LFM’s Govindini Murty & Jason Apuzzo in The Atlantic: The Specter of Putin’s Re-Election Haunts Three Recent Russian Films

From the new film "Putin's Kiss."

[Editor’s Note: The article below appears in its entirety today at The Atlantic.]

Putin’s Kiss, Khodorkovsky, and Target question tyranny, capitalism, and their country’s future.

By Govindini Murty & Jason Apuzzo. As Russians head toward their presidential elections on March 4th, a trio of new films sheds light on a contemporary Russia veering between hope and cynicism, democracy and authoritarianism. The documentary Putin’s Kiss depicts a young Russian woman who becomes disillusioned with her role as a leader in Vladimir Putin’s nationalistic youth group Nashi in the wake of a brutal beating of a journalist. The chilling documentary Khodorkovsky examines the fate of the jailed Russian billionaire turned democracy activist Mikhail Khodorkovsky. And the science-fiction epic Target depicts the moral collapse of a wealthy elite in an authoritarian, near-future Russia.

On the brink of what may be another six years under Putin’s rule, these three films reveal a deep anxiety about Russia’s future—and a faint glimmer of hope for more genuine democratic freedom.

Masha Drokova is the young heroine of Danish director Lise Birk Pedersen’s documentary Putin’s Kiss (2012), a selection of the 2012 Sundance and Berlin Film Festivals and currently playing in limited release. Born in 1989, Masha is part of the first generation to grow up in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union. At the age of 16, Masha joins Putin’s nationalistic youth group Nashi; by age 19, she is already a spokesperson and leading commissar of the youth group, and Putin himself awards her a medal of honor. By age 21, the bright, ambitious Masha has everything thanks to Nashi: a prestigious spot in a top Moscow university, a new car, an apartment, her own TV talk show, and access to the highest echelons of Russia’s power elite.

As briefly mentioned in the film, Nashi itself was founded in 2005 by Putin supporters to counter the rise of pro-democracy youth groups in the wake of the Ukrainian Orange revolution. Although purportedly “democratic and anti-fascist,” Nashi bears a striking resemblance to the Soviet youth group Komsomol. Like Komsomol, the well-funded Nashi provides a route for many young people into official advancement.

In Putin’s Kiss, Nashi founder Vasily Yakemenko is shown exercising a Svengali-like control over his young charges, exhorting them to discipline and promising them a new life if they will dedicate themselves to Putin and the Russian motherland. As Yakemenko says to the Nashi faithful: “I want everybody to understand: There is no authority for the movement except for the policy of Putin and Medvedev … Being part of the movement means going out into the streets. It means to tell a villain he’s a villain.” As depicted in the film, a major part of Nashi’s efforts are directed toward vilifying Putin’s opponents as “enemies of Russia.” By way of example, the film shows some particularly crude attacks directed at opposition figures Boris Nemtsov, Ilya Yashin, and Garry Kasparov.

Masha is initially drawn to Nashi out of patriotism and ambition. She sees Nashi as a way for young people to get involved in helping advance Russia, and she considers Putin a force for strength and stability. Masha is such a fan of Putin that she becomes known as “the girl who kissed Putin” for impetuously pecking him on the cheek when he presented her with a medal.

Yet Masha’s curiosity about the larger world leads her to make friends with a group of opposition journalists. Masha’s chief friend in the group is the gregarious Oleg Kashin, a liberal journalist who writes for the Kommersant newspaper.

Things take a dark turn one night in 2010 when assailants brutally beat Oleg Kashin …

[For the remainder of this article, please visit The Atlantic.]

Posted on February 29th, 2012 at 11:29am.

TNT’s Southland: In Praise of the Civic Virtues

TNT, Tuesdays at 10 p.m.

By Patricia Ducey. There’s a spot on L.A.’s 101 freeway near Vignes Street where, if you look up at the right time of day, you can see the silhouettes of a half dozen or so helicopters–the LAPD air support unit–on the roof of their headquarters on Ramirez Street. It’s an awe-inspiring, fearsome sight. I get the same vibe at Southland’s opening credit roll. A series of sepia-toned photos of local crime scenes scrolls by, starting with the muzzle of a very large gun aimed straight at you, buddy, by a grinning 1960s-era L.A. cop. Against the slideshow are the martial tones of Martin Davich’s theme music of thumping bass and staccato drumbeats, that telegraphs a clear message: bad guys beware. This is Los Angeles, the mythic Los Angeles of TNT’s ever improving and innovative Southland.

Yet, as unapologetically fierce as the opening sequence may be, Southland is more about the power of ideas than power for its own sake. The body count is remarkably low, and the cops spend as much time talking to their citizens as busting them. In contrast to the patricians of Law & Order who fought the forces of chaos in the rarified air of law courts, or the wonky CSI techs in sterile labs, Southland‘s cops attack cases and problems from the bottom up, at street level. These L.A. cops aim to restore character, as well as order, to the beat. Call it nation building in L.A., if you will. And thanks to rich, layered writing, non-PC characters and fresh production style, we come to believe – like these cops – that they might just pull it off.

From the opening credit sequence.

John Wells of ER tapped NYPD Blues veteran Ann Biderman to create the show and she rode along with the LAPD for several months to immerse herself in its culture. The resulting writing is so rich in detail that even the smallest scene is not wasted; each detail adds heft to the character or storyline. Her characters have mastered the nuances of every gang, every drug network, and every neighborhood from the West Side to Boyle Heights. As the detectives search an alley for evidence, for instance, a drug addict ambles by, listing from left to right in precarious fashion. “Don’t worry,” the veteran replies matter-of-factly to the rookie’s alarm, “they never fall down.” And he doesn’t, much to the surprise of the rookie. The officers eat lunch at real fast food joints or taco stands and chat endlessly about where to eat, to alleviate the monotony of an uneventful patrol. They solve a business dispute between a drug dealer and his buyer and defend a transvestite business owner from local bullies. They break up at least one marital fight per episode. They crack jokes—about each other, about the crazies they meet. And it’s all compelling—we are never sure what is going to happen next.

Southland’s characters defy neat types, as well. The centerpiece of this ensemble is the partnership between rookie Ben Sherman and his training officer, John Cooper, who spends the first couple of episodes training—hazing, really—the rookie from Beverly Hills. But Ben takes it, eventually winning Coop’s respect when he expertly guns down a gangbanger, saving fellow officer Dewey’s life. “Where did you learn to shoot like that,” they exclaim. “Beverly Hills Gun Club,” he coolly responds. And as the series progresses, Ben’s story unfolds. He is not just a rich kid engaging in cop tourism; his own family was terrorized by a criminal client of his criminal defense lawyer father. And Cooper is not the chubby-cheeked bully out to vent his angst on the mean streets, as he first appeared.

Michael Cudlitz & Lucy Liu in "Southland."

Now we are in Season 4 and Coop has overcome an addiction to pain pills that started with treatment for his aching back. He finally states that yes, he is gay, trying to calm a gay teen who has been viciously bullied. Ben registers no surprise, but at first we are not sure if this is just another story he tells to calm down a distraught victim. Thinking back, we realize of course that he’s gay but Southland has rolled out the story of his sexual identity in gradual hints, as they did with other characters, with no exploitation.

Southland pokes fun at overused or politically correct TV police tropes, as well; they even call Ben “Tori Spelling.” They tell nice, sweet stories to victims to comfort them—Detective Lydia Adam’s partner gets almost teary-eyed at one until she tells him that she just made it up. In another episode, a man is stabbed to death at a convenience market; the victim happens to be the witness whose testimony helped send man to prison for life. That man has just been released thanks to new DNA evidence, but the new partner resists Lydia’s notion that he is the killer. After all he’s suffered! After she doggedly interviews him and gets a search warrant she recovers bloody clothes and the murder weapon in the recently freed man’s house. Her new partner is stunned. “I’m not surprised,” she shrugs. More reversals of the trite include a watch commander opening roll call with the sardonic announcement that crime has gone up dramatically now that the courts have released so many prisoners. In another, a hipster in a Smart Car is made to look the fool against Cooper’s cool. Southland‘s stories seem real and original, against the grain of the usual police drama pieties.

Michael Cudlitz & Ben McKenzie in "Southland."

But it’s Officer Sammy Bryant’s character that illustrates the “message” (if any) this LAPD is sending. Sammy is the voice that exhorts the people of L.A. to step up and take back their city from the thugs. As fearless and aggressive as he is, he knows that the police can’t keep the peace alone. In Season 1, he urges three teenage girls to testify in a gang murder case. Sweet naïve Janila, in the throes of LAPD hero worship, agrees – if they promise to get her into the Explorers. An irate citizen tells Sammy he is filing a complaint against him for insensitivity at the scene of a crime; Sammy shouts back that he ought to think about helping the police if he wants peace on his street. That stops the complainant short, as if he had never considered the idea. And so the citizen testifies. In the latest episode, though, Sammy may have gone too far: an anguished father curses and punches Sammy in the courthouse hall. Sammy had convinced his son to testify against a gang and the gang killed him. It will be interesting to see where Sammy’s character goes; up until now, his informants have escaped retaliation.

Despite the murder and mayhem, Southland’s L.A. is broken but unbowed. There’s something essentially noble and optimistic that the show communicates. One thinks of Sammy’s aggressive, passionate jeremiads about stepping up, or the constant jokes and pranks to leaven the deadly tension, or Cooper’s masterful techniques to calm domestic fights. These cops are parents in a family of a million children who have lost their way – raised by the wolves of permissiveness and family breakdown – and they do all they can to stand these citizens up and point them in the right direction.

Every series has an arc, and when the arc plays out, the series loses steam. Yet Southland is still in its ascendancy with many stories yet to be revealed. I hope we get to see Janila taking the LAPD cadet oath, which starts with the pledge: “I do solemnly declare upon my honor. . .” For all her naïveté, this call to honor – embodied by Sammy and his comrades – may yet save her from the cheap thrills of the streets. I for one will be watching.

Posted on February 29th, 2012 at 11:00am.

The New York Korean Film Festival 2012: LFM Reviews Late Autumn

By Joe Bendel. The setting is Seattle and the lead actress is Chinese, but it is based on a classic 1961 Korean film. Yet, this is a universal story that might remind viewers of films like Brief Encounter and Before Sunrise. Two not-lovers’ abbreviated relationship will be ambiguous but deeply meaningful in Kim Tae-yong’s Late Autumn (trailer here), which screened at the recently wrapped 2012 New York Korean Film Festival.

Kim’s Late Autumn and Lee Man-hee’s before it should not be confused with Yasujiro Ozu’s classic film of them same name. Still, they are similarly distinguished by their wistful tone and humanistic sympathy for their flawed characters. Anna is serving a seven year prison term for killing her abusive husband. Released on a seventy-two hour furlough for her mother’s funeral, she shares a long bus ride with the caddish Hoon. Initially, the “escort” thinks she might be a soft touch, but she is not impressed with his act. Ironically, she is the one who makes an impression on him.

Stifled by the awkwardness of her homecoming, Anna prefers the solitude of walking through Seattle’s historic downtown area, but her path keeps crossing Hoon’s. As they spend guarded time together, something develops between them. Yet, whatever it is cannot last, which is the delicate beauty of the film.

Yes, we have been told before, time is fleeting. Yet it is quite exquisitely expressed in Autumn. However, Kim’s film has a dark side unlike the David Lean classic or a host of sentimental copycats. In addition to Anna’s tragic past, Hoon is running away from something rather ugly. Time may or may not be quite fleeting indeed.

Tang Wei is achingly vulnerable as Anna, showing a remarkable range of emotions while maintaining her frozen façade. Best known for her breakout turn in Ang Lee’s erotically charged Lust, Caution, she was to have appeared in the Chinese Communist Party creation myth propaganda film The Founding of a Party, but reportedly Mao’s grandson had her scenes cut for reasons of ideological philistinism. It is not much of a recommendation for Founding, but another good reason to keep an eye out for Autumn. Tang is a beautiful and remarkably talented actress, who has worked in Chinese cinema since the Founding debacle. Hopefully Korean and American productions will continue to be an option for her as she contends with the Party’s institutionalized dogma.

A true multinational South Korean-American-Chinese-HK coproduction, Late Autumn is an elegantly simple story, even if its funding is head-spinningly complex. Heart-felt and emotionally mature, it is an assured work highly recommended for those who missed its opening night screening at the tenth annual NYKFF. After a double-secret theatrical release, it seems like a strong programming candidate for one of the Asian film showcases in New York.

Posted on February 29th, 2012 at 9:41am.

The New York International Film Festival 2012: LFM Reviews Cinderella Moon

Yang Zhicheng as Mei Mei at age five.

By Joe Bendel. So many little Chinese girls could have used a fairy god-mother. Young Mei Mei only has an ancient matchmaker to counter-balance her rotten step-mother. Though not magical, the old woman certainly has ambitious plans for her. Based on the Chinese legend of Ye Xian that predates Perrault’s Cinderella by about 800 years, Richard Bowen’s Chinese-produced English-dubbed Cinderella Moon has obvious relevance for China today, but should still charm little girls of any cultural background when it screens at the 2012 New York International Film Festival.

Little Mei Mei is a gifted potter, like her mother, her father’s younger second wife. When Mei Mei’s mother dies in child birth and her spiritually ailing father soon follows, she finds herself the de facto servant of her cruel step-mother and idiot step-sister. However, she takes comfort from her mother’s legacy: a pair of bejeweled gold-fish slippers and the promise of a special destiny.

Mei Mei hopes to follow in her mother’s footsteps, finding a love match by dancing in the village festival. Unfortunately, the moon is stuck in the sky, putting life on hold for the kingdom. It also puts pressure on the young defiant king, who is responsible for keeping the heavens in equilibrium.

Xiao Min as Mei Mei at age fifteen.

Moon is surprisingly rich in archetypes, mixing Fisher King mythology with universal Cinderella motifs. In fact, the celestial themes raise the stakes of the story considerably. However, the core of the film involves Mei Mei’s struggle to find her place in a world that essentially treats girls like chattel. Indeed, the parallels with One-Child China, where girls are all too frequently the victim of abandonment and sex-selection abortions, are difficult to overlook. Young Mei Mei is sweet-tempered and vulnerable, but to her credit she refuses to accept the chauvinism around her.

Thanks to the two highly expressive Mei Mei’s, Xiao Min at age fifteen and Yang Zhicheng at five, viewers will feel a strong emotional connection to the young protagonist. Under Bowen’s sensitive direction, they convey a sense of wonder perfectly suited to a fairy tale. Bowen and cinematographer Wang Yu also capture some breathtaking vistas shot on location in the Southwest Yunnan province.

Moon is a finely crafted period production, featuring some striking costumes designed by Laurence Xu. However, the disembodied-sounding dubbed voices will grate on the ears of cineastes. Still, it might be a necessary trade-off for the film to reach audiences of a certain age.

Of course, it is more important for Moon to reach Chinese audiences. Admirably, it is a mission Bowen takes seriously, having cofounded with his wife Jenny the Half the Sky Foundation, which provides support to Chinese orphans (mostly but not entirely girls like Mei Mei). Deeper and richer than most fairy tale films, Moon is highly recommended (for boys too) at this year’s NYICFF.  It screens this Saturday (3/3) at Cantor, Saturday the 17th at the Asia Society, and Sunday the 25th at the IFC Center.

Posted on February 29th, 2012 at 9:40am.

Jafar Panahi’s This is Not a Film Opens Wed. (2/29) in New York, Expands Nationwide

We wanted LFM readers to know that Jafar Panahi’s This is Not a Film opens this Wednesday (2/29) at New York’s Film Forum, and will soon thereafter be playing at select theaters across the country through May. For bookings in your area, please visit the film’s official website.

This is Not a Film depicts in heartbreaking detail the house arrest of acclaimed Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi, who was accused in 2010 of making a film critical of the Iranian government. Panahi vehemently denies the charges, yet he currently faces six years in jail and a twenty-year ban on filmmaking. Nonetheless, in This is Not a Film Panahi not only documents his own house arrest, revealing how the banal details of daily confinement can crush the human spirit; he also reveals how the creative impulse can survive even the most repressive circumstances, and inspire hope.

LFM’s Joe Bendel reviewed This is Not a Film at the New York Film Festival, calling it “an inspiring example of the creative impulse as it flows like water through the cracks of an oppressive state.” LFM’s Govindini Murty and Jason Apuzzo also ranked This is Not a Film as the #1 Pro-Freedom Film of 2011 in their “The Cinema of Liberty: The Top 10 Pro-Freedom Films of 2011” blog post for The Huffington Post.

We hope you take the opportunity to see this important film when it comes to your area.

Posted on February 28th, 2012 at 12:31pm.

Korean Cultural Service Presents: White Night

Go Soo and Son Ye-jin in "White Night."

By Joe Bendel. Keigo Higashino’s Byakuyako is the hottest literary property you’ve never heard of. Within a five year span, a Japanese television miniseries and a feature film have dramatized Higashino’s tragic, decade-spanning mystery. In between the two productions, a Korean adaptation shifted the story to the ROK. Faithful to the source material, but radically different in tone from the subsequent Japanese version, Park Shin-woo’s White Night makes its North American debut tomorrow as the latest free screening sponsored by the Korean Cultural Service in New York.

Kim Yo-han’s father and Lee Jia’s mother were thought to be carrying on rather openly. When the senior Lee turns up murdered, she becomes the logical suspect. There are a lot of incriminating circumstances, but little hard evidence. When Lee’s mother apparently commits suicide, the case is conveniently closed. However, Detective Han Doong-soo cannot let it lay.

Son Ye-jin in "White Night."

Over the next two decades, the three go in seemingly disparate directions. Han’s career flatlines after the accidental death of his son. Conversely, Lee Jia overcomes the stigma of her infamous mother, with the help of a name change. Now known as Yoo Mi-ho, she is poised to marry a very wealthy man. Kim more or less disappears into anonymity, but he secretly acts as Lee/Yoo’s guardian angel. Anyone threatening her advancement will answer to him.

In both films, Higashino’s two lead characters really have a way of getting into your head. Yoshihiro Fukagawa’s Into the White Night invests more time up front on their traumatic childhood, which pays greater dividends later in the film. It also more fully explains the complex circumstances of the original crime. On the other hand, Park’s version plays up the sex and scandal, making it considerably more accessible to general audiences.

White Night features a strong ensemble, but Go Soo might just take the honors over his Japanese counterpart as the adult Kim Yo-han. It is an intense performance, viscerally projecting his pain and ferocity in equal measure. While her character is icier and less vulnerable here (by design), Son Ye-jin is undeniably a striking and rather nuanced femme fatale (much as she was in the stylistically similar Open City). Indeed, her limited screen time with (or near) Go Soo is powerfully potent stuff.

While Fukagawa’s Night is a tour de force among psychological thrillers, Park’s Night is still a devilishly twisted crime drama.  It also happens to be playing in town for free, which cannot be said for either Japanese version this week.  Highly recommended in its own right, Park’s White Night screens tomorrow (2/28) at the Tribeca Cinemas, courtesy of the Korean Cultural Service.

Posted on February 28th, 2012 at 12:30pm.