FILM REVIEW: CALL ME KUCHU

A scene from Call Me Kuchu.

The ugly and the undeterred in Uganda

By Don Simpson

Like the Nazi propaganda machine, the Christian fundamentalists of Uganda (and some American Evangelicals) worked hand in hand with the popular Ugandan newspaper (that functions more like a gossip tabloid), Rolling Stone, to effectively communicate to the Ugandan population that the LGBTI community was a bunch of disease-carrying rapists who were actively recruiting others to undermine Christianity and destroy the country's moral fibre.

The Ugandan LGBTI community -- otherwise known as kuchus -- was left three options: go back into the closet, emigrate to a more queer-friendly environment, or stand up for their personal freedoms.

Like good documentarians, directors Katherine Fairfax Wright and Malika Zouhali-Worrall had the premonition to document a group of Ugandan LGBTI activists who took a stand against their government. Wright and Zouhali-Worrall conducted a series of interviews with both sides of the issue; without injecting their own opinions and judgments, they admirably allowed everyone to freely speak her or his mind.

Outed by Rolling Stone and under constant threat of being turned in by their own family or neighbors, these activists had to walk the fine line of staying safe while inciting change. In most cases, it is the influx of vigilant human rights activists from around the world and the presence of video cameras that serves as the most effective protections for the LGBTI community. Call Me Kuchuserves one of the rare examples of cameras having a (mostly) positive influence on the subjects they seek to capture.

The documentary also captures the loss of one of its primary subjects.

An emotional tsunami, Call Me Kuchu is about sticking together and not conforming to popular opinion despite the ever-present dangers of not abiding by the government's tyrannical rules, looking forward into the future and making sacrifices for the greater good. While it is impressive to see so most of the Western world stand up to Uganda on this issue, sometimes it can be easier to criticize the follies of others than to point out one's own faults.

It is not that I am complaining that the United States took such a firm stand against Uganda's gay death penalty bill, but it does seem a bit hypocritical, since in most U.S. states the LGBTI community is still not permitted the same rights as everyone else; and, in many areas of the U.S., the LGBTI community is still the recipient of hatred and violence.

So, while watching a documentary about the hardships of the kuchus may seem a bit foreign, it is actually a very relatable topic for Americans to contemplate.

FILM REVIEW: JACK REACHER

Jack Reacher (Tom Cruise) in Jack Reacher.

A bit of a stretch

By John Esther

Released one week after the shooting massacre in Newtown, CT, writer-director Christopher McQuarrie's Jack Reacher opens up with Charlie (Jai Courtney) aiming his high-powered rifle at several people going about his or her day in Pittsburgh, PA. Amongst the possible targets is a young girl (Sophie Guest).

One can feel the tension in the theater. It may be too soon to show such images, but studios have to follow their release schedule. 

Then Jai starts shooting, killing strangers from thousands of feet away.

Given the recent tragedy that took 26 lives at one elementary school, there is a haunting element to the movie. Fortunately, in this movieland the police move in and immediately apprehend the suspect, Army sniper James Barr (Joseph Sikora). Blatantly guilty to the powers that be, DA Rodin (Richard Jenkins) will seek the death penalty for James Barr. On another hand, the DA's daughter, Helen (Rosamund Pike) will defend the mass murderer. Before he gets beat up in custody, all James Barr has to say is: "Get Jack Reacher."

A sort of modern-day Malpaso Man, Jack Reacher (Tom Cruise) lives, breathes and sleuths on the peripheries of society. No bank account. No drivers liscense. No address. You do not find Jack Reacher; Jack Reacher finds you.

As a fellow vet who encountered Barr before, Jack Reacher joins forces with Helen to help James Barr, promising to help her if she does the "unorthodox" thing -- as an attorney for the defendant -- by talking to the families of the victims. As a result, certainty commences to unravel.

Clearly Helen is out of her league while nobody is in league with Jack Reacher. Helen becomes bait while Jack Reacher swears to drink a bad guy's blood out of a boot. We all know it will be drinking time real soon.

Based on the character created by Lee Child the film is a bit confused on where it stands on issues of brutality and revenge, but not where it stands on government efficiency.

In the beginning it is a fairly clearcut case of guilt for the DA (although the audience knows Jack Barr did not pull the trigger from the beginning) and there is no reason for a DA, one who has never lost a death penalty case, not to seek the death penalty for someone who appears to be blatantly guilty of killing six random people in cold blood. Do we even have to go through with a trial? Can we just hang him in the town square?

Well, the city officials may have been too hasty in their judgement, but, later on, Jack Reacher and the audience are certain he has the right people, so he will do the executing. Has he/we learned nothing? (There is an accompanying "Take the Law Into Your Own Hands" game to the movie.)

Then there is strange conclusion to a car chase scene where citizens in the street feel compelled to sheild Jack Reacher after he steps out of a moving car heading toward a police barricade. Maybe it is different in Pittsburgh, but if you cause a wild cop car chase in Los Angeles, you better hope the cops get a hold of you before the people do. That crap just pisses us off. But I guess cops are government, too (public union!), and are not to be trusted more than the sweaty, white male being chased by them.

One could also talk about the film's questionable racial narrative and the way it just turns a smart, passionate, professional woman like Helen into in increasing sexual object (her cleavage comes out for the third act) and the way other women in the film are portrayed -- "slut"; "addict"; and "adulteress" -- or how someone like Jack Reacher could get away with so many murders -- justified or not -- with impunity.

But why let things like the law, ethics and logic get in the way of yet another American tale of violence and retribution? It does not seem to off-screen.



 

FILM REVIEW: INCENDIARY

Barry Schenk in Incendiary: The Willingham Case.

Texas is burning

By John Esther

As Rick Perry carries on his futile run for the Republican Party 2012 presidential nomination, a documentary about just some of his misconduct as the current and longest Governor of Texas hits a few select theaters.

Co-directed and produced by Steve Mims and Joe Bailey Jr., Incendiary: The Willingham Case chronicles how a brutish -- but seemingly innocent of infanticide -- man named Cameron Todd Willingham was convicted and executed for the murder of his three children.

In December of 1991 Willingham was home with his three children when a fire started in his house. While he was able to escape, his three children were not. When two fire investigators arrived they practiced their "art" by immediately suspecting arson, ruling out any other theory. In the process they destroyed what could have been evidence to the contrary. Soon after Willingham was arrested and charged with three counts of murder in the first degree.

Incompetently represented by a defender who considered Willingham a sociopath, David Martin (who comes off here as the scummiest of scum), Willingham was found guilty based on bunk science and prison snitch (who later recanted), sentenced and, after spending 23 hours a day for 12 years in solitary confinement, executed. Willingham turned down a guilty plea in exchange for a life sentence.

It was an irresponsible (to put it mildly) rush to the switch and some people would not let it go, including some of the greatest fire experts in the country plus Barry Scheck and The Innocence Project. As the pressure mounted against Perry and his old boys, something had to be done and it was not going to be made in the name of justice.

While a state execution of an innocent man is hardly new – nationwide state governments have executed hundreds of innocent men and women since the early 1900s – what resonates for this documentary is the issue of science and how, sometimes, it gets in the way of quick justice and mean politics.

As sober as a lab report, the excellent documentary metes out its findings with calm precision. Rather than make a particular point, the co-directors let the participants establish and prove his and her findings as well as some grand “common sense” stupidity.  The results go beyond the tragic, terrifying death of three children under the age of three and their father 12 years later. They strike hard into the willful and deliberate ignorance of far too many Americans.

TRIBECA 2011: TURN ME ON, GODDAMMIT

Alma (Helene Bergsholm) in Turn Me On, Goddammit.

Talk to the hand

By Don Simpson

Alma (Helene Bergsholm) is a 15-year-old virgin...well, except by her own hand; but what else is a teenage girl supposed to do when she is trapped in a secluded Norwegian town that has nothing to offer except empty roads, sheep, tractors and hay? Alma wants to get all hey, hey in the hayloft with Artur (Matias Myren), but until that time comes, Alma must rely on a friendly phone sex operator at "Wet and Wild Dreams" to get her rocks off. 

A relatively normal teenager with an overactive imagination that has been hijacked by hyperactive hormones, Alma daydreams incessantly about a variety of sexual encounters. Her fantasies begin to get so confused with reality that neither Alma nor the audience know which is which. It is important to note that despite the unquenchable itch in her crotch, Alma never reduces herself to trying to do the deed with just anyone; she is the master of her own domain and is perfectly content racking up her mother's telephone bill with calls to "Wet and Wild Dreams." That is, until her mother (Henriette Steenstrup) sees the bill.

One fantastical (?) encounter with Artur seems so real that it leaves Alma totally convinced that he actually "poked" her, but after she recounts the absurd-yet-innocent event to her friends, Alma becomes an instant freak, earning herself the nickname of "Dick-Alma" (a moniker that most 15-year-old girls would not aspire to possess). Even Alma's friends, Ingrid (Beate Støfring) and Saralou (Malin Bjørhovde), stay clear of her. Trudging onward in an even more isolated haze of high school, Alma rides her misfit status like a roll of coins into a not-so-wild world of booze, hash and nicked porn mags.

Adapted from Olaug Nilssen's novel of the same name, writer-director Jannicke Systad Jacobsen shows us how the repressive tendencies of small rural towns can really screw with the adolescent minds of its inhabitants. The kids of Turn Me On, Goddammit feel locked up and oppressed and hormonal tension is boiling inside them.

The cast is played primarily by teenage actors, lending Turn Me On, Goddammit the aura of an authentically awkward adolescent world that is saturated with overwhelming sexuality. In Hollywood, these kids would have been total horn-dogs, talking raunchily about wanting to get into each other's pants; but Jacobsen's film is incredibly subtle, approaching teenage sexuality naturally rather than exaggeratedly. The high schoolers in Turn Me On, Goddammit are way too shy and timid to discuss sex with each other, thus causing their brains to become overloaded with closeted thoughts and desires.

Another interesting aspect of Turn Me On, Goddammit is the character of Saralou. She gives Jacobsen the opportunity to attack the use of capital punishment in the United States, specifically Texas. Saralou's sole desire is to travel to Texas in order to protest the death penalty. In the meantime, she has become pen pals with several death row inmates in Texas, using the prisoners as sounding boards for all of her pent up adolescent frustrations.

SFIFF 2011: CRIME AFTER CRIME

Deborah Paegler in Crime After Crime.

In an un-Cooley way

 

By Miranda Inganni

Pitting the best of humankind against some of the worst of humankind, Crime After Crime tells the tumultuous tale of a woman who overpaid her debt to society.

In 1975, a pregnant 15-year-old Deborah Peagler met a local grocery store clerk, and sometimes model, Owen Wilson. The two became romantically involved, in part because Wilson smoothly transitions into a father figure with Peagler's newborn daughter. Yet when money became an issue, Wilson forces Peagler into prostitution in order to not only pay bills but also support his drug habit. After his abuse reaches a boiling point, Peagler brings Wilson to a park where he is beaten and strangled to death by two local gang members.

Following a slow investigation, authorities catch up to Peagler and the two gang members. Facing the death penalty (under false pretenses), Peagler pleads guilty to first degree murder when her culpability was far less grave.

Serving a life sentence, Peagler has the opportunity to get out of prison when a new law is passed in California. Enter attorneys Nadia Costa and Joshua Safran, two attorneys determined to seek and secure justice for Peagler.

What follows is a true-to-life crime story with more twists, turns and surprises than the best fiction. Secret memos, paid informants and false promises of freedom follow. The maximum sentence Debbie would have received if she had been convicted of manslaughter for aiding in the murder of an abusive boyfriend would have been six years. Instead we see her struggle through decades of incarceration. (The Los Angeles District Attorney's office does not come off well here.)

Yoav Potash's first feature documentary is a must see for anyone who believes the legal system is extremely flawed. There is a long way to go, but Peagler, Costa, Safran and their families prove that hope, hard work, patience and persistence have the sweetest of payoffs.