Matthew Barney’s
Drawing Restraint 9
Opened March 29, 2006
Matthew
Barney and Bjork star in Drawing Restraint 9
Reviewed by Erin
Malley
I remain unconvinced that
Matthew Barney isn’t just being weird for
the sake of being weird. “Yeah, well, what’s
wrong with that?” you may ask. The answer
is I don’t know, but I do know it bugs the
everlovinghell outta me.
Drawing Restraint
9 is, in a word, stunning. Another word would
be “bizarro.” And if I could add four
other words to that, they would be “at times
horrifically boring.” But if I could add
a disclaimer to that, it would be “maybe
I’m just lazy.”
If you are wondering
what DR9 is about, I’m sorry, I
can’t tell you anything beyond the standard
synopsis: It’s about a Japanese whaling
ship and it has Björk and Matthew Barney
in it. Also, it’s probably about “a
journey.”
If you happen to
have seen Cremaster while it was at the
Guggenheim a few years ago, you can pretty much
guess exactly what DR9 is like—he
kind of has a shtick. If not, I’ll do the
best I can, but the best I can do may be more
of a personal reflection on why Matthew Barney
pisses me off so much than a movie review.
The problem with
trying to talk about this film (or movie or cinematic
project or whatever you want to call it) is it’s
too weird. It’s kind of linear;
it definitely has a beginning, middle, end, story
arch, plot development, conflict and climax. It’s
just that its plot development is very slow—a
pace exaggerated by an abundant lack of dialogue--
and the story itself is so overwhelmed by the
imagery that the sum of the parts becomes something
onto itself, perhaps having little to do with
the whole.
You could, however,
deduce that the whole is epic. Whether Barney
was referencing a style in order to comment on
it or it was a vehicle for his larger “message”,
DR9 holds its own against the greatest
blockbuster biographic costume-drama extravaganzas
of all time.
And it is significant
to a larger story of contemporary art. In fact,
I would give DR9 a double page photo
spread within Barney’s own chapter of that
story, entitled “Matthew Barney: Writer,
Director, Performer, Sculptor, Visionary and Postmodern
Golden Boy.” DR9 gets the spread
because it takes the exploration of the body as
machine, the body as prison and the body as oozing
and gooey lump of organic mass to levels only
newly available with advancements of film--and
further through marrying the familiarly classical
and the dissonantly digital.
It’s hard
to tell sometimes where the line lies between
weird and unique, or if there is a line at all.
But I think the line is only problematic when
trying to figure out what it all means, a burden
in which the filmmaker relishes. Ignoring the
instinct toward conjecture, taking in the pure
imagery of DR9—just the picture
plane of each scene—is a moving and enjoyable
experience. It’s not just the breathtaking
landscapes, or the clean line and composure of
the sets. It’s not even just his signature
icky yicky vaseline sculptures. All of these elements
comprise a world in which his characters may believably
exist. The characters, over which Barney dedicated
a laborious creation, have élan, intrigue,
if not at times a totally creepy presence, thanks
to elaborate costume and special effects makeup
that could trump any Oscar-totting fantasy movie.
Still, Barney is
really lucky that when he decided to put his girlfriend
in his next movie, she happened to be the Icelandic
David Lynch of Sound (in that if you never heard
Björk before, the experience is much like
watching a David Lynch movie: “What the
fuck?”). Who else but the child prodigy
opera singer turned electro-wacko could produce
a sound that matches the visual journey of Barney’s
story? As we learned from Volumen (Björk’s
music video DVD collection), she is totally open
to giving her body and soul over to cinematic
explorations, as long as such explorations a)
feature a soundtrack of her creation and b) are
visually cool and directed by well-respected-in-their-fields-if-not-famous
figures ie Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine
of the Spotless Mind), Spike Jonze (Being
John Malkovich), et cetera…
But it’s
not just the pretty picture quality of the movie
that works with Björk’s music--or the
weirdness of Barney’s imagination. It is
his fixation with the body, the organic, how the
organic is isolated, examined, and ultimately
exaggerated beyond meaning through ritual and
repetition. Is it possible that Björk does
with sound what Barney does with special effects
make-up, costumes and a neurotic obsession with
the boundaries of the modus operandi of the formally
human?
Regardless, I am
so tired of this Western obsession with Japanese
culture. Ok, it’s different from us.
Got it. But, I mean, billing himself and Björk
as “Occidental Travelers?” The Nanook-of-the-North
fur Kimono? A thirty minute Barneyized tea ceremony
that featured the only dialogue in the film (and
by dialogue, I am talking about a hand full of
exchanged lines--but when it is the only exchange,
just the mere sound of it carries with it an inflated
significance that the words themselves could never
convey)? Perhaps the ends justify the means, but
there are other cultures in the Far East, not
to mention the world, that have yet to be exploited
by Western pop stars.
But that’s
not what I hated most about DR9; the
editing, the implied timeline, the tug of the
suggestion of a narrative that keeps the whole
experience well rooted in a limbo between completely
abstract and highly organized allegory makes me
absolutely insane. He gives me too much information
to just zone off into my own interpretation, but
not enough to have a grasp of where he is going
or what he is implying. But what is worse is I
get no impression whatsoever that he gives a shit
whether I follow him or not. It’s as if
he understands the story he is trying to tell
and the hell with everyone else.
Maybe it’s
just me. Maybe I put too much stock in the communicative
prerogative of art.
Maybe it all comes
down to this: Some people like to watch movies
that make them feel cooler than they are. Some
people like to watch movies that make them feel
happier than they are. Some people like to watch
movies that make them feel smarter than they are.
While I am not going to defend myself against
such an accusation as the last of these reasons,
I will admit freely that I do not like to watch
movies that make me feel dumber than I am, especially
if they are just disguising vague and self referential
with high budget eye candy. I mean, shit, anybody
with a few million bucks can do that.
Tom Dey’s
Failure to Launch
Opened March 2006
Reviewed by Terry
Maloney
Fans of Sex
and the City and lovable hunk Matthew McConaughey
may enjoy this lightweight, rather sweet romantic
comedy that features a (nearly) nude scene by
football great Terry Bradshaw. After all, all
demographics are covered.
Despite what is
implied in the promos, this film is not about
a series of women who reject Tripp (McConaughey)
when learning he still lives at home with mom
(Kathy Bates) and dad (Bradshaw) at age thirty-five.
That happens exactly once at the beginning of
the film. Rather, the plot revolves around "love
expert" Paula (Sarah Jessica Parker), who
is hired by Tripp's parents to lure him out of
the house by getting him to fall in love with
her.
This is what passes
for "high concept" in Hollywood these
days.
Of course, Paula
falls in love with the totally charming and irresistible
Tripp while engaging in such adorable activities
as sailing (Trip is knocked over into the water),
rock climbing (Tripp is hanging by his ankle when
the rope snaps) and paintball (both Tripp and
Paula get covered head to toe in blue paint0.
Further comic relief,
such as it is, is provided by Tripp's pair of
equally homebound friends (played by Justin Bartha
and Bradley Cooper). But the film is stolen (petty
larceny?) by the very talented Zooey Deschanel
as Paula's deadpan, relationship-shy roommate
Kit. Her every scene temporarily improves the
quality of this film, whether she's avoiding the
romantic advances of Tripp's love struck friend,
or plotting the violent demise of an annoying
mockingbird.
In all honesty,
this is just a mildly amusing, forgettable little
film which would make for a pleasant evening in
front of the television watching the soon to be
released DVD (before Labor Day, I'm sure!) While
I like Matthew and love Sara Jessica (who doesn't?),
I just can't recommend this film at ten bucks
a ticket.
So, unless seeing
Carrie in all her motion picture magnification
makes your day or if ogling Matthew's pecs as
they fill half the big screen does it for you,
wait for the DVD, folks.
Alexei Fedorchenko’s
First On the Moon
Russia 2005, 75 MIN
35th New Directors/ New Films
March 22 through April 2, 2006
Lincoln Center and MoMA
First on the
Moon is a spoofy, goofy, quirky, eccentrically
odd and strangely compelling mockumentary about
the Soviet Union’s space program and their
supposed attempt to send a man to the moon in
1938. Here is a quote from the press release for
the film:
”Think it
was Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin? Well, think
again, because as Alexei Fedorchenko’s unsettling
new film reveals, a Soviet cosmopilot, Ivan Kharlamov,
actually went there and back in 1938, piloting
his experimental (and highly secretive) craft
back to Chile, from which he undertook an arduous
journey across the Pacific, through China and
Mongolia and finally into Mother Russia itself.
Beyond being a kind of record of a sort of historical
event, Fedorchenko’s film is a touching
expression of an unfettered utopian spirit—a
sense of the limitless possibilities of human
ingenuity and imagination—that characterized
many people’s vision of the Soviet experiment
before its grim realities settled in.”
The film follows
the space program starting with the selection
of four astronauts including the impossibly good
looking Ivan Kharlamov (played by Boris Vlasov),
the “equal opportunity” female astronaut
Nadezhda Svetlaya (played by Victoria Ilyinskya),
a dwarf small enough to fit in the capsule named
Mikhail Roschin (played by Victor Kotov), and
the only “presently surviving” astronaut
Khanif Fattkhov (played in 1938 by Anatoly Otravdnov
and the “present” by Alexey Slavnin).
We see the astronauts training by methods such
as being spun upside down like a knife-thrower’s
target and by being doused with hoses filled with
freezing water. These scenes look both naively
hopeful and impossibly silly.
The story is further
told through the use of fake archival film footage
of the space program. Starting with a mysterious
fire ball falling to earth over Chile, the film
follows the training program - the attempts to
send monkeys and pigs into space (with mixed results)
all the way through the selection of Ivan as the
astronaut and his being rocketed into space. The
film then seems to peter out, never fully fleshing
out the story of Ivan’s surreptitiously
sneaking back to the Soviet Union.
But what
the film lacks in a completed storyline, is more
than made up for by its sheer quirkiness. It is
a mockumentary that is not meant to be funny (there
are some very funny moments), but poignant and
sometimes sad; there was so much hope during that
period of Soviet History and then it was all gone.
But seeing films such as First On the Moon
and walking away wondering about its sheer oddness
is the charm of foreign film. And in First
we are told the story of the 1930’s Soviet
space program, seeing it through the whacked eyes
of a talented Russian filmmaker. Good going!
Paul McGuigan's
Lucky Number Slevin
Opens April 7, 2006
Read
the Press Roundtable
Reviewed
by Frank J. Avella
From the engaging prologue right to the closing
credits, the new neo-Noir, genre-bending indie
gem Lucky Number Slevin remains fascinating and
captivating and acts as a refreshing tonic to
the crap Hollywood has shoveled into theatres
so far in 2006.
It would be silly
to call Slevin Tarantino-esque yet I am certain
many critics will. Since the early 90’s,
almost every film that contains crisp dialogue
and a few brutal deaths, must be a knock-off of
(or homage to) the great Q.
Lucky Number Slevin has it’s own visual
style thanks to ace-helmer Paul McGuigan. And
while Jason Smilovic’s dialogue is quick
and sharp--unlike some Tarantino--it does not
meander and annoy. It has its own poetry and each
actor is able to put their own stamp on their
work without burying the words. There are no scenery
chewers in this flick...just seasoned professionals
working at the top of their game.
Basically, a tale
of revenge, the film follows young Slevin (Josh
Hartnett, who spends the first third of the film
in a towel, quite a tease but in a non-tinseltown
way), who is mistaken for deadbeat gambler Nick
Fisher and becomes engulfed in one perilous situation
after another, getting mixed up with two of the
most powerful and lethal crime lords in Manhattan:
the Boss (Morgan Freeman) and the Rabbi (Sir Ben
Kingsley). Along the way, he meets and falls for
Nick’s zany neighbor Lindsey (Lucy Liu,
shorter in height than you’ve ever see her!).
Bruce Willis rounds out the main cast as a mystery
presence who seems to pop up at the strangest
and most convenient times.
Slevin takes one
surprising turn after another as it careens down
it’s ultimately dark path. The journey is
infectious and delightful and the payoff is satisfying,
disturbing and powerful.
As opposed to so
many Hollywood-forced Shamalyan-style twist-endings
that dazzle on a first viewing but show gaping
holes afterwards, Slevin’s shocker ‘twist’
actually makes perfect sense for anyone who was
paying attention to the first twenty-minutes of
the film AND adds to the enjoyment, explaining
the motivation of it’s main character.
The film is blessed
with wonderful actors doing some of their best
work. Josh Hartnett proves he is way more than
a pretty face and nice body here. His Slevin is
quick-witted, seemingly naive and ultimately driven,
dastardly and downright devious and Hartnett plays
the shit out of the role!
Liu delights in
a role that in no way involves anything “Asian.”
She’s a comic master (mistress?) having
a blast. And her chemistry with Hartnett is reminiscent
of the great pairings of the 1940’s (Tracy/Hepburn,
Grant/Russell, Stanwyck/MacMurray).
Willis should only
do supporting parts, since he is a master of understatement
when he does as he proves here. The entire ensemble
is extraordinary-- including the marvelous actors
that appear in the prologue and have gotten little
recognition.
But the powerhouse
performances belong to Morgan Freeman and Sir
Ben Kingsley and the final, explosive scene between
the Boss and the Rabbi should become an instant
classic.
Freeman jolts with
his subtle terror and wicked grace. We’re
not used to brutality from the man who drove Miss
Daisy.
Kingsley’s
work is a brilliant, off-the-charts, Oscar worthy
tour de force. His Rabbi is a man with many contradictions
and Kingsley isn’t afraid to shove him right
out of the skyscraper (metaphorically) in order
to show that this feared man is actually a walking
ball of contradictions--arrogant, bloodthirsty
and hard, but loving and vulnerable. Yet, as good
as he is, he never overwhelms, never steals the
spotlight from his fellow actors. He is the reason
we go to the movies.
McGuigan has crafted
a sly, devious and delectable piece of cinema.
Certainly one of the best releases of the year
to date.
Mary Harron’s
The Notorious Bettie Page
Opens Friday, April 14, 2006
Starring: Gretchen
Mol; Christian Bauer; Christopher Bauer; and Jared
Harris.
Reviewed by Christina
M. Hinke
Bettie Page was
a bondage babe, a Baptist, a beauty pageant runner
up, a bikini model, and a bare-all nudist-magazine
model. "It’s quite a treat to meet
the notorious Bettie Page,” said one voyeur
of her fetish photos. And in Mary Harron’s
film, it is quite a treat to see the 1950’s
pin-up legend portrayed as all the things she
was, not just as a busty, black-banged beauty
in a bikini. Harron took the high road and gives
a glimpse of a girl with a moral Christian background,
a background that was the mainstay of Page's daily
life even when she was posing nude. Bettie believed
that Adam and Eve were naked in the Garden of
Eden and when they sinned, they put on clothes.
She believed this even after she gave up modeling
in 1959 to go preach the word of God. The film
shows us this side of Bettie - a girl from Tennessee
with a sweet-natured charm.
Harron also delves
into the scandal and the resulting courtroom battles
to banish pornographic literature and spends too
much time there. It takes away from the spirit
of Bettie that is portrayed in the film.
Harron hadn’t
originally thought of Gretchen Mol to play Bettie,
but thankfully she found her. When Mol is on screen
the energy doesn’t stop. Bettie's innocence,
curiousness, the unabashed joy in posing nude,
and the charm that is symbolic of Bettie Page
is in every pore of Mol’s skin. She is Bettie
Page (but with a little less booty).
Mostly shot in
black and white with splashes of color film, Hannon
depicts 1950's New York and Miami with verve and
just the right amount of kitsch. She shows the
era as a fun, invigorating, explosive time for
a world which is on the brink of seeing Playboy
on newsstands, an era that was the seed for the
free love era of the 1960s. Bettie Page may not
have known what lay ahead, but her free-spirited
love of nudity was a herald for the decade to
come. So here's to Bettie: you were ahead of your
time and are a true icon.
Rachel Boynton’s
Our Brand is Crisis
Opened March 2006 in NYC
Nationwide in the Spring
Featuring: Gonzalo
Snachez de Lozada, Jeremy Rosner, Stan Greenberg,
Tad Devine, Tal Silberstein, James Carville, Amy
Webber, Carlos Mesa, Manfred Reyer Villa and Evo
Morales
Reviewed by Anusha
Alikhan
The documentary,
Our Brand is Crisis takes a magnifying
glass to a U.S. marketing machine’s infiltration
of politics around the world. The scene is set
in Bolivia, during the 2002 hot presidential race
between Gonzalo Sanchez de Lozada “Goni”,
and eleven other candidates. Goni, the American
raised capitalist who speaks faltering Spanish,
solicits the big-wig Washington consultants Greenville,
Carville, and Shrum to win his election for him.
On the premise that the friendly neighborhood
democrat, a pillar of respectability and liberalism,
aligns nicely with their own ideals, they accept.
And so begins the
drama. Frenzied ballot counts, boardroom pow-wows,
organized focus groups, and the churning of a
marketing animal that never sleeps. All this while
a battle rages on the streets of Bolivia, where
the disenfranchised citizens are screaming to
be heard. The documentary portrays, with riveting
precision, the pressure at campaign headquarters,
as well as the tension brewing within the Bolivian
populace.
In her directorial
début, Rachael Boynton gives us front seat
access into the psyche of a marketing mogul that
in this case is doomed for failure. For all the
focus groups they manage to hook and all the votes
they sway with their message – they are
supporting the wrong candidate. Goni, is overwhelmingly
and obviously out of touch with the needs of the
Bolivian people as well as their ideology. As
president from 1982 to 1994 he introduced a scheme
of mass privatization which was widely unpopular
amongst Bolivia’s largely marginalized poor.
In the 2002 campaign he consciously rejects the
concerns of indigenous protesters, calling them
“spoiled children” and relies on his
expert campaign crew to work their magic.
With all Carville’s
vibrant antics, the pundit who led Clinton to
his presidency, is unable to recognize the folly
of applying American ideals to third world crises.
As is, associate consultant Jeremy Rosner, who
flings himself into the throws of election fury
pouring over statistics, fine-tuning speeches,
and monitoring polls minute to minute. In their
well-meaning, albeit misguided fury the team detaches
itself from the harsh realties of the Bolivian
people. They get their man elected without looking
into the future.
In this case the
American drive to win has its consequences. As
the film reveals, with gritty footage taken from
the blood-stained streets of Bolivia, strategic
marketing is ultimately ineffectual if the product
doesn’t deliver. The film opens and closes
with Bolivian protesters clamoring towards government
building to overthrow Goni, in favor of the popular
leftist Evo Morales. Boynton gets her message
across – American democracy cannot be imposed
in a vacuum – good intentions don’t
count.
Bruce Leddy’s
Shut Up and Sing
2006 Gen Art Film Festival
April 5th-11th, 2006
New York
Starring: Molly
Shannon, Mark Feuerstein, David Harbour, Elizabeth
Reiser, Reg Rogers, Rosemarie DeWitt
Reviewed by Terry Maloney
Shut Up and
Sing, a semi-autobiographical light comedy,
deals with a rather obscure topic – the
reunion of a college acapella singing group. It’s
not The Big Chill, but fun like an extended
episode of thirtysomething.
Feuerstein (What
Women Want) is Greg, the leader of the group
of former college singers who reunite to perform
at the wedding of an old college friend. Not surprisingly,
several of the group are undergoing marital and/or
employment difficulties and Greg is obsessed with
getting old (late thirties).
Shannon (Saturday
Night Live) provides most of the humor with
her happily profane comments throughout the film.
She is upbeat, despite being married to the most
troubled member of the group.
The film features
the usual stock characters including the stud
(Chris Bowers), the hot Swedish nanny (Camilla
Thorsson), an uptight Martha Stewart type, the
outsider idealist, and a sellout Hollywood producer
(this is an Indy flick!)
The Hamptons are
the setting for the predictable events which include
sexual shenanigans, a night in jail, fisticuffs
between old friends, and your basic happy ending.
The fact that veteran
funny lady Shannon provides most of the "comic
relief" is a sign that this is not a terribly
amusing film. The audience seemed to perk up for
her scenes, responding to her every quip and exaggerated
facial expression.
Like many independent
features, this film goes on about twenty minutes
too long. When the ending finally arrives it is
just too damn pat, with every problem neatly solved
and every character a "better" person
for the experience. And, oh yes, the acapella
performance at the wedding is just teary-eyed
beautiful.
Perhaps I'm too
old to truly appreciate this film, being fifteen
years older than the protagonists. But this "college
buddy reunion film" has been done so many
times before, usually with more well-rounded characters,
more pathos and less silliness.
But this is a decent
little film, with good performances by an attractive
cast. It should appeal to an audience of thirty-five-to-forty-year-olds
who can relate to this "pre mid-life crisis"
tale of friendship and discovery.
Shut Up and
Sing recently won the Audience Award at the
HBO Comedy Arts Film Festival where the audience,
I suspect, consisted primarily of former acapella
singers in their late 30s!
Cate Shortland's
Somersault
Opens Friday, April 21, 2006
Landmark's Sunshine Cinema
Nicole Kidman, Cate Blanchett,
Naomi Watts. These days, it seems that to become
an A-list movie actress, you need to pass through
Australia. But all good things come to an end,
right? For this reason, I was skeptical of the
press-book hyperbole attending the debut of a
new girl, Abbie Cornish, starring in the 2004
Australian coming-of age drama Somersault.
Could she really be the Next Big Thing? Well,
somebody better check what they’re putting
into the water supply at female acting schools
Down Under, because the answer is a resounding
Yes.
It’s simple: Somersault features
a staggeringly powerful lead performance. Ms.
Cornish plays Heidi, the pretty, troubled 16 year-old
product of a broken home who wastes no time --
within the first 10 minutes -- in breaking it
open wider. She makes a sexual advance on her
mother’s boyfriend. The domestic fall-out
of this event is traumatic, setting Heidi off
on a journey of self-discovery, self-punishment
and a lot of other “self-“ words.
Cornish commits so completely to the character’s
post-adolescent confusion, she’s a constant
revelation, like being born before our eyes.
Cate Shortland, the writer-director, is with her
every step of the way. From the very first frames,
Somersault shows a cinematic savvy that’s
unexpected in a film that’s so character-driven.
Yes, for once, we see a visual approach (color
extremes, alternating focus, jarring hand-held
camera) that evokes a state of mind -- in this
case, Heidi’s. After the boyfriend incident,
she runs away from home, and as fate brings her
to a snowy Australian ski town, Somersault
adopts a blue tone in the photography that expresses
Heidi’s personal desolation. In this frigid
light, Heidi feels the watchfulness of older men
who notice that she is alone… and adrift.
Sex is the forward momentum of Somersault.
In fact, the film isn’t really well served
by plot, and the opening and closing scenes feel
contrived compared to the naturalism of the rest
of it. Heidi reaches out for a connection: She
is old enough to know that men want her, but not
experienced enough to know what to do about it.
She has a one-nighter with a fellow teen, who
then promptly brushes her off in favor of his
friends. So Heidi walks around; the film is attentive
to her movement, and to the cold emptiness of
the places where she ends up. She meets a hotel
proprietor with a dark secret, touchingly played
by Australian character actress Lynette Curran,
who rents her a junky room.
The camera
keeps interrupting: At one point, Heidi finds
a pair of tinted ski goggles, and when she looks
through them, we see her POV and the blue world
turns blood red. Is it a warning? Shortland and
her DP, Robert Humphreys, continuously play back
and forth between primary colors, and it’s
a fantastic motif that keeps the drama on edge.
Unlike most Hollywood films about reaching adulthood,
Somersault creates danger and confusion
– visually!
Heidi meets a guy named Joe, the only decent fellow
around, and we learn quickly that he’s lost,
too. This is the central relationship in Somersault,
and as Joe, Sam Worthington does a great job meeting
Cornish at every intense turn. There’s a
priceless scene in which he asks Heidi to stare
at him, and another when she wonders if he might
possibly call her his girlfriend. On a morning
after, Joe uses warm water to thaw the ice on
his windshield, and it’s Shortland introducing
another graphic idea that plays out powerfully
much later. By the way, Heidi eventually gets
a job at a grim gas station.
But Cornish never loses focus, and even gives
Heidi a disaffected kind of happiness. She uses
a gesture, patting down her wild nest of hair,
that is both little girl-ish and full of adult
insecurity. Mildly intimate moments, like preening
in front of a mirror, are mixed with really intimate
moments, like a raw sex scene following breakfast
in which Heidi manages to keep one hand gripping
a buttered piece of toast. I’m not sure
if the MPAA has rated Somersault. If
they did, it would be Restricted for anyone the
same age as Heidi, which, by the way, is one of
the most ridiculous facets of the rating system
in this country. That’s one thing to be
said for Australia: They’re really far away
from Hollywood.
The haunting music in Somersault is done
by a group called Decoder Ring, but there’s
also a song mix that is eclectic and hip. Smart
choices abound, like the way a childlike tune
that Heidi pecks on a piano is replayed later
when she is at her most depraved and self-destructive.
The climax in Somersault, which is led
by a nightclub scene with truly brilliant cinematography,
is hard to watch. It’s Cornish again: Through
some kind of acting osmosis, aided no doubt by
the fact that she’s completely unknown,
it’s impossible to separate the character
from the actress. We’ve seen Heidi take
blame, become stronger, make bad decisions, persevere,
suffer injustice, act selfishly, and never once
forgive herself. And now we painfully watch as
she makes one last mistake.
I challenge any viewer to not care about her.
More importantly, I defy anyone to catch how Cornish
gets us there without resorting to any stock actor
tricks. Somersault (thankfully, the title
is neither explained nor even uttered) is just
as sophisticated. Guess what? It won 13, yes,
13 Australian Film Institute Awards in 2004, representing
excellence in every endeavor of filmmaking. Will
it win any Academy Awards? No, but Cornish will
– in 5 years or so, for some decent Hollywood
movie. See her now, and wait.
Stephen Woolley’s
Stoned
Opens Friday March 24, 2006
Sex, Drugs
and the Bottom of the Pool
Starring: Will Adamsdale; Ras Barker; Paddy Considine;
Nathalie Cox; Luke de Woolfson: Leo Gregory: Will
Hodgkinson: Eleanor James: Monet Mazur; David
Morrissey; Tuva Novotny; and David Walliams.
Reviewed by Wendy
R. Williams
Stephen Wolley
(the producer of films like Breakfast on Pluto,
The End of the Affair, Michael Collins)
has his directorial debut with Stoned,
a poem about the Sixties. It is both a celebration
of the wildness of the era and a cautionary tale
about the dangers of decadence, too much too soon
and you can’t always get what you want,
etc. etc.
If you were not
yet born in the Sixties, you might not be aware
that that the Sixties only happened in the decade
from 1960-1969 for a privileged few. The great
masses of people did not begin to experience their
personal Sixties revolution until the decade was
almost over.
And Brian Jones
was one of those privileged few. Brian started
the band known as the Rolling Stones, only to
flame out young, drowning in a sea of drugs and
sex. Young, rich, beautiful and talented, he flaunted
a life of sex, drugs and rock-and-roll in a London
that was still recovering from the toils of fighting
World War II and had yet to hear of “flower
power.”
Woolley’s
film is not a story about the Rolling Stones;
he focuses on Brian alone. The story is set in
last few weeks for Brian’s life, a time
when he was about to be ousted from the Stones
(they could not tour with him because of his drug
convictions). Brian has retreated to the country,
where he is living in Cotchford Farm, a home once
owned by A.A. Milne, the author of Winnie the
Pooh. Brian is living with a new girlfriend, Anna
Wohlin (played by Tuva Novotny), and he has hired
a builder, Frank Thorogood (played by Paddy Considine)
to renovate the house. And it is this relationship
between the hedonistic Brian and the working class
Frank that set up the conflict that ends in the
deep end of the pool.
Woolley uses film and film techniques from the
Sixties to give his film a documentary feel. Using
flash backs, he tells the story of Brian’s
life: the founding of the Stones; Brian’s
relationship with Anita Pallenberg; his love of
American black music; his trips to Morocco. Anita
Pallenberg (played by Monet Mazur) has sometimes
been cast as the villain in Brian’s life;
he loved her and she left him for Keith Richards
(Ben Whishaw). Well, if you have heard these rumors,
after seeing this movie you will have a thorough
understanding of what is must have been like to
be a drunken Brian’s punching bag.
Woolley also tells
a bit about the smoothly oiled machine that is
now known as The Stones. Their manager, Tom (played
by David Morrissey) sleazes through the film,
supplying both workmen and girls and cleaning
up the messes afterwards. One particularly compelling
moment is when the Stones come to Cotchford Farm
to tell Brian that he is out. It is a hoot to
watch Mick Jagger (played by Luke de Woolfson)
levitate into the room like the god he has just
become.
But on the night
that Brian died, the firing was in the past and
there were only four people in the house: Brian;
Frank (the builder); Anna (the girlfriend); and
Janet (played by Amelia Warner), a nurse that
Tom (the manager) had hired to keep an eye on
things at Brian’s after he (Tom) discarded
her as his personal bed toy. We see Brian playing
sadistic mind games with Frank, flaunting his
sexuality and questioning Frank's. And there is
sex, drugs, drinking and a midnight dip in the
pool that ends with Brian’s body slowing
sinking to the bottom.
And if you have
been reading this review wondering if there is
nudity, the answer is yes. There is lots of equal
opportunity full-frontal nudity. And if you have
been wondering about the music, the answer is
no; there is no Stones music. Woolley wanted to
tell the story of Brian (who never had a Stones
hit credited to him) so he used the music that
inspired Brian and the music of the times. He
was also probably not able to get the rights to
the Stones's music. But there is a great sound
track, featuring songs like Jefferson Airplanes’
“White Rabbit,” and "Stop Breakin’
Down Blues” by Robert Johnson (one of Brian’s
musical inspirations). The album also features
Boy Dylan's "Ballad of a Thin Man" (covered
by Kula Shaker), a song that is widely suspected
to be about Brian Jones with lyrics such as:
"Because
something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?"
Woolley gets good performances from his actors,
especially with Paddy Considine’s portrayal
of Frank Thorogood. Leo Gregory does a good job
with the character of Brian, with perhaps just
a little too much attention to the blankness of
being stoned all the time. The two actresses who
play Brian’s love interests, Monet Mazur
(as Anita Pallenberg) and Tuva Novotny (as Anna
Wohlin) aptly portray two "birds" who
enjoy being one of the rewards to being a rock
star – the gorgeous girls who walk into
the room saying, “I’m with the band.”
Bravo to Stephen Woolley on his directorial debut.
Twelve and
Holding and Texas
35th New Directors/ New Films
March 22 through April 2, 2006
Lincoln Center and MoMA
Reviewed by Frank
J. Avella
The New Directors/New
Films Festival featured quite a few impressive
features from around the globe. Two gems that
deserve to be seen are covered here. One of them,
Twelve and Holding, has been picked up
for release in the US, the other, Texas,
has not and should be immediately since, although
it takes place in Italy, resonates with life here
in rural America.
Twelve and
Holding, Michael Cuesta’s eagerly awaited
follow up to the intense and controversial LIE,
is a rich and resonant look at the lives of three
distinctly different twelve year-olds. While Cuesta
is regressing as far as his main character’s
ages go, he’s grown in filmic confidence
and storytelling.
Twelve begins
with the tragic and freakish death of Rudy, one
of a set of Identical twins. He leaves behind
his meek, birth-marked brother Jacob as well as
his revenge-obsessed mother and confused father.
Rudy and Jacob have two misfit friends: Malee,
a half-Asian girl who longs to be an adult and
falls in love with one; and the overweight Leonard,
who realizes he must shed his pounds and goes
to extreme lengths to make sure his mother does
the same.
As he did in LIE,
Cuesta coaxes fantastic work from his actors,
most especially Jeremy Renner, who gives a powerful
and heartbreaking performance and manages to deliver
a third act speech that in the hands of a lesser
actor, could have elicited laughs instead of tears.
He is riveting. Annabella Sciorra adds another
outstanding turn to her growing list of supporting
work. Someone needs to write this gal a lead!
And the young actors
are all touching and convincing. Conor Donovan,
in particular, plays both twins with amazing ease
displaying remarkable range.
The script is a
bit too cliche’ but Cuesta has a magical
way of directing THROUGH them.. He, also has a
great gift in being able to show us the inner
adult-wannabe world of a child and how much their
psyches are affected by their parents and the
“adult” world around them.
I’m still
not sure I appreciated the ending and what it
said about revenge (especially since the crime
wasn’t really intentional). Come to think
of it, I absolutely hated the ending of LIE,
where the Brian Cox character was killed in a
horrific way because he was a pedophile. Cuesta
seems a bit too bent on marring his films with
biblical vengeance (or choosing scripts that do
so) which is a shame because everything else avoided
the bullshit-trappings usually reserved for studio
films.
Fausto Paravidino’s
Texas is a startlingly assured first
feature from the 29 year-old Italian director
who has spent most of his life (since age 14)
working in theatre as actor, writer and director.
Paravidino asked
two of his fellow theatre actors (Iris Fusetti
and Carlo Orlando) to help him write the script.
All three appear in the film as well as a host
of talented actors and non-actors. The result
is a dazzling and dead-on look at life in anysmalltown,
anywhere.
Texas
takes place in Piemonte, a region of northwest
Italy nestled in the Alps, where a gaggle of twentysomething
friends gather on Saturdays, bonding and boozing
and basically doing what small town folk do...which
isn’t much.
Gianluca (the sexy
Riccardo Scamarcio) has started an affair with
the local married schoolteacher (the extraordinary
Valeria Golino) and the town has begun to buzz
about it, putting his family, friends and girlfriend
(Fusetti) in awkward positions.
The film begins
in frenetic flashforward form and quickly excites
the viewer into the narrative. (One of the early
moments with voice over is an obvious and effective
nod to Scorcese’s Goodfellas).
Paravidino expertly
captures the mundane trappings of the small town
and perfectly shows the mindset in most Italian
villages where it’s okay to complain and
talk about leaving but you never actually do it.
These townie tweens must deal with the fact that
where they are is probably where they’ll
stay.
The entire ensemble
impresses. Non-actor Nicola Colajanni is a hilarious
stand-out as a Gianluca’s bombastic father
who happens to be a mayoral candidate.
It is not surprising
that Paravidino has managed to weave wonderful
performances from his cast. What is utterly amazing,
however, is how someone from a strictly theatrical
background can so fast, so deftly master the visual
medium as well.
Goran Dukic's
Wristcutters: A Love Story
2006 Gen Art Film Festival
April 5th-11th, 2006
New York
Reviewed by Terry
Maloney
Starring: Patrick
Fugit; Shannyn Sossamon; Shea Whigham; Tom Waits;
Leslie Bibb; John Hawkes; Jake Busey.
Wristcutters:
A Love Story is an original, funny, thoughtful
first-feature-film from Croatian-born director
Goran Dukic. I've never seen a film quite like
this one. Although it takes place in the "afterlife,"
the locale is most definitely not Heaven nor is
it quite Hell. Inhabited completely by people
who have committed suicide ("offed"
themselves), this other-worldly place is one huge
slum filled with rusting cars, garbage strewn
deserts and used condom-covered beaches.
The suggestion
here is that the "punishment" for suicide
is to forever inhabit a world similar to the one
you left, but even more ugly and depressing. The
only thing preventing the main character Zia (Patrick
Fugit: "Almost Famous") from killing
himself yet again is the fear that he will wind
up in an even worse afterlife.
Zia had "offed"
himself by cutting his wrists after getting dumped
by his girlfriend Desiree (Leslie Bibb). After
his death he finds himself living in a tiny, cluttered
apartment with a large Austrian man (not Arnold)
and working for Kamikaze Pizza. A chance meeting
with Russian immigrant Eugene (Shea Whigham) changes
his attitude toward his situation and, when he
learns the ex-girlfriend has herself committed
suicide, he convinces Eugene to embark on a road
trip to search for his lost love.
On the road they
meet an attractive female hitchhiker, Mikal (Shannyn
Sossamon) who is on her own quest, looking for
the "people in charge" to convince them
that she doesn't belong in the afterlife. "I
never killed myself," she tells Zia and Eugene
to their total disbelief.
Along the way Eugene
clumsily tries to get into Mikal's pants, while
Zia, always the gentleman, realizes he might be
falling in love with her (despite his quest to
see Desiree again). At one point Zia reluctantly
agrees with Eugene to drive off without Mikal,
who overhears the conversation and storms out
of the diner and thumbs a ride with a passing
trucker.
After an unlikely
reunion with Mikal, the three travelers encounter
the seemingly benevolent Kneller (Tom Waits) and
the residents of his Utopian community. With help
from Kneller, Zia tracks down Desiree at the headquarters
of the "The Messiah" (Will Arnett from
Arrested Development), where she has become his
disciple and mistress.
Is Kneller what
he seems to be? Is "The Messiah" the
real deal? Will Zia choose Mikal over Desiree?
Will Desiree find the "people in charge?"
Will Eugene get laid? All is revealed in the final
scenes of this entertaining film, including a
very sweet, satisfying last scene featuring Zia
and one of the female characters in an entirely
different setting.
A favorite at the
2006 Sundance Film Festival, this touching, entertaining
film should be able to find a distributor and
escape the festival circuit. All the actors give
outstanding performances, particularly the very
non-Russian Whigham as Eugene and the legendary
Waits as the enigmatic Kneller.
According to director
Dukic, "No one smiles in the film."
Actually, Desiree smiles quite a bit. But despite
the dearth of happy faces, this is a "feel
good" film and it felt good to write this
"four star" review and recommend this
film to all moviegoers.
