|
Slam Directed by Marc Levin Starring Saul Williams, Sonja Sohn Distribution: Trimark ** ½ / B- |
 |
I naggingly feel particularly unqualified to comment about Marc Levin's Sundance-feted Slam, as the emotional and thematic core of the picture is in its charged poetry readings, an area in which I have no previous familiarity. The picture's usage of them impressed me in terms of sheer raw intensity -- the fiery readings by real-life poets Saul Williams and Sonja Sohn are easily the highlights of both the film and the actors' performances -- though not particularly in terms of lyricism, nor in terms of plausibility (the explosive prison outburst by Saul Williams' Ray character to awe rival gangs into a non-hostile placidity, though well-intentioned, seemed about as genuine as Michael Jackson breakdancing his way out of a thrashing in the Beat It music video). The remainder of the film's elements (gritty street visuals accompanied by pulsating rap soundtrack), which assemble to promote a familiar case against gang violence, are fairly routine and not especially effective in light of other similarly-themed pictures which pack much more of a wallop -- John Singleton's excellent Boyz N The Hood, for one. Despite the obviousness of the picture's message, I appreciated much of Slam -- Ms. Sohn as prison teacher Lauren Bell has a particularly nice presence, and I was intrigued by a scene largely unrrelated to the remainder of the film, involving a loud-mouthed, seemingly suicidal Asian man belligerently howling his innocence as he and Ray are dragged off to jail.
|
Eternity And A Day Directed by Theo Angelopoulos Starring Bruno Ganz, Isabelle Renauld Distribution: none ** ½ / B- |
This year's Palme d'Or winner at Cannes, Theo Angelopoulos' Eternity And A Day is, as is his wont, a largely visual experience, although it captures a surprising amount of emotion with an endearing subplot. Predictably, Mr. Angelopoulos has crafted yet another film centering on the journey of a protagonist -- in this case, Alexander (Bruno Ganz), a writer suffering from an unspecified terminal illness, whom, while tying up various loose ends encounters a young illegal immigrant boy sustaining himself by washing car windows. After observing the child being scooped up by a gang to be sold off to childless Greeks, Alexander sets out to rescue the boy and return him to his grandmother in Albania. Though the basic outline suggests a cuddly, heartwarming friendship developed between the aging man and the cute young boy, what Mr. Angelopoulos does is more subtle and far more genuine -- a near-silent bond forms between the two as they journey, hand in hand, from one location to the next, generating a quiet tenderness. Alexander also lapses into retrospective memories of his late wife Anna with a resultant strong poignancy. Of course, what's most striking about Eternity And A Day are its remarkable images, captured by cinematographer Yorgos Arvanitis in a collection of long takes. The screen is employed like a tableau for a painting in the film, with a series of indelible images formed -- a memorable shot of figures hanging on a barbed wire barrier is powerful and strangely beautiful. The picture's score by Eleni Karaindrou is also arresting. Although the plodding pace can be trying -- though not exactly in impatience, I errantly perceived one particular traffic shot as the film's conclusion; it instead continued for some twenty additional minutes -- Eternity And A Day is an impressive and surprisingly heartfelt piece of work from Mr. Angelopoulos.
|
At Sachem Farm Directed by John Huddles Starring Minnie Driver, Rufus Sewell, Nigel Hawthorne Distribution: none * ½ / D+ |
A very nice Rufus Sewell comic performance is wasted in the otherwise-barren At Satchem Farm, an abysmal piece of would-be cute commercialism which starts off with a glimmer of potential only to bog down as yet another one of those quirky healing films where the ostensibly nutty turn around and lend helpful and insightful wisdom to the seemingly sane. In this case, the protagonist is zealously ambitious Ross (Rufus Sewell), seeker of a manganese fortune, and the eccentric is his zany great-uncle Cullen (Nigel Hawthorne), whose defining quirk is an obsession to perch on top of a 36-foot high pillar planted in the front yard of the residence. (Umm .. okay.) It's indicative of how badly this film is constructed solely from the handling of the scene which involves Cullen achieving his goal and serenely lording the affairs of all of our characters from high above -- as seen from Oscar & Lucinda and the glass church, the introduction of such a bizarre element should be done with an aura of charm, magic and whimsy -- here, all that's achieved is a sense of preposterousness. From start to finish, At Satchem Farm is wildly overdirected by John Huddles, who overwhelmes his off-kilter screenplay with an endless series of dissolve shots, bursts of rapid-fire editing, and a blaring upbeat pop soundtrack introduced at regular occasions -- I haven't seen a film which draws so much wholly-obtrusive attention to the director's work since Murder In The First. Utterly annoying and charmless, this first production from the Two Drivers prodco (Minnie Driver also stars as Ross' girlfriend Kendal, who mostly serves as decorative material) is a real bust, although production values and a few of the tunes are solid.
|
Broken Vessels Directed by Scott Ziehl Starring Todd Field, Jason London Distribution: none ** ½ / B- |
 |
Winner of the L.A. Independent Film Festival earlier this year, Broken Vessels features a new twist on an essentially traditional rise-and-fall junkie movie -- the protagonists here are paramedics, corruptly rifling through the possessions of their victims and constantly shooting up, sniffing, and smoking while racing from life-saving emergency to emergency. The wildly divergent abuse of authority calls to mind Mike Figgis' (far superior) Internal Affairs, though this picture is far less philosophical about the nature and influence of power and much more of a high-energy romp (with terrific production values nicely concealing the minute shooting budget) featuring some bits of wicked black humour (the fish tank scene, easy a gag as it was, nonetheless elicited a nice reaction from the audience -- the fibulator scene, on the other hand, was pretty unexpected). Adhering to the standard narrative arc of the fresh, innocent young kid indoctrined into the world of drugs by an darker-edged, experienced soul, the screenplay hits every obligatory plot point like clockwork, even tossing in the requisite (and ineffectual) romantic subplot. However, the picture's performances are uniformly solid, with Susan Traylor snaring particular attention for her portrayal of a hilariously zonked-out drug addict neighbour, a showy role which she plays to the hilt. While Broken Vessels fails to resonate as it inevitably declines to a bleak finalé (our protagonist's revealed secret isn't anything particularly powerful), one tidbit of trivia that's casually thrown out is particularly disturbing -- many L.A. paramedics, despite their critical role in society, apparently earn minimum wage.In attendance: director Scott Ziehl, actor Todd Field
|
Happiness Directed by Todd Solondz Starring Jane Adams, Dylan Baker, Lara Flynn Boyle Distribution: Good Machine Releasing **** / A |
Todd Solondz's judicious use of music in Happiness is so shrewd that I can't imagine the film eliciting half of the titters it does without it. It's not simply the songs on the soundtrack alone, although the choice selections are delightfully lame -- in his previous breakout film, Welcome To The Dollhouse, he revived a Debbie Gibson track to good effect; here, we get another taste of Debbie Boone and Air Supply -- but more in the incidental music accompanying the action; much as the flourishes associated with the pirouetting little would-be ballerina in Dollhouse drew guffaws by undercutting the curiously sadistic narrative, a great deal of the humour in Happiness is derived from the anachronistic music employed, particularly in the picture's most celebrated and controversial subplot involving a pedophilic Ward Cleaveresque father, Bill, (Dylan Baker) and his urges towards his son's classmates. It's obviously this contentious subject matter which provoked a nervous, wary (dare I say gutless?) Universal to instruct its arthouse branch, October Films, to drop distribution on the picture, but in all honesty, I don't see what the big deal is here; in reality, child molestation is, of course, a gravely serious matter, but how disturbing can one find Happiness with its sitcom-ish treatment of the material? (The euphoric music that arrives on the soundtrack as the picture slides into a luxurious slow-motion POV shot when Bill's ogling gaze falls upon young boys is indicative of the film's morbid and defiant playfulness towards taboo material.) The handling of the character's perversity is so far removed from the realm of reality that I'm stunned that anyone can find it profoundly uncomfortable, let alone a de facto stamp of approval for such aberrant behaviour. (Adrian Lyne's Lolita, for example, plays it much more straight -- and I incidentally thought the attacks and nasty stigma it received were unwarranted.) While the creepiness of Bill's pedophilic attempts are subdued by the sitcom-ish approach employed, there's one unfllinching father-and-son talk between Bill and little Billy (their other discussions play out as a truly twisted version of Father Knows Best) which is played utterly straight and is consequently phemonenally raw and powerful, with such a tremendous piece of intense acting by Mr. Baker that it immediately prompted me to earmark a spot for him on my year-end actor lists. While he's terrific in a precarious role, my favourite performance in the ensemble cast was that of Jane Adams as the human doormat. As fate would have it, I was completely unfamiliar with her until only a week before the film festival, when a friend (and an utterly brilliant writer) kindly sent me a tape with a collection of episodes of her defunct TV drama, Relativity, allowing me to familiarize myself with her work. Some interesting parallels quickly emerge: as in the TV show, Ms. Adams plays one of three sisters in Happiness, and she's again easily the most neurotic of the trio -- to such an extent here that she may as well have the word "victim" tattooed on her forehead; it's telling that her singing (beautiful voice, incidentally) of a plaintive, woe-is-me song is comic, rather than sad. With her fragile, slightly dazed look, she's perfect in the role of the wonderfully incongrously-named Joy, and I found her plight remarkably endearing; the humour at her character's endless misfortunes works because she succeeds in drawing a huge amount of empathy. (In fact, one of the most winning aspects of the film is Mr. Solondz's obvious affection for all of the characters, as flawed and even deviant as they may be.) It's not just her that works -- down the line, everybody in the ensemble cast is perfectly cast: this is easily the best job of casting among all the festival films I've seen, and the best-cast American film since Boogie Nights -- efficient Cynthia Stevenson playing a perky career mom, Lara Flynn Boyle effectively employing an icy aloofness, Phillip Seymour Hoffman (what a run he's been on over the past year!) with another riff on a hapless loser character, and so forth. Happiness is, above all else, an uproariously funny black comedy, with countless clever gags (watch for the reconnection of a phone) and bizarre, unexpected situations and revelations, not to mention some bodily fluid humour which is as fearlessly gross-out (and hilarious) as anything in There's Something About Mary. A lot of the comedy is foreshadowed in advance, such as the picture's opening gag, and yet works in spite of its inevitability. (I think it was the stylized font on the title card which made the aforementioned joke for me.) While it's not completely flawless -- I could definitely do without the comparatively-dull Ben Gazzara-Louise Lasser subplot -- Happiness is a veritable quantum leap for Mr. Solondz from Welcome To The Dollhouse, and it's one of those gems that ends on just the right note. (A sick one, perhaps, but nonetheless perfect.) As for its so-called controversial subject matter, in a later screening I couldn't help but overhear one audience member loudly proclaiming that, while Happiness was a very good film indeed, it'd take a sick person to consider it entertaining. Guilty as charged, right here.In attendance: director Todd Solondz, actors Jane Adams, Dylan Baker, Jared Harris, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, producers Ted Hope, Christine Vachon, James Schamus
