An Apocalyptic Vision: LFM Reviews The Lost Town of Switez

By Joe Bendel. So deeply ingrained are the images of a devastated Poland during WWII and the Soviet era, many Americans forget the millennia-old country was one of the great European powers during the Middle Ages. Poland’s Casimir III was the first crown head of Europe to grant legal protection to Jewish subjects. It was also one of the few European countries untouched by the Black Death, perhaps the result of good national karma. The glory of Medieval Poland is evoked in Kamil Polak’s visually arresting animated short The Lost Town of Świteź (trailer above), which screens this Saturday as part of the shorts program during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Transitions retrospective of recent Polish cinema.

Based on Adam Mickiewicz’s epic poem, one of many celebrating Poland’s folklore, Town begins on the proverbial dark and stormy night. A nineteenth century nobleman’s carriage is waylaid by the inclement weather. Far from a sanctuary, this forest appears to be enchanted. Seeking refuge from spectral horse-soldiers, the man finds himself transported to the mythic city of Świteź, where he witnesses its destruction at the hands of the hordes pursuing him. As the city faithful send up orisons to heaven, a choir of angels comes down to bear witness to man’s carnage (and perhaps the salvation of the next life).

Combining specially commissioned oil paintings, rendered in a style suggestive of great Polish artists like Józef Chełmoński and Aleksander Gierymski, with state of the art computer animation, Town has a rich, ethereal look unlike any in recent animation. Some enterprising film festival ought to program it with Lech Majewski’s The Mill and the Cross, which in many ways is the nearest comparable film.

Perhaps though, what is most striking about Town is the unapologetically powerful Christian imagery. Completely without irony, Polak’s film conveys an apocalyptic Christian vision with far greater overwhelming immediacy than anything attempted in recent evangelical cinema. Yet it can also be enjoyed simply as a Slavonic variant on the Atlantis archetype. The film is also perfectly scored by Irina Bogdanovich, whose compositions unambiguously suggest the Middle Ages, but with a hint of romanticism.

Town truly proves animation can be both a form of entertainment as well as high art. Best appreciated on the big screen, Polak will present his painterly canvas in-person when Town screens this Saturday (9/10) at the Walter Reade Theater, as part of Transition’s shorts block. It will also screen again in New York later in the month (9/23) at the 2011 NYC Short Film Festival as part of program A.

Posted on September 8th, 2011 at 3:02pm.

Patti Smith

By David Ross. Let’s admit it. We all have a weak spot for certain women from the wrong side of the political tracks. Maybe you have little fantasies about discussing Bresson with Susan Sontag while soaping her back in the tub. Maybe you imagine sharing the Sunday paper with Joan Didion. My own weakness – lifelong – is for Patti Smith. I had a girlfriend who gamely stood in line to have Patti sign a CD copy of Horses for me. When she finally got to the front of the queue, she told Patti, “My boyfriend is in love with you.” Patti said, “Doesn’t he notice these grey hairs?” My girlfriend said, “I don’t think he cares.” Well spoken on my behalf.

William Blake offers – perhaps ‘records’ is the more appropriate verb – this exchange with the prophet Isaiah in The Marriage of Heaven and Hell:

Then I asked: “Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?”
He replied, “All poets believe that it does, and in ages of imagination the firm persuasion removed mountains; but many are not capable of a firm persuasion of anything.” (V, 27-32).

What’s so alluring in the supra-physical sense is Patti’s capacity for this “firm persuasion.” She’s not mugging (like Bono) or merely howling (like Kurt Cobain): her music is a disciplined act of conviction in her own poetic and prophetic calling. One can look awfully silly as a self-styled poet or prophet (Jim Morrison certainly did) but Patti never waivers and never allows the spell to break; we’re convinced in the end because she’s utterly convinced from the start. Arguably, Patti was the last legitimate keeper of the romantic flame itself, that desperate belief in art that began in the late nineteenth century and guttered utterly in our own time.

A bony, boyish waif from Woodbury Gardens, NJ, Smith cut her teeth at the Chelsea Hotel and St. Mark’s Church during the late 1960s and early 1970s, achieving minor underground celebrity as an actress, playwright, rock journalist, artist, and poet. Her chief inspirations were predictable but nonetheless powerful: Rimbaud, Genet, Burroughs, Ginsberg, Dylan, Hendrix, the Rolling Stones. In 1971, she began to recite her poetry to guitarist Lenny Kaye’s accompaniment. By 1976, she had improbably become the most acclaimed female rock star since Janis Joplin and Grace Slick had emerged ten years earlier.

Smith’s first album, Horses (1975), weds cascades of Beat-and Symbolist-inflected poetry to the lean, driving sound of proto-punk garage rock. The album remains a signature argument for the artistry of rock’n’roll and is to my mind one of the ten supreme albums of the rock era. Rolling Stone ranks Horses 44th on its list of the 500 greatest albums of all time, just behind Dark Side of the Moon. This becomes a backhanded compliment when you consider certain albums that rank higher: the Eagles’ Hotel California (#37), Carol King’s Tapestry (#36), David Bowie’s The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (#35), U2’s The Joshua Tree (#26), Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours (#25), and Michael Jackson’s Thriller (#20). Preferring Tapestry to Horses is like preferring Jennifer Aniston to Veronica Lake – an aesthetic misjudgment that raises questions about one’s entire world view.

Judge for yourself: here is the epic studio version of “Birdland,” Smith’s fantastic synthesis of Arthur C. Clarke, Shelley’s Queen Mab, and the Book of Revelations. Ponder also these scruffy, raging, nearly epileptic live versions of “Horses” and “Gloria.” Continue reading Patti Smith

Punk Rock Behind The Iron Curtain: LFM Reviews All That I Love

By Joe Bendel. Punk rock is supposed to be subversive. For Communist Poland poised on the brink of Martial Law, it was downright revolutionary, in spades. Yet, young Janek and his friends were not trying to be political, and this is exactly why their music is so threatening in Jacek Borcuch’s All That I Love (trailer above), Poland’s most recent submission for official foreign language Academy Award consideration, which screens this Saturday as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s new retrospective, Transitions: Recent Polish Cinema.

Janek’s brother also plays in his hardcore punk band, All That I Love, affectionately known as ATIL for short. His mother is a nurse, which is all fine and good, but his father is a mid-level officer in the Polish Navy. Ordinarily this is a good thing, leading to a few modest perks for the family. However, when courting Basia Martyniak, the very cute daughter of Solidarity organizers, it is not so hot. The rebellious nature of his music does not cut much ice with the Martyniaks either, but Basia is impressed.

Though not necessarily impressed himself, Janek’s father is still supportive enough to arrange rehearsal space on the local base. Clearly the naval captain is not the typical Communist apparatchik, a fact not lost on Sokołowski, the neighborhood Party snitch. Resenting the boys’ ill-concealed interest in his cougarish wife, Sokołowski targets them where it will hurt the most—their music.

Throughout the film, Borcuch juggles a number of disparate elements quite sure-handedly, including a rather tender coming-of-age romance and some paint-peeling punk, based on the music of the era-appropriate Polish band WC. It is also a story of human tragedy, directly resulting from an inherently oppressive political ideology. Yet part of the irony of ATIL is that Janek’s family will probably be far better off in the new Poland that rises from the ashes of Communism for having gone through their tribulations in the film. Unfortunately, viewers can surmise the short term will be rather long and difficult for them in the December of 1981.

There is no denying the charismatic appeal of Borcuch’s teen-aged leads. Mateusz Kościukiewicz’s Janek could have walked out of Tom Hanks’ That Thing You Do into Jaruzelski’s police state, while as Basia, Olga Frycz resembles a considerably younger and warmer Nicole Kidman. Yet, arguably Andrzej Chrya serves as the lynchpin of the film, investing Janek’s father with humanity and integrity that will first challenge and then reconfirm all our assumptions of Poland’s Communist military.

With convincing period detail, Elwira Pluta’s design team faithfully recreates the bleak look of Martial Law era Poland, when Brutalist-style Soviet housing projects were considered desirable. Nevertheless, despite the apparent downer ending mandated by history, ATIL is a surprisingly uplifting film, deriving optimism from the spirit of its characters.  An excellent kick-off for the FSLC’s Transitions series, ATIL screens this Saturday (9/10) and next Thursday (9/15) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Posted on September 7th, 2011 at 10:15am.

The Legacy of The Holocaust in France: LFM Reviews Sarah’s Key

By Patricia Ducey. The year is 1942; the place, a temporary camp for French Jews just outside Paris. As French gendarmes tear infants away from their hysterical mothers, the children and mothers panic and stampede the police. The officer in charge perceives that the rioting will soon spiral out control. “Cooperate,” he bellows soothingly to the distraught families, “and all will be well.” The crowd calms and a tense order is restored; the women and able-bodied children file away to the waiting train and disappear inside, never again to see the toddlers they left behind.

As I watch this heartbreaking sequence another image comes to mind, perhaps because the ten-year anniversary approaches: the passport image of a 9/11 suicide hijacker. I am struck by the memory of his similar, chilling admonition to “stay quiet and you’ll be okay” as he steered the plane towards the Towers. I now understand why the lies of tyrants and murderers are so simple and so timeless – because they play upon a human nature that rejects the terrible knowledge of such evil. Those simple lies work. This vulnerability resonates throughout the new film Sarah’s Key into the present day, elevating the film from Lifetime bathos to must-see drama.

French director Gilles Paquet-Brenner adapts the best selling novel by Tatiana de Rosnay and brings it successfully to life. His Sarah’s Key whittles down the story to an effective through-line, eliminating some of the novel’s distracting twists and turns – and at the same time fleshing out the characters through a smart and economical script, expert actors and rich cinematography. We feel in the end that this novel had to be a movie, this very movie.

The film begins as Julia Jarmond, an American journalist married and living in Paris, takes on a story assignment about the 1942 roundup of Jews in Paris. She soon discovers a paucity of information: the site of the roundup was torn down years before and only one photograph remains of the incident, buses waiting outside the velodrome. The government has no written records or photos of what went on inside.

The Parisian government willingly collaborated with the Nazis, and prepared well for the morning when they knocked on the doors of thousands of apartments and herded the Jews inside into transports that delivered them to the famous indoor bicycle stadium. These French Jews remained at the Velodrome d’Hiver for days in stifling heat with no sanitary facilities or adequate water; many died there. The rest were eventually transported to camps outside Paris and then to the trains to take them to camps they were told, as usual, were work camps.

Kristin Scott Thomas as Julia Jarmond.

As Julia interviews private individuals still searching for survivors and records, she discovers that her in-laws may have taken over an apartment in the Marais left empty by one such deported Jewish family. The concurrent story of that Jewish family, especially of the daughter Sarah – who hides her little brother in a secret closet in the apartment – intercuts with the present day events until the strands finally come together.

Kristin Scott-Thomas plays Julia, the American living in Paris with her French husband, and handles both the investigative journalist role and her domestic currents with equal skill and heart. The script by Serge Joncour concentrates on her persistence and emotional openness so that we simply cannot imagine anyone else playing her. But young French actress Melusine Mayance as Sarah Starzynski simply amazes; she fills the screen in a pitch perfect performance, full of love and sorrow, courage and intelligence. Wisely, the director allows Sarah’s tragic 1942 story to emerge as the foreground story, while Julia’s present day difficulties provide an echo of the past and a reminder of some eternal truths. Continue reading The Legacy of The Holocaust in France: LFM Reviews Sarah’s Key

The War Photography of Robert Capa: LFM Reviews The Mexican Suitcase @ DocuWeeks LA 2011

By Joe Bendel. Many writers, most notably Hemingway and Malraux, tried to write the Spanish Civil narrative for a worldwide audience. However, it was the work of trailblazing war photojournalist Robert Capa that supplied the images for the Republican cause célèbre. Unfortunately, thousands of his negatives were lost, suspected to be somewhere in Mexico. Through the efforts of the International Center of Photography (ICP), founded by the photographer’s late brother Cornell, the not-so apocryphal case was found and its contents have been catalogued and preserved. The story of the photos and the photojournalists behind the camera are told in Trisha Ziff’s The Mexican Suitcase (trailer here), which is currently screening as part of the 2011 DocuWeeks in Los Angeles.

Not really a suitcase per se (strangely, it is not pictured on the film’s one-sheet), the suitcase was a small partitioned box crafted by darkroom assistant Imre “Csiki” Weiss. Inside were not just scores of Capa negatives, including some of his best known images, but also those of his wife Gerda Taro and close colleague David Seymour, a.k.a. “Shim.” In fact, the suitcase led to many photos previously considered part of the Capa canon to be reattributed to Taro or Seymour.

Those who only know Capa as a name and perhaps for the iconic “Falling Soldier,” supposedly taken at Cerro Muriano (the authenticity of which has fallen into dispute), should certainly gain an appreciation of his work through Suitcase. Though it was impossible to compose shots in a traditional sense during the heat of battle, he clearly had a talent for framing the action on the fly. The film also gives Taro and Seymour their proper due for battlefield fearlessness.

Unfortunately, Suitcase is overly simplistic in its treatment of the Spanish Civil War, perhaps reflecting the involvement of groups dedicated to promoting the legacy of the Communist-oriented Abraham Lincoln Brigade. As a result, Suitcase strictly adheres to the “good war” Party line, ignoring the sometimes bloody Republican in-fighting between Communists and Anarchists, the Republican atrocities committed against the Catholic Church, the purges perpetrated by Republican sponsor Joseph Stalin (by this time generally public knowledge amongst the educated classes), and the bitter divisions amongst ALB veterans stemming from the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. That is unfortunate, because it robs the film of nearly all the irony and messiness that made the war such a compelling episode of world history. Indeed, which would you rather read, Ernest Hemingway’s undeniably pro-Republican but still nuanced For Whom the Bell Tolls or Alvah Bessie’s Party approved propaganda?

Spanish War photography from Robert Capa.

As art history, Suitcase is fascinating stuff, lucidly establishing the significance of the suitcase’s recovery and the further light its contents shed on the work of Capa, Taro, and Seymour. It also serves as an effective commercial for the ICP and its talented staff. On the other hand, as historical commentary on the Spanish Civil War, the film is rather shallow and should in no way be considered definitive. A mixed bag, recommended at least for photography buffs, Suitcase screens through Thursday (9/8) in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5, after which point it should be officially qualified for Oscar consideration, unless canceled New York screenings during Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene affect its standing.

Posted on September 6th, 2011 at 12:08am.

Co-eds & Cajuns: LFM Mini-Review of Shark Night 3D

By Jason Apuzzo. THE PITCH: Riffing off last year’s surprise cult hit Piranha 3D, Rogue Pictures cross-breeds Jaws with Deliverance to create Shark Night 3D – an energetic genre quickie that follows a pack of sexy, edible college students as they navigate a nightmarish evening along Louisiana’s backwaters, dodging voracious sharks and insane Cajuns.

THE SKINNY: Though not half as wild or excessive as Piranha, the surprisingly satisfying Shark Night delivers plenty of thrills, bikinis and even some unexpected satire – while turning Lake Pontchartrain into one of the creepiest cinema backwaters since Boggy Creek.

WHAT WORKS: • The film’s remote Louisiana locations create an unnerving and slightly bizarre atmosphere – an upside-down, backwoods world in which the otherwise ludicrous storyline of shark-fueled Cajun revenge against fancy college kids actually makes (some) sense.

• Sara Paxton delivers a surprisingly credible performance as the lead co-ed, given that she spends the entire film either in an eye-popping cyan bikini or covered in fish-gore.

• It’s hard not to love the film’s colorful, freakish Cajuns – one of whom has teeth sharpened like a possum, another of whom quotes Nietzsche (“It’s beyond good and evil!”) while describing his bizarre, money-making scheme to … ***SPOILER WARNING*** … live-webcast college students being eaten by sharks. ***END OF SPOILERS*** These backwater charismatics give the film a slightly Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibe.

• The 3D is excellent, with the film having been shot natively in that format. The underwater scenes in particular look frothy and alive.

WHAT DOESN’T WORK: • The film’s lead bad-guy, as played by male model Chris Carmack, is too much of a pretty boy and seems out of place among the ragin’ Cajuns.

• There’s far too much build-up in getting to know the various college kids, none of whom are all that interesting and most of whom are chowder by film’s end.

• The sharks look a little too nimble and digital. I miss the days when movie sharks were bulky, slow and rubber.

• For much of the film, the sharks seem smarter than the college kids. Then again, perhaps that was the point.

THE BOTTOM LINE: The basic fun of Shark Night, its biggest surprise, is that the behavior of the human villains is far more outrageous and ruthless than anything the sharks can muster. In the dog-eat-dog world of today’s economy, the film seems to be saying, it’s amazing what some people will do to get a head. Or to get an arm. Or a leg.

(Incidentally, Shark Night is rated PG-13, and most of the film’s violence and nudity are merely implied. This film doesn’t even come close to the bacchic excesses of Piranha, which probably deserved an NC-17.)

There have been some great underwater creature features over the years, from the 3D Creature from the Black Lagoon in 1954, to Jaws and The Deep in the 1970s, to last year’s Piranha (see my review here; Piranha 3DD, with David Hasselhoff and Gary Busey, comes out November 23rd). Shark Night is definitely a minor entry in this genre, but it holds its own.

Hurry!

What’s surprising is that the people behind this unassuming little thriller thought to supplement their toothy sharks with creepy human characters, backwater Cajuns apparently suffering from a major case of class envy. These Cajuns ridicule and sneer at the college kids, and it’s hard to blame them given the way these supposedly brainy kids walk (or swim) right into one obvious trap after another. Shark Night indulges in a certain amount of satire directed not only at the rustic Cajuns, with their outrageous and gruesome money-making scheme, but also toward naive city kids who are useless outside of their safe, academic/urban environments. The same kids who seem hip on their Tulane University campus early in the film – lazily playing Halo, indulging in loose sex talk, and planning their lucrative post-collegiate careers – get ripped to pieces out in the ‘real’ world, fooled at every turn by their cagey Cajun rivals. It’s not exactly Tennessee Williams material, but Shark Night knows when to amplify the terror of the sharks with a dash of class warfare – all to juicy, amusing effect.

I haven’t had the chance to visit Louisiana since Hurricane Katrina, although I’ve been very eager to get back. I think I’ll stick to the cities, though. Those Cajun guys look too clever for me, and I wouldn’t want to end up as some shark’s gumbo.

Posted on September 3rd, 2011 at 2:43pm.