MIAAC: Bound, Unbound

The existence of religious tension in India will not exactly come as headline news. It probably will not come as a surprise either that its voices of moderation and tolerance often come from musicians. Such is the case in Shabnam Virmani’s documentary Bound, Unbound: Journeys with Ram & Kabir, which screened at this year’s MIAAC Film Festival.

Virmani begins her filmmaking journey in Ayodhya, the legendary birthplace of the Hindu God Ram (Rama), which would become particularly emblematic of religious strife. In the Sixteenth Century, a Hindu temple was demolished on Ram’s Fort Hill, by the Mughals to erect the Babri Mosque, widely celebrated for its ornate architecture. In 1992 throngs of Hindu nationalists returned the favor, demolishing the Mosque for the sake of Ram’s honor. Virmani interviews unrepentant street vendors hawking videos of the destruction, who clearly leave her discouraged. Can she find contemporary manifestations of Ram, besides such intolerance porn?

As it turns out, yes, thanks to musicians interpreting the work of Fifteenth Century poet Kabir. Thought to have been raised by a Muslim family, but taught by a Hindu master, the exact details of Kabir’s life are shrouded in mystery. Inspired by Ram, his own work seemed to draw from both traditions, leading many to think he deliberately conflated differences between the two. As a result, Virmani finds both Indian Hindus and Pakistani Sufi Muslims who take inspiration from his words.

When watching Unbound, prepare yourself for some serious harmonium. A close relative of the accordion, the hand-pumped keyboard is perfectly suited for the drone-like, ecstatic music of Kabir’s followers. Intended to induce a trancelike state, their groove really is hypnotic. The MIAAC also screened an entertaining documentary about one of Bollywood’s greatest composers, but the music of Unbound totally overshadows it.

Traveling in a Northwestern direction, Virmani introduces the audience to Prahlad Tipaniya of the Ujjain province (West Central India) and Mukhtiar Ali from Bikaner, Rajasthan (Northwest India). Their music is certainly compelling, but the most dramatic sounds probably come from Sufi Qawwal performer Fariduddin (Fareed) Ayaz and his ensemble. Hugely charismatic, Ayaz’s personality and his humanist philosophy dominates the final third of the film.

Part of Virmani’s four film Kabir documentary project, Unbound combines ecstatic music with a truly humanistic spirit. Even if its message of tolerance proves chimeric, the transcendent appeal of the music remains. It was perfect programming choice for this year’s MIAAC Film Festival.

MIAAC: Frontier Gandhi & David Amram

David Amram is a difficult musician to classify, frequently blurring the distinctions between jazz, classical, and world music. He has also composed scores for several memorable films including John Frankenheimer’s Manchurian Candidate, Elia Kazan’s Splendor in the Grass, and Robert Frank’s Pull My Daisy, featuring the “narration” of Jack Kerouac. Given his past collaboration with Kerouac and experimentation with world music, it is not surprising Amram had a strong affinity for T.C. McLuhan’s new documentary The Frontier Gandhi: Badshah Khan, a Torch for Peace, which had its American debut at the MIAAC Film Festival last night, followed by a special concert performance by Amram himself.

McLuhan’s documentary reverently tells the story of Ghaffar “Badshah” Khan, Mahatma Gandhi’s Islamic contemporary and close colleague in their campaign for Indian independence. Khan’s early advocacy of non-violence is presented as a remarkable development, since he was a devout Muslim Pashtun from what was then Northwest India, a region long associated with war and strife—think of the Khyber Pass. As Frontier explains, both men developed similar non-violent ideologies separately, but joined forces to become the Odd Couple of the Indian independence movement. One was short and Hindu, the other was tall and Muslim.

As a native of the North-West Frontier Province, independence did not exactly work out the way Khan had hoped, eventually finding himself a resident of Pakistan following the national referendum of 1947. Frontier is strongest when addressing Khan’s post-independence years in the wilderness, when he was all but forgotten in India and unwelcome in Pakistan, spending most of his time in Afghanistan. Unfortunately though, Frontier never truly gives a sense of who Khan was on a human level, ultimately becoming an exercise in hagiography.

Great effort clearly went into the making of Frontier, including interviews with Afghan President Hamid Karzai (who also happens to be Pashtun) and then Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf. Amram’s music is quite tasteful and appropriate throughout. Featuring the great Badal Roy on tabla, it incorporates his world and classical chops, but jazz is not an appreciable part of the compositional mix. However, his concert afterward would be a different story.

Amram developed a special program integrating music from around the globe, with an unusual quartet of Avram Pengas on either guitar or Greek bouzuki, his son Adam on congas, and daughter-in-law Teresa Colamonaco on tambourine (an instrument Amram spiritedly defended at one point), with the leader on just about everything else. He started on flute with a raga dedicated to Roy, before shifting to piano for a slow blues. Amram had a plethora of exotic instruments spread across the stage for pieces dedicated to various forms of traditional music, including the shanai and dumbek representing Egypt, the Lakota flute for a piece originally composed for the Philadelphia orchestra, and a surprisingly bluesy number featuring the bouzuki and traditional Chinese woodwind. However, the highlight of his set was a rendition of a jazz waltz he composed for a production of Arthur Miller’s After the Fall, which he started at the piano, but concluded playing two penny whistles simultaneously, Rahsaan Kirk-style.

Amram performed a great set, clearly inspired by McLuhan’s preceding film. As for the documentary itself, Frontier is at times informative, but its over-awed tone will limit its appeal to those who already share the filmmakers’ veneration of Khan. It screens again this afternoon at the Tribeca Cinemas.

MIAAC: A Throw of the Dice

In the 1920’s German director Franz Osten and Indian actor-producer Himansu Rai collaborated on three of the most artistically ambitious Indian films of the silent era. Despite their prominence in the Indian film industry during the 1920’s and 1930’s, the events of 1939 would derail both men’s careers, with Rai dying of nervous exhaustion and the British authorities interning Osten for being a German national with an inconvenient membership in the National Socialist Party. Thanks to the restoration efforts of the British Film Institute, audiences now have an opportunity to rediscover their third great silent collaboration, A Throw of Dice (1929, trailer here), which can be seen as it was intended, on a big screen, during the MIAAC Film Festival.

The restored Dice is now particularly accessible for contemporary audiences thanks to the newly commissioned soundtrack composed by Nitin Sawhney. Employing the London Symphony Orchestra for western oriented classical music, as well as flute and table players for traditional Indian flavor, Sawhney’s themes and orchestrations have a lushness that nicely compliments the visuals of this epic romance. Though not a radical departure from the music of Dice’s era, there is a certain modern sensibility in his music, which helps viewers relate to the film. For some reason, contemporary soundtracks are remarkably effective at breaking down emotional resistance to silent films. While restoration preserves the great silent films from decay, an effective new score can also save them from obscurity.

Taking its title from an incident in the Mahabharata, Dice is driven by universal motivations, namely love and greed, telling the story of two young rival kings and the common woman they both love. Ostensibly friends, King Sohan (played by the producer Rai) attempts to assassinate King Ranjit in a staged hunting accident. However, a local healer foils his plan, when he and his daughter Sunita nurse Ranjit back to health. While both princes fall in love with Sunita, she rejects the lavish gifts of the deceitful Sohan, eventually losing her heart to her honest but irresponsible patient.

Despite her father’s opposition, Sunita agrees to run off with Ranjit. They are happy together for seven days, until the mechanizations of Sohan’s evil schemes start to take effect. Framed for the murder of Sunita’s father, Ranjit finds himself enslaved to Sohan after losing his kingdom in a rigged dice game. Dice is quite the morality tale, identifying the vice of gambling as the source of all the spectacular misfortunes which befall Ranjit and Sunita.

Employing huge set pieces and extensive location shots, Dice is epic in scope. Beautifully restored by the BFI, Osten’s glorious black and white visuals look great on the big screen, sometimes redeeming a story that leans a bit on contrivances. However, the acting in Dice is a particularly pleasant surprise, seeming far subtler than the wild-eyed exaggerations commonly associated with silent cinema. With the able support of Sawhney’s elegant music, it makes for a fascinating viewing experience. (How often do you see any silent films on the big screen, let alone an Indian-German co-production?) Dice screens again today at the Tribeca Cinemas as part of the MIAAC and an American tour of the film is in development, which would feature the Symphony Orchestra of India performing soundtrack live in concert.

MIAAC: Shootout at Lokhandwala

During its brief existence, the Mumbai Anti Terrorist Squad (ATS) cut crime by an estimated seventy percent. Just over a month after it was disbanded, Mumbai (then Bombay) was rocked by the March 12, 1993 bombings. The historical record seems to argue persuasively on behalf of the ATS’s efficacy. However, the ATS was undone by its reputation for extreme measures, particularly for firing off nearly two thousand rounds of ammunition during a very public stand-off at a Lokhandwala apartment complex. (1,755 to be exact.) Apoorva Lakhia dramatized that controversial incident as best he could (given several key players are eternally unavailable for comment) in Shootout at Lokhandwala: Based on True Rumors (trailer .wmv), which screened last night at the Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festival (MIAAC).

Lokhandwala starts by showing the audience scores of shell cases being swept up off the blood splattered pavement. The audience will indeed watch as nearly every one of those 1,755 rounds is fired at the complex, but first we see the formation of the ATS, as told to the skeptical former-Justice Dhingra by its founder, Assistant Commissioner Aftab Ahmed (A.A.) Khan and his two top lieutenants.

In American pop culture terms, ATS is CTU and A.A. Khan is a somewhat older Jack Bauer. Initially, the ATS enjoys glowing media coverage, taking along an ambition television reporter to cover a successful strike against a terrorist outpost. Live by the media sword, die by the media sword. As played by Sanjay Dutt, Khan is a larger than life figure, tailor made for the media. He can get away with telling the reporter no policemen will die during their mission, because he is there. Rather than an expression of hubris, he makes it true. According to Lakhia during last night’s Q&A, a bit of business showing Khan contemptuously tossing away a bullet-proof vest is actually based on existing television footage of the Lokhandwala encounter. Oh yes, game on.

Lakhia directs action sequences like Michael Bay amped-up on amphetamines, making liberal use of dramatic freeze frames, jump cuts, and even the dreaded shaky cam. There are also three musical numbers, because that’s the way it has to be in Bollywood. For the record, A.A. Khan does not dance. Those duties fall on the Maya-Bhua gang, when not engaged in extortion and murder. The combination of Bollywood music and hard-boiled violent action sequences makes for quite the cinematic experience.

Dutt is fantastic as Khan, capturing both the intensity and peculiar charisma of the driven officer. The only drawback to Lokhandwala is the rather pedestrian Maya-Bhua villains, who are no match for his screen presence. Ultimately, Ex-Justice Dhingra proves to be his best foil, played with zest by the celebrated Indian actor Amitabh Bachchan, who consistently steals the show during his razor sharp cross-examination scenes.

The real Khan appears in Lokhandwala as the police commissioner who green-lights ATS operations. It would be interesting to know what he thought of Dutt, who at the time of filming, was embroiled in a series of legal battles stemming from his associations with the 1993 bombers. Presumably, Khan enjoyed the ending at least. As a high-octane, over-the-top action film, Lokhandwala is thoroughly enjoyable. I frequently laughed out loud (in a good way) at the film’s sheer relentless spectacle. It is highly recommended to those who prefer their action fast and furious, without any touchy-feeliness. It screens again tomorrow at the Tribeca Cinemas, as the MIAAC continues throughout the weekend.

Boy in the Striped Pajamas

A Holocaust story for young audiences is obviously a delicate proposition. Fully cognizant of Nobel Peace Laureate Elie Wiesel’s injunction against dramatizing the Holocaust, particularly by writers who did not experience it first hand, John Boyne wrote the young adult novel The Boy in the Striped Pajamas anyway. Now a British cast and crew have sensitively adapted his book for the screen. Directed by Mark Herman, known for quirky little pictures like Little Voice and Brassed Off, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (trailer here) opens today in New York.

Though a sensitive, somewhat shy eight year-old boy, Bruno still has a lot of friends in school. Studies show kids are acutely sensitive to their classmates’ wealth and prestige, and Bruno’s father has serious clout. He is a National Socialist officer, whose career is on the rise—unfortunately so for Bruno. Bruno must say goodbye to his friends as his family moves out of their comfortable home to a cold austere villa in the countryside because his father has a new post. He is now a concentration camp commandant.

Bruno and his family were shielded from the true nature of the Third Reich, but with their new home perched on the far outskirts of the camp, reality begins to intrude. By chance, the only window which affords a distant view of the camp happens to be in Bruno’s room. Forbidden from exploring, Bruno naturally tests his boundaries, eventually reaching the barbed-wire fence of the concentration camp. There he meets a gaunt little boy roughly the same age named Shmuel. Though he says things that confuse young Bruno, the two become fast friends.

Tensions are rising in his family. As his mother watches his sister Gretel fall under the spell of her tutor’s hateful propaganda, she begins to have doubts about her husband’s assignment. When a junior officer’s callous joke reveals the camp’s true nature, she can no longer live in denial. Even with his limited understanding, Bruno also starts to question his father’s work, until he is taken-in by a propaganda film produced at the camp for the gullible International Red Cross.

These are areas fraught with peril for the film, but they are handled reasonably deftly. The effect of propaganda on the innocent Bruno and relatively innocent Gretel is all too believable. The mother’s stirring of conscience is also credible, while hardly expiating her guilt (and that of her contemporaries by extension). In fact, her instincts are to flee to a safe haven, where she can return to blissful ignorance.

To its credit, Herman’s film does not cheapen its subject with a pat, happy ending. It ends where it must end to honestly depict the Holocaust. As you see it happen, it is heartbreaking. Though it shamelessly hits every sentimental note available, James Horner’s stirring score is his best in years. As Bruno and Shmuel, Asa Butterfield and Jack Scanlon are surprisingly assured child actors. In a small but pivotal role, David Hayman is outstanding as Pavel, a former doctor interned in the camp who retains his humanity in the face of dehumanizing terror. Unfortunately, David Thewlis, the cast’s best known actor, lacks the heavy presence required in the role of Bruno’s father.

This is a genuinely moving film. However, the various taglines associated with it, like “lines may divide us but hope will unite us” are a bit misleading. Rather than the triumph of hope, this is a film about the consequences of hate that resists offering simple “lessons learned” morals to its characters. Overall, Herman avoids potential pitfalls, helming an excellent film. It opens in New York at the 3rd Avenue City Cinemas today.

Photo Credit: David Lukacs/Miramax Film Corp.

For Cult Film Oddballs Only: Repo! The Genetic Opera

It is very distracting to watch a film whose makers are clearly ignorant of the plot twists in Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. However, the description, “rock opera helmed by the director of Saw 2 co-starring Paris Hilton,” will probably be sufficient to convince most viewers to keep their distance. Those instincts are not wrong in the case of The Genetic Opera (trailer here), opening today in select cities.

It’s the year 2056 and life stinks. For vague environmental reasons, an epidemic of organ failures led to the rise of GeneCo, a medical-pharmaceutical corporation. Since this is a movie, you know the corporation must be evil, and is GeneCo ever so. Yes, they supply replacement organs, but their terms are what might be considered sub-prime, and their evil founder Rotti Largo loves nothing better than to order their repossession when their recipients fall into arrears. Of course, in Merchant, Shylock is foiled in his attempt to extract his pound of flesh, because he had no right to any of Antonio’s blood. (OK, maybe it was not Shakespeare’s greatest plot point, but Repo’s logical gaps are far more egregious.)

Like all movie businessmen, Rotti is evil in all aspects of life. He murdered his ex-lover, tricking her husband, Dr. Nathan Wallace, into believing he was responsible. Blackmailed by Rotti, the tortured Dr. Wallace, unfortunately a GeneCo employee, becomes his Repoman. In between ridiculously gruesome repossessions, Wallace tends to his sickly daughter Shilo, desperately seeking a cure for her rare blood disease.

A clichéd plot could be forgiven if the music of Repo was compelling. Unfortunately, it is not. In this context, rock opera seems to mean characters constantly wailing their angst, with little discernable variance in mood, melody, tempo, or dynamics. There is no flag-waving opener, or even a love ballad. Repo is based on a successful stage musical that had successful runs in Los Angeles and Toronto, but clearly something was lost in translation.

One guesses Paul Sorvino accepted the role of Largo for the opportunity to exercise his operatic chops. Anthony Head, best known as Giles in Buffy the Vampire-Slayer, must have agreed to play Dr. Wallace in hopes of boosting his asking price for fan conventions. In her first screen role, Sarah Brightman absolutely has the voice for Blind Mag, the opera diva spokesperson for GeneCo. In fact, the voices of all the principals are strong, but are undermined by the undistinguished tunes.

The most successful aspect of Repo is the Creepshow-like comic book interludes. They give the film a distinctive look and help set the macabre atmosphere. However, the rest of the film looks deliberately low budget, perhaps to court the cult film subculture. They will probably eat it up at midnight movie screenings. Hey, nobody’s forcing them, but have pity on the projectionists.

Gilfema + 2: Second CD, Two Guests

Gilfema + 2
ObliqSound

Gilfema is a band. That is somewhat rare in jazz, where most successful combos support a leader or occasionally co-leaders. Although sometimes all three perform together as the Lionel Loueke Trio, as Gilfema they do things the cooperative way, which is reflected in the even distribution of composing duties on their second release, Gilfema + 2.

If you accompanied Gilfema on tour, you would hear a lot of highly melodic, upbeat jazz, built atop various grooves and world music influences. You could also probably learn how to cuss in several new languages, given the origins of the band members. Loueke hails from the West African nation of Benin (official language French). Bassist Massimo Biolcati is Swedish-Italian and drummer Ferenc Nemeth is Hungarian. Where did they meet? New York City, of course. For G+2, the trio added two clarinets, Anat Cohen from Israel, and John Ellis, playing the bass variety.

Right from the introductory notes of Loueke’s “Twins,” G+2 has a fresh, clean sound. Here the composer’s vocals sound great layered above the deep rich clarinets. Nemeth’s “Question of Perspective” nicely employs voice, guitar and clarinet in unison, for another very hummable up-tempo track. For infectious funk though, Loueke’s “Your World,” lays down the most addictive groove of the CD. A killer track, it is definitely a highlight of the release.

Consistently melodic and buoyant, G+2 is probably at its most subdued on Biolcati’s cool-toned “One Mind’s Eye” and Nemeth’s relaxed “Morning Dew,” while “Salome” probably uses the darkest aural colors of G+2, allowing ample space for a bass solo from the composer. In general though, the session is an upbeat, high energy affair, as on “Festa,” which almost has a pseudo-calypso thing going on, capped off by a cool little coda from Loueke.

Incorporating a bit of highlife and bit of jam band, Gilfema play jazz you can dance too. In a way, they are heirs to Hugh Masekela, at least during his funky but still legit Chisa years (before the disco abominations). Though Loueke is undoubtedly the best known of the three, all have recorded under their own names (including Biolcati’s recent debut as a leader Persona, also on ObliqSound). They form a cohesive unit on G+2, seamlessly integrating the two guest clarinets into the mix. It all makes for a really distinct sound, as they create music that is actually fun to listen

Wajda: Katyn

The Lincoln Center Film Society titled their Andrzej Wajda retrospective Truth or Dare, and it is an apt moniker indeed. In his most recent film, Katyń, Soviet lies and propaganda are nearly as painful for the loved ones grieving those killed by Stalin’s forces in 1940. It opens at the Film Forum in February, but given how susceptible a large portion of the American electorate has been to propaganda this year, one wishes it had opened before the election. Look for a proper review when Katyń opens in February, but be assured it is worth the wait. The most personal work of the master director’s accomplished career, Katyń (trailer here) is a withering examination of Soviet brutality, the corrosive effect of an orchestrated campaign of lies, and the moral cost of willfully accepting injustice.

Wadja’s own father was among the Polish POWs and other prominent citizens rounded-up and executed by the Red Army on the orders of Stalin (rubber-stamped by the Politburo) in 1940. That date is important. For years, the Soviets claimed the Germans committed the atrocity in 1941, until Gorbachev and Yeltsin finally confirmed Soviet culpability.

In his introduction at the Walter Reade Theater, Wajda gave the audience a probably much needed primer on the Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact and Soviet-National Socialist cooperation in the early stages of the war. His opening scene harrowingly illustrates the point, as Poles from the east fleeing the Russians collide on a bridge with Poles from the west fleeing the Germans.

Katyń moves back and forth in time, jumping to and from the events surrounding the massacre in the Russian woods, and the post-war aftermath. Many challenge the official story, but pay dearly for their dissent. The principal of the Fine Arts Academy seems more realistic when she flatly argues: “Poland will never be free again,” so it is best to scrape out what little consolation is available.

It will be impossible to discuss Wajda’s oeuvre without addressing Katyń. If not his greatest film, it is certainly his most visceral. Watching it on the Upper Westside of Manhattan was an unforgettable experience. Waiting in line for the film to start, I heard all the tired Palin bashing from those blind to their own presidential candidate’s far greater inexperience and naiveté. At one point a gentlemen in-line ahead of me sneered his disapproval for interview in which Gov. Palin gauchely expressed support for “killing the bad guys.” Once inside, Wajda received a well deserved standing ovation, before and after his remarks. However, as the final credits rolled, the theater was absolutely silent. Those in the audience were either in a state of awed reverence for what they had just seen or stunned into slack-jawed silence for the rebuke they had received. I have never loved the movies as much as I did in that moment, thanks to Andrzej Wajda.

Katyń makes it inescapably clear evil does exist in the world. There are in fact “bad guys” who are highly organized and determined to commit heinous crimes against us and free people everywhere. Denying their intent or attempting to appease them will only end in compounded tragedy. Today, before you vote, consider which candidate recognizes the gravity of the threats facing America and which would simply “hope” them away. Disregard the media propaganda and make an informed choice.

Then in February, look for Katyń at the Film Forum. Though it dramatizes events of some sixty years ago, it is disconcertingly timely today. Katyń is a great film, perhaps not Wajda’s masterpiece, but certainly a masterwork.

Wajda: Rough Treatment

Strictly speaking, is it even possible to be “paranoid” when living under an oppressive government? If you think the system is out to get you, eventually you’re always going to be right. Polish foreign correspondent Jerzy Michalowski comes to understand that only too well. When the protagonist of Andrzej Wajda’s Rough Treatment suddenly finds himself beset with personal and professional setbacks, it is surely no coincidence. Screening tonight as part of the Lincoln Center Film Society’s Wajda retrospective, Treatment (a.k.a. Without Anesthesia)dramatizes the Kafkaesque persecutions that were the modus operandi of the Communist Party during the Gierek years (1970-1980).

Michalowski enjoys being a public intellectual. Loosely inspired by Ryszard Kapuściński, Wajda’s protagonist has travelled the world, reporting extensively from the Third World. As played by Zbigniew Zapasiewicz, Michalowski is gregarious and smugly satisfied with own success. If arrogance is too strong a term for him, he is certainly blessed with self-confidence of a magnitude that sets him up for a downfall worthy of Greek Tragedy.

Given his prestige, Michalowski is chosen as the first guest of new primetime interview show. Relishing the attention, he lets his enthusiasm carry him away, questioning how well “the mass media serves the purpose of truthful information.” This of course, is a bad career move.

After the interview no one will say anything to Michalowski directly, but subtle losses in privileges start to mount. Fully aware of the importance of each apparently minor slight, like being left off the circ list for American newsweeklies, the reporter protests to his network patron. However, he is unable to focus his undivided attention on his professional predicament, because of trouble on the home front. He is simultaneously challenging divorce proceedings initiated by his wife Ewa.

It is no coincidence that everything is happening at once to Michalowski. He is paying a price for his candor, slowly becoming professionally and socially persona non grata through a cold-blooded process Wajda himself closely observed when it was applied to his own professional acquaintances. Following Man of Marble during his consciously political period of filmmaking, Treatment is clearly a provocative film. Although Michalowski’s offending words are kept deliberately vague, there is no mistaking their thinly veiled meaning or their dire repercussions which result. On screening Marble and Treatment, it is clear why Wajda found it advisable to seek temporary sanctuary in France during the early 1980’s.

Zapasiewicz gives a great performance, fully capturing both the bluster and pathos of Michalowski. Wajda and screenwriter Agnieszka Holland depict his personal tragedy in cold, unsentimental terms. Far from hysterical, it was a lucid indictment of the then reality of Communist Poland. The state built him up, and then the state tore him down. Although Michalowski and Treatment might be hard to love, they are unquestionably compelling to watch. A historically important film in the Wajda canon, it screens tonight at the Walter Reade Theater.

Live on Park Ave: The Roswell Rudd Quartet

While at Yale, Roswell Rudd played with Eli’s Chosen Six, the rambunctious Dixieland combo seen playing and partying at Newport in Bert Stern’s Jazz on a Summer’s Day. However, his first recordings as a leader established him as the foremost trombonist in the jazz avant-garde. Rudd has had one of those interesting careers. In recent years, he has gone back to touch some of those bases between Dixieland and free jazz, while also incorporating various elements of world music, including traditional forms from Mali and Mongolia. Both those recent stylistic impulses were audible during the Roswell Rudd Quartet’s concert last night at the Korean Cultural Service in New York.

Rudd’s current quartet, featuring Korean vocalist Sunny Kim, probably represents the most accessible, swing-based music of his career. Some of their best originals, including “Whatever Turns You On” and “I’m Going Sane” penned by Rudd and producer Verna Gillis respectively, have a quirky vibe that brings to mind some of Mose Allison’s greatest hits. Kim showed a particular facility for such quirky lyrics and the quartet was swinging behind her quite nicely. In between, she also showed her impressive scat chops on the onomatopoeic “Suh Blah Blah Buh Sibi.”

Despite Rudd’s preface crediting Duke Ellington as the original avant-gardist, nothing could be stylistically further from Rudd’s Fire Music than the Ellington-Strayhorn medley. Of course, Ellington was an innovator of the first magnitude, and his music clearly still inspires Rudd and his colleagues. Kim had a lovely feature spot with “Come Sunday,” followed by Rudd channeling his gut-bucket roots through “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” “Sophisticated Lady” was reserved as a solo for pianist Lafayette Harris, Jr., who displayed a sensitive touch on the elegant standard. The whole group came back in with Strayhorn’s “Johnny Come Lately,” nicely wrapping up the Ellingtonian interlude.

Perhaps the most intriguing selections were the Quartet’s new jazz settings of traditional Korean songs. At least three quarters of the audience signaled their familiarity with the first, “Arirang,” which Kim rightly described as a blues. The second, “Kang Byun Sal Ja,” based on a traditional children’s song, came off more like a slow ballad. Wisely, Rudd and his group kept the arrangements simple and pared down, often letting Kim carry much of the melody, allowing their audience to recognize the familiar lyrics. These were definite concert highlights, so it would be great if Rudd’s Quartet can record material like this in the future.

Throughout the night, Harris and bassist Brad Christopher Jones really locked-in behind the leader and featured vocalist. In fact, Harris’s sparklingly eloquent solo on “Loved by Love,” helped elevate a song nearly undone by its sentimentality. Jones demonstrated tremendous arco technique during his solo prelude to the concluding “Blues for the Planet Earth/You Blew It,” but would someone care to explain why cell phones always seem to erupt during bass solos. (Please show the bassist some love and turn them off in the future.)

Given the Korean Cultural Service’s classy address, Rudd joked it was the first time in his long career that he ever played on Park Avenue. However, Rudd’s Quartet tours frequently, so by now they really sound like a legitimate, cohesive band (they can be heard as a quartet on their newest CD Keep Your Heart Together). While the music might be far-removed from his New Thing sessions, Rudd still plays with wit and flare, clearly enjoying the process of making music with these musicians.

Halloween Revival: Rosemary’s Baby

Ever feel uncomfortable on the Upper Westside? Maybe it’s all the Satanists on CPW. Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (trailer here) might be the all-time classic Upper Westside film, but it is far from a valentine to the Manhattan neighborhood. Forty years after its initial release, it still ranks as one of the great fright films. Starting today (Halloween), Film Forum celebrates Rosemary’s anniversary with a weeklong screening of a new 35M print of Polanski’s classic.

Rosemary is probably Polanki’s most subtle and insidious directorial work. The horrors we don’t see are scary as all get out. Unlike contemporary splatter fests, Polanski masterfully plants unsettling seeds which get under the audience’s skin to sprout in our imagination.

Polanski sets the disconcerting tone from the beginning, as Rosemary and Guy Woodehouse tour what will become their new apartment. The former tenant died rather suddenly, making this spacious rent-controlled beauty available at relatively affordable terms. If you are familiar with the distorted New York real estate market, you will understand why the Woodehouses snap it up, ignoring the early clues Polanski drops for us. For some reason, the recently deceased blockaded one of her closets with a heavy armoire. We also glimpse a fragment of an unfinished document which reads: “I can no longer associate myself . . .”

Rosemary and Guy, played by the seemingly mismatched but surprisingly credible Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes, seem to subscribe to very different values. Guy professes atheism and expresses scorn for the Catholic Church. Rosemary bitterly clings to her religion. She yearns for children—Guy, not so much. These are the sort of differences that are often rationalized away, but persist, causing deep-seated fissures between people. It is such fundamental differences between the Woodehouses that their weird neighbors, Minnie and Roman Castevet exploit for their evil purposes.

It seems Rosemary is not the only one interested in seeing her pregnant. When Guy finally agrees, what starts as a romantic evening descends into the realm of nightmare, with Rosemary hallucinating a ravaging by Old Scratch himself, as Guy leers on. In a famous line, she cries out “this is not a dream, this is really happening.” Though alienated and increasingly isolated during a difficult pregnancy, the audience maintains reasonable confidence in Rosemary’s point of view. Polanski has already set down too many markers for us to lose our way—problematizing reality is not a game he is looking to play here.

In fact, Rosemary is pretty unique in the genre, holding up quite well in retrospect. Though a little over two hours, Polanski’s story-telling is quite economically, with all the pieces fitting together snugly. The stately but foreboding Dakota (a.k.a. the Bramford) apartment building makes quite an eerie backdrop. The performances have aged well too, particularly Oscar winner Ruth Gordon as the funny-scary Minnie Castevet and Sidney Blackmer as the ingratiatingly evil Roman.

Rosemary is also another fine collaboration between Polanski and Polish jazz musician and film composer Krzysztof Komeda. Sadly, it would be their last. Soon after the film’s release, Komeda and Rosemary’s infamous producer William Castle were admitted to the same hospital for emergency treatment. Castle would eventually check-out. Komeda did not. Encompassing both creepy mood-setters and groovy swingers, Komeda’s music for Rosemary always perfectly compliments the on-screen action. Years later, Komeda’s lullabye for the film, “Sleep Safe and Warm,” would become a staple for his protégé Tomasz Stanko.

Rosemary stands head and shoulders above the gory low-budget dreck churned out on conveyer belts today. Rosemary is scary because it depicts the seductiveness of evil. A film like Hostel is frightening because its sicko filmmakers are walking around loose in the world. Seeing Rosemary on the big screen is a legitimate Halloween treat. It runs at Film Forum through Thursday.

Preserved: The International Sweethearts of Rhythm

During WWII, the International Sweethearts of Rhythm were one of the top big bands in America, not just among all-women orchestras, but overall. However, with the end of the war and the return of musicians who had enlisted or were drafted, the Sweethearts found themselves squeezed out of gigs, as did most of their fellow all-women bands. While some video survives of the band (like these performances), it is not like there is an excess supply of archival footage available to fans and scholars, so the recent preservation of That Man of Mine is a welcome event.

The preserved print of Man screened at MoMA last night as part of their To Save and Protect film preservation series, with its star Ruby Dee in attendance. While Dee shows an undeniable screen presence in Man, the caliber of acting overall is frankly subpar. However, the music is what makes the Sweethearts’ Man.

With vocalist Anna Mae Winburn fronting the band Cab Calloway style, the Sweethearts featured some top-notch jazz instrumentalists, including Viola Burnside on tenor and Ernestine Davis on trumpet (who takes an excellent solo turn in Man). The Sweethearts were often compared to the Basie organization, with good reason. They shared a common arranger in Eddie Durham, developing a similar KC jump sound (by way of Mississippi).

Man was produced by William Alexander, a pioneering independent African-American filmmaker. His early films were largely musical, which allowed him to generate more revenue by editing musical numbers for separate release as “Soundies.” Indeed, Man is not at all ambitious in terms of story development. Though oddly self-referential for the time, the on-screen drama of whether or not Dee’s ingénue will be cast in William Alexander’s upcoming International Sweethearts of Rhythm film, is perfunctory at best. The real point of the film is the music of the ISR. Man is also notable for an appearance by Henri Woode, an unsung swing arranger and the uncle of Ellington bassist Jimmy Woode, seen directing the sextet accompanying leading man Harrell Tillman during his crooner feature.

Man is classic music, if not great drama. It represented a unique confluence of talent. Unfortunately, the ISR’s star would wane in coming years, but they were still quite popular in 1947. Ruby Dee was just embarking on what would become an acclaimed film career. Alexander continued scratching out films, winning an award at Cannes for a short documentary. His final film would be 1974’s The Klansman, starring Lee Marvin, Sir Richard Burton, and O.J. Simpson.

Preserved not restored, the print of Man still shows its age. However, the music of the International Sweethearts still makes for entertaining viewing, so hopefully it will reach a wider audience thanks to the efforts of the Women’s Film Preservation Fund and MoMA.

Wajda: Man of Marble

In 2000, Polish director Andrzej Wajda was awarded an honorary Oscar, an accolade typically bestowed on filmmakers whose most productive years are presumed behind them. However, eight years later, Katyń, Wajda’s most personal film yet, was nominated for the Best Foreign Language Academy Award, suggesting his creative drive is far from diminished. Though Wajda initially made his international reputation with work set during World War II, beginning in 1976, he daringly addressed the realities of Polish life under Communism in with a series of films, which ultimately led to his exile in France. Still highly relevant for addressing the corrupting power of propaganda, Man of Marble, the first of Wajda’s so-called “Solidarity” films, screens Friday, as part of the Lincoln Center Film Society’s Truth or Dare Andrzej Wajda retrospective.

Agnieszka believes in doing things the hard way. She is risking her entre into Polish television with her risky film school thesis. While everyone wants her to do another tedious industrial documentary, she has her sights set on Mateusz Birkut. Once a lead worker celebrated in Stalinist-era propaganda (including a grandiose marble statue since relegated to the National Museum’s basement “ash-heap of history”), Birkut mysteriously disappeared from public view, presumably for running afoul of the Communist authorities. Though discouraged at every turn, Agnieszka slowly starts to piece the puzzle together through lost film of his workers’ collective and reluctant interviews with his contemporaries.

Birkut originally came to prominence for supposedly breaking the single shift brick-laying record. However, the newsreel director who recorded the event confides to Agnieszka how he manipulated and outright fabricated aspects of the episode for propaganda purposes. Yet poor guileless Birkut originally accepts everything he is told at face value. As a result, when he falls out of favor with the Party for championing workers’ rights, it is wrenchingly difficult for him to adjust to life when essentially persona non grata.

Jumping back and forth in time, we see Agniewszka tangle with censors, while Birkut endures a humiliating trial for vague counter-revolutionary crimes. Pre-dating the formal establishment of Solidarity by four years, it is amazing Marble was made at all. It was indeed censored by the state prior to its initial release, but its sharp criticism of Polish Communism, both past and present, remained unmistakable.

Still, Marble is more than a mere protest movie. It is quite a visually exciting film, employing long shots and odd angles to tell Agnieszka’s story. The groovy soundtrack also nicely roots the contemporary story in the 1970’s. Both Krystyna Janda and Jerzy Radziwilowicz bring nuance and a sense of humanity to the roles of Agnieszka and Birkut, respectively. A tribute to true independent filmmaking, an expose of life’s precariousness under Communism, and an homage to Citizen Kane, Marble is a classic of international cinema. It screens at the Walter Reade this Friday and the following Sunday.

Sonny Rollins on the Road

Road Shows vol. 1
By Sonny Rollins
Doxy Records/Emarcy

You will find near unanimity among fans and critics alike that Sonny Rollins is the greatest living jazz artist. However, he has long held a reputation as a “live” musician, more comfortable in a concert setting than in the studio. Happily, now that Rollins records for his own Doxy label, he has begun an ambition program of live releases culled from the tapes of nearly 200 concerts recorded over roughly a twenty-year period, with the inaugural release, Road Shows Vol. 1, on-sale today.

Vol. 1 kicks off with “Best Wishes” from Rollins’s unfairly overlooked Reel Life album, currently available only as a Japanese import. It is a brisk, clean-sounding up-tempo workout, recorded live in 2000 during one of his frequent Japanese concerts. In Robert Mugge’s documentary Saxophone Colossus, Rollins discusses his special relationship with Japan, speculating his Caribbean roots gives him an island-centric affinity with the nation. Indeed, Japan is the only country represented more than once on Vol. 1, with “Wishes” recorded in Tokyo and a tour-de-force rendition of “Tenor Madness” (his classic standard which he first waxed in 1956 with John Coltrane in their only recorded pairing) captured during a concert in Tama City.

Rollins has often taken inspiration from his Virgin Island heritage, frequently recording calypsos, beginning with “St. Thomas” on his album Saxophone Colossus, perhaps the most analyzed “non-concept” record in music history. Vol. 1 premieres his newest calypso, “Nice Lady.” Highly danceable and hummable, it still shows both Rollins’ artistry as an improviser and his sense of humor.

Rollins credits Coleman Hawkins as his first great influence, which you can still hear when he wraps his big, hearty tone around a ballad like “Easy Living.” Recorded in Poland about a month after the founding of Solidarity in 1980, the audience sounds particularly enthusiastic for Rollins’ music (and perhaps the freedom jazz represents).

Most of the live cuts assembled on Vol. 1 feature Rollins backed-up by his working groups of the times, often including his longtime trombonist Clifton Anderson, who also doubled as producer for the CD. Other sidemen include bassist Bob Cranshaw, guitarist Bobby Broom, pianist Mark Soskin, and drummer Al Foster. However, the CD concludes with a true highlight: Rollins playing in an all-star trio with Roy Haynes on drums and Christian McBride on bass. As part of a Carnegie Hall concert marking the fiftieth anniversary of his first appearance at the venerable concert auditorium, Rollins and guests perform a passionate but sensitive “Some Enchanted Evening.”

Fifty-two years after Saxophone Colossus first amazed listeners, there really is little left to be said about Sonny Rollins. For the hand-selected live tracks of Vol. 1, “here it is” would probably be sufficient. It is Rollins at his most vigorous and inventive.

Down the Tracks: Dylan’s Ancestral Roots

Down the Tracks: the Music that Influenced Bob Dylan
Directed by Steve Gammond
Eagle Media

Bob Dylan didn’t come out of nowhere, but for some, Hibbing, Minnesota is probably close enough. His music did not come down from the pure blue sky either. His well established country, blues, and roots influences are now documented for a popular audience in the recent DVD release Down the Tracks: Music that Influenced Bob Dylan.

Diehard Dylan fans might have mixed emotions about Tracks, because its subject and inspiration is never heard from directly, only appearing in still photos and limited archival video (sans audio), presumably due to clearance difficulties. However, Tracks takes viewers on a brisk tour of the Americana music the Lomaxes, father John and son Alan, spent their careers recording and preserving. In fact, John Lomax appears with Dylan influence Huddie “Leadbelly” Ledbetter, in clips from the rather stilted and patronizing cinematic recreation of their initial meeting in the Angola State Prison Farm.

A number of early blues pioneers get their just due in Tracks, both as artists and formative influences on Dylan, including Leadbelly, Blind Willie McTell, Rev. Gary Davis, and Mississippi John Hurt, briefly shown in performance at the Newport Folk Festival. At times Tracks also mixes in contemporary performances of a classic song that Dylan surely would have heard, with the best being Po’ Girl’s rendition of Hurt’s “My Creole Belle.”

In addition to bluesmen, we see and hear some of Dylan’s country touchstones, most notably Hank Williams, and the original folkies like Woody Gutherie. One of the more intriguing aspects of Tracks is its relatively straight-forward description of the so-called “Popular Front, Communist-influenced folk tradition.” We hear Guthrie dissembling on the political intent of his music, but twenty minutes later another commentator seems to contradict him, explaining in the folkies’ voice their aim to “create a patriotic, American, wholesome feel for what we’re doing and that will help play down and placate and pacify those who feel we’re too close to the Communist Party.”

Though Dylan clearly idolized Guthrie, later discussions of the titular subject’s work create a picture of a more nuanced artist, like the1966 Playboy interview from which author Michael Gray paraphrases his belief in lasting power of traditional song, arguing the converse for protest music: “Traditional music won’t die—it can’t die . . . It’s political music—those are the songs that are going to die—they’re already dead.”

While Tracks might not leave fans feeling anymore intimately acquainted with Dylan, it offers several good jumping-off points for the artists who came before him. It would be very cool if some of Dylan’s sizable audience became intrigued by Rev. Gary Davis on learning from Folk Revival producer Joe Boyd a tidbit like: “[for] a lot of the New York folkies, to the degree that they had real skill on the guitar it was very often because they had taken lessons from Gary.” Though relatively brief (just over ninety minutes), Tracks shotguns in quite a bit of American roots music, for an interesting, if indirect tribute to the inscrutable singer-songwriter.

Made in Poland: The Files

In a pivotal scene from the Academy Award winning The Lives of Others, a famous playwright discovers the extent of the Stasi’s surveillance of his life when he accesses the secret police’s files after the fall of Communism. The members of the Polish avant-garde dramatic company The Theatre of the Eighth Day had a similar experience, but were fully cognizant of the Polish Security Service’s interest in them at the time. In an act of artistic jujitsu, the Eighth Day adapted those bureaucratic reports into a theatrical statement on both their personal histories specifically and the Polish experience under Communism in general. Simply and appropriately titled The Files, it opened in New York last night at the 59E59 Theater as part of the Made in Poland series of contemporary Polish plays.

Founded in 1964, the Eighth Day’s experimental impulse quickly earned the suspicion of the Communist authorities. Ironically, it was the Security Service’s persecution which pushed the group towards risky political work, despite their original intentions. Members of the Eighth Day were under constant surveillance. Their homes were frequently searched and prospective employment was often sabotaged. Periodically, they even faced trumped up misdemeanor criminal charges, all because of the perceived political “hostility” of their productions.

Much of Files resembles a staged reading more than a play, but multimedia projections and vignettes from past Eighth Day productions are also incorporated into the production. However, there is unusual drama in simply watching the four actors as their files are read. Despite their by now intimate familiarity with the contents, one can still see the remnants of dismay at the absurdity of it all, as when Adam Borowski reads from Marcin Kęszycki’s file: “Reason for opening case: Target possesses hostile attitude towards present reality.” Over the course of Files, the sheer pettiness of the Security Service emerges as its dominant characteristic, as when they accuse company members of engaging in “drunken orgies.”

Even when the Eighth Day was not necessarily political, one can see how their improvisational ethos would inspire the wrath of the secret police, especially given the rather far-out nature of some of their collective improvisations, as seen in Files through projected archival film. Any exercise of freedom, including artistic improvisation, becomes a political statement in such a regimented environment. Eventually, Borowski, Kęszycki, and Tadeusz Janiszewski recreate on-stage scenes from Sale for Everyone and Oh, How We Lived in Dignity, which also display a pronounced absurdist tendency in their work. The three men prove quite physical in their interpretations of the material, while the elegant Ewa Wójciak watches in apparent amusement.

After enduing years of harassment, Martial Law, and eventual banishment, the Eighth Day returned home in 1990, assuming a leading role in Polish contemporary drama with topical work like The Time of the Mothers, which addresses the Russian Dirty War in Chechnya, and of course, The Files. Wójciak and Katarzyna Madon-Mitzner have reshaped these cold, stilted historical documents into an unusual, but enlightening theater experience. The Eighth Day resists outright triumphalism in The Files, but still offers a clear measure of inspiration by ascribing their survival to “inner freedom,” as defined by Soviet dissident Vladimir Bukovsky. It is a worthy lesson in the true nature of statist government from a singularly distinct company of actors, highly recommended for theater patrons receptive to more thought-provoking fare. It plays a limited run at 59E59 through November 9th, followed by a three night engagement at Indiana University starting on the 13th.

Let the Right One In

Vampires can’t crash your party. They have to be invited in. A wave and nod will not do either, it has to be an unambiguous invitation, at least according to Tomas Alfredson’s Swedish coming-of-age tale of vampirism, Let the Right One In (trailer here), opening today in select cities on the coasts.

Twelve year-old Oskar looks like a vampire himself. Pale and gaunt, the sensitive student gets picked on relentlessly. Having no close friends and little supervision from his separated parents, Oskar spends a lot of time alone with his revenge fantasies. One cold, dreary night he meets Eli, the neighbor girl who coincidentally moved to town around the time a rash of mysterious disappearances began to plague the town. She does not go to school, but she can sneak up on you real quiet-like and she seems impervious to the cold. Oskar finally thinks he’s found someone he shares some chemistry with—at least a friend, maybe even a girlfriend.

Obviously, Eli is a vampire, but she starts to reciprocate Oskar’s feelings to an extent which surprises her. Considering how many years she has been undead, their relationship is more than a little creepy, but cradle-robbing is the least of her transgressions. Of course, events eventually intervene to separate the young and undead lovers. When Eli’s human familiar (and ostensible parent) gets gruesomely busted after botching a bloodletting, she makes a hasty departure, leaving a somewhat empowered Oskar to face his tormentors on his own.

As filmed by Alfredson and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema, provincial Sweden in the dead of winter is a pretty spooky environment to start with. Adding the fear of the supernatural and the existential dread of adolescence, make for quite a dark and evocative film. However, if Right One will catch on with audiences, it will be with the art house set, more than horror fans.

Throughout the film, horror conventions are deliberately subverted. Despite some intense scenes, much of the actual killing and bloodletting takes place just off-screen. We see tantalizing glimpses and glimmers of Eli swooping down on her prey, but a sense of mystery is faithfully preserved. When characters that need killing finally get theirs, it happens abruptly and framed out of full view, rather than in the drawn-out revenge fulfillment scenes one might expect of the genre. In fact, Right One is not truly a genre picture, but a truly idiosyncratic relationship film—Summer of ’42, as rewritten by Anne Rice.

Still, Right One is quite appropriate for Halloween viewing, given its supernatural themes and eerily disconcerting ambiance. With a pile of film festival awards to its credit, including Tribeca’s best narrative feature, Right One also has plenty of cineaste street cred. It opens today in New York at the Angelika.

On-Stage: Ballerina Who Loves a B-boy

Generation Myspace, your show has arrived. You are explicitly invited to take digital pictures during Ballerina Who Loves a B-boy, and post them to your social networking page. Beginning a limited run at 37 Arts last night, the Korean hip-hop “break-dancing” theatrical experience is in fact quite photogenic, which explains the producers’ confidence in the ultimate drawing power of such peer-to-peer image sharing.

Ballerina keeps the story simple, telling it sans dialogue through dance. The narrative follows a Romeo & Juliet-style romance between a sheltered ballerina and a street wise B-boy, who performs with his crew beneath her studio window. However, the story as such, is not really the point. Rather, it is a showcase for the moves of the Extreme Crew, the past champions of many international B-boy battles. Their performance arsenal includes acrobatic air steps, tightly synchronized robotic “toprock” choreography, and held freezes requiring exacting strength and balance.

Given the nature of the show, with its booming hip-hop (entirely pre-recorded) and constant exhortations to rouse audience enthusiasm, the poor ballerinas’ dance numbers are unfairly overwhelmed. They are actually excellent dancers in their own right, but their style is a bit too sedate for the B-boy extravaganza surrounding them. However, the only real acting per se comes from Eun Hae Yoo, as the ballerina who loves a B-boy, who has to emote quite a bit during nightmarish dream sequences. She proves she could have been a successful actress during the silent era.

Still, Ballerina is clearly Extreme Crew’s show in no uncertain terms. They are a talented, high-energy ensemble, who delivers some spectacular moves. Though it is a large company, some individual personalities emerge from the crew, particularly the stocky B-boy, who seems to defy physics with his body type. However, as someone who knows something about marketing, I would recommend they use the Hip-hop girls, the trio of Soobin Kim, A Rum Park, and De Heen Choi, in their advertising campaign. Let’s just say that in addition to being talented dancers, they also have great stage presence, and leave it at that.

Ballerina is a very entertaining show that brings plenty of flash and style. Its only fault might be the dream sequences, which though quite distinctive visually, might be a bit intense for younger children, and seemed to drag on a bit, dissipating the audience’s energy-level. Still, the Extreme B-boys always return to what they do best, getting the show back on track with a spectacular set of steps.

With its ultramodern concrete architecture, 37 Arts feels like the perfect venue for a show like Ballerina, given its hip, urban sensibilities. Currently, Korean B-boy stock is on the rise following the international success of films like Planet B-boy and Always Be Boyz. Ballerina is an impressive live vehicle for the Extreme Crew, with just enough narrative to give the show a sense of structure. Regardless of your stylistic preferences for music, you have to give them props for talent and showmanship. Now officially open, Ballerina runs through December 21st.

Must-See Documentary: The Soviet Story

Prior to Sunday night’s Lincoln Center screening of Katyń, Andrzej Wajda gave the audience a probably much-needed history lesson, explaining the Soviet-German alliance during the early years of WWII. When he concluded, Wajda received a well-deserved standing ovation. However, for his in-depth survey of Soviet crimes against humanity, including Soviet cooperation with the Third Reich, Latvian director Edvins Snore was burned in effigy by Neo-Soviet Russians. It is an ominous badge of honor. The film that you are not supposed to see is titled The Soviet Story (trailer here), and it opens in New York this Friday.

From its inception, the story of the Soviet Union was writ in blood. As former Soviet dissident (now essentially a dissident again under the Putin regime) Vladimir Bukovsky explains: “When Communists come to power, it does not matter where, let it be in Russia, in Poland, in Cuba, in Nicaragua, in China, initially they destroy about ten percent of the population” in order to “restructure the fabric of society.”

Soviet Story acts as an effective corrective to the popular notion that the Communist experiment only turned horrific when Stalin ascended to power. The film documents orders mandating mass executions, estimated in the tens of millions, originating with the father of the revolution, Lenin. Still, it is devilishly difficult to outdo Stalin’s sheer capacity for terror. For instance, the deliberate use of famine to pacify Ukraine is explained here in chilling detail. In a crime against humanity largely ignored by the West, seven million Ukrainians were intentionally starved in the cordoned Republic, as foodstuffs were confiscated at gunpoint by the Red Army.

The heart of Soviet Story explores the close ideological similarities and barbaric collusion between the Soviet Socialists of Stalin and the National Socialists of Hitler. There is an eerie sequence juxtaposing thematically similar propaganda posters from both regimes, side-by-side on-screen. Even more damning are the documents Snore uncovers establishing close links between the SS and the Soviet NKVD (the precursor to the KGD), discussing among other issues, the “Jewish Question.” They did not just talk. They carved up Poland between themselves, and at Stalin’s prompting, staked their claims to the rest of Europe.

Soviet Story is most devastating when discussing the ways in which the more advanced Soviet killing machine served as the inspiration and model for the Holocaust. According former Soviet intelligence officer Viktor Suvorov: “A delegation of German Gestapo and SS came to the Soviet Union to learn how to build concentration camps.”

Snore has produced a chilling indictment of the Soviet experience with Socialism. He calls some very convincing witnesses, including Bukovsky, and the eloquent Cambridge historians Norman Davies and George Watson. As evidence, he produces some shocking archival film and documents. However, as the film makes clear, none of those who did (and still do) the Soviet dirty work has ever faced justice for their crimes. All told, Snore has produced a passionate but thoroughly reasoned case against the bloodiest regime of the twentieth century. His only misstep is the periodic use of animated titles, which feel like the commercial bumpers in a History Channel special.

While this is a period of history I consider myself well versed in, Communist oppression was so ruthless and pervasive, Soviet Story was able to catalogue many fresh horrors I was not previously aware of. Probably the scariest aspect of the film is its timeliness, releasing as the Putin regime increasingly embraces its Stalinist roots. Everybody who wishes to continue thinking themselves well-informed should see this film. Since Soviet Story should be seen by a wide audience, I highly recommend seeing it opening weekend, when a strong showing could help it secure further distribution. Soviet Story opens in New York this Friday at the Village East Cinema.

Stranded . . . The Documentary

What happened in the Andes did not stay in the Andes. The entire world learned the sensational circumstances surrounding the harrowing survival of the “Christian Brothers” Uruguayan rugby team following the 1972 crash of their chartered flight high in the Latin American mountain range. Soon after their dramatic rescue, they held an emotional press conference in which they explained their food source during their long ordeal—the bodies of their fallen comrades. For some, that would be the last time they addressed the media, until a trusted friend, filmmaker Gonzalo Arijon, set out to tell their story in the documentary Stranded: I’ve Come from a Plane that Crashed in the Mountains (trailer here), opening in New York on October 22nd.

As the subject of the book and subsequent film Alive, it is hardly a spoiler to reveal the survivors’ cannibalism. Stranded more or less assumes audiences will know that much of the story coming in. Unlike the Hollywood film, which is just an okay time-killer (written by Pulitzer-Prize winning playwright John Patrick Shanley), Arijon’s documentary truly conveys a visceral sense of the survivors’ experience, leading viewers through the story step by evocative step.

One such aspect of the story better realized in Stranded is the massive scale of the snow-capped Andes and their truly remote crash site in the so-called Valley of Tears. Finding the white fuselage of the plane—their only shelter from the extreme elements—was like finding a needle in a mountain range of haystacks. En route to Chile for a match and some fun in the sun, they carried little in terms of insulating clothing and the plane was stocked with few provisions. In American pop culture terms, it was much like the fateful “three-hour tour.”

The passengers on the ill-fated flight were nearly all friends or relations. At the time, they lived within blocks of each other, and largely still do today. Clearly, those multiply-reinforced bonds of family, friendship, school, community, and cultural identity played a large part in their survival—a point which comes through in several interview segments.

Indeed, the survivors hung together, endured incredible hardships, and eventually sent the two strongest among them, Fernando “Nando” Parrado and Roberto Canessa, on an arduous trek for help, over imposing mountain peaks in a desperate route that defies belief when seen through Arijon’s lens. In telling the story, Arijon’s access to the surviving survivors, both in one-on-one interviews and during their recent reunion at the crash site, makes the film a very personal document. Arijon elicits a number of details that constitute new information for those who only know the story through Alive, the movie. Stranded is also a better film from a technical standpoint, more effectively transporting viewers to that forsaken crash-site, thanks in part to the dazzling cinematography of the recreated crash scenes by César Charlone, another friend of several survivors, who nearly made the flight in question himself.

The human stories here are about as real as it gets. To his credit, Arijon captures the high drama of the situation, but shows admirable sensitivity for his subjects. Stranded opens Wednesday in New York at the Film Forum.