LAFF 2014: LAST DAYS OF VIETNAM

A scene from Last Days in Vietnam. 

Family heirlooms 

By Ed Rampell

As U.S. foreign policy in Iraq faces its biggest defeat since the Indochina invasions, the niece of US President John Kennedy -- who escalated the U.S. presence in Vietnam -- has directed the cinematic equivalent of putting a blossom on a turd. Rory Kennedy has fired the opening salvo in the propaganda war regarding upcoming historic anniversaries with Last Days in Vietnam. This film is so shamefully, wildly one-sided film that this historian/reviewer hesitates to call it a “documentary” -- rather, Last Days in Vietnam is a piece of propaganda in the very worst sense of the term. Indeed, this egregiously biased, one-sided work is arguably more of a mock-umentary -- but unlike This is Spinal Tap, Rory's Orwellian disinformation is no laughing matter.

As the 50^thanniversary of the Gulf of Tonkin Incident -- that fabricated hoax US President Lyndon Johnson exploited to further escalate U.S. military activities in Vietnam -- much as  the Bush regime’s blatant lies about Iraq’s nonexistent weapons of mass destruction were cooked up to “justify” another disastrous U.S. invasion of a sovereign nation that had not attacked America -- nears this August, and the 40^th anniversary of Vietnam’s liberation approaches next April 30, Last Days in Vietnam desperately tries to find something positive to say about the role the American military and diplomats played as the “Yankees go home” scenario unfolded and the communists took over what was then Saigon.

According to the film, some soldiers and State Department officials took great pains -- and sometimes at grave personal risk to themselves -- to evacuate about thousands of the Vietnamese, including military, who had worked for and married U.S. personnel, as well as the up to 5,000-7,000 Yanks still “in country.”

Rory and her partners, including co-writer/husband Mark Bailey, have taken great pains to try and find something glorious and heroic in the greatest defeat for U.S. imperialism in the entire history of the American empire. In their disgraceful effort to make a stinking garlic smell like a rose, the filmmakers willfully expunge history and any sort of context from their one dimensional exercise in disinformation. 

For example: It’s alleged that during 1968’s TếtOffensive the communists executed thousands of South Vietnamese at Huế. However, the countless war crimes committed by Washington and US forces are never, never once mentioned in this execrable piece of agitprop. Hey Rory, ever hear of the Mỹ Lai Massacre? How about the 1972 bombing of Hanoi -- during Christmas? Or the mining of Haiphong Harbor? Of course, the list of American atrocities committed against the Indochinese -- starting with intervention in the domestic affairs of nations that never attacked the U.S.A. -- is endless, the millions murdered by carpet bombing, landmines, agent orange, etc., is innumerable, and it would require an entire series of documentaries to record them all. But Rory never mentions any of them -- although she goes out of her way to vilify the Reds (don’t forget that her father, Bobby Kennedy, served on anti-communist Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s witch-hunting Senate Permanent Subcommitteeon Investigations).

Last Days in Vietnam simplistically endeavors to depict the Vietnam invasion (which, by the way, the Vietnamese call “the American War”) as a conflict between the north and the south, with Washington backing the latter. Rory conveniently commits the heinous crime of omission by never -- not even once! -- ever mentioning the National Liberation Front (NLF), the resistance fighters in the south. According to the Pentagon Papers, 300,000 people belonged to the NLF by 1962 (you know, when Rory's uncle was president). Millions f people in the south must have supported the NLF in order for the TếtOffensive to have been carried out in 1968, let alone for the south to have been liberated seven years later, beating both the American imperialists and the army it supplied and funded. Last Days in Vietnam mentions that the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) “eroded” in 1975, but never ponders why the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and the Viet Cong didn’t.

(Assuming that Last Days in Vietnam's conceit -- that the U.S. merely backed the south against the north -- is correct, then why is it that last month, when this critic visited Hanoi, he saw wartime shrines, such as the Hanoi Hilton and Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum, but did not see some wall inscribed with the names of the 50,000-plus Vietnamese who died fighting in the U.S. Civil War, from 1861-1865?)

Last Days in Vietnam's sources include former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, who appears in news clips and presumably in contemporary, original interviews, where this mass murderer of millions in Indochina, Chile, Timor, etc., is once again given the softball “elder statesman” treatment. Richard Armitage -- no, not the Hobbit actor but the Navy and U.S. government operative who apparently never met a covert action he didn’t like -- is likewise given the hero treatment. But Armitage’s willingness to break the law -- purportedly to save south Vietnamese lives -- is never put in the context of his alleged involvement with Ted Shackley, the CIA chief in south Vietnam, and the heroin trade, or Armitage’s dubious role in the Iran-Contra Scandal -- are never mentioned.The film also conducts original interviews with former ARVN officers.

After the LA Film Festival screening an audience member asked Rory and crew members why nobody from the communist and NLF side were interviewed for the film and she replied, “We considered this but ultimately their part of the story was about the war. We wanted to focus on the heroes,” that is, those Americans who put themselves in peril to rescue south Vietnamese lives, in order to tell what Rory blithely called “a human story.”

Author Stuart Herrington, who served in military intelligence and then the Defense AttachéOrganization in south Vietnam and is a source in the film as he was an eyewitness to the events of April 1975, joined Rory for the post-screening Q&A. Herrington said that the communist side “did not add to the film” and that they would have merely indulged in “chest thumping” had they been interviewed. Sore Loser!  As if Yanks never take part in “American triumphalism” screaming “USA! USA!” and the like, especially when it invades -- unprovoked -- smaller, weaker nations.

But here’s the real reason why this agitprop pic never makes any effort to show the other side of the story: NVA and NLF supporters would presumably point out that the southerners the Yankees tried to save at the last minute were collaborators and running dogs of U.S. imperialism, who supported a Washington-backed puppet government. And that it was the Viet Cong who were the south’s real patriots. But don’t worry: The former president’s niece, charter member of the ruling class, has taken great care to make sure that American ears aren’t offended by hearing the other side of this “human story.” The Vietnamese Left doesn’t just not get equal time -- it gets no air time in this blatantly biased propaganda flick, violating journalistic ethics to present multiple viewpoints, without fear or favor.

However, skillful propagandist that Rory is, in her effort to whitewash history and to try to ferret out something positive in a colossal debacle so she can pander to U.S. rightwing sentiment, there’s something even she can’t hide. Look closely at the newsreel clips as the NVA tanks roll into what was renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Not only are the soldiers jubilant, but look at the smiling faces of the Vietnamese masses as they are being liberated from decades of Japanese, French and Yankee occupation and imperialism. Perhaps we should thank Rory for not using CGI to turn those smiles into frowns.

To be fair, Rory has produced and/or helmed some good documentaries in the past, including 2005’s Street Fight, 2006’s The Homestead Strike and 2007’s Ghost of Abu Ghraib. The jury is still out as to what US President Kennedy would have done in Vietnam had he had a second term in office. Some, like film director Oliver Stone (JFK), contend he planned to pull out of Vietnam (which Stone and others believe is a major reason why the president was liquidated). And Rory’s father, Bobby, did run as a peace candidate in 1968, although again, bullets cut short his life and who knows how a possible Bobby presidency might have ended the war, instead of Tricky Dick Nixon's ascension to the presidency in 1968?

And Last Days in Vietnam does point out that the U.S. Ambassador to south Vietnam, the Nixon-appointed Graham Martin, was in denial of reality up to the very last minute (if not, like the pig who appointed him, unhinged), resulting in chaotic, last minute evacuation plans. More than 400 of those Vietnamese camping out at the U.S. embassy grounds in what had been Saigon never made it to those choppers or boats to escape their fates. 

Having said this, with liberals like Rory Kennedy, who needs reactionaries? 

Last Days in Vietnam will premiere on PBS’ (your tax dollars at work!) American Experience in Winter/Spring 2015 -- just in time to brainwash Americans as the 40^th anniversary of U.S. imperialism’s greatest defeat nears, and as another catastrophe for Washington’s foreign policy unfolds in Iraq. 

But the real lesson to draw from the Vietnam invasion is not that at the very end, perhaps a handful of Yanks put themselves in harm’s way. (Which is a bit like arsonists patting themselves for rescuing a few folks from the house they’ve set afire.) Rather, the true moral of the story is that being the world’s policeman is a disastrous policy that costs Americans and the nations they willy-nilly invade dearly, in blood and treasure. U.S. military and intelligence are arguably the most destabilizing forces on Earth, with bases straddling the globe and eternally intervening in others’ internal affairs. Nobody likes busybodies and meddlers: If you go around the world sticking your nose into other people’s business you’re likely to get punched in the nose. Washington’s empire is bankrupting a country that can’t even take care of those hapless soldiers who politicians and corporations blithely send abroad for foreign misadventures -- should they eventually make it back home outside of body bags. No amount of flag waving can hide the truth: that when it comes to militarism, Washington should mind its own business -- as if America doesn’t have enough pressing problems back home.

Having just returned from Vietnam, this reviewer can assure readers that there is life after U.S. imperialism. Rory's despicable, reprehensible propaganda flick might be called Last Days in Vietnam, but the liberation and reunification were certainly not the last days of Vietnam. The Vietnamese won the war and they are winning the peace, proving that the last shall be first.

FILM REVIEW: ENEMY

Adam and Anthony (both played by Jake Gyllenhaal) in Enemy.

A bed of two naught(s)-y boys

By Ed Rampell

Quebecois director Denis Villeneuve's Enemy is a topsy-turvy doppelgänger tale about dual identity with a weird psychosexual subtext and William S. Burroughs and/or Franz Kafka-esque vibe.

As Adam, Jake Gyllenhaal plays a rumpled nebbish of a history professor at a college in Toronto, where he is seen lecturing a class. The absent-minded professor (who even shows up late for a class) is holding forth on how dictatorships use entertainment to maintain control. During a break a colleague recommends that Adam see a movie with the portentous (if not pretentious) title, Where There's a Will, There's a Way, which he proceeds to rent. 

Much to his astonishment, Adam discovers that one of the actors in a minor role named Anthony St. Claire (Gyllenhaal) looks exactly like him. (For those keeping score in the symbology department, while “Adam” can obviously refer to the first man, “Claire” can be translated from the French to mean “clear,” as in see-through.) 

One of the great mysteries of this movie is that the nerdy Adam actually has a hot looking blonde lover, Mary (Melanie Laurent), although their relationship and sex life does not seem to be very satisfying to either partner. In any case, after viewing his alter ego in Where There's a Will, There's a Way Adam appears to try to force his will on the sleeping Mary by having anal sex with her, which the awakened, irritable Mary interrupts. Then she angrily dresses and departs.

Adam then embarks on an obsessive odyssey to track Anthony down, using deception in his detective work. He finds out that the actor has a wife who -- like Mary -- is young, blonde and beautiful. However, Helen (Sarah Gadon) is at least six months pregnant. In the dialogue Mary mentions that Anthony has been unfaithful to her, which suggests that it might have been him at the sex club, and not Adam.

In any case, when Adam finally comes, literally, face to face with Anthony, the bit part actor appears to be more like a doppelgänger in the sense of an evil twin, than just a mere look alike. When Anthony rides his motorcycle he wears a full face helmet with opaque visor, which makes him look like some sort of an insect. Indeed, bugs, in particular arachnids, are a surrealistic element of this increasingly complicated, convoluted, creepy story. In a key scene the cracks formed by the broken glass in a mirror allegorically resembles a spider’s web. (Paging Peter Parker!)

Eventually the two men try to deceive their women, switch sex partners and so on. Will the duplicates dupe each other and their women? As the natural order of things is inverted and upturned, all Hades breaks loose.

Adam and Anthony wonder how it’s possible for them to look so much alike. Were they Siamese twins separated at birth? To try and find out Adam visits his caustic, bitchy mother, nastily, coldly played by Isabella Rossellini, who appears to be a painter. Perhaps this is another clue as to what it all means -- just as actors create roles, painter’s render images, while historians examine the past. The fact that a father is never glimpsed may also be significant. 

Based on the 2002 novel, The Double, by the Nobel Prize winning Portuguese author José Saramago, with the screenplay by Javier Gullón, to tell you the truth, your addled reviewer is not really sure what Enemy is all about and what it means. 

THEATER REVIEW: THE CHINESE MASSACRE

 

Forget it is fake Chinatown 

By Ed Rampell 

If Karl Marx wrote: “the history of all hitherto existing societies is the history of class struggle,” one can add that American history is also the history of ethnic struggle. In The Chinese Massacre (Annotated) playwright Tom Jacobson takes a Howard Zinn-like “people’s history” look at Los Angeles, revealing a little known, yet significant, event in L.A. history. Long before the 20^th century’s Zoot Suit, Watts and L.A. riots there was a pogrom against L.A.’s then-200 inhabitants of Chinese ancestry in 1871.

There are few – if any -- more important, serious subjects than ethnic cleansing and genocide. Jacobson and Circle X Theatre Co. are to be commended for reminding us of this butchery and burning 140 years ago by dramatizing this stain – or rather, bloodstain – on L.A.’s record and reputation, rescuing the Chinese massacre from our collective amnesia. The killing of 18 Chinese men -- almost 10 percent of Chinatown’s population -- surpassed the number of victims of the Manson tribe yet is as forgotten as Squeaky and Charlie remain remembered.

It’s unfortunate that The Chinese Massacre’s bard undercuts not only the seriousness of his content but its power and cohesive flow with a self-reflective, self-indulgent form that repeatedly disrupts and distracts from what otherwise would be compelling storytelling. So-called “Annotators,” such as Lisa Tharps as ex-slave turned community leader Biddy Mason, frequently interrupt the drama, interjecting “footnotes,” commentary and the like. This, the aud is told, is done in the mode of Bertolt Brecht’s “Epic Theatre,” so as to “alienate” viewers from sentimental emotionalism in order to jog them into thinking about what is, after all, merely a staged performance, and what it all means. Get the point?

Brecht was generally content with just doing it (that is, building his Epic techniques into the body of his plays), but that isn’t good enough for Mr. Jacobson, who, we are told, has written more than 50 plays (although we’re also told that he has a day job), including House of the Rising Son, playing right next door on the Atwater Village Theatre’s other stage. To further compound matters, Annotators reveal that the fact-based drama is fictionalized, that dialogue is derived from sources outside the domain of the action and the like. For example, the central character, Lee Tong (West Liang), is fictionalized. This all reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s dictum that flashbacks must never lie about plots, or of a storyteller who keeps interrupting his/her own tale by saying,“But I digress” – and then persisting in doing so.

Although The Chinese Massacre does make reference to subsequent racial clashes between Angelenos, these end in the early 1990s. Looking back at the early, troubled history of Chinese immigrants 140 years ago in L.A., what are we to make of the impact of today’s large Asian-American and Asian population in Los Angeles County? It may not be politically correct to say so, and I don’t mean this as a values statement but simply as a matter of fact: parts of places such as Monterey Park seem more as if one is in Asia than America. The melding and conflict between people of Asian ancestry and those of other ethnic backgrounds continues today, and The Chinese Massacre provides some needed cultural context. Perhaps the best place to end the play could be with that UCLA white female student’s YouTube rant about Asian pupils in the library. Racism, alas, remains with and among us.   

In spite of The Chinese Massacre’s self-referring, tautological technique, viewers who enjoy their drama brewed strong and dramatizations of history will likely appreciate the annals of this not so La-La-Land.

The Chinese Massacre runs through May 28 at Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casitas Ave., Atwater Village. For more information: 323/644-1929; www.circlextheatre.org.

FILM REVIEW: L'AMOUR FOU

Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé in L'Amour Fou.

Collaboration and collection

By John Esther 

When Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé first met it was in October 1957 at the funeral of couturier Christian Dior. Laurent was succeeding Dior but that did not last long. What did last long was the relationship between Laurent and Bergé. Six months after their first encounter until Laurent's death on June 1, 2008, the two collaborated and collided to wonderful, dizzying heights.

Over those years the couple amassed a formidable collection of 20th century art. Now that Laurent had passed, Bergé felt it was time to sell of the collections. 

Reminiscing through the ages late 20th century high fashion, art and the devotion they felt for each other during their time together, Bergé offers a behind-the-scenes look at the world behind all the glossy fashion magazines. 

Capturing Bergé's tale of wonder and woe, Pierre Thoretton's documentary L'Amour Fou, plays it smart and cool.

FILM REVIEW: MY PERESTROIKA

Olga Durikova in My Perestroika.

Cold war and pieces

By John Esther

During my undergraduate studies as a Russian and Soviet Studies major I had the opportunity to witness the tumultuous transitions of the latter days of that experiment known as the Soviet Union. From the comfort zone of a university campus in Tucson, Arizona to ground zeroes in major Soviet cities, I witnessed the "evil empire" as it openly embraced perestroika (restructuring) and glasnost (openness).

As anger, frustration and hope mounted in the streets of Moscow and Leningrad (St. Petersburg), friends and strangers spoke openly with westerners during those days. Those English-Russian conversations over vodka, bread, butter and caviar were some of the concise I ever took part in. The Russians of that generation often had a gift for being direct and to the point when they spoke (or drank) -- whether it came to the necessary dismantling of the brutal Soviet Union political system, U.S. President Ronald Reagen's doublespeak about the USSR or personal friendship.

After years of failed Party propaganda and populace hardships these Russians could see the inevitable turning of the tyrannical tide and how hard it would be for the President of the Soviet Union Mikhail Gorbachev to push against entrenched interests in order to create a new Soviet Union. They also viewed the boisterous speeches of Reagen (and subsequent U.S. President George H.W. Bush) at once counterproductive, because it fed the Soviet Union hardliners who wanted the friction that kept the people afraid and them in power, as well as disingenuous brouhaha because the United States government needed the bear in the east as an enemy to justify its military industrial complex (which had given the US a clear superiority in arms) just as much as those right-wingers back here in the USSR.

Regarding friendship, Russians did not play games when it came to camaraderie. It was very serious and very endearing. It was also something Americans needed to mind. If an American said to another American, "We should do lunch sometime," it remained open ended. If you said this to a Russian, it was an invitation to be taken up immediately -- the next day if they knew where you were staying. Accordingly, late sleepers did not dare to casually suggest meeting for breakfast. 

(I occasionally wonder how Russians treat friendship these days. I have not been back for many years and no Russian films I am aware of have really explored the subject.)

It is some of that generation, alive and dwelling today, which is captured quite impressively in Robin Hessman's documentary, My Perestroika.

Today Borya Meyerson and his wife, Lyuba, are now history teachers with a son; single-mom Olga Durikova sells pool tables (and seems to chain smoke); and single-dad Ruslan performs in public places for money. Scraping by to buy into capitalist Russia, none of them would be any poorer under Soviet communism (America, on the other hand…). A little luckier is Andrei Yevgrafov, who owns a successful men's clothing boutique and lives in a nice condominium. These five Muscovites were among the last generation to wear the anti-riotous red scarf of the Pioneers and leave the Komsomol for the stampede into the western promise. Their insights offer a microcosm of a nation that moved from totalitarianism to kleptocracy – sometimes unsure which was or is the bigger evil.

Some of the more precious observations in the documentary are when Durikova laments the hard work for insufficient wages and the fact she will probably work long past the Soviet retirement of 60 or when Borya quite accurately damns the jingoistic rule of Vladimir Putin's Russia. Without effort or consciousness they are honest. They have that gift. On another hand, when Yevgrafov disdains the popular risings of 1991 as a wave of insecurity about food rather than a demand for change, among the other reasons he did not participate in them, is laughably incredulous. 

Engulfed in a bittersweet symphony of getting what one wants and losing what one once had, the documentary's personal conversations manifest themselves into something greater than a few Russians weighing in on current affairs. That My Perestroika takes a view of history from the autobiographical testimony of ordinary people and splices it with greater mass-ive historical events such as a 1977 event saluting the new Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union, Leonid Brezhnev (the first in his position to open up trade with the United States and the one who started the eventually disastrous invasion of Afghanistan in the 1980s), seems to be, albeit less grand in scope, something in the tradition of, perhaps a response to, Leo Tolstoy's War Peace, especially Book III, Part One.

Running a smooth 87 minutes, the interviews of My Perestroika remind me of my perestroika. For others the documentary offers a basic, insightful and sound introduction to life in modern Moscow. And for Americans who lived during the cold war, the similarities between living here and there hits home.