Category: Movie Reviews

Subversive Chinese Cinema: LFM Reviews Disorder @ MoMA

By Joe Bendel. Word to the wise, take care crossing the streets of Guangzhou and the surrounding suburbs. If you are hit by a car, the driver might just try to stuff some cash in your pocket and toss you out of the way. For their part, the police appear woefully inadequate at managing accidents. It is all rather messy and unfortunate, but it’s easy to understand how such episodes caught the attention of scores of Chinese digital video enthusiasts, whose most “youtube-able” footage has been edited together in Huang Weikai’s collage-like Disorder, which screens during the 2011 Documentary Fortnight now underway at MoMA.

China has a reputation for being a tightly regulated society, perhaps tragically so. However, the amateur video assembled by editor-director (emphasis on editor) Huang paints a more anarchic picture. At times, it is somewhat amusing. The face of a restaurant customer finding a roach in his ramen is pure movie gold. Indeed, there are plenty of “you-don’t-see-that-everyday” moments in Disorder, as when a group of men try to corral a pack of panicky pigs on the highway – while the cops watch disinterestedly. They do that quite frequently in Disorder.

However, Disorder is not all light-hearted corruption and incompetence. There is real tragedy as well. Frankly, Huang somewhat downplays the most shocking incident, most likely a by-product of China’s strict one-child policy. Still, his concluding sequences logically have the most political bite, capturing full-scale police brutality in an incident that teeters on the brink of a legitimate riot.

They might be so-called amateurs, but the videographers who recorded these scenes deserve considerable credit for standing their ground and getting their shots. In his editorial judgment, Huang demonstrates a shrewd eye for visuals and a subversive sensibility. Whether he intended to or not, he conveys a sense of the anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface of many average citizens. Yet they never seem to release it in a coordinated, efficacious manner, as the audience witnesses in graphic terms.

At just about an hour’s running time, Disorder is a particularly manageable dose of the Digital Generation-style of independent Chinese filmmaking, appropriately distributed by dGenerate Films, the Chinese indie specialists. Short but sometimes shocking, it is a strong selection for this year’s Documentary Fortnight. It screens again tomorrow (2/20) as the annual doc festival continues at MoMA, and it might be a ticket in high demand. There were a few technical glitches at last night’s screening (ultimately resolved well enough), so some of the near capacity audience might be back for the second go-round.

Posted on February 19th, 2011 at 2:05pm.

LFM Reviews The Labyrinth at The John Paul II International Film Festival

By Joe Bendel. Marian Kołodziej’s art is not merely art, but testimony of the unimaginable. It is displayed not in a gallery, but in a labyrinth nestled beneath a small Polish church near Kołodziej’s former residence, Auschwitz. Through his darkly distinctive art, Kołodziej bears witness to the Holocaust in Jason A. Schmidt’s documentary The Labyrinth, which screens this Saturday as part of the shorts program at the 2011 John Paul II International Film Festival in Miami (as well as at the Boulder International Film Fest on the same day).

A youthful member of the Polish resistance, Kołodziej, number 432, was one of the first prisoners at Auschwitz, who were forced to build its architecture of death. Surviving the ordeal, he established a successful career as a set designer, but almost never discussed his horrific experiences. However, when Kołodziej began drawing as part of his therapy for a considerable stroke, the ominous images of the concentration camp came bursting forth.

Explaining the real life sources of his work, Kołodziej’s stories are mostly harrowing, but in rare instances also inspiring. The artist movingly pays tribute to Father Maximilian Kolbe, the Catholic priest who was canonized as a “martyr of charity” for taking the place of another man condemned to die in a starvation chamber. In drawings that are particularly powerful but just as gruesome, Kołodziej often depicts Kolbe comforting his fellow prisoners.

Almost Boschian in their nightmarish detail, Kołodziej’s work conveys the true nature of the Holocaust more compellingly and directly than any narrative feature could ever hope to. No matter how well intentioned or painstakingly produced, audiences are always conscious of a film’s artifice on some level. After two hours screen time, everyone goes back to life as usual. By contrast, each of Kołodziej’s pieces is a moment of agony frozen for all eternity. One can avert one’s eyes, but it will always be there as a silent indictment of the National Socialists’ crimes against humanity.

Respectfully crafted, Schmidt lets Kołodziej’s drawings and words (heard in translation) speak for themselves. Elegant in the simplicity of its approach, the thirty-eight minute Labyrinth is a hauntingly poetic documentary. It is also a perfectly fitting selection for the John Paul II Festival, considering that it was the Polish pontiff who canonized Kolbe and strived to improve the Catholic-Jewish relations throughout his tenure. Highly recommended, it screens this Saturday (2/19) at the FIU Marc Pavilion as part of the JP2FF’s shorts program.

Posted on February 17th, 2011 at 11:09am.

Delivering the Goods: LFM Reviews American Grindhouse

By Joe Bendel. It seems like every hipster filmmaker wants to make a retro-grindhouse movie these days, but the results are usually pretty lame. The truth is, real-deal grindhouse auteurs did not have time for posing. They had to get their shots before the cops shut them down. The subversive attitude of their oeuvre flowed organically from their dodgy working environment, thoroughly infusing the zero-budget cult films Elijah Drenner lovingly surveys in American Grindhouse, which opened last Friday in New York.

“Exploitation” films were independently produced movies with some grabby element to “exploit” which audiences could not otherwise find from mainstream studio fare. Though not necessarily limited to sex and violence, those were certainly the biggies. Drugs and circus freaks were also reliable hooks. Such films were typically booked into seedy, pre-Giuliani-era Times Square-style theaters, often playing continuously without formal start times (hence the grind in grindhouse).

Drenner and his battery of film scholars start with the silent era, when Universal hit pay dirt with Traffic in Souls, a rather sensationalistic story of white slavery – carrying the fig leaf of a progressive reform message. It established the template many exploitation filmmakers would profitably follow for decades, including the so-called “Forty Thieves” emerging in 1930’s.

Grindhouse surveys a number of rather self-explanatory sub-genres, like “birth of a baby” movies, beach party movies, faux nudist documentaries, “nudie cuties,” “roughies,” women-in-prison films, Nazi-exploitation (exemplified with class and distinction by Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS), and the ageless blaxploitation picture. Amongst his many talking heads, Drenner notably scored sit-down interview time with Fred Williamson, of Black Caesar and Hell Up in Harlem fame, who looks and sounds as cool as ever.

While Grindhouse focuses squarely on the filmmakers, it is not a cheap tease. Indeed, many of the voluminous clips from the seminal classics under discussion are real eye-poppers. Still, Drenner maintains the right balance of (half-) serious cultural history and crowd pleasing naughty bits.

Well-stocked with wild stories and vintage scenes of pure lunacy, Grindhouse is a whole lot of fun, sort of like an old-school Hollywood Boulevard version of That’s Entertainment. Like the “birth of a baby” films it documents, Grindhouse is in fact educational, but its subject matter is definitely mature. Ultimately, it is a winning tribute to genuinely independent filmmakers, marginalized and even demonized though they might have been. Heartily recommended to those who already have a good idea what they will be getting into, Grindhouse opened this past Friday in New York at the Cinema Village.

Posted on Feburary 9th, 2011 at 11:41am.

ReelAbilities ’11: LFM Reviews My Spectacular Theater

By Joe Bendel. Film distribution is a tricky proposition in China. Strict regulations govern what constitutes a “film festival,” while some of the country’s most celebrated filmmakers are only screened through bootlegs. One dodgy hawker of pirate DVDs gains a fresh appreciation of the power of cinema in Lu Yang’s My Spectacular Theater, which screens during the 2011 ReelAbilities in New York.

On the run from the coppers (mysteriously interested in protecting intellectual property), Chen Yu stumbles into old man Gao’s theater. He even takes out a video of the movie playing, but the patrons do not seem to notice. They are either blind or severely vision-impaired movie lovers, who partake of Gao’s live description assistance. Recruited as Gao’s apprentice, Chen Yu does not see the specialized theater as a long term prospect. He needs something more corporate to satisfy his uptown girlfriend. Yet slowly but surely, he becomes involved with the lives of their patrons, especially, the cute Xiao Ow – a young student feigning blindness to attract his attention.

From "My Spectacular Theater."

Given its sociologically relevant subject matter, Spectacular certainly represents independent Chinese cinema. Particularly daring is the historical context of Gao’s backstory. Though Lu understandably refrains from graphic details, it is clear that the old man honed his descriptive skills in helping his wife, following an incident during what was obviously the Cultural Revolution (though those exact words are never uttered).

While the third act partakes of a misguided narrative indulgence, the film itself has plenty of heart. Liu Yuan Yuan is a genuine standout as Liu May, a luminously beautiful cinema patron. Her tentative relationship with a recently blinded photographer is quite honest and moving. In the romantic lead, Zhou Yiwei is more-or-less adequate as Chen Yu, but Yizha brings real spirit and verve to the film as his admirer, Xiao Ow. Perfectly understated and dignified, Jin Shijie holds it all together as old Gao, handling his ease into senility with grace and conviction.

Clearly, Spectacular fits the bill for ReelAbilities in several respects. While one wonders how accommodating Chinese society really is for its vision-impaired citizens, Lu and co-writer Chen Shu clearly do not exempt the go-go new China from criticism. Indeed, Gao’s theater is presented as an oasis of empathy and acceptance. A very strong feature directorial debut, Spectacular is highly recommended when it screens again today (2/8) at the Chatham Square Library, as the 2011 ReelAbilities concludes at points throughout the City.

Posted on February 8th, 2011 at 11:24am.

Frantisek Vlacil at The Lincoln Center: Sirius

Director Franstišek Vláčil.

By Joe Bendel. The story of a boy and his dog is a classic motif of children’s films. However, Franstišek Vláčil transformed this well-established convention into something sadly poetic, perfectly befitting the tenor of his time. As was the case with many artists, the post-Soviet Invasion years were not kind to Vláčil’s career, but by the mid 1970’s he was eventually allowed to take the reins of a smattering of short documentaries and films for young audiences. Though ostensibly one such children’s film, the adult world tragically intrudes in Sirius, Vláčil’s elegiac WWII-era coming of age film, which screens this Saturday afternoon as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Fantastic World of Franstišek Vláčil retrospective now underway at the Walter Reade Theater.

Sirius (or “Sir” as he is affectionately called) is not quite Lassie, but his ability to communicate and follow the instructions of his master is impressive nonetheless. Fascinated by the night sky, the director’s young namesake named the loyal canine after the Dog Star, the brightest star visible from Earth with the naked eye. Franstišek’s days appear to be filled with child-like wonder, as he and Sir commune with the nature. It seems their only cause for concern is the Bo Radley-esque forest-keeper who makes no secret of his ill will toward the animal. All that changes when a Nazi troop train blows up right before his eyes. Suddenly, the Germans are keenly aware of Franstišek’s station agent father as well as his spirited dog.

From "Sirius."

Though comparatively brief at a mere fifty minutes, Vláčil still takes his time establishing the rapport between boy and dog. Indeed, most of the film has a pastoral feel, though a sense of foreboding looms over the film. Clearly, there was a very competent dog trainer working behind the scenes, but Michal Vavrusa is also surprisingly understated and engaging as Franstišek.

Sirius could be considered an Old Yeller from behind the Iron Curtain.Yet, Vláčil slyly employs astronomical motifs to add a metaphysical-allegorical dimension unlike anything in Disney films. Though it burns brightly, we are told Sirius the star is due to temporarily disappear from the horizon. Likewise, the National Socialist occupiers may appear all-powerful, but they too shall pass (as their Communist successors did, as well).

Beautiful in its simplicity and directness, Sirus is a rewarding film for both smart kids and relatively smart adults. Not available on DVD here in America, it is highly recommended for all ages when it screens this Saturday (2/5) as part of the Vláčil series at the Walter Reade Theater.

Posted on February 4th, 2011 at 2:18pm.

The Russian Ark Screenplay

By David Ross. Aleksandr Sokurov’s Russian Ark (2002) is a marvel: a ninety-six-minute movie consisting of a single unbroken tracking shot. With a sensual fluidity unmatched except perhaps by Ophuls’ La Ronde, the camera follows two ghosts – one Russian, the other European, one earnest, the other ironic – as they stroll through the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg.

The centuries swirl gracefully about them, the twentieth century suddenly giving way to the nineteenth, the eighteenth suddenly giving way to the twenty-first, as if time itself were a gently shifting breeze. The film is pregnant with a wonderful faith that time is not an erosion, but an accretion, that some great memory catches the falling drop of the individual moment, that all is somehow gathered to the breast. As they make their tour, the ghosts maintain a patter of wry commentary and affectionate observation, humanists mingling in the parade of humanity. They have no urgent message to deliver and nothing to teach, thankfully; their pleasure is the film’s essential communication, though there is also a clouding of elegy. Meanwhile the camera makes a tour of its own, lingering on the splendid details of the palace: molding, gilding, ironwork, marble-work, drapery, china, crystal. The camera provides an implicit object lesson in the tradition of disciplined form that has made the beauty of the West, and this aspect of the film can only seem a terrible if inadvertent reproach. In comparison to the door handle or to the lace of a tablecloth, calmly wrought for the eye of God, whose discernment is infinite, our contemporary masterpieces – a Jackson Pollack, say, or the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao – flail hysterically, as if the soul itself were abandoned and drowning.

To promote and honor the film – one of the greatest ever in my opinion – I have fully transcribed the dialogue and annotated some of the artistic and architectural detail. This task required perhaps fifteen hours of truly tedious labor. I drew upon and sometimes cribbed directly from Paintings in the Hermitage by Colin Eisler and The Hermitage Collections (2 vols.) by Oleg Yakovlevich Neverov, Dmitry Pavlovich Alexinsky, Dr. Mikhail Piotrovsky (who possibly figures in the film; see here and here).

It is sometimes difficult to identify who speaks what words, and I can’t vouch for the accuracy of my transcription in every instance. I look forward to receiving corrections and additional annotations from our conscientious and knowledgeable readers. Please consider the script below a first attempt to map the fluid, elusive drama of the film. Hopefully somebody will find it useful in its present, rough form.

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