TRIBECA 2012: DEADFALL

Addison (Eric Bana) in Deadfall.

Fury on wayward sons

By John Esther

From the writer-director excellent 2007 film, The Counterfeiters, director Stefan Ruzowitzky's American feature wastes little time informing viewers that there is much masculine violence in the cold mountains near the USA-Canada border.

First there is the violent car crash leading to a man's head going through the window. (The only non-white character in the film is killed off first. We have a word for that narrative trope in cultural studies).

Addison (Eric Bana) and his sister, Liza (Olivia Wilde) survive the crash, drenched in a pool of blood, snow and cash. As an officer pulls up to see what is going on, with a southern elocution Addison says to the lawman, "I hope one day you can forgive me" before shooting him multiple times.

Request denied.

Accordingly, Addison and Liza must split up, but not before one gets the feeling he and Liza have a little down south affair going on. But that their daddy's fault, really.

Meanwhile, Jay (Charlie Hunnam), who was once an Olympic-winning boxer, has just been released from prison. Once out he gives a call to his parents. His mom, June (Sissy Spacek), is pretty cool. She wants her boy to come home for Thanksgiving. His dad, Chet (Kris Kristofferson), is not so eager to see his disappointing son.

Jake agrees to his mother's pleas, but he first needs to settle a score. This score is anything but settling and now Jay is making a run for the border. Along the way, Jay meets Liza. They hit it off while Addison is on his little murder spree.

Along with some other characters dealing with similar issues regarding paternal guilt, eventually, predictably and not too convincingly, all meet up in one location for the final showdown. Time for a little redemption through revenge.

Interesting characters snowbound by Zach Dean's debut screenplay, Deadfall has its moments of deep, fleeting poignancy during moments of violence -- like when a little girl tells Addison "you're no angel" as he shoots down another officer; when Chet assures his son "this is your table" after Jay makes his Thanksgiving amends; and watching Hanna's (Kate Mara) terrible luck as she tries to please her misogynistic father (Treat Williams) -- but those moments get buried in yet another bloody tale of American violence and redemption.

TRIBECA 2012: JACK AND DIANE

Jack (Riley Keough) and Diane (Juno Temple) in Jack and Diane.

Eaten by the monster of love


By Don Simpson


Here is a little ditty about Jack (Riley Keough) and Diane (Juno Temple)… When Jack and Diane’s eyes first meet, it is love at first sight. Their chemistry is electric until… After staying out all night with Jack, Diane is grounded by her aunt (Cara Seymour). Knowing that she must attend a summer fashion program in Paris in a few weeks, Diane does not let her punishment stop her from spending time with Jack. The problem is Diane never told Jack that this is just a temporary visit.


Bradley Rust Gray’s Jack and Diane is an overtly metaphoric study of young love. Just as the Zoe Kazan character from Gray’s The Exploding Girl expresses her emotions by way of convulsive seizures, the love between Jack and Diane is so explosive that it causes blood to gush from various orifices and prompts a recurring dream about a horrific, organ-devouring beast. The strength of Jack and Diane is in its normal representation of the love between two, polar opposite teenage girls. Temple’s uber-girlie Diane is far from Hollywood’s stereotypical lesbian while Keough’s boyish representation of Jack is much more in line with what Hollywood has taught us about lesbians.

TRIBECA 2012: ANY DAY NOW

A scene from Any Day Now.

Cumming Undone

By Don Simpson

Set in Los Angeles, 1979 and inspired by a true story, Any Day Now follows the trials and tribulations of a gay couple who fight for custody of a teenager with Down syndrome.

Paul (Garret Dillahunt) is a straight-laced, closeted deputy district attorney who falls in love with Rudy (Alan Cumming), a flamboyant, lip syncing drag queen. When Rudy's drug-addled neighbor abandons her son, Marco (Isaac Leyva), Rudy takes in the Down syndrome teen; then, while petitioning for custody of Marco, Paul takes in Rudy and Marco to provide them with more stability. (In an effort to remain in the closest, Paul tells everyone that Rudy
is his cousin.)

It is not long before Paul, Rudy and Marco are a happy nuclear family. For the first time in his life, Marco has loving and nurturing parents. He even begins to flourish in school. But it is also not long before Paul and Rudy find themselves in court, fighting for their parental rights once again.

At the root of Any Day Now is an unwavering message of treating everyone equally, despite their sexuality, gender, ethnicity, economic status or medical condition; and writer-director Travis Fine even practices what he preaches in the production of Any Day Now. Being that Hollywood prefers to cast
straight actors in gay roles, it is refreshing to see an openly gay actor (Cumming) get the lead in Any Day Now -- an inspiring performance that is one of the best of his career. It is equally impressive that Fine casts an actor with Down syndrome (Isaac Leyva) to portray Marco.

TRIBECA 2012: BROKE

Andre Rison in Broke.

Showing the money

By John Esther

A rather straightforward and somewhat repetitive work-in-progress documentary, Billy Corben’s Broke is a about spending more than you have – even when you have millions of dollars.

Unlike (other) hoarders of the one percent, when professional athletes come into huge sums of money they spend it as fast, or faster, than they earn it. An estimated 78 percent of NFL players are broke after three years of retirement and 60 percent of NBA players are broke after five years. Often rising from areas unaccustomed to great sums of wealth and thrown into a macho culture where money equals might, NFL players  like NFL quarterback Bernie Kosar, NBA small forward Jamal Mashburn and dozens of other professional athletes had no idea how to handle his (no examples of females were given other than parental financial abuse) sudden entry into wealth. Multiple houses, multiple cars, multiple baby mamas, and way too many kids, plus countless moochers, schemers, strip clubs, painkillers, and Janus-faced friends and family members sucked the mass cash out of the earner’s hands.

Consisting mostly of talking heads of the "victims" of overspending, the latest documentary by Corben (Cocaine Cowboys; Limelight) is more of a cautionary tale about letting materialism run amuck than a tale of tragic woe-begone for the big men and their money. The strength of Broke reminds us that if those great professional athletes making millions are vulnerable to poverty than who is not. Spend some, save some. It does not last.

TRIBECA 2012: BALLROOM DANCER

Vyacheslav "Slavik" Kryklyvyy in Ballroom Dancer.

Dancing with tears in his thighs

By Don Simpson

Vyacheslav “Slavik” Kryklyvyy is an award-winning ballroom dancer who comes out of a long retirement to compete alongside Ania Melnikova, a much younger female partner with whom he is also in a relationship. Christian Bonke and Andreas Koefoed’s keenly observational documentary, Ballroom Dancer, proceeds to discuss the tug of war between age and competitiveness, when one’s body can no longer keep up with the lofty ego of one’s self. Kryklyvyy may prance around like a peacock, but in actuality he is no longer in control of his own destiny. It used to be that Kryklyvyy could do whatever he wanted on the dance floor, but now Kryklyvyy’s 34-year-old body is holding him back.

Along the same lines, Kryklyvyy’s partners used to obey his every whim. But modern women -- including Melnikova -- are less inclined to put up with his patronizing and machismo attitude. It is as if Kryklyvyy has been in a time-capsule for most of his retirement. And since Kryklyvyy last stepped out on the dance floor, the roles of men and women have changed.

Pushing onward despite innumerable hurdles, Kryklyvyy must face frustration and depression head-on. Kryklyvyy is still great, but will he ever be the greatest? Will Kryklyvyy ever be able to consider something less than number one to be a success?

TRIBECA 2012: SLEEPLESS NIGHT

Vincent (Tomer Sisley) and Vignali (Lizzie Brocheré) in Sleepless Night.

Dust to windbag

By Don Simpson

In the time span of a brutally intense 24 hours — including a sleepless night for everyone involved in the film — director Frédéric Jardin’s taut thriller, Sleepless Night begins with a drug heist gone horribly awry and snowballs into a relentless powerhouse of non-stop action from that point onward. In a tale in which there are very few good guys and countless shades of baddies, it is difficult to surmise where the protagonist, Vincent (Tomer Sisley), falls.

Vincent possesses a bag of cocaine that was stolen from two cronies employed by a local drug lord named Marciano (Serge Riaboukine). Marciano kidnaps Vincent’s son and offers Vincent a trade — the boy for the cocaine. Left with no other choice, Vincent makes his way to Marciano’s labyrinthine discothèque called Le Tarmac with no plan, only the overwhelming parental desire to save his son.

Vincent spends a majority of the film in a hopeless cat-and-mouse game with two drug lords, their minions, and at least two police officers. An assortment of nightclub staff and patrons are also engulfed into the tornado of fisticuffs — early on, Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” throbs from the sound system to serve as a precursor of what is to come. Dust will be bitten, you can be certain of that. Party people saturate every orifice of Le Tarmac as the block rockin’ beats blend seamlessly with the non-stop pummeling of flesh and shattering of bones. The intensity — and length — of some of the fight scenes is almost laughable, especially when we see the same characters moving around as if unscathed one scene later.

TRIBECA 2012: JACKPOT

A scene from Jackpot.

Murder after numbers

By John Esther

In the opening scene of Jackpot (Arme Riddere), a trio of drunken idiots walks right into the door of a strip joint near the Norway-Sweden border, only to be blown out the window by gunfire. Mayhem and murder ensues with only one survivor, Oscar (Kyrre Hellum), to bare true/false testimony.

Primarily using an interrogation scene to drive director Magnus Martens’ film, we learn – in ways reminiscent of The Treasure of Sierra Madre, Memento, The Usual Suspects and Fargo  -- Oscar and his ex-con co-workers at a plastic Christmas tree factory legally come into a large sum of money. Unfortunately, money can destroy the best of victories, especially ones among thieves.

Violent, predictable and splattered with morose humor, if you are willing to suspend disbelief back to the days before DNA testing, this Norwegian holiday tale, written by Jo Nesbø (Headhunters), makes for moderate, middlebrow entertainment. The film’s strongest suits are Lina Nordqvist's excellent production design andthe performances from its cast, including Hellum, Henrik Mestad as an arrogant detective, Mads Ousdal as Oscar’s lifelong buddy and Fridtjov Saheim as a crooked ex-cop.

TRIBECA 2012: HIGH TECH, LOW LIFE

A scene from High Tech, Low Life.

Undercover brothers

By Don Simpson

Similar to Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry, Stephen Maing’s High Tech, Low Life looks at the Chinese government’s tyrannical control over the dissemination of information; but whereas Alison Klayman conveys the message(s) of her documentary via the perspective of a provocative multimedia artist, Maing utilizes two bloggers who achieve a similar goal with drastically different approaches.

Zola is a cocky young blogger who represents the “new guard” of Chinese revolutionaries. His unassuming appearance allows him to pass as just another bystander taking photos, rather than attracting attention to himself as a journalist. Zola’s goal is to document newsworthy events and tell the truth before the government has a chance to cover-up the facts. He then relies upon his notoriety and fame to communicate the truth to the legions of loyal fans who follow his blog.

Tiger Temple is part of the “old guard” of Chinese revolutionaries. He functions as an investigative reporter, interviewing people in order to document the ways in which they have been wronged by their government. Whereas Zola just blogs about events, Tiger Temple goes beyond just blogging. He actively assists his downtrodden subjects in a concerted effort to improve their situation.

Not only does High Tech, Low Life observe the detrimental effects of censorship in China, but it also functions as a smart compare and contrast piece on the ways two different generations attempt to change their situation.

TRIBECA 2012: FIRST WINTER

A scene from First Winter.

Tragically hip

By Don Simpson

At some point in the past, Paul (Paul Manza) convinced some of his cutest female yoga students to travel with him to his secluded farmhouse. It is an extremely cold winter and the power has gone out, thus transporting the utopian household back to a time before heat and electricity. Their cultish lifestyle becomes an adventure for the presumably privileged class, a time to play “hippie commune circa 1969.”

The Brooklyn hipsters continue with business as usual — participating in a daily regimen of yoga and meditation, filling in the remaining hours of the days with sex and drugs. But the promiscuously enlightened air cannot withstand the stresses of time, frigid weather, and tyrannical rationing of food. The restrictive seclusion of the location does not help matters either. Except for a lone radio, there is no connection with the outside world. Their days are numbered but Paul has lulled his flock of housemates into a sheepish state of submission.

What is writer-director Ben Dickinson telling us? Is he metaphorically predicting the demise of Brooklyn hipsters? Has this tight knit, holier-than-thou subculture cut themselves off from reality to the point of no return? Will their carefree lifestyle of yoga, meditation, slow food, and free love bring about their death?

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.

TRIBECA 2011: NEDS

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

Crass beginnings

By Don Simpson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRIBECA 2011: LOTUS EATERS

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

So happy to know less

By Don Simpson

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

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

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

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

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

TRIBECA 2011: DONOR UNKNOWN

Jeffrey Harrison in Donor Unknown.

Loads of questions

By Don Simpson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TRIBECA 2011: FLOWERS OF EVIL

Gecko (Rachid Youcef) in Flowers of Evil.

Smells like stream spirit

By Don Simpson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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