FILM REVIEW: SYMPATHY FOR DELCIOUS

The Stain (Orlando Bloom) and Ariel Lee (Juliette Lewis) in Sympathy for Delicious.

Bound to earth

By John Esther

Wheel bound on the streets of Los Angeles in more ways than one, life for DJ Delicious (Christopher Thornton) has been too tough for too long. Unemployment, crime, disability…like the people around him, Delicious needs an immediate fix.

Then one day, others discover Delicious has the hands of God and he can cure approximately 72 percent of the people he touches -- such as the ones with illness, blindness or paralysis. This leads to many kinds of exploitation and manipulation by Delicious and others.

Competently directed by Mark Ruffalo, the storyline of Sympathy for Delicious is a mixed bag. It is interesting to watch how Delicious and others make money off his talent from God (just like Rush Limbaugh), but the idea of supernatural healing powers bestowed on a human being in this day and age is a bit silly. Written by Thorton, the script would have better served the character of Delicious if his powers were “scientifically” explained.

Co-starring an amusing Juliette Lewis as a pill addict/rock & roll purist named Ariel Lee, a highly-toned Orlando Bloom as a pretentious rock star called The Stain, Laura Linney as an eccentric agent, and Ruffalo a as priest maligned by pride. 

SFIFF 2011: THE BLACK POWER MIXTAPE 1967-1975

Angela Davis in The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975.

Remember me to America

By Don Simpson

You never know what you might discover in those dusty old boxes that have been sitting in the basement for decades. In the case of Swedish documentary director Göran Hugo Olsson, he unearthed — technically, undusted — a treasure trove of pristine, never-before-seen, 30-year-old 16mm reels of film in the basement of the Swedish Television network. The footage was originally shot by Swedish Television journalists who studiously documented the Black Power movement in the United States during the 1960s and ’70s.

Why were the Swedes so damn interested in the Black Power movement in the U.S.? (Rumor has it that the Swedes amassed more footage of the Black Power movement than the entire U.S.) Well, as far as I can surmise from the footage, the Swedes were probably attempting to prove that they shared a Utopian goal of “equal rights for all” with the Black Power movement. (Swedes were also notably obsessed with the anti-war movement in the U.S. as well, a movement with which Black Power was synonymous.)

While the mainstream media in the U.S. tried their best to ignore the Black Power movement altogether — or they painted Black Power as a form of violent terrorism — Swedish Television practically glorified the likes of Stokely Carmichael, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Eldridge Cleaver, Bobby Seale, Huey Newton, Emile de Antonio and Angela Davis -- all of whom appear in The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975. This is more than likely why TV Guide considered Swedish Television’s coverage of the U.S. to be anti-American. (The U.S. broke diplomatic ties with Sweden in 1972 after the Swedish Prime Minister compared the atrocities in Vietnam to those of the Nazis.) Besides, white America was too busy pretending that everything was alright to pay attention to a bunch of "Socialist" Scandinavians; Olsson is quick to place The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 into its proper context, beginning the documentary with archival footage of a white Miami Beach restaurateur obliviously touting the incomparable freedom and equality in the U.S., a statement that is promptly negated by clips of Hallandale, a poor black shantytown a short drive north of Miami Beach.

Olsson’s The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 views the Black Power movement via the kino eye of Swedish filmmakers — outsiders philosophizing about the state de la démocratie en Amérique. One would assume that these white-as-driven-snow foreign journalists probably had a difficult time immersing themselves into the black as midnight as a moonless night subculture, but the resulting footage reveals a deeply entrenched kinship and trust between the filmmakers and their subjects. The outsider perspective lends a very unique advantage to the footage. Although we can all but prove the journalists’ allegiance to the Black Power movement, the footage is still significantly less culturally biased than film shot by a member of the Black Power movement. 

The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 features voice overs by a menagerie of prominent black personalities of the 21st century: Davis, Harry Belafonte, ?uestlove, Erykah Badu, Sonia Sanchez, Talib Kweli, Robin Kelley, Kathleen Cleaver, Abiodun Oyewole and John Forte. For the most part, the narrations seem to be unscripted, as if the participants are reacting naturally to the Swedish Television footage (you know, like a DVD commentary).

The titular mixtape refers simultaneously to both sound and image. ?uestlove provides an impeccable compilation of era-appropriate tunes, while Olsson reveals a priceless compilation of 16mm footage: Carmichael is practically worshiped as an iconic hero in Europe; J. Edgar Hoover declares the Panthers’ Free Breakfast Program to be the most dangerous internal threat to America; iconic images of Che Guevara purposefully sneak into the frame from time to time; school children studying at a Black Panther headquarters sing a song with the refrain “pick up the gun”; a Swedish tour guide warns his all-white audience not to visit Harlem; Lewis Farrakhan emerges as a rising Muslim star, providing strict discipline in a very chaotic time; an imprisoned Davis provides a comprehensive refutation of the Black Power movement’s supposed embrace of violence. 

The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 provides us with a glorious portrait of the socially and economically conscious side of the Black Panthers as they try their best to address their local impoverished communities’ basic needs while always keeping larger national issues (the Vietnam war, record levels of incarceration, extreme poverty, drug addiction, lack of government accountability, failing public schools and the pervasiveness of structural racism) in their sights. The Black Power movement did fuel societal change even if their influence on other liberation struggles and political movements has been erased from U.S. history textbooks.

Thankfully, we now have access to this rare Swedish footage to remind us of the significance of Black Power as Olsson contextualizes the movement and highlights its successes and failures.

The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975 screens April 30, 9 p.m., Sundance Kabuki Cinemas; May 3, 6 p.m., New People. For more information: Renegades of funk. 

THEATER REVIEW: THE TEMPERAMENTALS

Dennis Christopher, Erich Bergen and John Tartaglia of The Temperamentals. Photo Credit: Matthew Graber. 

Hooray for Hay

By Ed Rampell

Hard on the heels of its rollicking revival of Marc Blitzstein’s proletarian theater classic, The Cradle Will Rock, the Blank Theatre Company is presenting the West Coast premiere of a bio-play about Harry Hay, a card carrying member of -- gasp! -- the Communist Party U.S.A. and a founder of the Mattachine Society.

Jon Marans’ The Temperamentals unabashedly tackles the topic of Harry Hay’s C.P.U.S.A. membership as well as that other grand American taboo and obsession: homosexuality. The five-actors, two-act, largely L.A.-based drama is called The Temperamentals primarily because, believe it or not, this was an old fashioned code word for gay people. (What do you call homophobes? The “mentals”?) Its fact-based plot reveals that long before 1969’s Stonewall Riots, which are widely credited with kicking off the gay liberation movement, Hays (Dennis Christopher) co-founded the pro-gay Mattachine Society in 1950 with his then lover, Rudi Gernreich (Erich Bergen). Other original Mattachine members included Chuck Rowland (Mark Shunock), Bob Hull (John Tartaglia) and Dale Jennings (Patrick Scott Lewis).

The ensemble cast is well-directed by Michael Matthews, eliciting worthy performances from each thesp. As Hay, who is the play’s epicenter, Christopher delivers a convincing portrayal of a conflicted married man grappling with his own identity who finally comes -- rather boyishly, buoyantly and flamboyantly -- out of the closet, colorful shawls and all. Lighting designer Cameron Zetty and scenic designer Kurt Boetcher enhance the Blank’s diminutive space with moody, gritty chiaroscuro and a loft-like stage that makes good use of a staircase connecting to an upstairs set.

Among other things, The Temperamentals is an entertaining history lesson. In a multiple role, Shunock also portrays director Vincente Minnelli (Meet Me in St. Louis; Gigi), supportive of the gay libbers’ aspirations, but too timid to publicly come out. The 1948 third party presidential candidacy of Henry Wallace is also depicted. There’s a homophobic court case that reminded me of Wilde Oscar’s 1895 sodomy and gross indecency trial. Intriguingly, Hays’ amicable parting of the ways with a sorry to see him go Communist Party – which then had a no-gays-need-apply policy -- is also portrayed.

From a philosophical point of view, The Temperamentals’ most noteworthy aspect is to remind us of the link between sexual revolution and the radical left. Marx and Engels were critical of marriage as a bourgeois institution, even as a form of prostitution, and Marxists such as psychologist Wilhelm Reich (whom I owe a personal debt to -- my first lover’s parents were Reichians) and Bolshevik Alexandra Kollantai advocated sexual, as well as economic, revolution. Drawing upon Marxist formulations, Hay postulated that gays are an “oppressed minority.” The personal can be political, and when it comes to relationships, one size doesn’t fit all (the divorce rate is proof positive of that). One wonders what the Mattachine founders would make of today’s gay marriage, which may remain controversial in 2011, but probably was undreamt of 60 years ago.

The Temperamentals does theatergoers, members of the LGBT community and leftists a great favor by reminding us of these historical figures during a simply illuminating, uplifting night at the people’s theater. 

The Temperamentals runs through May 22 at the 2^nd Stage Theatre, 6500 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, CA, 90038.  For more information: 323/661-9827; The Temperamentals.

TRIBECA 2011: NEDS

Canta (Gary Milligan) and Young John McGill (Conor McCarron) in Neds.

Crass beginnings

By Don Simpson

Non-Educated Delinquents (NEDs) — you know the youthful ruffians who continue to infest Britain’s cities and towns, prowling around like packs of wolves, wreaking havoc upon their economically-ravaged estates. Today they are caricatured by some British media outlets as “Hoodies" and they exemplify the nation’s evil that David Cameron and his ilk used as political leverage to overtake the Labour Party in the 2010 elections.

Writer-director Peter Mullan’s Neds begins in Glasgow in the early 1970s as John McGill (Gregg Forrest) graduates junior school at the top of his class. Summer comes and goes and John arrives at St. John’s only to discover, much to his visible dismay, that he has been placed in the school’s second-tier 1A2 class. The headmaster informs John that if he becomes one of the top two students in the 1A2 class come December, he will be bumped up to 1A1. John’s brutish 1A2 teacher ridicules him, challenging John’s lofty expectations of rising above the mediocrity of the 1A2 class. John also discovers that he must prove to his headmaster and teachers that he is more than just “the wee brother" of Benny (Joe Szula). Benny terrorized (and tagged) St. John’s during his abbreviated tenure there; now he is a much feared leader of a local NED gang, the Car-D’s.

Of course, John does rise above the rest and is promoted to the 1A1 class but, even then, his 1A1 instructors mock him. For example, when John scores a 100 per cent on a Latin exam, his teacher (Steven Robertson) teases him for being such a swot in a feeble attempt to defuse John’s classmates’ attempts of doing the same. It is that very same Latin teacher who suggests that John attend summer school in order to stay out of trouble and that is where John befriends a teen of a much higher economic class. When John tells his new friend’s mother that he wants to attend University but does not know which subject he aspires to study, the mother pegs John as a NED and exiles him from stepping into their posh, upper class abode ever again.

Distraught from his first real encounter with the rigid class divisions of British society — and now totally friendless — John begins a slow downward spiral from a sweet and tender kid to rough and tumble hooligan. (“In the midst of life we are in debt, etc…”) John was quite obviously preordained to become a NED, and he has no choice but to devolve into one. It is not John’s unwillingness to learn that forces him to become a NED, rather it is society’s unwillingness to teach him anything other than the hard knocks.

This is as good of a time as any to discuss John’s home life. His alcoholic father (Peter Mullan) wears “abusive parent and spouse” proudly upon his booze-drenched sleeves, but the domestic violence is only ever implied by the father’s late night calls of “Get down here right now, cow!” to John’s oh-so-meek mother (Louise Goodall). The one and only advantage of being from a working class family is that John qualifies for provy checks.

So, who is to blame for John’s devolution? Mullan lines up the usual (and valid) suspects: the Catholic Church, evil school teachers, the police, teenage masculinity and rebellion, the British class/caste system, and society as a whole. There is also the allure of gang culture for friendship and protection, as well as the adrenaline rush of the chase and the fight.

Mullan has admitted that some of the scenes in Neds are adapted from his own personal experiences, which lends a certain authenticity to the film. Visually and dramatically, Neds owes a lot to British neo-realism (a.k.a. kitchen sink cinema). Too bad the plot is so purposefully and predictably structured. Neds also focuses way too much on the male perspective — the females are given very little to do or say, lending them a very mannequin-like existence. Most frustrating, however, is Mullan’s pathetic foray into the overt dramatization of Catholic guilt, with the hallucinogenic vision (as a result of sniffing glue) of a crucified Christ coming alive and beating some sense into John.

SFIFF 2011: THE COLORS OF THE MOUNTAIN

Manuel (Hernán Mauricio Ocampo) in The Colors of the Mountain.

Offsides

By John Esther

Deep in the mountains of the U.S. client state, Columbia, a young boy named Manuel (Hernán Mauricio Ocampo) just wants to go to school and play soccer with his friends. Thanks to the poor conditions and civil unrest of the community this is harder than it appears. Teachers never stay long, paramilitaries and guerrillas swarm the area and Manuel's family is somewhat poor. 

Shortly after receiving a brand new soccer ball and soccer goalie gloves for his ninth birthday (putting "the drunken ball" to rest), Manuel loses the ball in a guerrilla minefield rigged for paramilitary helicopters. Although prohibited from retrieving the ball, Manuel and his buddies devise numerous schemes to get the ball back. 

Meanwhile the armed people of the community tug at its citizens for allegiance to the illegal rightist paramilitaries or the leftist guerrillas cause when most of the simple farmers just want to be left alone. But indifference is not an option in a country riddled with human rights abuses. 

As the civil conflict intensifies in the area and people increasingly disappear, Manuel and his friends try to cope with the unraveling of their community through friendship and futbol, but there is no real escape from the horrors.

An endearing feature debut by writer-director Carlos César Arbeláez which is, fortunately nowhere as heartwarming as the SFIFF 2011 program states, The Colors of the Mountain (Los colores de la montaña) is the kind of honest, direct film that illustrates the worth of film festivals. Well acted, too.

THEATER REVIEW: THE PRISONER OF SECOND AVENUE

Mel Edison (Jason Alexander) in The Prisoner on Second Avenue.

A road of broken dreams

By Ed Rampell

I decided to take a break from all the political theater I’ve been reviewing lately and to go see some purely escapist entertainment, so I attended the premiere of The Prisoner of Second Avenue, a period piece set in early 1970s New York. I mean, it’s written by bourgeois lightweight Neil Simon and starring Seinfeld’s Jason Alexander; I’ll just be able to kick back, put my mind in neutral and laugh my head off. Right?

Wrong. On second look The Prisoner of Second Avenue is not only full of serious themes, but it has a political subtext. Alexander’s Mel Edison is one Manhattanite who doesn’t see the light. During the course of this play -- which premiered on Broadway back in 1971, starring Peter Falk, Lee Grant and Vincent Gardenia -- the Madison Avenue advertising executive suffers from insomnia, drinks too much, loses his job, has a nervous breakdown and needs a shrink. The romance has long left Mel’s marriage to Edna (Gina Hecht) behind, but what of the bond, the solidarity of their marital union? When his wife steps into the breach and becomes a secretary, Mel is only further diminished when the onetime housewife he supported turns into the family breadwinner.

Okay, it’s Simon, and most of this is played strictly for laughs, and these prisoners aren’t exactly storming the Bastille and Alexander is one of show biz’s best zinger slingers, and the award-winning Hecht, who’s also a sitcom veteran (Mork & Mindy, Seinfeld, HBO’s Hung), isn’t exactly a slouch in the one-liner department either. But during Mel’s extended period of unemployment he starts listening to talk radio and in one of the dramedy’s funniest and most harrowing scenes, this conned Edison delivers a rant on the “the conspiracy” aimed at eliminating the middle class.

Yes, the lines are droll and Alexander’s dead on delivery is high-larious, as is Edna’s reaction to her unraveling husband’s ravings. But on second thought, maybe Simon was onto something and had his pulse on the zeitgeist to come. The displacement of America’s white middle class (and middle aged) males by a confluence of forces – downsizing, outsourcing, feminism, gay lib, minority rights, the influx of immigrants, etc. – is now well-documented. Mel reveals what happened to the Mad Men after their heyday. This rage – which, as in Mel’s case is misguided, fuels and propels movements such as today’s Tea Party.

In Simon’s dramedy there’s much more comedy than drama, especially as the former finds lots of its laughs in the latter. Glenn Casale nimbly directs an expert ensemble cast that includes Ron Orbach as Mel’s more successful, but less beloved brother, Harry, and their trio of sisters – Carole Ita White as Jessie, Annie Korzen as Pearl, Deedee Rescher as Pauline. (The perils of Pauline?) Like Alexander and Hecht, their cast-mates skillfully pluck the humor out of the dialogue and situation with all the finesse of a humming bird extracting nectar from flowers. Simon provides lots of witty repartee here, ripostes ridiculing the American obsession with money and materialism. Orbach is especially touching as the wealthier, blustery brother who nevertheless envies the broken down Mel because he was the -- well, see it for yourself and find out what. 

The Prisoner of Second Avenue runs through May 15 at the El Portal Theatre, 5269 Lankershim Boulevard, North Hollywood., CA, 91601. For info: 866/811-4111;Prisoner.

SFIFF 2011: ASLEEP IN THE SUN

Lucio (Luis Machín) in Asleep in the Sun.

Burning dreams

By Miranda Inganni

Director Alejandro Chomski's feature film, Asleep in the Sun (Dormir Al Sol), begins with a doggie-eye-view sequence of what turns out to be a Jack Russell Terrier delivering an envelope. While we have no idea what possesses this postal pup, he is clearly a dog on a mission. The recipient opens the letter and starts reading. And the story begins.

Set in 1950s Argentina, Lucio (Luis Machín), a watchmaker, and his not-so-happy homemaker wife, Diana (Esther Goris), enjoy a birthday dinner for Lucio. In addition to the family, there is an extra guest participating in the festivities: local pet shop owner "Professor" Standle (Enrique Piñeyro), a mysterious if not nefarious figure.

While Lucio and Diana are very much in love with each other, she suffers from a mild nervous disorder, pushing her away from her husband and toward the dogs at the Standle's shop. She is a woman possessed by the pooches. Standle points out to Lucio that his wife is clearly abnormal -- she spends time away from the house, she is incapable of bearing children, she visits with the dogs all day – and suggests she seek treatment at a phrenopathic clinic where "they get right to the point" on curing such disorders. Much against his better wishes, but at his wife's (and Stendle's) urging, Diana agrees to enter the facility. What follows is an absurd and charming story of misunderstanding, mistaken identities, missing brain matter and mystery.

Based on a story by Adolfo Bioy Casares, Asleep in the Sun is bizarre and silly, and very much like an episode from The Twilight Zone -- multi-layered, a love story and a thriller as well as a cautionary tale of blindly following the pack.

TRIBECA 2011: LOTUS EATERS

Alice (Antonia Campbell-Hughes) Charlie (Johnny Flynn) in Lotus Eaters.

So happy to know less

By Don Simpson

In Greek mythology, the lotus-eaters are a race of people from an island near North Africa where narcotic lotus fruits and flowers are the primary food and the inhabitants sleep in peaceful apathy. Odysseus tells us about the lotus-eaters in Odyssey IX, as does Lord Tennyson in his poem "The Lotus-Eaters" and James Joyce in the fifth chapter of Ulysses.

Writer-director Alexandra McGuinness (the daughter of Paul McGuinness, U2's manager) reveals the modern equivalent of the mythological lotus-eaters: an elite group of 20-something Londoners whose soulless lives consist merely of apathetically shooing away boredom with a 24-hour party of booze, drugs and sex. Money and gainful employment seem to be of no concern for them; their impeccable fashion sense, idyllically good looks and bourgeois pedigree are their tickets to ride. They are obsessed with finding the secret to eternal youth: Is it rolfing or transcendental meditation or can it be found in a high end boutique in the form of a lotion or spray? 

Lotus Eaters follows Alice (Antonia Campbell-Hughes), a beautiful young model with ambitions of turning into an actress. (She senses that she has become too old for modeling.) Her equally beautiful ex-lover Charlie (Johnny Flynn) is an unabashed heroin addict to whom Alice is magnetically attracted. (Not all that dissimilar to Requiem for a Dream, even the addicts are beautiful in Lotus Eaters.) As it turns out, everyone wants to get a piece of Alice but no one will ever possess her; this includes Felix (Benn Northover) -- despite the tantrums of his childishly manic and possessive girlfriend, Suzi (Amber Anderson) -- and the chlamydia-infested Marlon (Alex Wyndham). The eldest member of the group, Orna (Cynthia Fortune Ryan), seems strangely interested in being Alice's matchmaker or, better yet, puppet-master.

McGuinness' gorgeously photographed (by cinematographer Gareth Munden) black and white film is doomed to be called pretentious, stunted and over-stylized; but I see it as a Whit Stillman-by-way-of-Sofia Coppola-esque critique of the guiltless over-indulgence of London's bourgeois 20-somethings. Despite their bottomless trust fund accounts, the characters are rudderless and lost (perfectly realized during their drunken game of hide & seek). It seems as though the most difficult decision they must face is whether to go on holiday or to go to the Glastonbury festival. The group's hedonistic lifestyle is somewhat alluring, yet it is obviously an accident waiting to happen. The characters -- including our main protagonist, Alice -- behave quite unsympathetically; they do not even treat each other nicely, prompting us to question whether or not they should even be considered friends? It is as if they are inexplicably forced to coexist as a group in a limbo-like prison of gluttonous extravagance.

Featuring live performances by Little Death and O Children, the British indie rock soundtrack plays like my own dream mixtape. It would be a crying shame if the soundtrack is never officially released; but, in that case, I will certainly track down the individual songs and create my own compilation.

TRIBECA 2011: DONOR UNKNOWN

Jeffrey Harrison in Donor Unknown.

Loads of questions

By Don Simpson

All JoEllen Marsh knew about her biological father was that he was Donor 150; but she wanted to know anything and everything she could about her father's genealogy. Thanks to a social networking website called the Donor Sibling Registry designed specifically for donor offspring, that becomes a possibility. Marsh slowly unravels Donor 150's side of her family tree -- meeting, one-by-one, her new-found siblings and discovering a plethora of uncanny genetic similarities. (Donor 150 must have had some damn strong genes!) Marsh and her siblings would like to meet the man from whom these common genes were inherited. A New York Times article about Marsh caught Donor 150's eye, and the rest is history.

By now, director Jerry Rothwell has already introduced us to Jeffrey Harrison, an eccentric 50-something hippie who calls an RV, parked alongside Venice Beach, home. As an attractive teenager, Harrison moved to Hollywood with lofty aspirations of becoming an actor; instead he found himself posing for Playgirl, working as an erotic dancer (you know, like a Chippendale), waiting tables, hobbling together a massage business, and -- last, but certainly not least -- donating a shit-ton of sperm at $20 a pop. Harrison gave up his apartment and began only working as much as his overtly simplistic life required; he moved into a car, then a van, eventually working his way up to his current RV.

Harrison never married and never had "traditional" children, but his strong fatherly instinct is instantly apparent in the way he dotes upon his four dogs and injured pigeon. Harrison is an incredibly caring and peaceful person, but his zen-master free-spiritness lends him the air of a perpetual stoner. Yes, Harrison does enjoy partaking in the herbage, but he is incredibly proud of his physique  as well. (He bears a remarkable resemblance to Iggy Pop.) Donor 150's offspring seem to have an inherent desire to know their genetic father and the grounding responsibility of children might not be such a bad thing for Harrison.

Harrison certainly knew how to sow the seeds of his loins and his story certainly will lead to countless questions regarding the ethical responsibilities of donors and sperm banks. Donor Unknown raises some real head-scratching questions, such as: What can be done to ensure the truthfulness and accuracy of donors' biographies? Who should be permitted to donate sperm? Should there be a cap on how many babies can be made from one donor's ejaculations?

It is difficult not to have an opinion on Harrison's slacker-cum-hippie lifestyle. Harrison is certainly a cog in the capitalist machine, refusing to rely upon this nation's lifeblood (the almighty U.S. dollar) to survive. Some will praise Harrison for his off-the-grid lifestyle of voluntary simplicity while others will mock or criticize his refusal to conform to the status quo. It is the later bunch who will certainly have a lot to say against donors like Harrison siring so many children.

At first, I questioned Rothwell's structural decision to tell Harrison's story parallel to the stories of his genetic kindred. By revealing Harrison as Donor 150 so early in the film, it ruins any element of surprise the plot might have otherwise possessed. I would have liked to meet Harrison at the same time Marsh does in order to share in her anticipation and surprise. Instead, Rothwell structures the narrative in such a way that we meet and learn about Harrison and his offspring individually; we observe them as they discover more and more about each other; and eventually their lives become intertwined. It is not that Rothwell's strategy does not work; in fact, it affords Rothwell the opportunity to spend a lot of time on Harrison's backstory. Harrison is one of those characters (like Jack Rebney from Winnebago Man and Mark Hogancamp from Marwencol) whom documentary filmmakers envision as they masturbate -- I mean brainstorm -- so I do not blame Rothwell for wanting to really delve into Harrison's character, he is certainly the fruit of the loins of this film.

Donor Unknown is a profound exploration of genetics as a possible foundation for the 21st century family, and this coming at a time that the United States government is having a ridiculously difficult time defining marriage. More importantly, will the bible-thumpers in the U.S. Senate and House ever be successful in criminalizing artificial insemination? When it comes down to it, Harrison would probably be considered the anti-Christ to many of the Christian right and Donor Unknown might just add more fuel to their tales of fire and brimstone.

SFIFF 2011: MARATHON BOY

A scene from Marathon Boy.

Run, Budhia, run

By Don Simpson

What were you doing with your life when you were three years old? Well, I doubt you were running 13-mile half-marathons like Budhia Singh. I certainly was not.

Born in 2002 in the slums of Bhubaneswar (in the eastern Indian state of Orissa), Singh's mother sold him off at an early age to a peddler for 800 rupees. Then Biranchi Das, a renowned judo teacher, bought Singh to save him from the abusive peddler. Das raised Singh along with several other young kids in his Judo Hall orphanage.

Upon punishing Singh one day by making him run laps around the Judo Hall courtyard, Das discovered Singh's amazing stamina as a runner. Das appointed himself as Singh’s coach and they commenced an arduous training regimen. 

When documentary filmmaker Gemma Atwal begins filming the three-year-old Singh, he has already completed six half-marathons. By the age of four, Singh has already completed countless full-length (26-mile) marathons. Das then arranges for Singh to run 42 miles from from the Chapandie temple to Bhubaneshwar. Singh instantly emerges as a national superstar, even a hero of sorts. But Singh's fame incites a rabid debate. Half-marathons and full-marathons are one thing, but 42 miles is another. Is this exploitation or philanthropy? Is this child abuse or is Das merely providing Singh with a rare opportunity to further develop his inherent skill and become famous? The Indian government and social services pounce on the high profile case and suddenly the entire situation spirals wildly out of control. Singh soon finds his dream to "run all the way to the Olympics" at risk of being spoiled by the corruption and greed of adults.

Marathon Boy began in 2005 as a curiosity study focusing on Singh's relationship with Das; but after five years of filming, the story develops into something significantly larger. Atwal finds herself in the middle of a controversy that escalates exponentially each and every frame. This Dickensian tale translates directly to the fanatical exploitation of young children in Western cultures. Be it music, athletics, modeling or acting, children's parents plop their kids into seriously (and stressfully) competitive situations at what often seems like far too early of an age. It is one thing when the children choose that way of life, but another when adults force it upon them. 

(It also begs the questions: At what age do human beings become rational enough to be able to make that kind of decision? And until that rationality is developed, what decisions should guardians be allowed to make for the children they are responsible for?)

Soon the kids are generating more income than their parents, yet where their income is going often becomes questionable. Of course, if there is one thing to take away from Marathon Boy, the debate is not quite as black and white as it would seem.

Marathon Boy screens April 29, 2:30 p.m., Sundance Kabuki Cinemas; April 30, 1 p.m., New People; May 3, 9:15 p.m., Sundance Kabuki Cineamas; For more information: MB.

TRIBECA 2011: FLOWERS OF EVIL

Gecko (Rachid Youcef) in Flowers of Evil.

Smells like stream spirit

By Don Simpson

Gecko (Rachid Youcef) is a traceur (a practitioner of parkour) and breakdancer who works as a bellhop at a Parisian hotel. Living alone in an isolated apartment within earshot of the roaring sounds of the major highway it overlooks, Gecko spends much of his spare time on Facebook and YouTube. Recently Gecko has developed an interest in traffic, which in turn draws his attention towards the traffic problems in Iran. 

It is not without coincidence that Gecko meets Anahita (Alice Belaïdi), a young Iranian student whose parents have sent her to Paris to avoid the repressive fallout from the political uprisings in Tehran. Anahita relies solely upon social media -- Twitter, Facebook and YouTube -- to keep up to date with her family, friends and the overall situation in Iran; this quickly evolves into a compulsive and all-consuming desire to constantly check the Internet for any and all updates related to Iran.

To serve as a distraction from Anahita's obsession with Iran, Gecko agrees to be Anahita's Parisian tour guide. They quickly evolve into lovers, but their relationship is not without complications. Anahita finds herself torn between her life of freedom and happiness in Paris and the extreme guilt associated with running away from the atrocities in Iran. Life in Paris is a constant push-pull for Anahita, and Gecko finds himself stuck in the middle of it all. Gecko enjoys Anahita's loving nature but also must suffer the brunt of Anahita's outrage.

Gecko tries to convert Anahita to his personal philosophy -- to live in the here and now. Gecko relishes in his "freedom," which essentially means having no familial or political ties to the world; he wants Anahita to enjoy the same freedoms. Despite Gecko's countless objections, Anahita cannot resist knowing that constant updates are merely a click away on her smart phone.

Writer-director David Dusa builds Flowers of Evil around the plethora of YouTube videos documenting the failed uprising in Iran following the 2009 presidential elections. Dusa cleverly cuts back and forth between Anahita and Gecko in Paris and the YouTube footage of the events in Iran, as if to visualize Anahita's thoughts and concerns. Dusa illustrates how Facebook and YouTube can expands one's horizons, providing limitless information, but can also be distractive and destructive to one's organic relationships.

Named after a compilation of poetry by Charles Baudelaire that deals primarily with themes of decadence and eroticism, Flowers of Evil features multiple instances that Anahita and Gecko recite passages from Baudelaire's book. Along with several historically significant locations, the mid-19th century poetry serves as a grounding for this otherwise lofty postmodern diatribe on the effects that new media and perpetual connectedness has on people's relationships. Baudelaire's words bring Anahita and Gecko closer together as technology tries to form a wedge between them. 

It seems appropriate that I viewed Flowers of Evil via streaming video on my 8” netbook screen. The film works remarkably well in a small visual format, with headphones on. I suspect the poor video quality of the YouTube footage might have annoyed me if I saw it projected on a theatrical screen and I wonder how much of the minutia of the sound design (such as the stereophonic sounds of traffic) would have been lost in a large arena. That said, my extremely personal experience with Flowers of Evil was an extravaganza of sound and vision. Dusa's footage -- especially of Youcef's parkour routines -- is absolutely incredible, as is the soundtrack; all the while the grainy and blurry distortion of the YouTube adds a certain avant garde aesthetic to Flowers of Evil. Sure, I wish Dusa's message was not so politically apathetic (Gecko seems to me to be the more sympathetic character in Flowers of Evil), but he deserves tremendous credit for utilizing visual techniques that perfectly complement the narrative.

SFIFF 2011: THE REDEMPTION OF GENERAL BUTT NAKED

A scene from The Redemption of General Butt Naked.

Soldiering onward Christian

By John Esther

Those expecting The Redemption of General Butt Naked to be the latest film by Judd Apatow are in for a rude awakening upon first glance of Eric Strauss and Daniele Anastasion’s documentary about a man trying to save his neck, er soul.

From 1989-2003 a brutal civil war raged on in the Western African nation of Liberia. A conflict claiming an estimated 250,000 lives, few were more feared than General Butt Naked, a man who went into battles, villages and homes with little more on than guns and a cutlass where upon he stole, raped and killed men, women and children. The cutlass was his weapon of choice because it caused more pain than a gun.

Claiming to have seen the light, General Butt Naked disappeared in 1996 and returned from exile 10 years later as Joshua Milton Blahyi, an evangelist spreading the word of Jesus and begging/insisting on forgiveness from the those he had wronged – both far and near.

Preaching the word of Jesus to any African listening, Butt/Blahyi’s salvation is a hard pill to swallow (personally, I think he is a jerk), but most of the people in the documentary are more often than not able to forgive -- perhaps because of his or her own guilt.

Nothing funny or fun here, The Redemption of General Butt Naked takes a cold, bare look at what it means to forgive and never forget under harsh circumstances.

SFIFF 2011: CHILDREN OF THE PRINCESS OF CLEVES

A scene from Children of the Princess of Cleves.

Text-ing times

By Miranda Inganni

In director Régis Sauder’s documentary, The Children of the Princess of Clèves (Nous, Princesses De Clèves), teenagers from a Marseilles high school learn about life and love from the classic French novel, The Princess of Clèves. Using the students to read excerpts from the book, reenact selections and discuss the subject matter with their friends and families, Sauder brings the 17^th century book to life in the 21^st century.

Proving some things are timeless, this documentary is an age-old story of children growing up – testing their boundaries and their parents patience and exploring their own emotions. Instead of the 16^th century royal court of Henri II, the backdrop is a contemporary working class community, but the themes are the same: love, passion, duty, disappointment, jealousy, betrayal, angst, et cetera.

And when the parents get involved in the discussion, it is clear that the kids, being teenagers, are not used to having these issues talked about at home. It’s quite laudable that Sauder gets the conversation going between parent and child during a time when the child is less like to talk and more likely to walk away. There are raw and revealing scenes where it’s clear that some of these young adults still want their parents’ affection and attention, all the while reaching out on their own and rebuking their elders.

Enriched by the ensemble of students featured in the film, The Children of the Princess of Clèves, culminates in the results of their baccalaureate exams. Some pass, some fail, some skip the exam entirely (without his or her parent’s consent or knowledge). In the end, the mobile texting kids seem to have learned a little more about themselves through the exploration of this text -- disproving what French President Nicholas Sarkozy said about it.

SFIFF 2011: SHE MONKEYS

Emma (Mathilda Paradeiser) in She Monkeys.

Persona non-grata

By Miranda Inganni

Set in a rural Swedish town, Lisa Aschan’s first feature film, She Monkeys, centers on Emma (Mathilda Paradeiser) and her bid to land a spot on the local horse vaulting team. It’s at the tryouts that she meets the beautiful, pouty Cassandra (Linda Molin), who pulls Emma out of her shell, only to push her around.

Emma’s life seems to be all about control – from perfecting her vaulting moves, to “click” training the family dog, to tightly plaiting her hair – so much so that her coach comments, “it’s not all about strength and control…it’s about presence.” Cassandra, on the other hand, has an abundance of presence. As the two girls flirt, with local boys (Adam Lungren and Sigmund Hovind) and each other, their friendship turns from one of frivolity to jealously to love then hatred.

Initially, Emma enjoys being told what to do by Cassandra, but the increasingly perverse trust games the girls engage in forces Emma to realize her own seductive power (and the power of seduction). The control volleys between the two, with the quiet but tough Emma eventually showing a slightly sadistic side.

While Emma toys with the idea of being in love with Cassandra (or just wanting to be Cassandra), her younger sister, Sara (Isabella Lindquist), a preternaturally sexual yet pudgy child, tries to seduce her much older babysitter, Sebastian (Kevin Caicedo Vega) who happens to be her cousin.

Nothing scares Emma or Sara, but both are filled with anger -- and though it is never mentioned in the film, perhaps it is because there is no mother? -- some of which is finally released when each expresses their rage and frustration through violence.

Conveying the idea that one must hide one’s feelings or risk getting hurt – something often found in Swedish films – She Monkeys (by the way, a lousy title) is a concisely lensed film with some strong performances by young actors.

SFIFF 2011: THE TROLL HUNTER

A scene from The Troll Hunter.

Bridges upside down 

By Don Simpson

Writer-director André Øvredal provides us with the set-up: 283 hours of mysterious footage has been found. After extensive investigation, the footage is concluded to be authentic. (Cue rolling of eyes, it is one of those films…) Said footage was shot by a group of Norwegian university students who were working on a documentary story about bear poaching, but stumbled upon something significantly larger…and smellier.

When we first meet the three co-eds — Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) and Johanna (Johanna Mørck) — they are tracking the movements of a suspicious woodsman named Hans (Otto Jespersen). They suspect that Hans is an evil bear poacher, but after following him into the woods one night they discover that Hans’ game is way bigger than an average bear.

Hans, exhausted from decades of troll hunting, does not have the energy to chase away the young filmmakers; instead he sees it as an opportunity to spill the beans, allowing the students to follow him while he provides them with priceless information concerning the mythology of trolls, the most effective ways to kill them and how the Norwegian government has covered-up the troll problem.

This Norwegian found footage mockumentary comes from the same pseudo-verite, shaky-cam tradition of Cloverfield and The Blair Witch Project (Øvredal also pays homage to Jurassic Park), but it opts to delve deep into the fascinating “the truth is out there” underbelly of government conspiracies. Portraying Hans as an employee of the Troll Security Service with the thankless job of dutifully abiding by the mercy of an over-authoritative government bureaucrat (Hans Morten Hansen), Øvredal sarcastically comments on the relationship between the government and the life-risking, under-paid, blue collar labor force responsible for carrying out the government’s ridiculous demands on a daily basis. It is impossible not to have sympathy for Hans as he is repeatedly being used and abused by his government employer.

The Troll Hunter has the shocking audacity to take this entire premise seriously and that is precisely why it succeeds. Unlike most found footage films, Øvredal has the wherewithal to stay true to the film’s first person perspective, never once falling back on establishing shots or relying upon footage that could have never been photographed by the protagonists. The found footage is obviously edited — whittled down from the purported 283 hours of source material — thus allowing for the pacing to be streamlined. It is also readily apparent that Øvredal concentrated on the quality of the special effects, making The Troll Hunter a surprisingly well-produced addition to the found-footage genre.

The Troll Hunter screens April 23, 11:30 p.m., Sundance Kubuki Cinemas; April 25, 6:15 p.m., New People. For more information: Troll Here.

THEATER REVIEW: DEVIL'S ADVOCATE

Just say No-riega

By Ed RampelL

In most bourgeois plays the dramatic tension arises out of individuals’ interactions. For example, think of Tennessee Williams: There are electric sparks a-flying from family dynamics in, say, Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, between Brick and Big Daddy; Or in A Streetcar Named Desire and Eccentricities of a Nightingale (currently in repertory at Glendale’s A Noise Within,), there’s the psycho-sexual frisson between Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois or between John Buchanan and Alma Winemiller, respectively. Yes, one can argue that Williams and his dramatis personae reflect and are even extensions of Deep South society, but for the most part his drama emerges from the collisions of the characters’ psyches.

Not so in Donald Freed’s Devil’s Advocate, which, alas, is entering its final weekend at LATC. To be sure, there are plenty of interpersonal fireworks exploding between the two characters who bring this two-act work alive. But the biggest explosions -- vividly suggested by scenic designer Tesshi Kakagawa and sound designer John Zalewski, along with some blaring rock music -- are reserved for the U.S. military, as this production is set during the Yanqui invasion of Panama in 1989, the so-called “Operation Just Cause.”

That duo of aforementioned characters is Archbishop Jose Sebastian Laboa (veteran actor Tom Fitzpatrick) and General Manuel Antonio Noriega (Robert Beltran). If father-son angst animates the action in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof or smoldering sexuality ignites the relationships of Stanley and Blanche in Streetcar or John and Alma in Eccentricities (and of Brick and Maggie the Cat in Tin Roof), the main force generating conflict in Devil’s Advocate is none other than politics.

Imperialism, covert actions, narco-trafficking, gun running, terrorism, torture, psyops, money laundering, the Panama Canal, the Contras, Fidel, George H.W. Bush (hell’s hottest seat is reserved for this evil genius of mediocrity and his satanic son), et al, form the complex backdrop to a fairly simple plot. During Bush’s invasion of Panama, Noriega flees to the Papal Nuncio, the archbishop’s residence, to seek – in the immortal words of Quasimodo – sanctuary. There, “Pineapple Face” (as the pockmarked Noriega was derisively called) confesses his “sins” to Laboa, who -- as the Vatican’s Grand Inquisitor -- served, literally, as the eponymous “Devil’s Advocate.” 

(Beltran coincidentally portrayed “El Diablo” in a 1990 movie with that name, and his Noriega runs the gamut of emotions, from the defiant to the penitent, the pious to the pagan, the boastful to the bashful. As it turns out, Laboa – a Basque who lived in Generalissimo Francisco Franco’s fascist Spain – knows something about nationalism and resistance.)

And there’s more to Noriega than the “strongman” that met the American eye. Was he devilish dictator or nationalist saint? Feature filmmakers such as Oliver Stone have tried (so far) unsuccessfully to bring the enigmatic Panamanian leader to the screen, but Freed has succeeded where Stone failed to dramatize Noriega. Barbara Trent’s trenchant 1992 The Panama Deception won a well-deserved Best Documentary Oscar, which gave Trent a not-to-be-missed opportunity to use the live Academy Awards telecast as a megaphone to deliver an anti-Bush message to a vast audience. Like Trent, Freed tells us another side of the story, and what may have really motivated the elusive Noriega. Operation Just Cause is reduced to a drug bust on an epic scale -- an imperial invasion of an entire country to arrest a single narco-trafficker. Up against the wall, motherfuckers, indeed.

During Pineapple Face’s confession at the Papal Nuncio, we get a compelling look at those henchmen of imperialism like Noriega and Saddam Hussein, who played footsy with Washington, were on the CIA’s payroll and so on, but eventually stepped out of line and lost favor with the “free world” colossus of the north. Jose Luis Valenzuela, the Artistic Director of the Latino Theater Company, who did such a superb job helming La Victima at LATC, walks a taut tightrope here directing a piece that’s both a personal drama between two men, but at the same time, a play about big ideas. In the process, Valenzuela elicits wrenching performances and thought provoking notions about the true nature of U.S. foreign intervention and more. 

Devil’s Advocate is experiencing its U.S. premiere at LATC, and I advocate that fans of political theatre catch one of its last performances. On Friday April 22 and Sunday April 24 Freed will participate in an after-play discussion with the actors and director Valenzuela. If you want it, here it is, come and get; but you better hurry ’cause Devil’s Advocate’s going fast (the next stop according to Freed is England’s York Theatre Royal in 2012 with Beltran). You’ll have a devil of a time.

Devil’s Advocate runs through April 24 at the Los Angeles Theatre Centre, 514 S. Spring St., CA 90013. For more info: 866/811-4111; Devil.

LA COMEDY SHORTS FILM FESTIVAL 2011: WRAP-UP

A scene from Elephant Larry Presents the Wow.

Ha!

By Allan Heifetz

In this age of Funny or Die and YouTube there can be only two kinds of comedy short: ones that can go viral and ones that will die alone. If your recent funny video has had the latter experience-- just like the one I recently made (more on that later), there's will always be a short film festival like the L.A. Comedy Shorts Film Festival that will show it if it's halfway decent.

I was only able to attend for one day (April 8) and had to miss the star studded events of the next two days. I started my day at the festival with two panel discussions about how to make money by producing comedy for the web. The panelists all seemed like such caring nurturers, ready to throw money and time at your silliest ideas. Execs like Lindsay Goffman, Manager of Comedy and Drama Development at FreMantle, and Walter Newman from Cartoon Network/Adult Swim, talked a lot about how they're dying for new comedic talent and constantly trolling the web for the latest thing. So, I gathered in the end that the only hard part of becoming a web comedy sensation is getting people to watch your shit. What a shocker.

I recently put up a funny video on Funny or Die, but I somehow doubt Will Ferrell or Adam McKay has caught it. My poor video just hangs there, ignored by the comedy intelligentsia, friends and family. What went wrong? Well first off, I don't have any friends or connections and I dont Twitter.

Anyway, it was a bit jarring that after so much web and "viral" talk from the panels that most of the short films screened that day were completely web unfriendly, especially the ones over two minutes long. Attending a short film festival can be an awkward experience. You have the two-minute films competing against the 25-minute ones. You must suffer through every unnecessary credit sequence in silence and then give a final courtesy clap afterwards. The Downtown Independent Theater had a sweet, big screen projection system, but this didn't do the many TV parody videos any service since they belong on a TV and not blown up huge so we can see every pixel.

I do love me some commercial parody shit and I was glad to see the anarchic and surreal parodic stylings of Tim and Eric featured in so many entries. Films like VCR to Cash, It's Elementary! Gardening with Marty Chang and especially the 20-minute entertainment show/infomercial, Elephant Larry Presents The Wow, managed to be super sharp with tons of psychotic energy to burn.

Many short comedy films are made by bored actors who are inspired to pool their talents, call in some favors and shoot pieces that provide a showcase for themselves and their pals. The actor-based short can be a mixed bag; the performances are often strong but the actual ideas behind it all are usually less than original. Films like Hip, Conversations a Bench, Genius Improv School, Withstand One Night, A Date With Diana and Try Hard all boasted funny and winning performances but the concepts all lacked spark. Only the two minute, L.A.-specific, Undocumented Worker: The Audition managed to be well acted, funny, adorable and fresh at the same time.

So at least now I know how to market my next funny video. I just have to get a handful of famous people to see it and Twitter about it to a million close friends.

Until then... a Comedy Short and my Ewok song parody.