critical champion. In retrospect, it feels very much of its time. There are some clever bits and the self-consciously over-the-top narration is amusing, but the ambling narrative feels old hat by now.

Ironically, the old school jazz helps keep it all somewhat fresh. Like the character of Ryder, Dick Russell was once a professional jazz drummer and he performs several of the drum solos that propel the film forward. Frankly, he is the undiscovered discovery of River. It turns out there were also a number of swing and trad players in the Everglades area during the mid-1990s, who nicely set the mood during the film’s several jazz club scenes.

Of course, it is also slightly mind-blowing to see a young, brief-wearing Larry Fessenden turn up as Harold. Even then, he had that spark of dangerousness. In contrast, Lisa Bowman is more compelling during her voice-overs than she is on-screen. Her Cozy is never developed with any depth, remaining a perversely self-centered malcontent. Regardless, River often sounds terrific, but it looks rather drab. More of a time capsule curiosity, River of Grass is mostly recommended for diehard fans of Reichardt and small group swing in the Jonah Jones tradition (Cole worked with him too), when it opens this Friday (3/11) at the IFC Center.