Margaret Mead ’18: Tibetan Nomads in Exile (short)

The notion of “nomads in exile” sounds almost contradictory. They lead migratory, impermanent lives by choice—or at least they did before the Chinese occupation of Tibet. Many now live in India, still very much tending their herds just as their ancestors did before them. However, it is a struggle to preserve their Tibetan language and customs. Tsering Wangmo introduces viewers one nomadic Tibetan family and their reluctant encounters with globalization in the short documentary Tibetans Nomads in Exile Resistance (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

It is hard enough to maintain a traditional nomadic lifestyle in the post-modern world (just look at the Mongolian nomads in the narrative-docu-hybrid Zud), but adding on the oppression of an outside invader is just not fair. Nevertheless, the Jigdol Wangmo follows tries to do their best (but they yearn for the lush grazing that was once found in Tibet). The eldest brother is already an adult, who is respected by his seniors for his skill with horses and knack for fixing mechanical devices. However, it is the middle daughter Karma, who has a potential future in the modern world.

Like many nomadic children, she attends one of the Tibetan schools founded and funded by the government in exile. The majority of her peers are day students, but there are still a number of boarders from nomadic families. They educate their students so they can engage with the world, but schools also keep the Tibetan language alive.

Wangmo’s film is a straight forward work of reportage, but it still captures some pretty stunning images of Ladakh and the surrounding Himalayas. It also clearly establishes the exiled Tibetan government’s greater claim to legitimacy than the Chinese puppet regime, whether or not that was the filmmaker’s intention. The evidence is there to see of the efforts of the exiled Lamas and officials to provide for their people. In contrast, even native Beijingers should not any kind of constructive help from the ruling Communist Party.

It is a shame that families like the Karma’s are separated from their homeland. This is undeniably a human tragedy, but also represents an ecological catastrophe. Whereas the nomadic herders were wise custodians of Tibet’s once pristine lands, the Mainland occupiers have been rapacious in their exploitation and despoilment (a fact alluded to, but not explored in depth late in the film). Recommended for anyone interested in Tibetan culture and the diasporic experience, Tibetan Nomads in Exile screens this morning (10/21), with Rituals ofResistance, as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Criminal Element: The Woman in White

Perhaps fittingly, J.B.’s first piece for Criminal Element goes back to where crime fiction started, or at least when it first reached widespread popularity, with an exclusive review of the latest adaptation of The Woman in White. The executive precis is: still entertainingly atmospheric, despite some departures from the text that purists might object to (like a slimmed down Fosco). It’s now live here.

PFF ’18: I’m a Killer

During the 1970s, miscarriages of justice were commonplace occurrences in Socialist Poland. However, the stakes were particularly high for the police detective who quite possibly railroaded a (maybe) innocent man for the crimes of “The Silesian Vampire,” Poland’s first recorded serial killer. Questions remain decades later, which Marciej Pieprzyca explores in his thinly fictionalized I’m a Killer (trailer here), a selection of the 2018 Polish Film Festival in Los Angeles.

Living in pre-Solidarity Poland was grim enough without a serial killer stalking women. Despite the taunting letters the murderer sent to the police, the authorities did not give the case priority, until he killed the niece of the local Communist Party boss—or so many locals believed.

Regardless, junior detective Janusz Jasinski is brought in to lead the reorganized investigation shortly after her death. Frankly, he suspects he is being set up to be a scapegoat and he is probably right, but his try-anything approach actually produces a very credible suspect: bitter, wife-beating laborer Wieslaw Kalicki (a fictional analog of Zdzislaw Marchwicki).

There are plenty of reasons to dislike Kalicki and a fair amount of circumstantial evidence, but nothing hard and physical ties him to the murders. Of course, Jasinski’s task force has more than enough to bring him to trial under the old Communist regime, but the man stubbornly refuses to confess. The brazen score-settling of the witnesses called against him also troubles Jasinski, but his future depends on Kalicki’s conviction. Nevertheless, he starts visiting Kalicki, partly to provide some assistance to his family and partly to win the accused man’s trust—for his own sake.

In some ways, I’m a Killer is like the true-crime series Netflix cranks out on a weekly basis, but the Communist era setting makes everything more dangerous and dysfunctional. Pieprzyca clearly has ideas regarding Kalikci/Marchwicki’s guilt or lack thereof, but there is absolutely no ambiguity in his portrayal of the Communist-era legal system. Through the initially well-intentioned Jasinski, we see how power begets corruption, which breeds the cowardice and moral turpitude that will allow a profound injustice to proceed to its tragic end.

Miroslaw Haniszewski is quite remarkable as Jasinski, convincingly sliding down his slippery slope character-development arc, from relatable everyman plugger to sociopathic stooge. It is also almost as harrowing to watch Arkadiusz Jakubik’s Kalicki crumble from a defiant proletarian with thuggish inclinations to a completely hollow and broken man.

This is probably the worst the 1970s ever looked on film, but everything about the production has a convincingly true-to-life, tactile feel, thanks to the excellent work of production/set designer Joanna Anastazja Wojcik, costume designer Agata Culak, and the rest of the design team. After spending time in this grim milieu, viewers should be ready to get down on their knees and give thanks for Solidarity, Reagan, and Pope John Paul II. Very highly recommended, I’m a Killer screens today (10/20) and Wednesday (10/24), as part of this year’s Polish Film Festival in LA.

Margaret Mead ’18: Rituals of Resistance

Just about everyone associates the Free Tibet movement with non-violence—specifically the 14^th Dalai Lama’s “Middle Way.” However, that was not always the case and might not always be true in the future. Three generations of Tibetan exiles represent three different response to China’s oppressive occupation in Tenzin Phuntsog & Joy Dietrich’s 63-minute short documentary feature, Rituals of Resistance (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

They might have differing opinions regarding tactics, but the three exiled profiled all agree the Chinese invasion was a massive human tragedy. Tendar is a former Buddhist monk, who remains as devout as ever, but in the early 1960s, he renounced his vows to enlist in the Tibetan rebel army. He can even be seen leading a raid on a Chinese convoy in a rare British documentary. For Phuntsog’s mother Dolma, the personal is political. She risked certain imprisonment and possibly worse to sneak back into Tibet for a reunion with the brother and sister she had not seen since they were young children.

Lakpa, born in the early 1980s will be the most troubling for many viewers, because he represents the increasingly prevalent self-immolation movement. Arguably, it is related to the nonviolent Middle Way, because it scrupulously avoids harm to others, but it obviously represents a very extreme and final form of protest. He did indeed attempt to self-immolate during Hu Jintao’s official state visit to India, but the authorities intervened.

Resistance clearly demonstrates Tibetans are far from monolithic in their thinking. However, there are broad points of consensus, notably including the complete illegitimacy of the Chinese occupation and a reverence for the Dalai Lama (but not necessarily lock-step agreement with the course he has charted for the government in exile). Frankly, that is far more common ground than we share as Americans these days.

Phuntsog is Tibetan-American, but through his three primary subjects, he and Dietrich piece together a mural portrait of the Tibetan national character. It also happens to be a rather sad and wistful film, because it definitely gives viewers a sense of the pessimism and weariness afflicting so many Tibetans, especially exiles (in this respect, they are quite like Americans, who have been mired in pessimism and negativity since the Clinton years).

This is a deeply humanistic film, but it is also uncompromisingly truthful, which often makes it profoundly distressing. First and foremost, the filmmakers are determined to provide an opportunity for their subjects to tell their stories, but in the process, they convey of vivid sense of what life is like for Tibetan exiles and activists. It is a well assembled film, but sensitive viewers should be warned the filmmakers have incorporated some highly distressing news footage of the recent immolations.

Get your sutras ready, because the experiences chronicled in Resistance will make you pray for Tibet. Beyond timely, Rituals of Resistance shows us what real “resistance” and real dissent look like. Very highly recommended, it screens this Sunday (10/21), with Tibetan Nomads in Exile, as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

The Super: Renting in the City can be Murder

Eventually, every New Yorker has someone difficult move in next to them. Sometimes they are perfectly pleasant when you run into them in the hallway, but it is awkward to hear them scream things at each other, like “being with you makes me feel like a failure” (right, that one is still hard to forget). Presumably, it would be worse to have a serial killer in the building, especially if he was the super, carrying around those master keys. The new maintenance dude at a tony Lower Manhattan apartment building will indeed start suspecting the worst of the creepy janitor in Stephan Rick’s The Super (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Units open up pretty frequently in this building, but Mr. Johnson, the slimy manager never has trouble renting them out again, because this is New York. Phil Lodge is a former cop, but has taken the safer co-super gig, for the sake of his daughters after his wife’s accidental death. Julio, the other super is a bit of a player, but okay to work with. However, the profusely sweaty, weirdly religious Walter is another case entirely. For some reason, the altar-keeping broom-pusher takes an unnerving interest in Lodge’s youngest daughter Rose. That makes him an obvious suspect in the recent disappearance of several tenants, but Johnson is still a dark horse candidate, since several of the victims were rent-controlled.

The Super initially appears to follow the playbook of Jaume Balaguero’s stalker-concierge film Sleep Tight, but it takes some extreme twists down the stretch. Admittedly, it totally ludicrous, but you still have to have to give John J. McLaughlin’s screenplay credit for its sheer chutzpah.

Even though he has a serious Max Cady thing going on, Val Kilmer still looks better than he has in years playing wacko Walter. Maybe its conditioning for the new Top Gun movie. He is also suitably clammy and off-putting as the mouth-breathing cellar-dweller. TV actor Patrick John Flueger does not make a particularly strong impression during the first two acts, but he helps sell the big revelation quite nicely. Paul Ben-Victor is also amusingly slimy as Johnson, while Louisa Krause has some intriguing moments as Beverly, a cool tenant and possible romantic interest, even though her character is basically shoehorned into the film. However, both Taylor Richardson and Mattea Conforti are impressive as the Lodge sisters, Violet and Rose, respectively.

Obviously in retrospect, The Super is inspired by a certain late 1990s movie other movies often compare themselves to, but it would be spoilery to say which one, because it actually manages to pull off a similar trick. There are loose ends laying all about the joint, but you have to give Rick and McLaughlin their due for trying to do something that is a little bit odd and different. Sort of recommended accordingly, The Super opens today (10/19) in New York, at the Village East.

Margaret Mead ’18: Nothing is Forgiven

Probably nobody has had such an up-close-and-personal perspective on Islamist intolerance and terror as Zineb El Rhazoui. With that insight and experience came over 7,000 death threats on Twitter. She survived Morocco’s post-Arab Spring crack-down and the attack on Charlie Hebdo, but now she lives under constant guard, much like Salman Rushdie in the months after Iranian clerics issued their fatwa against him. Yet, El Rhazoui continues to speak out at rallies, in media appearances, and throughout Vincent Coen & Guillaume Vandenberghe’s one-hour documentary, Nothing is Forgiven (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Culturally and aesthetically, El Rhazoui identified with her generally leftwing colleagues at Charlie Hebdo, but she also shared their iconoclastic tendencies. Having experienced censorship first-hand in Morocco, she took the ideals of freedom of thought and expression quite seriously, even before 2015 assassinations.

In response, the Muslim-raised El Rhazoui has become a vocal critic of Islamist fascism, as well as terms like “islamophobia” that she (convincingly) argues have been popularized to silence detractors of terrorism, such as herself. However, this is an exhausting and often lonely existence for El Rhazoui. For months, her police protection moved her to a different hotel room each night. At least she is now somewhat settled in a long-term safe house.

Nothing is Forgiven is a highly-charged, hot-button film, but it presents a quietly intimate and thoughtful portrait of its subject. It is crystal clear El Rhazoui is not doing any of this for the attention (that she could really do without), but because somebody needs to say the things she says. Frankly, many Upper Westsiders will probably find her outspoken candor uncomfortable, especially when she challenges the cliché that the Charlie Hebdo or November 2015 terrorists do not properly understand “true” Islam. Pointedly, she asks what is true Islam? “Iranian Islam? Saudi Islam?”

Those are tough questions, but fair questions. El Rhazoui is risking a lot to defend the values of free speech and free inquiry. Coen & Vandenberghe definitely show the toll all the stress has taken on her, but the film also presents a sliver of hope. It is definitely a profile in courage for the age of terrorism. There is a lot of important, eye-opening stuff here, but it works as a film, because El Rhazoui is so down-to-earth and compelling. Very highly recommended, Nothing is Forgiven screens Saturday (10/20) as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Caniba: Problematic Experimental True Crime

Evidently, Japan does not have a “Son of Sam” Law, because if it did, Issei Sagawa probably would have starved. In a way, that would have been poetic justice. While studying in Paris at the Sorbonne, Sagawa murdered and partially ate his fellow student, Renée Hartevelt. In the years since, he has traded on his infamy through books, crude autobiographical manga, and appearance in hardcore films as well as documentaries. Noted ethnographic documentarians Véréna Paravel & Lucien Castaing-Taylor are the latest to prolong Sagawa’s fifteen minutes of fame with Caniba (trailer here), which opens tomorrow at the Museum of the Moving Image.

Unfortunately, Hartevelt was not available to participate in the documentary, because Sagawa killed her. He was never really punished for it either. France deported him back to Japan, where he only spent a few years in a mental facility. Since then, his brother Jun has been his primary care-giver and adult supervision. As you might expect, it is a weird symbiotic relationship, but it reaches new levels of awkwardness when Jun finally reveals to his brother the sort of extreme S&M he both fantasizes about and participates in.

Clearly, Paravel & Castaing-Taylor envision the film as a sort of Grey Gardens for violent predators, but their experimental approach perversely drains the film of any lurid interest it might hold for cult movie patrons. Ironically, their extreme close-ups have a distancing effect. Most of their shots of Sagawa look like they were composed with the intent of recreating Bowie’s Hunky Dory album cover.

Without question, the most effective sequences show the Sagawa brothers when they were apparently happy and healthy children. It definitely begs the question: what happened? Yet, the filmmakers do not investigate in any meaningful way. Instead, they latch on to Sagawa’s banal bromides that supposedly explain the forbidden appeal of cannibalism. The truth is, it is pretty thin stuff. Again, Ms. Hartevelt is not afforded an opportunity to present a dissenting view.

The #metoo movement is as good as dead if established filmmakers who regularly present their work at festivals like Venice, Berlin, and Locarno are uncomfortable taking a firm moral stand against killing and eating women. That sounds gauchely harsh, but this film is sort of asking for it. It could very well be problematic in every way possible. Not recommended, Caniba opens tomorrow (10/19) in Queens, NY at MoMI.

Horn from the Heart: The Paul Butterfield Story

He was the apostolic link between Muddy Waters and David Sanborn. Paul Butterfield was the archetypal Chicago Blues Rocker, as his induction into the Blues and Rock & Roll Halls of fame should duly attest, but his final years were difficult, due to health problems and audience fickleness. The music and career of the legendary blues harp player are chronicled in John Anderson’s Horn from the Heart: The Paul Butterfield Story (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Butterfield got an impossibly loud sound out of the harp (or harmonica, for the Wonder Bread eaters), in large part because he attacked it like it was a horn. He was one of those white blues kids who managed to hang out in real deal South Side neighborhood clubs, along with his pals Elvin Bishop and Nick Gravenites (both of whom discuss their time with Butterfield on-camera). Eventually, Bishop joined Butterfield when he started fronting a blues band up in a North Side club. Somehow, Butterfield managed to also recruit drummer Sam Lay and bassist Jerome Arnold, Howlin’ Wolf’s rhythm section, which gave Butterfield’s band instant credibility.

Things really started to take off when guitarist Mike Bloomfield joined the band. Butterfield’s electric blues even managed to charm the kneejerk folkies at the Newport Folk Festival, the same year Dylan sparked riots when he went electric. Even when the Butterfield Blues Band broke up (prematurely, according to Anderson’s talking heads), the harpist still had several career highlights ahead of him, including playing on Muddy Waters’ classic but divisive Fathers and Sons sessions. However, he still follows a life trajectory that is so frustratingly familiar to jazz, blues, and rock fans.

Frankly, it is about time Butterfield got the bio-doc treatment, but fortunately, he does a nice job of it. He scored interviews with just about everyone still living fans would want to hear from, including Bishop, Gravenites, Lay, Sanborn, Barry Goldberg, Al Kooper, Maria Mudaur, Geoff Muldaur, Electra Records founder Jac Holzman, and Paul Schaffer, who played on Butterifeld’s final solo album.

Butterfield was one of those musicians who really stretched genre boundaries, but he always stayed true to the blues. Anderson does right by Butterfield, the harpist’s heroes and influences, as well as the city of Chicago. He keeps things moving along briskly, but never skimps on the music. In many ways, Butterfield’s biography is quite a sad story, but his hard-charging harp gives the film an upbeat vibe. Highly recommended for fans of Blues-Rock and Chicago Blues, Horn from the Heart opens today and runs through Sunday (10/17-10/21) in New York, at the Roxy Cinema.

Margaret Mead ’18: The Flying Friar

Father Zvonko Martić is a priest and ethnographer, who exemplifies the best of both callings in a land that could use his diverse skill sets. The Croatian clergyman has preserved the music and culture of Croatians, Bosniaks, Serbs, and probably other Balkan ethnicities. Ljiljana Šišmanović & Davor Borić profile the monastic priest and capture his efforts to rebuild bonds on community in their 50-minute documentary, The Flying Friar, which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

At one point, Father Martić greatly enjoys a performance of whirling dervishes—rather appropriately so, because he was dubbed with his titular nick name, because he is often such a whirlwind of activity. He developed an Evangelical interest in preserving the traditional dress and music of the diverse cultures that make up Bosnia and Herzegovina. His bishop not only approved—he sent Father Martić back to school to get his doctorate.

The good Father is not just a researcher. He also sponsors a regular calendar of traditional musical performances. He is clearly well versed in anthropology, yet he still talks movingly about his own faith. There is no question he walks the walk and still feels the spirit, so it is not hard to see why he moves so easily across religious and ethnic lines.

Šišmanović & Borić take a straight forward observe-and-then-ask-a-few-questions approach, but there is no need for distracting stylization when they have such a compelling and accessible subject. Spending time with him will give viewers hope—maybe even excessively so. Watching Flying Friar could give someone the mistaken impression Bosnia and Herzegovina has healed its divisions and is now totally unified. Alas, this film is unlikely to play in Srpska, but the kindly priest is surely praying for them.

Regardless, the film and Father Martić are a perfect fit for the Margaret Mead festival. General audiences should also appreciate a film that takes music, tolerance, and faith seriously, while remaining optimistic. Highly recommended for anyone interested in the Balkans and boots-on-the-ground cultural preservation, The Flying Friar screens this Friday (10/19) as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Margaret Mead ’18: Eastern Memories

It is easy to speculate why Finnish linguist and diplomat Gustaf John Ramstedt had such an affinity for the Mongolian language and people. He started his field research at a time when Finland was a satellite of imperial Russia and Mongolia was controlled by China. Finland would achieve its independence after the 1917 revolution, but alas, Mongolia would essentially trade Chinese hegemony for Soviet domination. Ramstedt’s heart remained in Mongolia, but he served his country with distinction as its ambassador to Japan (and Manchuria). Passages from Ramstedt’s memoir contrast with hugely cinematic contemporary footage in Niklas Kullström & Martti Kaartinen’s Eastern Memories (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Ramstedt regretted the time away from his family, but he was still an eager and dedicated scholar, who found the Mongolian language an endlessly rich research subject. In contrast, he was a reluctant diplomat, but his facility with languages and big picture knowledge of Russian and Chinese politics made him quite effective in the post.

In both capacities, Ramstedt saw the two countries enter the modern era, but one was dragged there rather awkwardly, while the other willingly jumped head first. Although it may not be their intention, Kullström & Kaartinen’s documentary visibly illustrates how Japan’s capitalistic approach contrasts so dramatically with the socialism imposed on Mongolia for years. Despite the apocalyptic earthquake of 1923 and a devastating war that culminated with two atomic bombs dropping on major cities, Japan has a thriving economy and a high standard of living. In contrast, Mongolia is pockmarked with the bighted ruins of failed industrial projects.

Yet, ironically, the Mongolian segments are far superior, because they are more focused and the visuals of the steppe are even more arresting than Shinjuku by night. There are still plenty of impressive images seen during the Japanese segments, but the film periodically wanders from Ramstedt’s narrative into navel-gazing cultural commentary.

Ramstedt’s life story would indeed make a fascinating narrative film. Frankly, there are still lessons to be had from his insights into Soviet imperialism. Michael O’Flaherty’s authoritative yet strangely warm voice nicely brings Ramstedt’s words to life. Plus, Kullström’s striking cinematography makes Memories quite an accomplished technical package. Highly recommended as a viewing experience and as food for thought, Eastern Memories screens this Friday (10/19) as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Margaret Mead ’18: Her Words (short)

In the poor and remote Jiangyong prefecture of southern China, they are mostly okay with Lisa See’s depiction of their culture in her novel, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, but they are not so hot about Wayne Wang’s film adaptation. They cite various inaccuracies (as well as a possible but not very pronounced lesbian subtext), but the fact one of the main characters was portrayed by a Korean actress probably did not help much either. Regardless, the book and film brought considerable attention to the secret form of writing practiced by local women kept otherwise illiterate by the customs of the time. This new interest is quite the double-edged sword judging from Jing Liu’s informative short doc, Her Words, which screens as a selection of the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

During the first half of Words, we meet Yanxin of He Yuan village, the oldest living Nushu writer—that would be Nushu in its original form. Sadly, her Laotong “sworn sisters” all died relatively young, leaving her little use for the secret language handed down by Chinese women for centuries, up until the post-1949 era. At that point, girls were finally allowed to attend school (but they were also sent into the fields to work).

Yanxin still does not think much of Nushu, except as a reminder of all her suffering. Nevertheless, a steady stream of academics regularly pestered her for their research. After the release of Snow Flower in China, there was a mini-boom in Nushu related tourism. Unfortunately, various levels of government started butting in. The authentic Nushu songs and poems were deemed too sad and depressing, so new melodies were commissioned to liven them up.

The Chinese Communist regime is not known for its respect for local cultures, but the cosmetic surgery they are trying to perform on Nushu is Orwellian in the extreme. The whole point of Nushu was to give a voice and an outlet to women suffering from ill-treatment in loveless arranged marriages. Bastardizing their voices and their means of expression is frankly despicable. It also seems utterly pointless and misguided even from a pure propaganda standpoint, because in this case, the CP can honestly claim to have provided educational opportunities for young women like the Nushu writers—at least until they turned schools into a sick joke during the Cultural Revolution.

As a film, Her Words is largely a straight work of reportage, but Jing Liu does a very nice job conveying a sense of Yanxin’s village and the surrounding environment. Viewers will feel like they visited He Yuan themselves after watching it. Her talking head experts also quite cogently explain the controversies surrounding the current Nushu industry, as it might be called. This is a thoughtful and balanced film that ought to be seen by a wide audience. Highly recommended for anyone interested in traditional forms of Chinese culture, Her Words screens this Friday (10/19), with Ciao Babylon, as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Brooklyn Horror ’18: Wolfman’s Got Nards

The Monster Squad was the perfect cross between The Lost Boys and The Goonies, but unfortunately it opened in theaters two weeks after the former and was lost in the shuffle—or so the cast and crew assumed. Much to their surprise, the [mostly] kid-friendly monster movie developed a large and intensely loyal following over the years. Original cast-member André Gower tells the untold story of the film and its fandom in Wolfman’s Got Nards (trailer here), which had its New York premiere at the 2018 Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Monster Squad director Fred Dekker already had a reputation among horror fans for Night of the Creeps, while co-screenwriter Shane Black was about to become the toast of Hollywood for penning Lethal Weapon and Predator. Monster Squad was a passion project for them both, conceived as a homage to childhood and the classic Universal monsters, but the box office results were not what they hoped.

As everyone would hope and expect, the best segments of the film chronicle its production and pre-production. It might be fun to watch, but it wasn’t always a ball for its young cast, especially Ashley Bank, as the little sister who is scared witless by Dracula. The film is also quite poignant when the Monster Squad alumni pay tribute to Brent Chalem, the cast-member who did not live to see its overdue ovation.

However, the film would be much stronger if it cut at least twenty minutes. Frankly, most of the final third plays like an extended infomercial for Alamo Drafthouse. Apparently, Monster Squad plays on at least half their screens 24-hours a day—and they still sell out every screening. That is certainly nice for Tim League, but most fans would probably rather hear more behind-the-scenes stuff instead.

It is easy to get the appeal of Monster Squad. You have Dracula, the Mummy, Frankenstein’s Monster, Gill Man (a.k.a. the Creature from the Black Lagoon), the Wolfman, and his nards. Yet, somehow, we never connected with it. For us it was The Lost Boys. Maybe there was a process of natural division. You either identified with Monster Squad, Lost Boys, or The Goonies. It is hard to see how you can beat Bernard Hughes final line: “One thing about living in Santa Carla I could never stomach—all the damn vampires.” Nevertheless, you can totally respect Team Monster Squad, but The Goonies is something else entirely. Despite its promotional shout outs, Gower’s doc is still worth seeing, because you can never get enough 80s nostalgia. Recommended for those fans who must already know all about it, Wolfman’s Got Nards screened during the 2018 Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Margaret Mead ’18: The Groove is Not Trivial

There is more to traditional Scottish music than the bagpipes (but don’t get us wrong, the pipes are cool). The fiddle was a big part of it, but that old school Gaelic music had fallen out of favor for years. Alasdair Fraser helped reassert Scottish fiddle playing (and cello playing along with it). His role in the Scottish cultural reawakening is documented in Tommie Dell Smith’s The Groove is Not Trivial (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

If ever there was a title that deserved an “amen,” this would be it. Although trained as an engineer, Fraser was always a keen musician. He played staid classical in school, but his heart yearned to cut loose, like his wild highland ancestors. Ironically, he really started his deep dive into the traditional Scottish repertoire when British Petroleum transferred him to San Francisco. There he found fellow musicians willing to research and experiment, as well as audiences that were eager to listen.

For a while, Fraser was a one-man evangelist, but he started releasing recordings just as Scottish cultural pride and political nationalism starting to swell up again. Soon, he was spreading the music through camps and workshops. He also reached whole new audiences through his collaborations with cellist Natalie Haas.

It is blatantly obvious both Smith and Fraser hoped the film would end with the crescendo of a Yes victory on the Scottish independence referendum. Instead, they work their way through the “No” hangover. At least, they got a little bit of independence from the Brexit victory. Hey, if they don’t want Westminster making decisions for Scotland, it must be even worse to be bossed around by Brussels, right? Right?

Regardless, the music is pretty cool, even if you are not well versed in Gaelic/Celtic forms, or even general string band traditions. There is indeed a strong groove to it, so most music fans will feel sound as a pound (rather than a Euro) when immersed in it. Sometimes Fraser’s ensembles also use their fiddles to create drones, which also hits you someplace deep in the ear and the stomach.

There is some stirring music in Groove, but also some rather silly politics that most viewers will have the good sense to tune out. It runs just over an hour, but could still be trimmed by five to ten minutes (which would make it more programmable later for PBS outlets). Regardless, it is a pleasantly upbeat documentary. Recommended for fans of Scottish music and string bands, The Groove is Not Trivial screens this Friday (10/19) as part of the Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Margaret Mead ’18: Ethiopiques—Revolt of the Soul

The only thing that can ruin good music is politics. In the late 1970s, Ethiopia had some of the world’s best music and the ugliest politics. For a while, it seemed like the music might be lost, but an intrepid record collector would wait out the Socialist Derg regime, in order to bring the country’s sounds to the wider world. The groove will not be denied in Maciej Bochniak’s Ethiopiques: Revolt of the Soul (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Frankly, Amha Ashete was already defying the old regime when he started producing sessions of Ethiopian music without official approval of the emperor. However, nobody responsible for enforcing the law hassled him. Technically, he even had to smuggle his own records into the country, but the customs inspectors looked the other way (in exchange for comp copies). However, everything changed following the civil war and the ascension of the Soviet backed Derg junta.

Amha happened to be abroad when they consolidated power, so he stayed in exile based on his family’s advice (those who remained did not fare so well). Eventually, Amha also had success in America as a restauranteur and night club owner, but he assumed his career in music was over. Then he met Francis Falceto, a French record collector, who developed an evangelistic interest in Ethiopian music. (It is hard to blame him, considering how infectious this blend of jazz, funk, and highlife-esque music sounds.) He was determined to reissue Ashete’s sessions on CD, but the expatriate producer insisted they had to wait for the fall of the Stalinist regime, so the artists would not be subject to state reprisals and could freely share in the proceeds.

Of course, it eventually happened (weren’t the late 1980s just the best time ever?). Falceto’s Ethiopiques series became a cult hit that grew into a crossover sensation. It was a rockier process for the musicians to restart their performance careers, but that too largely came to pass, albeit after a few false starts and short-term hiatuses. Yet, the shy but eminently respected Girma Beyene was left out of the revival. The third act of Bochniak’s stirring doc captures his overdue comeback.

You can never go wrong with a film that sounds as good as Ethiopiques. As an added bonus, Bochniak also makes it rather stylish visually as well, incorporating evocative photo-real-animated segments to recreate the milestones of Ashete’s career. He also captures some live performances that should definitely get everyone’s toes tapping.

It is fitting that the Ethiopian musicians who were oppressed under Communism are now documented by a Polish filmmaker and a largely Polish crew. While Bochniak was a young child under Communism, he presumably still has a sense of how things were from his family and colleagues, which would help him relate to his subjects. He also clearly trusts their music to hold viewers interest, which fans will appreciate. The result is a terrific music documentary that is probably doomed to be dubbed the Ethiopian Buena Vista Social Club, but deserves it own identity. Very highly recommended, Ethiopiques: Revolt of the Soul screens this Friday (10/19), as part of the Margaret Mead Film Festival, at the American Museum of Natural History.

Brooklyn Horror ’18: Empathy Inc

Apparently, money really can buy anything, even including empathy. That begs the obvious question: if you don’t have it already, why would you want to purchase it? The notion that experiencing how the other half lives may ring hollow, but a disgraced venture capitalist like Joel Leesman Green doesn’t ask a lot of question when the chance for a quick rebound presents itself. Alas, there is no substitute for due diligence in Yedidya Gorsetman’s Empathy Inc (trailer here), which screened during the 2018 Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

When the latest tech bubble burst, Green’s former company became the poster child. It turns out the founder was cooking the books and the tech. Even though Green was not directly culpable, his reputation and net worth took a pounding. Awkwardly, he and his wife are forced to move back in with her parents. However, opportunity seems to be knocking when he bumps into an old colleague, Nicolaus Vesey (a.k.a. “Sleazy Vesey”). Yes, Green should probably know better, but he is sufficiently intrigued by Vesey’s VR start-up to give it a look-see.

The experience developed by squirrely, anti-social inventor Lester Cooper really seems to transport customers into the mean world of the less fortunate. According to Vesey’s pitch, the experience makes customers better appreciate their own privileged lives. Seeing is believing, so Green manipulates his father-in-law into investing. Then he discovers the Extreme VR experience is really something altogether different.

Empathy Inc is first of the few grungy, low-fi science fiction films in quite a while that actually works. There has been plenty of terrific low budget sf, but they have mostly transcended rather than wallowed in their micro-budgets. In this case, Darin Quan’s strikingly stark black-and-white cinematography looks like it could have been shot on left-over odd-lot film stock from the production of Eraserhead. The film really is that Spartan and moody.

There are also some neat twists to this tale, beyond the revelation of XVR’s true business model. Screenwriter Mark Leidner fully explores the Macguffin’s potential for causing complications and havoc. The ensemble also does great work selling the premise and its sinister implications. Both Zack Robidas and Jay Klaitz show tremendous range as Green and Cooper, respectively, but it would be spoilery to explain how. Eric Berryman is also spectacularly slick and slimy as Sleazy Vesey.

Gorsetman and Leidner offer up a decidedly dark rendering of human nature, but they still allow for the possibility of redemption. This is an ironic film, but there is a constructive point to it all. It also presents some smart, borderline-analog science fiction. Recommended for fans of ultra-indie sf, in the tradition of Aronofsky’s Pi, Empathy Inc had its East Coast premiere as part of this year’s Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Brooklyn Horror ’18: Tower. A Bright Day

There have been plenty of sisters in horror movies, such as The Shining, Twins of Evil, and A Tale of Two Sisters. Usually, it is immediately clear what we should make of them and their relationship (assuming that word still applies), but Mula and Kaja are something else entirely. There is no question their sibling ties have frayed, but just who we should sympathize with, if anyone at all, is hard to judge. Regardless, family is the ultimate horror show in Jagoda Szelc’s Tower. A Bright Day (trailer here), which screens tonight as a selection of the 2018 Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Kaja is a little off, but there are good reasons for her aloofness. After a long absence (obviously implied to be a term of institutionalization), Mula has allowed her to attend a family celebration. It will be the first communion of Nina, Kaja’s daughter, whom Mula and her husband have raised as their own. As part of the ground rules, Kaja must strictly preserve this secret. Nevertheless, her quick rapport with her biological daughter inevitably unnerves Mula.

Soon the responsible sister’s neuroses are bubbling over, but her family hardly notices. They are too distracted by the sudden miracle-like recovery of her formerly dementia-addled mother, Ada. For her happy-go-lucky brother Andrzej and his wife, it is another reason to celebrate, but Mula and the audience will pick up on ominous signs and a general vibe of foreboding.

Isabella Eklöf’s Holiday is bound to be the most divisive film at Brooklyn Horror for content reasons (we saw it at Sundance and still don’t feel like revisiting it), but Tower is bound to inspire equally divided reactions, solely for its aesthetic. Just calling it a horror movie is controversial (but defensible). Szelc truly instills the film with an utterly eerie vibe (it is almost Hanging Rock-esque), but she is maddeningly committed to its ambiguous indeterminacy. What ultimately happens? It gets big-picture apocalyptic, yet it is still hard to say with any certainty.

Regardless of all that, great credit is due to the ensemble (a few of whom are actually related), which truly convinces us they are a messy, unruly, angst-ridden family. Malgorzata Szczerbowska sets off all sorts of alarm bells as Kaja, yet we sometimes feel instinctively inclined to take her side against her overbearing sister. Anna Krotoska is forceful yet nakedly exposed (sometimes literally) as the martyr-complex-suffering Mula. Yet, Artur Krajewski is probably more unsettling than anyone playing the unnamed priest, who is undeniably losing his faith and might even be the subject of some sort of insidious supernatural attack.

Frankly, this film has A24 (the distributor of The Witch, Woodshock, and It Comes at Night) written all over it. The atmosphere is haunting, but the narrative so excessively murky, it becomes impossible to take any real meaning from it. The vibe is strong and there are a number of interesting bits, but it might behoove Szelc to work with a co-screenwriter on her next project. Only recommended for hipster cineastes who prefer genre films on the obscure side of the spectrum, Tower. A Bright Day had its East Coast premiere at this year’s Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Heartland ’18: The Hello Girls

We forget how much effort once went into telecommunications (a word we hardly use anymore). These days, we can take a phone out of our pockets and call anyone we want, but why bother when we can just text? Yet, during the early 20^th Century, a live person was physically required to connect parties. These people were called telephone operators and for reasons that are now obscure, it became socially acceptable job for women. Of course, communication was critically important for the American military chain-of-command during WWI, so a small but dedicated contingent of operators was dispatched to Europe. Their largely forgotten service is chronicled in James Theres’ The Hello Girls: America’s First Female Soldiers (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Heartland International Film Festival.

It is nice to have troops that are crack shots, but nothing beats communication. That is why Gen. John J. Pershing had telephone lines set up, connecting him to his officers along the front. However, someone had to connect those calls—and there were very few men who knew how. Like two-hundred-some other women, Grace Banker answered the call for volunteers, but much to her surprise, she was appointed their commander.

At the time, the so-called “Hello Girls” were issued uniforms to serve as part of the Signal Corps. Banker and the first wave of volunteers survived an air raid soon after their arrival and remained well after most of the troops had been shipped home. Yet, it took decades for their service to be officially recognized by the U.S. Army. In fact, it would take an act of Congress, sponsored by the great Sen. Barry Goldwater (as part of a larger bill also granting recognition to the WASP pilots of WWII).

The story of the Hello Girls is a fascinating episode of military, sociological, and tech history. It obviously demonstrates how far women have progressed within the American military, but it also vividly illustrated the importance role information technology plays in successful warfighting.

Theres devotes as much time to the Hello Girls’ fight for recognition as he does to their wartime service, which is understandable, but it would be nice too hear more about their boots-on-the-ground contributions to the Allied victory. Frankly, at just over fifty-five minutes, it feels all too brief. Yet, it should be easy for local PBS stations to find an hour to program it, if that hopefully becomes an option for them eventually.

In production terms, Theres mostly makes respectful but safe aesthetic choices. He incorporates some terrific archival stills, but the soundtrack sounds like blah stock music. Regardless, the important thing is telling the women’s stories—and Theres and his talking heads do right by them in that respect. Highly recommended, The Hello Girls screens today (10/14), Wednesday (10/17), and Saturday (10/20), as part of the Heartland International Film Festival.

Heartland ’18: Eternal Winter

Under Socialism, the state controls the means of production—those would be capital, natural resources and labor. That means your labor is not yours to control grant or withhold as you might see fit. If you think that sounds like slavery, the 700,000 Hungarians deported to Soviet work camps during the waning days of WWII would certainly agree.  It was a punishing existence in the remote Donetsk coal mines, but Irén Walter finds a way to survive and even start a new life worth living in Attila Szász’s Eternal Winter (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Heartland International Film Festival.

When the Red Army arrived in Walter’s village, they claimed they were only requisitioning labor for the maize harvest (naturally, they arrive during the Christmas festivities and only chose women at least partly of German heritage). However, it turns out they were really consigning the women to an unspecified term of hard labor in the coal mines. If some prisoners could not endure the toil, well that was just as well, because the guards make it ever so clear punishment for Hungary is just as much a priority for the camp as producing coal for the Soviet war effort.

Being a clergyman’s daughter, Walter does her best to help the other women, but just surviving on her own is a constant challenge. Fortuitously, she receives some unexpected help from Rajmund Müller, one of the male prisoners who arrived earlier. Müller is the camp scrounger, who keeps everyone supplied with hand-rolled cigarettes—for a price. Initially, Walter does not return his romantic interest, in order to stay faithful to a husband who has most likely been killed in action. Eventually, the combination of Müller’s charm and her own survival imperative kick in. Others certainly do worse things to survive—and both Walter and the film forgive them too.

Sunset, the new film from Son of Saul director Laszlo Nemes was the obvious choice for Hungary to submit to the Oscars, but Winter might have been a competitive dark horse candidate. It touches all the usual bases of films documenting historical human rights abuses, but it is also surprisingly forthright in the way addresses survival strategies. It is not what you might assume (stealing food and the like), but rather a matter of giving up hope of any eventual return, in order to reset your life in the camp at zero.

As Walter, Marina Gera truly looks like she is dragged through Hell and back during the course of the film. It is a brave performance, but it is quiet and natural rather than flashy. Yet, it is Sándor Csányi who really lowers the emotional boom as the roguish Müller. Even if it is partly born of necessity, their romance is ultimately quite beautiful, in an exquisitely sad kind of way.

Just when you think Walter and Müller might catch a break, the Communists throw them another curve ball—one that will be especially ironic to contemporary viewers who lived through the 1990s Balkan War and have followed the current refugee controversies in Europe. Szász and Norbert Köbli’s screenplay, adapted from János Havasi’s book, is smart, challenging, and heartbreaking. The former also has a keen eye for framing dramatic shots, but Gergely Parádi’s heavy-handed score does not match the rest of the film’s complexity (a minor flaw, at most). Very highly recommended, Eternal Winter screens this afternoon (10/13), Tuesday (10/16), and Friday (10/19), as part of this year’s Heartland International Film Festival.

Woodstock ’18: One Small Step (short)

Nobody gets to the Moon alone. Neil Armstrong and the Apollo astronauts would be the first to give credit to the engineers and mission specialists who made the Moon landing possible. Luna Chu dreams of following in their historic footsteps. Her support team consists of her loving father. He is only one man, but his influence is profound in Andrew Chesworth & Bobby Pontillas’s animated short film, One Small Step, which screens as part of the 2018 Woodstock Film Festival.

Small Step is the first release from TAIKO Studios, but it has already made considerable waves in the animation world—especially for an eight-minute short. Honestly, it is easy to see why, because it packs an emotionally wallop. The narrative spans at least a decade, but it also includes charming depictions of young Chu’s imaginary space flights that have a sweet whimsy reminiscent of Calvin & Hobbes.

There are some neat visuals in Small Step that will stir the idealism in viewers who remember when we actually sent astronauts to the Moon. It is also inspiring to see a humble cobbler like Mr. Chu support his daughter as she pursues her dream. However, it is a depressing fact the events of this film probably could not happen in real life today, because an aspiring astronaut needs a space program to send them out of orbit. Right now, can launch a satellite, but after decommissioning the last Shuttle, we have no vessels that can safely take crew into space and back. Currently, if we want to visit the International Space Station, we have to hitch a ride with the Russians, which is highly problematic.

Maybe the release of Chazelle’s First Man will help wake us up. Yet, everyone who watches Small Step will find it even more motivating. It vividly captures how the promise of space exploration still fires up young minds. It is also a well-crafted and an unusually poignant work of animation. Very highly recommended for animation fans and anyone going to First Man tonight, One Small Step screens this Sunday (10/14) as part of animation block 2 at the Woodstock Film Festival (and it is also available for online viewing).