TOP TEN OF 2012: DON SIMPSON'S PICKS

A scene from Attenberg.

Grouch the Oscar

By Don Simpson

Attenberg -- One might say that Athina Rachel Tsangari’s Attenbergis like the mellow chaser used to calm the crazy rush after experiencing the sheer frenzy of Yorgos Lanthimos’ Dogtooth(which Tsangari produced), but it is certainly no less meaningful and pervasive. Attenberg may not be quite as fantastically absurd as Dogtooth, but the two Greek films do share a certain cinematic kinship in farcically discussing the aftereffects of overly restrictive parenting, specifically the social and sexual repression of the offspring.

 

Bad Fever -- The dark and intimate mood that writer-director Dustin Guy Defa is able to develop during the 77 minute-long Bad Feveris intoxicating. Defa’s timid approach to his characters — and the narrative as a whole — forces the audience to observe the world from Eddie’s (Kentucker Audley) perspective. Eddie carefully flirts with adjectives such as creepy and deranged, yet he always seems deserving of our sympathy and affection; occasionally he hints of a slight mental handicap, but refrains from utilizing such a “burden” to tug at our heartstrings.

 

Beasts of the Southern Wild --A masterful blend of neo-realism, magic realism, Southern Gothic and children’s fantasy, Benh Zeitlin’s Beasts of the Southern Wild is told from the childlike perspective of Hushpuppy (Quvenzhané Wallis) with wandering eyes wide open engulfing the natural magnificence of the world. Beasts of the Southern Wild never once purports to exist in our world; instead, like any good fantasy or science fiction story, it functions as an otherworldly critique of our reality.

 

Cosmopolis -- I cannot imagine a better writer-director to adapt Don DeLillo’s dense-yet-dreamily-poetic dialogue. David Cronenberg nails DeLillo’s token tone, rhythm and pacing that has differentiated him from his peers. DeLillo and Cronenberg saturate every single word, sound and image with significance creating a presumably impossible-to-crack puzzle, not unlike some of Cronenberg’s most challenging films: Existenz, Crash, and Videodrome.

 

Green -- Writer-director Sophia Takal’s Green approaches female relationships and jealousy with a dreamy haze of obliqueness. The densely forested environs are not only suffocating and ostracizing but they also lend Green the spooky and menacing air of a horror film. Greenis a purely psychological horror film — the violence is all in the mind -- and one of the best I have seen in ages.

 

Holy Motors -- Like David Cronenberg’s Cosmopolis, Leos Carax’s Holy Motors shuttles us through its narrative in a white limousine, allowing us a tour of the decaying moral fiber of our post modern world. Holy Motors might be a film about playing roles and fulfilling the fantasies of others, but there is so much more to it than that.

 

Only the Young --Elizabeth Mims and Jason Tippet’s film is kind of like a punk rock Real World but more gritty and authentic; and like Real World, authenticity is in the eye of the beholder. Some viewers will accept Only the Young as fact, while others will probably believe that it is fiction. Regardless, Only the Young works extremely well as a visual essay on post-suburbia, contemplating the effects that regional economic downturns have on teenagers that are left floundering in the wake.

 

Oslo, August 31 -- With the visual poeticism of Robert Bresson, Joachim Trier creates an incredibly complex 24-hour character study with the intellectually insightful panache of Camus and Sartre. In this modern day example of existentialism, Trier avoids the Hollywood cliche of drug addiction — which informs us that drug addiction is perpetuated by financial woes and unstable families — revealing that wealthy, intelligent and resourceful people can become addicts too.

 

Tchoupitoulas -- The Ross brothers’ Tchoupitoulas functions as both a documentary that borrows from narrative storytelling techniques and a narrative film that paints a realistic portrait of its protagonists by utilizing documentary devices. The narrative unfolds like an improvised jazz album with various tangents that flow seamlessly away from and towards the forward-moving primary thread. Tchoupitoulasis a cerebral experience that continues to reverberate in my subconscious like a fading childhood memory.

 

Wuthering Heights --Writer-director Andrea Arnold de[con]structively whittles down Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights to its core elements of cruelty and violence. A strange Frankenstein-like creature that combines the distinct cinematic worlds of kitchen sink realism, art house and slow cinema, Wuthering Heights truly is a beautiful beast.

 

Honorable mentions: Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry; Alps; America’s Parking Lot; Blancanieves; Cabin in the Woods; The Color Wheel; The Comedy; Girl Model; The Island President; Magic Mike; The Queen of Versailles; Turn Me on, Dammit!; You Hurt My Feelings

AFI 2012: SOMETHING IN THE AIR

A scene from Something in the Air.

The Dreamers outsiders

By Ed Rampell

We often label and lump the turmoil that swept America and the world with a series of assassinations, Civil Rights, the antiwar movement, Black Power, China’s Red Guard, the Prague Spring, feminism and so on under the broad rubric of “the ’60s.” Auteur Olivier Assayas’ Something in the Air sets the record straight, showing that the era’s radical fervor continued well into the 1970s.

The film follows the trajectory of a number of French youths as they wend their ways through the tumult of this insurgent hangover, when it seemed there was a world to be won. At the center is Gilles (Clement Metayer), a high school student whose life alternately intertwines with various friends, comrades and lovers like Laure (Carole Combes) and Christine (Lola Creton). Along the way is street fighting with the CRS/SS pigs; tossed Molotov cocktails; and the factional infighting that those who believe in “workers of the world unite” often specialize in. (It’s truly astonishing how people who profess solidarity frequently fight with one another, as if the revolution is their private property.) Air chronicles the faction fights between various leftwing tendencies -- anarchists, Maoists and what the subtitles unfortunately refer to as “Trotskyites.” (To use a racial analogy, this is akin to using the “N” word to describe adherents of Leon Trotsky, denigrating them as fifth columnist saboteurs. Whereas “Trotskyist” is a respectful term like “African American” is; it simply refers to followers of the Bolshevik apostle of world and permanent revolution. Two demerits for counterrevolutionary nomenclature, comrade translator!)

Along with extremist leftist ideology, youth of that generation also grew their hair long and contended with the counterculture’s bohemian influences in the form of drugs; Rock music (Something in the Air has a good period soundtrack); psychedelic light shows; underground newspapers; etc. There is even a strain of mysticism, as Jean-Pierre (Hugo Conzelmann) and Leslie (India Salvor Menuez), an American diplomat’s daughter, make the journey to the East, seeking enlightenment and what Leslie calls “the sacred dance.” Did any other revolutionary generation have to deal with such intense alternate lifestyle stimulus and choices?

Gilles, an aspiring artist, manages to keep his cool and not lose his head by pursuing painting and then filmmaking. An independent thinker, Gilles takes both his screenwriter father and a collective of militant moviemakers (a la Jean-Luc Godard during that period) to task for the same cinematic sin: Bourgeois pictures. Gilles criticizes the latter for using conventional film forms to try and render revolutionary subject matter and consciousness to the masses, which reduces their artistry (or lack of) to trite sloganeering. As Gilles pursues his destiny, does the not so proletarian protagonist sell out in the end?

The gifted Assayas also directed 1994’s Cold Water (a sort of forerunner to Air); 1996’s Irma Vep; a segment of the 2006 omnibus film Paris Je T’Aime; and the riveting 333-minute Carlos, about the ultra-left hit man, which flew by without a dull moment.

Something in the Air is, of course, a feature film with actors, Assayas’ script, production values, etc., yet it is among the best chronicles -- fictional or nonfiction -- of that heady heyday of radicalism and the young revolutionaries who tried, albeit imperfectly, to change the world for the better. Although I of course had nothing to do whatsoever with this work and grew up in New York, not near Paris, Something in the Air is probably the closest thing I’ve seen onscreen to “my” own biography. Indeed, on the exact day I left America to pursue my destiny (I’m still waiting, BTW) in the South Seas, Chairman Mao died.

In any case, if you weren’t alive or of age then to experience those days of rage and hope, when world revolution seemed imminent, the highly recommended Something in the Air will vividly, brilliantly bring that era alive for you. And if you did participate in that period when for a brief moment all things seemed possible, you can relive them during this movie masterpiece that helps us to remember when we were able, perchance, to dream.


Something in the Air screens Nov. 2, 7 p.m. Chinese 1 Theater; Nov. 4, 4:30 p.m. Chinese 5 Theater.

  

 

  

 

 

FANTASTIC FEST 2012: ANTIVIRAL

Syd March (Caleb Landry Jones) in Antiviral.

Scanning an existence

By Don Simpson

I would expect nothing less from the son of David Cronenberg to craft his debut feature in the frigidly foreboding fashion of his father's oeuvre. Brandon Cronenberg does not necessarily mimic his father, but the cinematic likeness is still quite uncanny. That said, Antiviral is much more blatant and obvious than anything David Cronenberg has made in the last 30 years; the narrative lacks the intricate layers of subtext for which David Cronenberg is known, opting to project messages that are much more in your face.

First and foremost, Antiviral does not hide its repulsion for celebrity worship. Using an undefined future as its palate, Cronenberg literally turns society's desire to (figuratively) consume its stars into purposefully transmitted diseases and cannibalism. Seemingly as a side effect of this grotesque world, sexual desire is totally vanquished and human relationships have completely disintegrated.

So are the events that occur in Antiviral an unavoidable conclusion for our pop culture obsessed society? Will people eventually resort to injecting themselves with diseases and ingesting synthetic celebrity matter just to become closer to the celebrities they adore? It seems ridiculous absurd, but really just how far are we from that world? Do we not already rabidly consume celebrity culture via magazines and television? As much as it chills me to think it, a repressed sick and twisted demand for this strange world proposed by Cronenberg already seems to exist.

And, oh what a world it is... Cronenberg bleaches the backdrop of the future in white (then again, isn't the future always portrayed in glimmering white?), giving us a very black and white world, one with very little good and a whole lot of bad. The most innocent characters in Antiviral are the celebrities, so much so they are practically angelic. The consumers seem incapable of thought, so they too possess some level of naive innocence. It is the middlemen -- the salesmen -- that are the most lecherous and conniving. They milk the celebrities bone dry, leaving them to die, while telling the consumers exactly what they really want. The black market for these dealings is exponentially more menacing, as the scale of supply and demand is carefully manipulated.

If made by his father, Antiviral would have fit perfectly between Scanners, Existenz and Cosmopolis. In fact, there is a very fine line between Robert Pattinson in Cosmopolis and Caleb Landry Jones in Antiviral, just listen to their accents and speech patterns. They also seem to have the same fashion sense, though Jones is certainly more crumpled than Pattinson, with his unkempt hair and perpetually "sick" demeanor.

As a first film, Antiviral is pretty freaking amazing. It is very rare that a first film is produced with such high production value and accented with quality supporting actors like Malcolm McDowell; but, of course, with Cronenberg's impeccable pedigree, what else would we expect?

FANTASTIC FEST 2012: HAIL

A scene from Hail.

Invisible cage

By Don Simpson

What is it with Australians and gritty neo-realist working class dramas? The world of Hail is pure hell (or, with certain accents, "hail") on earth. It is clearly Danny's (Daniel P. Jones) past that puts him in this "his" place. Released from prison at the beginning of the film, Danny returns home to his girlfriend Leanne (Leanne Campbell). With no legitimate career to call his own, or even a resume, Danny takes a job as a lackey at a garage. Unfortunately, fate (or society) deems that Danny cannot live the straight and narrow for very long; he is a naturally angry and violent man whose only solace in life is Leanne. That leads us to wonder: what would happen if he loses Leanne? We can only assume that all hell will break loose.

Hail is a brilliant meditation on Danny's inability to break free from his economic class due to societal restraints. As an uneducated ex-con, Danny is destined to live a hellish existence. Life will never be easy for him. Daniel P. Jones' performance as Danny is astounding. This is a semi-autobiographical tale of Jones' life, so we can only assume that there is a very fine line between Danny the character and Jones the actor, making this one of the most chillingly authentic performances I have ever seen. The brutal realism is accented magnificently by experimental visual flourishes courtesy of cinematographer Germain McMicking. Hail is certainly not an enjoyable experience, but it is a transfixing experience nonetheless.

FANTASTIC FEST 2012: HOLY MOTORS

Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant) in Holy Motors.

 

A short ride in a borrowed car

By Don Simpson

The man who we will refer to as Monsieur Oscar (Denis Lavant) is a shape-shifting chameleon being shuttled around Paris in a sleek white limousine. At each stop, Oscar adopts a new disguise and persona, like an over-booked character actor tirelessly bouncing from set to set. Holy Motors might be a film about playing roles and fulfilling the fantasies of others, but there is so much more to it than that...

Even before we meet Oscar, the opening scene of Holy Motors puts everything in motion. A recently awoken man (Leos Carax) -- or is he sleepwalking? -- opens a secret door in his apartment only to enter a theater in which a mannequin-like audience watches King Vidor's The Crowd. By casting himself in the singular role that delivers us into the surreal world of Holy Motors, Carax suggests the nonsensically dreamlike nature of the film that stands before us. We quickly surmise that the pure, unadulterated dream logic of Holy Motors is the only thing that will tie the experimental narrative together. This set-up also permits Carax the opportunity to remind us of our roles as voyeurs in this hyper-cinematic world. We are the mannequins in the audience, coldly observing the on screen events; we are rendered desensitized, emotionless.

It is not long before we cut to Oscar as he exits a house and enters his white limousine, chauffeured by his loyal aid, Celine (Edith Scob). Whether this is Oscar's real life or just another play-acting gig, we will probably never know. For all we know, Oscar may be a character actor playing a character actor who is playing a series of characters. Regardless, Oscar performs a series of roles that showcase a kaleidoscope of cinematic genres including: science fiction, monster movie, gangster film, deathbed drama, and musical romance. Whether the menagerie of other people who interact with Oscar are on to the ruse we do not know -- for all we know, they might be actors as well.

Holy Motors is not about understanding what is going on, it is about freeing yourself of inhibitions and preconceptions and allowing yourself float in Carax's sea of surrealism for two hours. Like David Cronenberg's Cosmopolis, Holy Motors shuttles us through its narrative in a white limousine (Carax even permits us the opportunity to see where all of the while limousines go to rest), allowing us a tour of the decaying moral fiber of our post modern world. Holy Motorstakes on the crazed environment of internet culture in which people will do anything to attract web traffic. There are a few hints that suggest that is precisely what Oscar might be doing -- acting in a web serial. However, Oscar's career choice (it is a choice?) is an exhausting and dangerous one, as his relentless timeline could very well be the death of him.

 

OUTFEST 2012: MY BEST DAY

Karen (Rachel Style) in My Best Day.

Thawed relationships

By Miranda Inganni

It is the Fourth of July and sparks will fly around a small town after a phone call in writer-director Erin Greenwell’s wonderfully crafted film, My Best Day.

Karen (Rachel Style) is bored and annoyed. While others enjoy the holiday independently from work, Karen is stuck answering phones for a repair shop. Assuming the normal tedium, Karen’s day changes after she receives a call from a man with the same name as the father of hers she has never knew.

Eager to find out if the man is her father, Karen takes a trip to the next town over with the help of her friend, Meagan (Ashlie Atkinson). Meagan is going through a bit of a bout of relationship woes and recently has purchased a motorcycle -- perchance for a ride to freedom with an attractive, new love interest. With Meagan posing as the fridge repair person, the two young women get involved with Karen’s newly reunited family.

Subtle, nuanced hilarity ensues.

Karen reconnects with her half-sister, Stacy (Jo Armeniox), whose life has been overwhelmed by a gambling problem, while meeting her younger half-brother, Ray (Robert Salerno), who spends his day fighting with neighborhood bullies while trying to win over his first love. Then there are the nutty cops, a guy in search of meatless meat and host of smaller, small town folk.

Greenwell’s writing is superb and the cast of characters is extremely well acted, if not just exceptionally well cast. Characters are comical yet recognizable, making My Best Day one of the better films of the Outfest film festival.

OUTFEST 2012: A MAP FOR A TALK

Javiera (Francisca Bernardi) and Roberta (Mora Andrea) in A Map for a Talk. 

A Chile reception

By Miranda Inganni

Set in two days in Santiago, Chile, A Map for a Talk (Mapa Para Conversar) addresses the difficulties of establishing a relationship with someone while an overbearing parent looks on with distrust and dismay.

Roberta (Moro Andrea) is raising her young son, Emilio (Romano Kottow), with her girlfriend, Javiera (Francisca Bernardi). The tension between the lovers quietly simmers while they go about their daily lives, but it is clearly taxing the two women. One afternoon Roberta joins her mother, Ana (Mariana Prat), for coffee specifically to tell mom about her relationship with Javiera. A rather conservative woman with an uncomfortable past association with the politics of Chile's Pinochet regime, Ana is more concerned with her own image than her daughter's happiness.

Roberta decides that a day at sea on a relatively small sail boat is exactly what the three women need in order for her mother to be comfortable with Roberta’s lifestyle. What starts out with somewhat forced familiarity quickly turns to inebriated loss of inhibitions, which in turn leads to uncomfortable confrontations. Roberta and Javiera bicker. Roberta and Ana berate each other. Ana and Javiera butt heads.

While the dynamics between the two lovers is explored in writer-director Fernandez Constanza's A Map for a Talk, it is the relationship between mother and daughter that is at the heart of the film. Ana is not homophobic, she essentially approves of Javiera, but she clearly believes her daughter is not living up to her potential.


A Map for a Talk screens at Outfest 2012: July 14, 7:15 p.m., DGA 2; July 21, 2 p.m. DGA 2. For more information: A Map for a Talk.

LAFF 2012: DEAD MAN'S BURDEN

Martha (Clare Bowen) in Dead Man's Burden.

Sins of the daugther

By Don Simpson

Dead Man's Burden is clearly made by someone who unabashedly loves the western genre, though writer-director Jared Moshé does make some notable updates to the genre. Most importantly, Moshé places a strong female character in the lead role, a character -- Martha McCurry (Clare Bowen) -- whose closest cinematic kin would be Michelle Williams' Emily in Meek's Cutoff.

Despite being married to Heck (David Call), a man with a violent criminal past, Martha maintains full control over her household. After murdering her father (Luce Rains) in the film's striking opening scene, Martha becomes a full-fledged landowner. The problem is, she does not want the land; Martha wants to sell her family's New Mexico homestead to a mining corporation for enough cash to open a hotel in the burgeoning town of San Francisco. With her father dead, it seems as though Martha's dream will certainly come true, but then a long presumed dead brother reappears. Wade (Barlow Jacobs) has lofty aspirations of turning his family homestead into a full-fledged farm. Thus, a family feud begins.

Shot on lush 35mm film (by Robert Hauer) with impeccable production design (Ruth De Jong), costume design (Courtney Hoffman) and art direction (Jason Byers), Dead Man's Burden is a visual masterpiece. Bowen's unsettlingly conflicted performance as Martha is nothing short of amazing; Jacobs and Call's performances are also spot on. Occasionally, a few performances do veer a bit too far into the realm of the melodramatic for my tastes. However, I will chalk that up to the periodically stilted dialogue and the film's studious allegiance to a machismo-yet-melodramatic genre.

LAFF 2012: NEIL YOUNG JOURNEYS

Neil Young in Neil Young Journeys.

Rocking chairman

By Ed Rampell

Jonathan Demme is one of those rare directors who seems to effortlessly foray from major Hollywood productions -- including the 1990s features, The Silence of the Lambs and Philadelphia -- to documentaries, such as 2003’s Haiti-shot, The Agronomist. Neil Young Journeys is Demme’s third nonfiction collaboration with the prolific performer and composer who has been one quarter of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, as well as a mover, shaker and rocker with Buffalo Springfield and Crazy Horse.

The documentary opens with Young driving around his old stomping grounds in Omenee, the town in North Ontario he plaintively sang about in CSNY’s "Helpless" on their landmark Déjà Vu album. Neil Young Journeys alternates between Young’s peregrinations around his beloved hometown and a one man show at Toronto’s Massey Hall where he performs new and classic songs from his considerable repertoire.

Some of those vintage numbers include "Down By the River" and "After the Gold Rush," wherein the socially conscious Young updated the lyrics, singing, 'Look at Mother Nature on the run in the 21^st century.' A rousing rendition of "Ohio" includes four names projected on the screen, who turn out to be the 'four dead in Ohio,' CSNY lyrically lamented after National Guardsmen killed a quartet of college students protesting the Indochina War at Kent State on May 4, 1970. The sequence is intercut with archival footage of the unarmed Kent demonstrators and the National Guard assassins. It’s hard to believe that each of the slain students was only around 20, youths robbed of their lives by Nixon’s henchmen. Thank you very much, Mssrs. Young and Demme, for remembering them, and for doing so in such a stirring, touching manner.

When I think of Young I remember a high pitched voice and acoustic guitar. Perhaps my memory is faulty? In any case, in Neil Young Journeys Young strums a variety of electric guitars, belting out amped up licks with lots of heavy reverb. He can still hit the high notes, but his voice is more gravelly and raspy here. It seems to be the opposite of the, say, Eric Clapton trend of taking and taming classic rock hits, such as Derek and the Dominos’ immortal "Layla," and updating them with more mature, tranquil acoustic, “unplugged” versions. In Neil Young Journeys Young is very much “plugged”; at the end of his set Young “plays” the speakers, inducing mindbending feedback worthy of Jimi Hendrix. (BTW, the only good thing about Hendrix’s untimely death is that we didn’t have to hear him play unplugged versions of Purple Haze and Foxy Lady on acoustic guitars when we grew up.)

The glammed down rocker also tickles the ivories of a number of keyboards during his solo performance, which features many searing extreme close-ups of Young, who is extremely emotive and soulful as he sings and plays. The film has a cinema verite, “you are there” flavor. At least one camera is, literally, in spitting range and some may have problems with Declan Quinn’s cinematography: Call it “Spittle-vision.” The audience is also rarely seen in this concert film, wherein the Canadian also croons newer tunes, such as 2010’s "Love and War."

At 66 years old, he remains forever Young.

 

  

  

 

LAFF 2012: SATURDAY MORNING MASSACRE

Nancy (Ashley Rae Spillers) in Saturday Morning Massacre.

Spooky do

By Don Simpson

A group of friends run a floundering ghost-hunting business, modeled loosely after a certain Hanna Barbera cartoon. (Yes, they even have a dog. No, the dog does not speak.) The group's founder is Nancy (Ashley Rae Spillers), the Velma of the gang. Equal parts cute, sexy, smart and empowered, Nancy has found herself in a bit of an existential quagmire, not knowing what to do if ghost hunting does not begin turning a profit.

The future of the gang hinges upon their newest client, Mike Ryan (Chris Doubek), a banker who is trying to a spooky mansion of its murderous ghosts. Nancy, Gwen (Josephine Decker), Chad (Adam Tate) and Floyd (Johnny Mars) pack up the VW van fully expecting to unravel yet another hoax masterminded by an evil capitalist trying to scare people away from a get-rich-quick scheme. What starts off as a horror-comedy flick takes a sharp turn into some serious violence. There will be blood, buckets of blood.

Director Spencer Parsons (I'll Come Running) had never made a horror feature, but as a film professor and fan of the genre, he was obviously well-versed in the medium. If you have seen any of Parsons' earlier work, you have probably noticed his subtle -- and downright classic --  approach to comedy, a technique that makes Saturday Morning Massacre quite unique within its genre.

It is also nice to see such well developed leading characters – especially the leading ladies – in a horror film. When Nancy, Gwen, Chad or Floyd make bad choices, it comes off as a parody of the genre, rather than stupidity on her or his behalf. They are not mere pawns whose only destiny is death; the gang has plenty of complicated issues to contend with outside of financial security and ghost hunting.

LAFF 2012: RED FLAG

Alex (Alex Karpovsky) in Red Flag.

Stop in the name of ___

By Don Simpson

In Red Flag, writer-director Alex Karpovsky plays a somewhat fictionalized version of himself. His character, Alex, embarks upon a tour of the southern United States with his cinema verite mockumentary, Woodpecker. The trip immediately follows an emotionally tenuous break-up with his longterm girlfriend, Rachel (Caroline White). While I have no knowledge of Karpovsky's real romantic history, I do believe that Red Flag was mostly shot during an actual theatrical tour of Woodpecker. Taking his cue from the neo-realists, Karpovsky intersperses his fictional characters within real settings and among real people. Then again, this might be another elaborately staged ruse along the lines of Woodpecker – so, maybe it is all just fiction.

Karpovsky wrestles with concept of truth on the personal level as well. Alex has a tendency to lie and exaggerate; we can only assume that this -- along with his incredibly self-involved, head-up-his-ass attitude -- is why he has such a difficult time convincing any of his friends to join him on tour. In addition to his fear of marriage, we can only assume that Alex's ex-girlfriend has grown tired of the perpetual charade, never knowing when to believe Alex and not knowing how to deal with his overinflated ego.

Red Flagevolves into a road movie with two -- then three, then four -- lost souls traveling in the same car together. Rachel, Henry (Onur Tukel) and River (Jennifer Prediger) propel Alex along the course of his narrative arc, but they each have arcs of their own with which they must contend. Their goals are to determine what relationships and love mean to them while doing their best to avoid a life riddled with loneliness.

LAFF 2012: BREAKFAST WITH CURTIS

Syd (Theo Green) and Curtis (Jonah Parker) in Breakfast with Curtis.

Bad taste

By Don Simpson

Writer-director-actor Laura Colella'sBreakfast with Curtis begins as a seemingly grumpy old hippie threatens to crush the skull of a nine year old boy. We then jump forward five years... Now 14 years old, we can only assume that Curtis (Jonah Parker) has stayed far away from his hippie neighbors – or at least their cat – ever since his frightening encounter with Syd (Theo Green), the de facto leader of the household. It is also not surprising that Curtis is still a bit skittish when Syd makes a neighborly attempt to speak with him.

See, Syd runs an online bookstore. In an effort to keep up with the Joneses of the Internet, he has decided to record a series of video blogs showcasing his wine-fueled diatribes to attract more traffic to his website. Syd recently overheard that Curtis has shown a propensity for making videos, making Curtis the ideal (read: cheapest) candidate to direct, shoot and edit Syd's vlogs. It takes some convincing, but Curtis eventually acquiesces and together they begin to make some movie magic.

The scenes of Syd and Curtis working together – and the clips of their resulting projects – are really the only interesting parts of  Breakfast with Curtis. Otherwise, this film loses its purported authenticity whenever its non-professional cast decides to over-emit and overact. Breakfast with Curtis is far from the life-caught-unawares production I expected it to be; instead, this ragtag group of non-professional actors hams it up for the camera. The end result is a no frills, home theatrical project in which a bunch of inebriated housemates decide to put on a show – and, unlucky for us, record it on video. And, yes, it is as goofy and low-quality as it sounds.


Breakfast with Curtis screens at the Los Angeles Film Festival: June 20, 8:10 p.m., Regal Cinemas.