FILM REVIEW: WHIPLASH

Andrew (Miles Teller) and Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) in Whiplash.

Beats

 

By Don Simpson

 

Inexplicably abandoned at an early age by his mother and raised by a father (Paul Reiser) who never achieved success as a writer, Andrew (Miles Teller) is riddled with an unquenchable drive to become famous. Though Whiplash does not make much of Andrew’s backstory, Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) — the tyrannical band conductor at his elite music conservatory — makes good use of that information to emotionally destroy him.

 

Whiplash examines how Fletcher preys upon the emotional insecurities of a friendless first year college student who regularly goes to the local movie theater with his father. Fletcher plays with Andrew’s sense of self-worth by boosting him up only to knock him right back down again. Andrew is constantly unsure of his standing with Fletcher, leaving him in a constant state of fear. Knowing that Fletcher could be his ticket to success, Andrew is willing to do anything to impress — or even appease — Fletcher, who takes full advantage of Andrew’s naive desperation.

 

During one of Andrew’s high points, he musters up enough courage to finally ask out the girl (Melissa Benoist) who works at the movie theater concession stand. Though this fleeting relationship serves mostly as a distraction from the primary narrative, it does highlight Andrew’s somewhat futile attempts at controlling a less confident person. Their relationship also serves as an example of just how willing Andrew is to throw anything away in order to achieve his goals.

 

The story of Whiplashseems vaguely familiar, as if a similar narrative arc has been used to tell a story about a boxer with an emotionally abusive trainer. It seems as though elite music schools are successful because they have faculty like Fletcher who will relentlessly push the students beyond their natural abilities to see if they can reach a higher level of greatness. On Twitter, critics are jumping on the similarities between Whiplash and Full Metal Jacket, which is not all that far-fetched. Fletcher looks and screams like a drill sergeant, ruling his students with extreme levels of fear. One could argue that Fletcher’s motivations are more sincere, as Whiplash strives to form the conductor into a well-rounded individual, showing the extremes of his personality and allowing him to explain his actions.

 

Whiplash explores the pros and cons of Fletcher’s behavior, existing in a moral grayness that opts to not really take sides. A teacher saying that someone does a “good job” might turn out to be a curse, but where does one draw the line between motivation and psychological torture?

 

AGLIFF 2014: BOY MEETS GIRL

Ricky (Michelle Hendley) in Boy Meets Girl. 

Gender fender 

By Don Simpson

Being born with male genitalia did not stop Ricky (Michelle Hendley) from evolving into a strong and beautiful young woman; but despite her courageousness, living a transgendered life in a quaint, backwoods Virginian town, Ricky still lacks the confidence to enter the dating scene as an unabashed woman. Ricky’s best friend, Robby (Michael Welch), remains faithfully at her side, as she flounders around aimlessly. Anyone who meets Ricky and Robby immediately suspects that Robby is just observing from the sidelines, in the hopes that Ricky will one day be ready to date him. Meanwhile, Ricky sees fashion school in New York City as her one key to escaping the mind-numbing monotony of small town life. At the very least, New York City is certain to have a more open-minded dating pool for Ricky to peruse.

Enter Francesca (Alexandra Turshen), the fiancé of a socially conservative Marine and daughter of wealthy Tea Partying parents. Ricky and Francesca are both taken aback by the magnetic chemistry they unexpectedly share. Since Ricky still has a functioning penis, they are able to enjoy heterosexual intercourse, but everything else about their relationship seems as if they are two women hopelessly smitten with each other. Needless to say, it is a confusing relationship for everyone — including Ricky and Francesca — to understand. When it comes down to it, their connection is in no way related to their respective genders. It might sound a bit cheesy, but Ricky and Francesca are trying to listen to their hearts and nothing else.

Writer-director Eric Schaeffer’s Boy Meets Girl is about developing enough self-confidence to not care about what anyone else thinks; to be one’s true self and not what everyone wants you to be; to feel accepted and loved despite any perceived eccentricities or warts. Eschewing the crippling term “normal” and admirably avoiding presenting Ricky as an “Other,” Schaeffer’s film speaks to the importance of tossing aside the labels that inherently alienate human beings.

A rare feat for an outsider, Schaeffer seems to capture the life of a transgender woman with profound authenticity and positivity. Hendley masters the role of Ricky as if it was her own story. One can only assume that Hendley and other transgender women collaborated in the development of the script, as many moments seem far too honest to have been penned by someone who did not experience these situations firsthand.

But Boy Meets Girl is not strictly a transgender or LGBTQA film, it is a film about understanding and acceptance, universal themes that clearly transcend gender and sexual orientation. Deeply exploring issues of shame, judgment and hatred in the context of the ever-blurring lines of gender, Schaeffer still finds a way to make a film that is significantly more lighthearted and funny than his films Fall and After Fall, Winter. Not to be confused with Leos Carax’s Boy Meets Girl, which operates in sharp tonal contrast to the lighthearted rom-com genre that the title suggests, Schaeffer fully embraces the tone and structure of the rom-com genre to make his intellectually intuitive plot all the more digestible. Essentially a teen chick flick with balls (mind the pun), Schaeffer’s film is infinitely more thoughtful than most (all) other films in the genre.

AGLIFF 2014: EVER

Ever (Wendy McColm) in Ever.

Life after death

By Don Simpson

Ever since the unexpected death of her fiancé, Ever (Wendy McColm) has lost her motivation to be happy. Even if Ever were to become happy, she would feel much too guilty to actually enjoy the moment. So, Ever opts to live a lonely existence, working in a quiet bookstore and returning to her sparsely decorated apartment.

Eventually, Ever concedes to go to a movie with a floppy-haired indie rock musician who is unwilling to take no for an answer; but when that date does not go very well, Ever all but gives up on humanity. That is until she meets Emily (Christina Elizabeth Smith), a kind and loving soul who sees the overwhelming goodness glimmering inside of Ever. Whereas Ever might find it difficult to be happy around a man, Ever feels comfortable enough around Emily to finally remove her protective shell. The two women form a bond that seems to transcend mere friendship, leading Ever to question her sexuality.

Anyone who has found it difficult to be happy again after the death of a significant other is sure to find a lot of authenticity in Josh Beck’s Ever, but this film’s real strength is in its depiction of sexuality. While it might be disconcerting to some that Ever’s recent history with male aggression and male stupidity is what triggers her explorations with lesbianism, Ever’s existential struggle is undeniably natural. Emily is probably the best possible person for Ever to explore her newly discovered feelings because she is so understanding of Ever’s hesitations. In Ever, sexuality is refreshingly not black and white. Ever and Emily were "not born" lesbians, they are both attracted to people’s personalities, not their gender. The most convincing aspect of Ever is the organic chemistry between McColm and Smith.

Respectfully toning down the quirky hipster undercurrent that could have easily undermined the film’s aspirations for realism, Beck and cinematographer Micah Van Hove cleverly balance visual style with stoic grace. Simple and sweet, Ever fits gracefully within the new trend of LGBTQA filmmaking, subtly approaching its subject, allowing it to pass as a “straight” film that can easily crossover into the LGBTQA market.

FILM REVIEW: EMOTICON ;)

Elena (Livia De Paolis) and Hanna (Carol Kane) in Emoticon ;).

Connections

By Don Simpson

Elena (Livia De Paolis) is fascinated by modern means of communication but she cannot seem to wrap her head around how to develop that interest into a graduate school thesis. But then Elena finds herself fully immersed into the very modern worlds of her significantly older boyfriend Walter’s (Michael Cristofer) adopted teenage kids, Amanda (Diane Guerrero) and Luke (Miles Chandler). This allows Elena to gain firsthand insight on how these two particular teens utilize different types of technology as existential tools to better understand themselves.

Though many of Emoticon ;)‘s comments on modern communication are annoyingly obvious, De Paolis’ directorial debut works well as a subtle contemplation of family that intimately observes how adoption and divorce may affect family units. Not only is there a natural generational divide between Walter and his kids, but they are not intrinsically bound by DNA. With sole custody of the teenagers, Walter has adopted a laissez-faire approach to parenting, focusing his time on teaching and dating. Having very little parental oversight, Amanda and Luke are forced to learn everything for themselves. Elena’s keen interest in their lives is resisted at first, but that tide turns quickly. Starving for parental support during their existential struggles, Amanda and Luke latch onto Elena. Not quite old enough to be their mother, Elena’s understanding of technology allows her to form an intimate connection with the Amanda and Luke, becoming their friend and confidant, something they have seemingly never experienced with a parental figure before.

Emoticon ;) also addresses the role that race may play in adoption. While Luke was able to easily adjust to his adoptive parents and their neighborhood (Gramercy, Manhattan) because he is Caucasian, Amanda basically had to ignore her Mexican roots and assimilate herself into their white, upperclass world. Once Amanda meets her first “brown” friend, her life is changed forever. Amanda is driven by the desire to learn about the biological past that has been hidden from her thus far.

De Paolis’ refreshingly feminine perspective is most apparent in her handling of unplanned pregnancies, specifically in the way the female characters are affected by these situations. Emoticon ;) serves as a perfect example of why we need more feminine directorial voices in the world of cinema.

FILM REVIEW: GORE VIDAL AND THE UNITED STATES OF AMNESIA

Gore Vidal in Gore Vidal and the United States of Amnesia. 

Thanks for the memory

By Don Simpson

In capturing the life of a man who deftly re-imagined how we approach history and politics, it is unfortunate that Gore Vidal: The United States of Amnesia relies so heavily upon such an uninventive documentary format. Combining direct interviews with archival footage, director Nicholas Wrathall is lucky to at least have Gore Vidal’s natural charisma as the heart and soul of this documentary.

For those who are unfamiliar with his uncanny knack for highly-intellectualized wit and humor, The United States of Amnesiapresents Vidal in stark contrast to the perpetual stream of verbal diarrhea that spews from modern day pundits. Even when pitted against his nemesis William F. Buckley, Jr. during ABC’s coverage of the 1968 Democratic National Convention, Vidal transcended the stuffy intellectualism and presented his arguments with a poetic panache that made his elegantly barbed jabs all the more entertaining. Unfortunately, Vidal’s high-minded style of political discourse died with him on July 31, 2012.

Vidal’s lack of intellectual equals becomes increasingly evident as all of the other interviewees sprinkled throughout The United States of Amnesia pale in comparison to him. Their unabashed hero-worship does very little to contribute to the discussion of Vidal’s life, instead everyone seems much more enamored by his vibrant social life — as if to suggest that his friendship with Paul Newman or notorious feuds with Truman Capote and Norman Mailer are more important than his intellectual prowess. Even Vidal’s criticisms of John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush are reduced to comical soundbites that are primed for tabloid headlines. In this context, The United States of Amnesia seems to cheapen Vidal’s opinions and arguments, abbreviating the sound bites into petty and slanderous slurs; its just a shame that Wrathall does not allow him to justify the statements.

While many viewers might only know of Vidal from reading his historical novels such as Lincoln or Burr, Wrathall opts to present a very human portrait of Vidal; focusing on his personality, The United States of Amnesia avoids any scholarly analysis of Vidal’s work. Hearing Vidal’s friends and admirers speak about him, it becomes increasingly evident that he was an enigma to everyone. Vidal seemed to enjoy the mysterious nature of his public persona, especially when it came to his sexuality. His third novel, The City and the Pillar (1948), is recognized as one of the first major American novels to directly feature homosexuality, but Vidal was opposed to defining people in terms of being “homosexual” and “heterosexual.” Vidal wholeheartedly believed that sexuality is not as clear cut as those polarizing terms infer, suggesting that everyone is bisexual to some degree. This made Vidal’s purportedly asexual relationship with long-term partner Howard Austen all the more perplexing to those who knew him.

Our world may still need a more academic interpretation of Vidal’s work, but Wrathall’s documentary serves as an essential introduction to the man, the myth and the legend. The United States of Amnesia presents Vidal (who I share a birthday with) in such an approachable light that perhaps it will propel more people to become curious about his novels and essays.

SUNDANCE 2014: OBVIOUS CHILD

Donna (Jenny Slate) in Obvious Child.

Laugh now in the lake of fire

By Don Simpson

A bookstore clerk by day and comedian by night, Donna’s (Jenny Slate) life is sent into a tailspin when her boyfriend admits to sleeping with one of her close friends; but at least that event provides Donna with some fresh material for her bluntly autobiographical stand-up routine.

Donna turns to alcohol to drown her sorrows, totally giving up on life. When the righteously indie bookstore that employs her loses its lease, Donna’s life seems all the more hopeless. Even her gig as a comedian could be at risk if she does not learn how to curb her emotionally driven binge drinking.

On one fatefully drunken night, the snarky Jewess makes cute with a WASPy guy, Max (Jake Lacy). Sensing that his values will dissuade Max from wanting to date a vocally rebellious Jewish woman, Donna perceives this night as a fun, one-night stand. Unfortunately for Donna, the repercussions of their night together haunt her until Valentine’s Day.

Obvious Child is a well-paced comedy packed with a steady stream of hilarious jokes, yet the film also carries a strong and unwavering opinion on its subject matter. While the subject of this film may chase some potential audiences away, Obvious Child does such an admirable job of presenting its case that it could actually change some minds if audiences would just give it a fighting chance.

The strongest tension within director Gillian Robespierre's  Obvious Child is its relentless rebellion against American cinema’s representation of this subject matter. We anxiously await the all too standard redemption trope, for Donna to listen to the old white men who attempt to legislate away her inherent rights to her own body. Few filmmakers are bold and brazen enough to discuss this subject with such openness. Everything is laid out on the table in such a way that Donna’s one and only choice seems like an obvious one. There is absolutely no valid excuse for her mistake and Donna knows that, but there is also no reason for her to punish herself or anyone else involved. Ill-equipped and immature, Donna is by no means emotionally prepared to make any other decision. Our society, thanks in no small part to Hollywood’s representation of this subject, seems to think Donna is in the minority, but this is actually an all too common scenario. Donna makes the same life-changing mistake that so many others have made, including her mother.

SUNDANCE 2014: I, ORIGINS

A scene from I, Origins.

Looks of love, science and creation

By Don Simpson

 

Due to the current lack of concrete evolutionary mapping, the eye is often lauded as proof of intelligent design. So, Ian Gray (Michael Pitt), a PhD student studying molecular biology, is attempting to disprove creationism by fully mapping the evolution of the eye. He is reluctantly teamed with a first year student, Karen (Brit Marling), who quickly dedicates her time to Ian’s cause, agreeing to do the tedious work of looking for the PAX 6 gene — a key gene that enables eyesight — in a species without eyes. It will be like finding a needle in a haystack, but if Karen can locate that species, they can then attempt to mimic the evolutionary process by mutating that creature in such a way that it grows a fully functioning eye. In other words, they want to play god.

 

As a side project, Ian is obsessed with photographing people’s eyes. This is how he comes to meet Sofi (Astrid Berges-Frisbey), a mysteriously masked woman with sectoral heterochromia whom he grows increasingly obsessed with following a fleeting sexcapade on a toilet. Though the scientifically inclined Ian may not believe in fate, it is a string of numerical clues that eventually reconnect him with Sofi. The spiritually motivated Sofi approaches life in sharp contrast to Ian’s overly pragmatic ways. They say that opposites attract, an hypothesis that is proven by the undeniably magnetic chemistry between these two souls — if, unlike Ian, you actually believe in the existence of the soul. Though Ian would ardently disagree, Sofi is undoubtedly his soulmate; and, as the introduction to Mike Cahill’s I Origins prophetically suggests, Sofi also serves as a key element in Ian’s Sophistic quest to dis-prove religion once and for all.

 

Winner of this year's Sloan Award at Sundance, I Origins is an infinitely profound examination of the faith versus science debate. Cahill wraps his heady existential diatribe around the adage that the eye is the window to the soul, specifically utilizing the presumed uniqueness of an individual’s iris patterns in this contemplation of god’s existence. Being that eyes are directly connected to the human brain, and the brain retains memories, I Originssuggests the possibility that if two people (one living, one dead) share identical iris patterns that they may also share memories, possibly even the same soul (thus proving reincarnation). Whether or not this is sound science is up to the molecular scientists in the audience to decide, but Cahill’s entertainingly thoughtful hypothesis is sure to incite a chain reaction of theological contemplation among even the most argent non-believers.

SUNDANCE 2014: WHIPLASH

Andrew (Miles Teller) and Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) in Whiplash.

The beatings behind the beats

By Don Simpson

 

Inexplicably abandoned at an early age by his mother and raised by a father (Paul Reiser) who never achieved success as a writer, Andrew (Miles Teller) is riddled with an unquenchable drive to become famous. Though Whiplash does not make much of Andrew’s backstory, Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), the tyrannical band conductor at his elite music conservatory, makes good use of that information to emotionally destroy him.

 

Whiplash relays how Fletcher preys upon the emotional insecurities of a friendless first-year college student who regularly goes to the local movie theater with his father. Fletcher plays with Andrew’s sense of self-worth by boosting him up only to knock him right back down again. Andrew is constantly unsure of his standing with Fletcher, leaving him in a constant state of fear. Knowing that Fletcher could be his ticket to success, Andrew is willing to do anything to impress — or even appease — Fletcher, who takes full advantage of Andrew’s naïve desperation.

 

During one of Andrew’s high points, he musters up enough courage to finally ask out the girl who works at the movie theater concession stand (Melissa Benoist). Though this fleeting relationship serves mostly as a distraction from the primary narrative, it does highlight Andrew’s somewhat futile attempts at controlling a less confident person. Their relationship also serves as an example of just how willing Andrew is to discard anything in order to achieve his goals.

 

The story of Whiplashseems vaguely familiar, as if a similar narrative arc has been used to tell a story about a boxer with an emotionally abusive trainer. It seems as though elite music schools are successful because they have faculty like Fletcher who will relentlessly push the students beyond their natural abilities to see if they can reach a higher level of greatness. Fletcher looks and screams like a drill sergeant, ruling his students with extreme levels of fear. One could argue that Fletcher’s motivations are more sincere, as Whiplash strives to form the conductor into a well-rounded individual, showing the extremes of his personality and allowing him to explain his actions.

 

An opening night selection of Sundance Film Festival 2014, and recipient of numerous awards at this year's Sundance Film Festival, writer-director Damien Chazelle's Whiplash also explores the pros and cons of Fletcher’s behavior, existing in a moral grayness that opts to not really take sides. A teacher saying that someone does a “good job” might turn out to be a curse, but where does one draw the line between motivation to do better and psychological torture?

Whiplash was purchased at Sundance Film Festival 2014.

FILM FEATURE: DON SIMPSON'S TOP TEN FILMS OF 2013

Jep (Toni Servillo) in The Great Beauty.

One man's opinion is another person's read

By Don Simpson

I have an extremely difficult time ranking films that share no common elements other than they were all shot on a medium that captures both moving images and sound. I guess there are certain basic mechanisms of filmmaking that can be done well or poorly, for the most part it is all just the personal opinion of the critic. I prefer to approach the discussion of cinema in terms of whether or not a certain film works for me; whether it is interesting and stimulating, whether it does something new and exciting with the cinematic medium.

So, below are ten films (in alphabetical order) that reverberated in my mind as the most interesting and/or exciting from 2013.

12 Years a Slave – In his triad of films (Hunger, Shame, 12 Years a Slave) about human pain and suffering, Steve McQueen observes the relationships between punishment and dehumanization. These films are fully immersed, psychological studies of crumbling human fortitude. For American viewers, 12 Years a Slave also packs a crushing wallop of historical guilt, as McQueen’s outsider perspective invites us to learn from our nation’s past mistakes and inform our future with those lessons.

Computer Chess – The ensemble’s propensity for philosophizing is reminiscent of Richard Linklater’s Slacker; but, whereas Linklater’s film ruminates upon the existential crises of humans, Andrew Bujalski’s Computer Chess expounds upon the existential crises of synthetic consciousness. All the while, Bujalski achieves an ultimate level of realism by enlisting a cast of computer savvy actors who at least seem like they know what they’re rambling on about. The production design is the real show-stopper though.

The Great Beauty – Watching The Great Beauty prompts me to daydream about what types of films Federico Fellini would have made in the 21st century. While this particular film owes a great debt to the work of Fellini (specifically La Dolce Vita), the sensory overload of the visuals is much more akin to Baz Luhrmann. Beneath the shock and awe campaign of the assault on the senses, Paolo Sorrentino meditates upon happiness, love, sex, art, aging and death; also contemplating the significance of theology, history, economics and politics in our everyday lives.

Pilgrim Song -- Martha Stephens is never condescending or patronizing of her characters, yet she never romanticizes them either. Stephens casts highly naturalistic actors and places them in scenes alongside real people; she captures their stories as if shooting a documentary, allowing the narratives to breath while unfolding naturally and organically. Her unabashed desire to capture the purist possible realism is akin to the tone, pacing and visual aesthetic of Kelly Reichardt’s Old Joy and Wendy & Lucy. Reichardt is certainly someone with whom Stephens shares a fondness for what has come to be known as “slow cinema.”

The Selfish Giant – Borrowing her film’s title from Oscar Wilde children’s fable, writer-director Clio Barnard utilizes the fantastic milieu of a landscape that is perpetually shrouded in the misty grayness of a fairytale to convey the brutally grim reality of this story. Barnard then uses the social realism techniques of Ken Loach and Alan Clarke to ensure that the audience comprehends the true levels of authenticity within this story.

Short Term 12 – On paper, Short Term 12 may sound like a schlocky, feel-good Hollywood movie and that could not be further from the truth. The scenarios and conversations within Destin Cretton’s film shimmer with a high level of authenticity, due in no small part to the amazing ensemble cast and impeccable writing. Brie Larson, for one, is astounding; proving herself to be one of the most talented twenty-something actors working today.

Stories We Tell – We all tell stories. We all have our own unique perspectives and interpretations of events. There is no absolute Truth. Everything is filtered through the various lenses of our past and present. Director Sarah Polley approaches Stories We Tell knowing full well that stories are just that: stories.

Sun Don’t Shine – Building upon the already nightmarish elements of the narrative, Sun Don’t Shine unfolds with the oblique stream of consciousness of a dream — such as when Terrence Malick-esque voiceovers follow the characters’ thoughts as they are lulled into daydreams by the ephemeral rhythms and patterns of the roadside imagery and the unbearably balmy Florida air. Sun Don’t Shine refuses to abide by a traditional narrative structure; the road movie elements are not used to propel the narrative forward, but to trap Crystal and Leo in a smothering and smoldering incapacious space. Their car is like a prison cell with an ever-changing view of the real/reel world; the car windows function like movie screens, dangling carrots of perceived freedom and success just out of Crystal and Leo’s reach.

Upstream Color – Functioning as writer, director, producer, cinematographer, composer, and editor, Shane Carruth is the epitome of the modern day auteur. No matter how confusing and frustrating Upstream Color may be, there is no denying the amazingly singular artistic vision that produced this film. Echoing the godlike control that is held over the film’s test subjects, Carruth is the grand creator and chief inquisitor of this uniquely cinematic world.

Welcome to Pine Hill – Welcome to Pine Hill provides the most naturally positive portrayal of a black character that I have ever seen dedicated to film — and I am incredibly embarrassed to say that if I knew that a white guy directed Welcome to Pine Hill, I probably would not have even bothered watching it. But the outsider perspective actually works in writer-director Keith Miller’s favor, and it certainly helps matters that he avoids all of Hollywood’s racial stereotypes. Most importantly, Miller does not approach Welcome to Pine Hill as a direct discussion of race; though he understands that our world is far from being colorblind and race-related issues are inescapable.


Honorable mentions: The Act of Killing; After Tiller; Ain’t Them Bodies Saints; All is Lost; Blackfish; Blue Is the Warmest Color; Concussion; Dirty Wars; Frances Ha; Her; In the House; I Used to Be Darker; Mother of George; Mud; Pilgrim Song; Post Tenebras Lux; Simon Killer

 

 

PSIFF 2014: MOTHER, I LOVE YOU

Raymond (Kristofers Konovalovs) in Mother, I Love You.

False word to your mother

By Don Simpson

Like most 12-year-old boys, Raymond (Kristofers Konovalovs) does not really think before he does things, rather he acts upon naive impulses that seem to be fueled solely by hormones. Raised by a single mother (Vita Varpina) who works as a doctor at a birthing center, Raymond is adequately loved and cared for, so he is not necessarily acting out for attention. She gives Raymond all of the freedom that he desires, which might be a bit too much; but, if anything, Raymond is probably just bored.

Raymond spends most of his free time with his best friend, Peteris (Matiss Livcans), a classmate from a less privileged pedigree. When the two boys are together, their decisions grow increasingly reckless. Peteris’ mother (Indra Brike) works as a cleaning lady, which gives Peteris uninhibited access into her clients’ homes. When Raymond gains possession of a key, he begins to use that client’s apartment as a home away from home, for no other reason than because he can.

It is not long before Raymond finds his bad choices snowballing hopelessly towards a point of no return. He tries to cover-up each of his crimes with one lie after another. In retrospect, some of Raymond’s actions may seem ridiculously absurd, but writer-director Janis Nords sets up each event so perfectly that Raymond’s decisions make perfect sense as they are occurring. As Nords slowly reveals the web of lies that Raymond’s mother has crafted for herself, a window into Raymond’s thought processes opens wide. It seems as though Raymond might have learned how to lie from his mother’s own example.

Mother, I Love You is Latvia's Oscar submission for Best Film in a Foreign Language.

PSIFF 2014: THE GREAT PASSAGE

A scene from The Great Passage.

If on a winter's night a computer

By Don Simpson

A large publisher’s Dictionary Editorial Department finds itself on the brink of extinction in 1995 as new technologies such as laptops and mobile telephones become more commonplace in everyday households. The Internet is on the verge of explosion and emails are about to replace handwritten letters as the primary form of “written” communication. Prognosticating that the world is about to become very used to communicating, researching and learning via their sparkly new electronic devices, the head of the department (Go Kato) wants to develop a new kind of dictionary.

The titular dictionary of his dreams will be Japan’s first to capture youth culture’s lexicon, embracing modern day mutilations of the Japanese language — slang words, modern expressions and acronyms — while skillfully providing the proper roots and definitions for words alongside the popular-yet-incorrect new meanings.

Dictionaries can take decades to develop, and before they commence this daunting task, the department’s longtime chief editor (Kaoru Kobayashi) wants to retire in order to care for his ailing wife. The problem is, in this trendy new world of technological innovation, no one wants to take on a boring, decade-spanning project like a dictionary — you might then see a photo of the Dictionary Editorial Department beside the definition of “uncool,” “nerdy” or “lame.”

Enter Majime (Ryûhei Matsuda), a socially awkward and frigidly shy young company employee who is currently mismatched in the Advertising Department. Armed with a degree in Linguistics and an unwavering love for language, Majime appears as the ideal candidate to take on the “modern living dictionary.”

As the baton is passed to Majime at work, the perspective of Yûya Ishii’s The Great Passage quickly shifts to follow Majime. We observe as a complete immersion into his work allows Majime to mature into a more confident person. Majime begins to develop an unlikely new friendship with a loud and obnoxious co-worker (Jô Odagiri) who slowly drags him out of his shell. It is not long before Majime even develops a romantic interest in his landlady’s granddaughter (Aoi Miyazaki), thus finally realizing the true meaning of love.

Time in the Dictionary Editorial Department passes excruciatingly slowly, so Ishii is forced to take significant leaps in the timeline. While this causes the narrative to feel disjointed and unstructured, it does allow for us to witness the changes in Majime’s persona over a longer period of time. Just as the purpose of the new dictionary is to allow its words the opportunity to establish a more natural dialog with readers, Majime learns how to use his internalized verbosity to express himself verbally.

It is not without bitter irony that a majority of press about Japan’s entry for 2013′s foreign-language Oscar will be consumed online. As the world continues to drift farther away from the printed word, Ishii’s The Great Passage preaches to us about the power of words on paper. Though their new dictionary will only capture a snapshot of an ever-[de]evolving language, there is an undeniable permanence to the printed and bound nature of its publication. For Majime, turning the pages of a book with the perfect paper stock is practically an orgasmic experience; the touch of the paper establishes an incomparable connection between the reader and the publication.

PSIFF 2014: OF HORSES AND MEN

A scene from Of Horses and Men.

Human-ing around

By Don Simpson

An Icelandic saga of sorts, Benedikt Erlingsson’s Of Horses and Men is structured as a series of loosely intertwining parables about horses and the rural community whose lives revolve around them. These stories seem like they probably might have possessed some greater moral purpose at one time, but the points have since worn away with the passage of time; the tall tales have grown so exaggerated and romanticized, they hardly seem to be rooted in truth at this point. But I don’t know, maybe a rider really has found themselves practically sandwiched between a horny stallion and a mare in heat and lived to tell the embarrassing story -- regardless it certainly makes for entertaining cinema.

Equally absurd is a drunkard who rides a horse out to sea to purchase two jugs of a potent elixir from a passing ship, or a novice rider who is forced to recreate the Luke Skywalker tauntaun scene in order to survive a frigid night. While each vignette of this visually poetic film seems like it could be a part of a grand absurdist farce, the tone is so subtle that the comedy quickly mutates into stoic seriousness, especially when told against the dramatic natural environments of Iceland that are captured with such astoundingly magnificent cinematography by Bergsteinn Björgúlfsson.

Juxtaposed with the beauty and power of the horses, the townspeople mostly seem to be idiotic mortals who repeatedly fall prey to desire, greed and anger. The horses closely observe the tomfoolery of the humans and even though their judgments (or, lack thereof) remain unknown, Erlingsson seems to be telling the sprawling narrative from their perspective. Unfortunately, the horses must sometimes shoulder the punishment for human stupidity, making this Iceland's Oscar submission for best foreign language film an occasionally difficult film to stomach -- thought it is important to note that no horses were hurt during the making of this film.

FILM REVIEW: SAL

Sal Mineo (Val Lauren) in Sal.

He, we, were robbed

By Don Simpson

James Franco’s bio-pic of Sal Mineo (Val Lauren), the teen idol and co-star of Rebel Without a Causeand Exodus, Sal is most likely destined to suffer the same cultish fate as most films about gay protagonists (Howl being an all too perfect example). This is extremely unfortunate, because this beautiful, sexually ambiguous portrait of a gay film star’s final day of existence deserves a lot more attention than it is expected to get.

Making a film that takes place within the rigid confines of the final day of its protagonist’s life places one hell of a burden on a filmmaker — especially when the protagonist’s death is foretold on a title card — but it also adds a certain amount of, well, je ne sais quoi to the narrative. As much as I hate knowing how a film is going to end before it even begins, Franco’s narrative builds upon the fact Mineo had a happy, productive and fulfilling last day on earth. For one, Mineo finally secures a deal to direct his first feature film — an adaptation of Charles Gorham's McCaffery. He is also in the final days of rehearsal as a lead actor in a theatrical adaptation of James Kirkwood, Jr.’s P.S. Your Cat Is Dead at the Westwood Playhouse; under the direction of Milton Katselas (James Franco), the play is all but ready for an audience…despite Keir Dullea’s (Jim Parrack) inability to remember his lines.

Christina Voros’ handheld vérité camerawork ogles Mineo, observing every movement of his immaculately buff body as he tirelessly works out at a gym or as he lounges around his apartment in various states of undress. If Mineo loved one thing, it was his body, and Sal functions as a testament to that. With no trace of expository dialogue, we are never privy to what Mineo is thinking or feeling; our only insight into Mineo is what we can piece together from watching him. Mineo spends at least half of his screen time alone; since he does not talk to himself or to inanimate objects, this means his dialogue is very limited. Sure, there are a few phone conversations — of which we only hear his side — but they are not very revealing, other than Mineo really wants to get people out to attend the upcoming premiere of his play.

Sal is not an entry into the cannon of queer cinema; other than focusing on a prominent gay figure, there is absolutely nothing “gay” about Sal. Franco avoids social commentary and political activism. (By the way, Mineo's killer served less than half of his 57-year prison sentence.) Instead Franco opts for this project to be a scholarly exercise in authenticity and realism. Handcuffed by an unspoken pledge that seems to resemble the “Dogme 95 Manifesto”, Sal is stripped of any entertainment value, but it is quite a commendable testament to the contemporary neo-realism movement nonetheless.

AUSTIN FILM FESTIVAL 2013: ENZO AVITABILE MUSIC LIFE

Enzo Avitabile in Enzo Avitabile Music Life.

Still making sense

By Don Simpson

 

Somewhat similar in approach to Stop Making Sense and Storefront Hitchcock, Jonathan Demme focuses on the uniqueness of the performances of Enzo Avitabile’s music. A Neapolitan saxophonist and vocalist who creates intricate, multiethnic jazz compositions, Avitabile possesses a level of songwriting genius that exists on a comparable intellectual plane to David Byrne. Like Byrne, Avitabile’s greatest strength is in his ability to choose teams of collaborators from around the world, then fuse them together in the recording of a song. Avitabile is well known for his thorough knowledge of world music — specifically the instruments and rhythmic structures — and ability to use that information in the development of intriguing collaborations. Whether or not you recognize names such as Eliades Ochoa, Naseer Shamma, Daby Touré, Trilok Gurtu and Amal Murkus does not really matter, Avitabile is about the magic that happens when Avitabile creates music with these talented people.

 

After documenting songwriters such as Byrne, Robyn Hitchcock and Neil Young, Demme’s artistic attraction to Avitabile is obvious. Demme has repeatedly revealed a certain fondness for capturing unique creative processes in the act. He either assumes that we already know the backgrounds of these artists, or he does not think that matters when it comes to their genius. He makes a fleeting exception for Avitabile, however, considering his strong ties to his Naples. Though, interestingly enough, Demme opts to allow Avitabile the chance to revisit his past at the end of the documentary, practically as an afterthought.

 

What surprises me most about Envo Avitabile is Demme’s apparent disinterest in the visual elements of the film. This is an incredibly intimate production shot primarily with handheld cameras; there are no lighting rigs, it is all just point and shoot camerawork. Curbing his auteurism, Demme lets Avitabile provide all of the glitz and eccentricities of the film. Luckily, Avitabile possess more than enough charisma to distract from the gritty production.

AUSTIN FILM FESTIVAL 2013: HELLAWARE

A scene from Hellaware.

Nada dada

By Don Simpson

When Lexie (Kate Lyn Sheil) breaks up with Nate (Keith Poulson) for an untalented pastel artist in pigtails, Nate decides to try to [re]discover himself as an artist. Drowning in a world of “incestuous New York City socialite shit” where untalented hacks are deemed successful by the highbrow elite, Nate must find a way to carve out his own niche.

By cocaine-fueled happenstance, Nate stumbles upon a no-budget rap-rock video by Young Torture Killaz, a group of high school kids from rural Delaware. With outsider art still very much en vogue, Nate travels to Delaware to photograph the band in their natural element. In a half-hearted attempt to legitimize the endeavor, he approaches the excursion like an ethnographic study, striving to immerse himself into their culture.

Nate’s friend Bernadette (Sophia Takal) hesitantly goes along for the ride. Unlike her incredibly naive friend who thinks high school kids can do no harm, Bernadette is rightfully frightened about venturing into the basement hangout of a bunch of drug-addled teens donning psychotic clown make-up who have penned such violently shocking songs as “I’ll Cut Yo Dick Off.” Functioning as the film’s voice of reason, Bernadette sees right through Nate’s intentions even if Nate remains totally oblivious to everything that he is doing.

Distracted by the potential fame that a solo show could quickly provide him, Nate quickly evolves into just another selfish, pretentious and condescending New York City artist. Human relationships no longer matter to him since a successful show will provide him with all of the love and attention that he needs. As he sees it, everything hinges on this one show and establishing himself as an artist is much more important than any friendship.

Writer-director Michael Bilandic's Hellaware teeters the fine line between satire and caricatures, poking fun at art culture and white rap-rock, specifically the significant role that shock value has taken in the creative industry. Visual art and music focus so much on inciting a reaction and judgment rather than promoting creativity and talent. Even more embarrassing is the tendency in creative industries to reward bad art for being so bad it’s good.