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?

COLCOA 2012: MICHEL PETRUCCIANI

Michel Petrucciani in Michel Petrucciani.

Glassworks

By John Esther

For those who have heard Michel Petrucciani play piano, it a pretty impressive experience. The guy's technique is stunning, a marvelous combination of speed, lightness and joy. But to see him play is something altogether more impressive and that is the best attribute of Michael Radford's documentary, Michel Petrucciani.

Born in 1962 with osteogeneis imperfecta (AKA glass bone disease), Petrucciani's body was highly delicate, prone to fracture. He would never grow taller than three feet and could not walk for most of his life. As the outside world was often too dangerous for the boy, Petrucciani would stay home listening to jazz and playing piano (with a custom food petal) on a constant, and soon, phenomenal level.

It was not long before he started playing with the jazz greats. As his career took off, Petrucciani would spend his time traveling the globe, but much of his short time on earth in Paris, New York and Big Sur where he fully engaged in the party lifestyle of a jazz musician. He was also quite the ladie's man, albeit not much of a monogamous one.

For anyone who knew the basic details of late pianist (he died in 199), not much of the information provided in the documentary will be informative. We get the familiar inspiring narrative of a little kid who could along with the sordid details of the rather hedonistic man, but not much else. For example, what were Petrucciani's opinions regarding art, politics or the second class status society places on people with disabilities? What did he think about rock & roll?

But these ommissions can be overlooked to some degree as Radford (Van Morrison in Irelend) unearths some fantastic footage of a man born just right to play the piano.


Michel Petrucciani screens April 17, 5:30 p.m. at Directors Guild of America. For more information: Petrucciani