Category: Watch Movies!

By Joe Bendel. Only Russia could celebrate a Ponzi scheme con artist as a national hero. It’s a complicated place. Transparently based on Sergei Mavrodi, the Russian Madoff, a bizarre episode of post-Soviet economic history is only slightly exaggerated in Eldar Salavatov’s Pyrammmid, which screens during the 2012 Brooklyn Film Festival.

Mavrodi’s dodgy financial empire was also known as MMM and its commercials promising forty percent returns on investment were a constant presence on Russian television during its heyday. Many Russians blamed its inevitable collapse on the government thanks to conspiracy theories no doubt nurtured by Mavrodi. However, the fictional Sergey Mamontov’s MMM really is the target of the corrupt national government and their oligarchic allies. Understand: Mamontov is no mere charlatan. He is scamming all that money in order to preserve Russian ownership of the old state-owned enterprises being sold to the well-connected at fire-sale prices, through a dubious privatization process. Well, that’s Pyrammmid’s story and its sticking to it.

It gets quite complicated, though. Raking in cash, Mamontov plans a fatal run on his major banking rival, while getting involved in weird sidelines, like buying the major Russian beauty pageant. Most of those distractions are the brainchild of maverick mathematician Anton who loses sight of the big picture. Frankly, the film is a bit overstuffed with plot, sacrificing the dead weight of transitions to fit it all in. As a result, audiences watching it in subtitles really have to keep on their toes.

Reportedly, Pyrammmid is based on an unpublished manuscript by Mavrodi, which must be considered either a novel or a memoir, depending on whether or not you happen to be Sergei Mavrodi. Ideologically, it is a bit of a head-scratcher, unambiguously lionizing exactly the sort of financial plunderer the current regime made its name inveighing against. Still, the symbolic significance of Mamontov’s choice of car is hard to miss: a vintage Soviet Chaika sedan. In fact, the film has nothing to say regarding the lack of consequences faced by the oppressive former Communist hardliners. Indeed, that refusal to account for the past has led the country precisely where it is now. The presence of Putin favorite Nikita Mikhalkov’s son Artyom and daughter Anna Mikhalkova in the ensemble cast further muddies the waters.

Having played more traditionally action-oriented protagonists in previous films (such as the Da Vinci Code-ish Golden Mean), Alexey Serebryakov is surprisingly convincing as the owlish Mamontov (those specs are another Mavrodi trademark). Unfortunately, he is largely surrounded by stock characters existing simply to serve the plot, like Gutov the shifty lawyer and Vera the ambitious muckraking photojournalist.

Frankly, the fact that this movie exists is downright mind-blowing. Imagine a slick, big budget American film positioning Bernie Madoff as a misunderstood hero, whom we should give good money to, for the sake of the country. That is about how Pyrammmid shakes out. It is a fast-moving big-canvas conspiracy thriller that does not always make a whole lot of sense. Yet, it is more stylistically grounded than the thematically related Generation P. Flawed but fascinating for Russia watchers, it screens again this Wednesday (5/6) at IndieScreen as part of this year’s Brooklyn Film Festival.

Posted on June 4th, 2012 at 9:31pm.

By Joe Bendel. The war is over, but for many Polish women it’s hard to call the aftermath “peace.” This is especially true for ethnic German Masurians, formerly of eastern Prussia, like Rose Kwiatkowska. Though Poland has been “liberated,” they are constantly reminded that “their side” lost, and are treated as treasonous pariahs, accordingly. Yet, Kwiatkowska’s situation is especially dire, as a mysterious Polish veteran slowly discovers in Wojtek Smarzowski’s uncompromising Rose, which opened the 2012 Brooklyn Film Festival Friday at the Brooklyn Heights Cinema.

Tadeusz Mazur is a world-weary Home Army veteran, who witnessed things during the Warsaw Uprising no man could forget. He watched as his wife was raped and murdered by the rampaging National Socialists, and was also present during the death of Kwiatkowska’s husband. She is not exactly welcoming when he turns up to deliver some of her husband’s effects, yet a bond slowly forms between them. Kwiatkowska needs protection from the Soviet-aligned bandits, who literally rape and pillage their way through the Masurian countryside. She could also use his help clearing the landmines from her fields, so they can harvest the potatoes. As for Mazur, he has his reasons to lay low, hoping not to attract the attention of the NKVD. However, Masuria is not the best place to be to avoid trouble.

Michał Szczerbic’s screenplay is brutally direct and honest about the treatment of women during wartime by the Germans, the Soviets, and their minions (indeed, they all seem to blend together throughout the film). The sheer volume of sexual assaults in Smarzowski’s historical drama is overwhelming, but they are never treated in a lurid or sensationalized fashion. Rather, it is a harrowing depiction of an ugly period of institutionalized score-settling.

Yet incredibly, Rose is a fundamentally a love story, sensitively bringing to life the brief but intense relationship that develops between Kwiatkowska and Mazur. There are no cute courtship rituals or romantic contrivances. They simply fall in love (or something near enough to it), while banding together to survive. It is definitely not pretty, but in a way, it is kind of beautiful.

Marcin Dorociński is riveting as Mazur, portraying him as both a flinty man of action and a tragic romantic hero. It is a bit surprising how thoroughly he dominates the film (since it is called Rose), but he does. Agata Kulesza is also quite haunting as Kiatkowska, creating a profile of herculean endurance. Their scenes together are quite special.

Despite somewhat rushing the third act (which features a few “wait, he did what?” moments), Smarzowski (previously represented at BFF with the gritty Martial Law-era noir The Dark House) deftly helms Rose, capturing the sweep of terrible historical forces, but maintaining an intimate focus. He forces viewers to confront the nature of the crimes committed against Kiatkowska and other Masurian women, up close and personal. Polish free jazz bass clarinetist Mikołaj Trzaska’s eerie minimalist score also heightens the unsettling mood.

Rose can be tough to watch, but it is an excellent film. Highly recommended, it screens again this coming Thursday (6/7) at IndieScreen, as part of this year’s Brooklyn Film Festival.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on June 4th, 2012 at 9:30pm.

By Joe Bendel. Ernest Hemingway deliberately cultivated his notoriously macho image – yet he somehow found four women willing to marry him at various points of his life. That was a lot of optimism, on everyone’s part. Though she had the shortest tenure as a “Mrs. Hemingway,” war correspondent Martha Gellhorn was the most notable. Matching and at times surpassing his feats of war zone journalistic daring, Gellhorn fired his passion and inspired his professional respect and jealousy. Their tempestuous relationship is dramatized in Philip Kaufman’s HBO Film Hemingway & Gellhorn now currently airing on the network.

When ambitious young magazine writer Martha Gellhorn first meets the funky, grungy Hemingway in a Key West bar, they can barely resist tearing the clothes off each other. The fact that he is married hardly matters to either of them. However, their animal attraction will have to briefly wait until they reunite covering the Spanish Civil War, at the behest of ardent Spanish Republican supporter John Dos Passos.

Working with Dutch Communist documentarian-propagandist Joris Ivens, Hemingway and Dos Passos film The Spanish Earth (with Gellhorn tagging along), for the purpose of rallying American audiences to the Republican cause. Frankly, it is considerable more compelling to watch their run-and-gun shooting process in H&G than the historical documentary itself. That adrenaline also fuels the war reporters’ torrid affair.

Just like Hemingway and Gellhorn’s relationship, the film really clicks during their time together in Spain. Viewers are served a liberal helping of Nationalist atrocities, but the portrayal of the Soviet forces is also refreshingly unvarnished, particularly with respects to the fatal purging of heroic Loyalist soldier Paco Zarra, a stand-in for Dos Passos’ doomed friend José Robles. While the literary power couple is shown fawning over Chou En-lai and sneering at the gauche Chiangs in China, Gellhorn also reports from Finland, unequivocally siding with the Finns against the Soviet invaders.

Unfortunately, the film loses vitality with the aging Hemingway, sliding into the long denouement of his dubious u-boat chasing Cuban years and sad final days in Idaho. By the time America enters WWII, screenwriters Jerry Stahl and Barbara Turner clearly suggest Gellhorn was more of a man than Hemingway. Of course, this is a common problem with bio-pics. To be accurate, they can almost never end with the good stuff.

Regardless of his character arc, Clive Owen totally goes for broke as Hemingway. One of the few actors working today who can come across as both manly and literate, he bellows and carouses with relish. It is a larger than life performance, bordering on camp, yet he is still able to convey Hemingway’s inner demons and nagging self-doubts. He also manages to dial it down periodically for some saucy Tracy-and-Hepburn bantering with Nicole Kidman’s Gellhorn. Likewise, Kidman is on a very short list of actresses who can play smart, sophisticated, and alluring, simultaneously. In fact, she could be channeling Hepburn and the Rosalind Russell of His Girl Friday as the fast-talking, khaki-wearing journalist crusading against injustice, which is frankly pretty cool.

In addition to the strong chemistry between the leads, H&G boasts a strong supporting ensemble. David Strathairn is particularly engaging as the disillusioned idealist, Dos Passos, serving as a subtle corrective to Hemingway’s ethical malleability. Metallica’s Lars Ulrich adds notable color as Ivens, while Tony Shaloub conveys a sense of both the menace and tragedy of the Stalinist true believer Mikhal Koltsov, who is considered to be the source for the Karkov character in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Again, the most inspired work comes during or prior to the Spanish Civil War sequences.

Frequently approximating the look of black-and-white news reels and Ivens’ documentary footage, H&G is highly cinematic (getting a vital assist from cinematographer Rogier Stoffers). Kaufman is a big canvas filmmaker, with sufficient artistic stature to merit a recent MoMA film retrospective—a high honor indeed. While steamier and gossipier than The Right Stuff, it is downright staid compared to his Henry & June and The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

An appropriately messy film sprawling all over the place, H&G is rowdily entertaining, capturing a good deal more historical insight than one would expect. Definitely recommended for those who appreciate the Hemingway oeuvre and persona (as well admirers of Gellhorn or Dos Passos), Hemingway & Gellhorn airs again on HBO June 2nd, 7th, 10th, 11th, 15th, and 19th and on HBO2 on June 4th, 6th, 12th, 17th, 21st, 25th, and 30th.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on May 31st, 2012 at 9:21am.

By Joe Bendel. It could be said socialist “President” Plutarco Calles made Mexico a holier place. After all, he was ultimately responsible for the canonization of twenty-five Mexican saints, by martyring them during the Christero War. His brutal “anti-clerical” laws inspired a heroic rebellion, however, dramatized in Dean Wright’s For Greater Glory, which would have been thematically appropriate for Memorial Day weekend but which opens this Friday across the country instead.

General Enrique Gorostieta Velarde does not believe in the Catholic faith, but in religious liberty—perhaps enough to even die for it. He has also been offered an unusually high salary to take command of the hardscrabble Christero forces. Before his appointment, the Christero rebels had won embarrassing victories, but they were not considered a serious threat to the Calles regime. However, Gorostieta is a man to be reckoned with.

Calles is a duly elected dictator, who razes churches and executes foreign born priests like the kindly Father Christopher, played by Peter O’Toole (who must enjoy the irony of such a pious role, given his notoriously checkered private life). Glory is not shy about depicting the violent oppression meted out by the Calles forces, most notably with their treatment of José Luis Sánchez del Río, the captured mascot of Gorostieta’s army, who joined the Christeros after witnessing the state-sanctioned murder of Father Christopher. However, the film does not just wave the bloody shirt. Christeros like the legendary “El Catorce” take the battle to the Federales good and hard, heedless of their superior numbers, in several satisfying scenes of vintage warfighting.

Of course, Glory is a prime example of one of the fundamental laws of cinema: don’t mess with Andy Garcia. Perfectly cast as Gorostieta, he captures both the swagger and the gravitas of the principled man of action. It is easy to see why men would follow him into battle. Just as Garcia looks the part of Gorostieta, Ruben Blades is the near spitting image of Calles, aptly conveying his arrogance and ruthlessness.

Santiago Cabrera is also quite a riveting presence as Father Vega, a priest turned guerrilla general, while young Mauricio Kuri is surprisingly poised as Sánchez del Río. It is a strong and accomplished cast, even featuring Oscar nominee Catalina Sandino Morena (for Maria Full of Grace) as Christero fund-raiser Adriana. Though a bit of an undercooked role, she projects a strong presence nonetheless. However, Eva Longoria seems to be dropped into the film merely for decorative effect as Gorostieta’s wife, Tulita. Arguably the most intriguing supporting turn comes from the ever-reliable Bruce Greenwood as American Ambassador Dwight Morrow, sent to broker a deal to keep the petroleum flowing, duly fulfilling his brief despite the twinges of his conscience.

Indeed, Glory shines a spotlight on some conveniently overlooked Mexican and American history. Had Coolidge been more Reaganite and backed the Christeros, the Twentieth Century might have been much more prosperous and pleasant for Mexico. Instead, Calles’s PRI party would dominate Mexico for decades, whereas Calles himself briefly took refuge in America during a period of involuntary exile, where he fell in with the marginalized fascist movement (maybe he even met Morrow’s future son-in-law, Charles Lindbergh). Frankly, he ought to be regarded as one of history’s worst despots.

Granted, Glory is not exactly the most nuanced film, but there is not a lot of room for subtlety in such a brazen episode of religious persecution. Though director Dean Wright’s background is in special effects, he shows a strong aptitude for old school cavalry and artillery battles. (The English language dialogue is a bit of a misstep though, in contrast to the greater authenticity subtitled Spanish would have lent the film.) Pretty stirring stuff, For Greater Glory is earnestly recommended for everyone concerned about state encroachments on religious liberty,and who can still enjoy a sweeping historical tragedy. It opens nationwide this Friday (6/1), including at the AMC Empire and Village 7 theaters in New York.

LFM GRADE: B+

Posted on May 29th, 2012 at 2:58pm.

By Joe Bendel. It turns out there really are little grey aliens out there. The X-Files had them perfectly pegged physically, but the rest of their nature has yet to be determined. They are coming, though. A motley assortment of Italians await their anticipated arrival during the planet’s final pre-contact days in Gian Alfonso Pacinotti’s deceptively spoilerishly titled The Last Man on Earth, which screens as part of the 2012 Seattle International Film Festival.

Luca Bertacci is a miserable man leading a depressing life. The anti-social bingo parlor waiter has issues with women, but he is not too fond of men, either. Perhaps logically, his only friend (strictly platonic) is a transvestite prostitute. Still, there are understandable reasons for his emotional deep freeze. Despite his long nurtured resentments, he finds himself pining for Anna Luini, a pretty neighbor across the street.

Unlike the rest of the world, Bertacci tries not to think about the aliens, so he is rather surprised to find his elderly father cohabitating with an early arriver. It seems to be a chaste relationship, but her presence invigorates the old man. Bertacci even starts talking to Luini. It isn’t pretty, but it is a beginning. Unfortunately, mistakes in their private lives might have rather cosmic implications as first contact approaches.

Bertacci is hardly a typical sci-fi action protagonist. Rather than I Am Legend, think of him more like the guy in the “if you were the last man on Earth” expression. Still, the aliens really are coming, which serves as an amusing Rorschach for various characters’ neuroses. During the opening credits, one radio talk show caller even expresses concern for the impact on small market football teams. In a way, Last is like two (or perhaps one and a half) decidedly oddball love stories, connected by unrestrained existential dread.

Hardly kid-friendly space opera, Last lurches into some pretty ominous places, but Gabriele Spinelli solidly anchors it all as Bertacci. While sympathetic, there is clearly something off about the waiter that is never fixed with a neat psychological contrivance. Frankly, it is pretty engrossing just watching the dysfunctional gears turning in his head. Though she only has one really heavy scene, Anna Bellato is a dynamic presence as her namesake, while the makeup obscured Sara Rosa Losilla’s weirdly awkward body language perfectly suits the alien.

A distinctive work of cerebral social science fiction, Last would make a good double feature with Nacho Vigalondo’s Extraterrestrial, which also screens at SIFF this year. Of course, Pacinotti’s film would definitely be the darker half. Yet the comic artist (a.k.a. Gipi) turned director never allows the angst to overwhelm the story. Recommended for discerning genre fans, Last Man on Earth screens this Thursday (5/31) during SIFF.

LFM GRADE: B+

Posted on May 29th, 2012 at 2:21pm.

By Joe Bendel. Technically, there is only one bat monster in Francis Gordon’s latest B-movie, but it would hardly be the first time the zero-budget mogul delivered slightly less than promised. It will certainly attack though, rest assured. By hook or by crook, his cast and crew will pound out his next drive-in programmer in Attack of the Bat Monsters!, Graham Kelly Greene’s affectionate love letter to campy late 1950’s and early 1960’s monster movie-making, an alumni selection returning to officially open the 2012 Dances with Films this Thursday.

Attack is not about Roger Corman per se, but it would not have been made without his example. Gordon is definitely a grindhouse showman in the Corman mold. He is convinced he can fix anything in the editing room as long as they follow his cardinal rule: “when the monster’s dead, the movie is over.” Paralleling the genesis of Corman’s Little Shop of Horrors, Gordon wrapped production on his latest film early, but he still has three paid-up days in the southern California rock quarry he does not intend to waste.

Suddenly, AD Chuck Grayson is rushing about lining up a screenwriter (the least important part), a pseudo-star, and a new monster (that would be the biggie). The beatnik poet Bobby Barnstone and his Barnstone method of Benzedrine-fueled stream-of-consciousness screenwriting looks like the best bet for generating fast pages. They don’t have to be good, after all. Larry “The Cat Creature” Meeker, Jr. seems to have fallen on hard enough times that he would consider a Francis Gordon movie; plus, a former creature-making colleague has just been fired by a major studio. However, he still harbors bad feelings over The Snake Woman, a Gordon production so notorious, the mere mention of the title sucks the air out of rooms.

All the Corman motifs are present and accounted for, including spaced-out beatniks, a jazzy soundtrack, and a ridiculously cheesy monster. What sets Attack apart from thematically similar B-movie pastiches is Greene’s confidence in the behind-the-scenes story. There will be no real life monsters or aliens invading their set, just the union goon extras from a studio gladiator movie sent to run the crew out of the quarry ahead of schedule.

Attack had its world premiere at DWF back in 2000. Frankly, the fact that the film has yet to develop its own cult following is downright mystifying, because it really delivers the goods. Greene knows the Corman lore inside-out and his cast of not exactly household names is way funnier than you would expect. There is also a real edge to his dialogue, as when Gordon indignantly defends his honor by declaring he always pays his taxes and pays-off his unions. Indeed, what more could one ask of a good Hollywood citizen?

There are some hilarious supporting assists here, particularly Robert Bassetti as Barnstone and Douglas Taylor as Meeker, Jr. Fred Ballard is also pitch-perfect as the prickly Gordon, while Michael Dalmon gamely holds the madness together as the put-upon Grayson.

Without question, Attack is generously stocked with goofy humor, but it can also be quite sly. Yet there is a real heart beneath the bedlam that cares about its characters, precisely because on some level they also care about the B-movies they are churning out, despite being fully aware of their schlockiness. A completely satisfying, all-around good show, Attack of the Bat Monsters is ripe for re/discovery when it opens this year’s Dances with Films this coming Thursday night (5/31) in Hollywood, USA.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on May 29th, 2012 at 2:02pm.