Jez Kline

by The Great White Gypsy

The Last Airbender - Written and Directed by M. Night Shyamalan
I know it’s strange that I’d include a Shyamalan film in this, considering it’s no secret I hate him. He’s a horrible, horrible writer. But objectively I think he’s a very talented director, and I’m still holding out hope that his idiotic sense of unwarranted self-indulgence will be suppressed once and for all. I’ve heard nothing but bad press so far, but I’m a dreamer.
Noah Ringer, Dev Patel, Nicola Peltz, Jackson Rathbone, Cliff Curtis
July 1

Predators - Directed by Nimrod Antal, Written by Alex Litvak and Michael Finch
Antal (Armored, Vacancy) might not have the resume necessary to instill confidence in a Predator reboot, but under the talented, watchful eye of Robert Rodriguez this should be pretty badass. If the red band trailer hasn’t spoiled it for you already, this round is being fought on the Predators’ planet, meaning new, crazy Predators will be joining the hunt. I seriously can’t wait.
Adrien Brody, Laurence Fishburne, Topher Grace, Danny Trejo, Walton Goggins, Alice Braga
July 9

The Kids Are All Right - Directed by Lisa Cholodenko, Written by Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg
I have to admit, I really liked Laurel Canyon, and I’ve been waiting for Cholodenko to do something else. Looks like she finally found a project with this film about two teenage siblings who go against their lesbian mothers to search for their sperm-donor father. Might be cliche, but Cholodenko has a way of making awkward group dynamics just accessible enough to sympathize with. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore making out might have been sexy like 25 years ago, but nowadays…we’ll just have to see.
Julianne Moore, Annette Bening, Mark Ruffalo, Mia Wasikowska, Josh Hutcherson
July 9

[Rec] 2 - Written and Directed by Juame Balaguero and Paco Plaza
Unlike 2008’s retarded Quarantine, 2007’s [Rec] (yup, that one only took a year.) was pretty awesome for a shaky cam horror film. If I’ve learned anything though, it’s that foreign horror sequels are nowhere near as superfluous or downright awful as American sequels. And with new generation Spanish horror veterans Gemma Fauria (art director), David Gallart (editor), and Pablo Rosso (cinematographer), I should’ve watched this one when I got my hands on it 3 months ago. Guess it’s time.
Manuela Velasco, Pablo Rosso, Ferran Terraza
Juy 9

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice - Directed by Jon Turteltaub, Written by Matt Lopez, Doug Miro, and Carlo Bernard
Monica Bellucci. Teresa Palmer. Jay Baruchel. These are the reasons I’m even mentioning this movie. As far as summer action films go, this Disney foray into the black arts probably won’t be anything spectacular. I’m not a fan of Nic Cage either, but the effects look well done, the premise is interesting, and I’m digging the dark tone. I figure if I can get through all the Harry Potter movies and Turteltaub’s weak-ass DaVinci Code wannabe I can get through this one. And have I mentioned I’m in love with Monica Bellucci?
Nicolas Cage, Jay Baruchel, Monica Bellucci, Teresa Palmer, Alfred Molina
July 14

Inception - Written and Directed by Christopher Nolan
I shouldn’t really have to say anything about this one. To me, this summer is all about Inception. Which is strange, considering this doesn’t feel like the usual mindless summer blockbuster. Nolan hasn’t made too many subpar films, and this one just looks ridiculous. People entering other peoples’ dreams, stealing information, changing the world like the Matrix. I really don’t understand it yet, but I can’t freaking wait. The cast is fantastic, special effects studio Double Negative has been a juggernaut the last few years, and Nolan has managed to maintain his crew behind the scenes. (Wally Pfister, Lee Smith) with some solid additions (production designer Guy Dyas). I’m going to see this on the biggest screen possible.
Leonardo DiCaprio, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ellen Page, Marion Cotillard, Cillian Murphy, Tom Berenger, Michael Caine, Lukas Haas, Ken Watanabe, Pete Postlethwaite
July 16

Salt - Directed by Philip Noyce, Written by Kurt Wimmer
Philip Noyce isn’t a name that immediately catches recognition in my mind, but looking at his filmography, we all know his work. He has a taste for intelligent, adult action films like Patriot Games, The Saint, and The Bone Collector. This gives me much more confidence that Salt could end up being one of those summer movies that you may not rave about later, but you definitely walk out of feeling satisfied spending the money for. Not many names involved, but I’m sure Jolie takes up most of the budget. My only concern is screenwriter Kurt Wimmer. His career started out great with titles like Equilibrium, The Thomas Crown Affair, and Sphere. But his last few have been pretty damn bad (Street Kings, Law Abiding Citizen, and Ultraviolet, possibly the worst film ever made). I think Noyce will handle his biznass though.
Angelina Jolie, Liev Schreiber, Chiwetel Ejiofor
July 23

Life During Wartime - Written and Directed by Todd Solondz
I’ve never seen any of Solondz’s films, but Happiness has been sitting on my shelf for a while now, and I’ve heard good things. He seems to have that morbid, inappropriate sense of humor that’s been made popular in the last few years by directors who shall remain nameless. The subject matter isn’t funny. A woman is trying to maintain her family after her husband is jailed for pedophilia. Her new man seems nice, but her sister’s tendency to jump from lover to lover despite being married distracts her further from her sons. This doesn’t sound amusing, but I’ll bet it is in its own weird way. It’s like someone sarcastically said, “Sure we’ll make your movie. If you can get Allison Janney, Shirley Henderson, Ciaran Hinds, Paul Reubens, and…I dunno…Ally Sheedy to be in it”. What do you mean, “done”?
Allison Janney, Shirley Henderson, Ciaran Hinds, Paul Reubens, Ally Sheedy
July 23

Get Low - Directed by Aaron Schneider, Written by Chris Provenzano and C. Gaby Mitchell
Call me impressed that Schneider’s first film managed to get Bill Murray, Robert Duvall, and Sissy Spacek on screen together. Duvall plays Felix Bush, an eccentric mountain coot who wants to have his funeral while he’s still alive in order to see his friends and family, and tell them the story of why he’s cut off contact with virtually all of them. Sounds very similar to The Living Wake, but obviously the star power in this one is much stronger, and the mixture of character relationship study, introspective life examination, and mystery are intriguing to say the least.
Robert Duvall, Bill Murray, Sissy Spacek, Lucas Black
July 30

The Dry Land - Written and Directed by Ryan Piers Williams
Whoa, a film about the effects of the “War” on terror on a soldier after he returns to his native Texas? Everyone in America will love this film! Doubtful, but it was getting a lot of great press at SIFF earlier this month. With an interesting, eclectic cast it might have some substance to it. That and I haven’t seen Wilmer Valderrama since That ‘70’s Show. I hope George W. has a “party extra” scene. Outta Sight.
Ryan O’Nan, Melissa Leo, Wilmer Valderrama, America Ferrera, Jason Ritter, Ethan Suplee
July 30

The Extra Man - Written and Directed by Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini
It looks like the directors of American Splendor and, um, The Nanny Diaries are aiming their third film in the middle ground between their previous projects. Enough indie cred with Paul Dano and Katie Holmes, but enough mainstream comedy cred with Kevin Kline and an almost unrecognizable John C. Reilly. Kline plays a male escort to New York’s rich widows who, despite his high class attitude, lives in a shitty apartment and drives a broke-ass POS. He takes Dano under his wing to teach him the ropes, and I’m sure along the way they discover things about themselves (such as sleeping with 80-year-old millionaires isn’t all it’s cracked up to be). It kind of seems like there’s two movies going on here, so I’m not sure what to think. I’m excited to see Kline return to a more comic fare, and Reilly is usually a great addition in small doses. But really, how many wings does Paul Dano need to be taken under before he’s a real boy? Wing whore.
Kevin Kline, Paul Dano, Katie Holmes, John C. Reilly
July 30

Twelve - Directed by Joel Schumacher, Written by Jordan Melamed
Damn it, Joel Schumacher. I told you you couldn’t get in here with them shoes. Seriously, The Number 23 wasn’t enough, this guy’s gotta throw out more numbers? This story of young people doing drugs and ruining their lives (and others) could actually be cool. But it just seems like Schumacher is trying to regain street cred that he never actually had by throwing some crazy drugs into the mix and making us watch 50-Cent bang the girl who played Nancy Drew. I’d rather see Zoe Kravitz make out with Ellen Barkin. It could have some good moments though. Especially since Rory Culkin’s in it, and Jack Bauer is narrating. “The following takes place many years after Batman and Robin. Audience groans occur in real time.”
Kiefer Sutherland, Rory Culkin, Chase Crawford, Emma Roberts, Ellen Barkin, 50-Cent, Zoe Kravitz
July 30

KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN

Nightmares in Red, White, and Blue - Directed by Andrew Monument, Written by Joseph Maddrey
I saw this advertised a really long time ago, and totally forgot about it. The film just made an appearance at the Another Hole in the Head Festival in San Francisco, and now it’s heading to DVD. It’s a documentary that chronicles the evolution of American horror films. They talk to pretty much every big name in horror, from George A. Romero and John Carpenter to Darren Lynn Bousman and David Cronenberg. But they also look at the psychological and cultural context of every horror movement since cinema began. Should be really interesting.
July 1 (DVD)

The Girl Who Played With Fire - Directed by Daniel Alfredson, Written by Jonas Frykberg
This is the second film based on Stieg Larsson’s book trilogy. Many of you uncultured swine will no doubt wait for David Fincher’s english version which will probably not show up here until 2014. I still haven’t had a chance to watch The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (the first film), but everyone’s been talking these films up for a while now, I’m really hoping I can catch this one on the big screen soon.
Noomi Rapace, Michael Nyqvist
July 9 (NY)

Valhalla Rising - Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, Written by Nicolas Winding Refn and Roy Jacobsen
Though Mads Mikkelsen has been busy in the last 15 years, most people only know him as the latest Bond villain. Refn did The Pusher Trilogy (I only saw the first one, not a huge fan), and the very well-received Bronson. His style is a bit more subtle, he doesn’t overplay dialog, but a little more may have helped Valhalla Rising. It’s already circulating on the web, and I’ve found numerous rumored release dates, but if you can find it, you should probably brush up on your Norse canons and religious history. Though the film is fairly boring with random intense scenes of violence, I felt that I was missing out on several of the obvious layers. If you’re a fan of Lars von Trier’s Antichrist, you’ll probably enjoy it, but be prepared to think and focus a hell of a lot more. Not for everyone.
Mads Mikkelsen, Jamie Sives
July 16 (Maybe?)

by The Great White Gypsy

As soon as I get off my lazy ass and finish my list, I’ll have my article about Hollywood remakes up for you. But in the meantime, I had to express my dismay and frustration now that the sick-ass international trailer for Let Me In has dropped.

Let the Right One In, for those of you who don’t know, is a Swedish vampire film that pushed the limits of the genre and changed the way most of us see vampires. It’s not just a vamp film, it’s a really good film, with great direction, cinematography, and music. With its story of a childlike vampire befriending a young loner in her new apartment complex, it weaves suspense, discomfort, and heartfelt empathy with artful violence to create an amazing achievement in filmmaking. This film came out in its native Sweden in early 2008 at local festivals. It didn’t even get it’s international wide release, including Sweden, until October of that year. Think about that. It hasn’t even been two solid years since the original came out, and we already have a trailer for the remake popping up on Youtube.

Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t see anything intrinsically wrong with remakes. It’s been going on for decades longer than any of us actually realize. But lately, Hollywood is stepping the remake game up. Brothers was a fantastic Danish film in 2004. It took U.S. studios all of four years to fuck it up with Tobey Maguire, whose paramilitary training apparently included shrill, feminine shrieks and retard strength. In three years, Frank Oz’s quirky 2007 comedy Death at a Funeral was remade with an all African-American cast, beating Chris Rock’s ten joke library into the ground and setting the civil rights movement back 40 years. Even as I write this, David Fincher is in the process of remaking Sweden’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which is still in theaters here, and the second film in the trilogy doesn’t come out until later this month!

Are we really getting so lazy that we can’t even wait ten years to make a film again? Lately, Hollywood even has enough ADD to reboot American franchises that are only a few years old. If you’re going to remake something, why doesn’t anyone try old school stuff? Would it be so bad to actually see another good Shakespeare film adaptation? Takashi Miike opened the Spaghetti-Western vault, let’s run with it! Rainer Werner Fassbinder put out 8 million films in twenty years, are you telling me there’s nothing in there we can use?

Many times, the problem with remakes is they deviate so much from the original in favor of making “their own” (haha) film, we end up with a steaming pile of Americanized bullshit; an unfortunate commentary on our culture. But the buzz around the interwebs today is that Let Me In appears (as far as the trailer is concerned) to be an extremely faithful retelling of the original, but without the subtitles. But without the subtitles???? So we’re excited about this immediate and unnecessary remake because we’re illiterate? To me, it’s infinitely worse that the remake is so faithful to the source material. You know what’s really similar to the original? The fucking original, which is still in the New Releases section at Hollywood Video. Who was it that walked out of Let the Right One In and said, “The only thing that movie is missing is English.” We don’t want to read subtitles, and no one likes shitty dubbing, so instead we spend another ten dollars to see a movie we just saw in 2009.

This has nothing to do with the talent of anyone involved in the new film, and everything to do with me being a pissed off purist. It’s one thing to see a film and not know it’s a remake until months later, and the original was from Bulgaria in 1981. But we know these films just came out, and we see the new one anyway, effectively encouraging lazy, unoriginal filmmaking.

We never stop to realize that no one in the Czech Republic is clamoring for the film rights to Avatar. The Hurt Locker will not show up as an all-singing, all-dancing remake in Mumbai next year. Not only does this say something unsettling about today’s culture to me, but it reinforces the idea that the country with the least amount of narrative history has to immediately and unabashedly sack and pillage other countries for the film industry to put asses in the seats at the local cineplex. Do I blame them?

No, I blame us. Hollywood doesn’t tell us what to like, it panders to us, and then convinces us we need more. We’re the ones who, despite giving Let the Right One In and many other recent foreign successes rave reviews, are shelling out more money to see America’s Red-Headed birth defect of a stepchild…

…and it breaks my fucking heart.

I know that poster is from 2007, but it’s the coolest one I found, and they don’t have one for 2010 yet. Whatever, I don’t have to explain myself to you.

The 36th annual Seattle International Film Festival came to a close yesterday after 24 days of of nonstop movies. It was my first time at SIFF, and I had a lot of fun. Despite being one of the bigger festivals on the west coast, the films are spread all over Seattle, giving every viewing a small, cozy festival feel. Sure, it sucks that I had to spend money on parking every day (seriously, WT Fuck Seattle? You have to pay for street parking everywhere!). And scheduling my viewing pleasure between six different theaters was difficult at times. But in the end, it was worth it. From Perrier’s Bounty to Protektor. From Spain to Switzerland. From awesome films to train wrecks, and everything in between, the lineup definitely covers all the bases. If you ever find yourself in the Seattle area in late May/early June, do your best to catch at least one screening; you’ll have a good time no matter what. Thanks to all the volunteers, staff, writers, directors, actors, composers, and producers who made this festival run smoothly and displayed their passion for filmmaking even between screenings. For those of you too lazy to browse our site, there’s a quick list of the films I reviewed and their final grades below. And if you happen to be a cinephile with a few extra bucks, or some spare time, help out SIFF here. I will now return you to your regularly scheduled sexy gypsy programing. Keep reading.

-GWG

Protektor: B

The Sentimental Engine Slayer: C+

Cargo: C-

Cell 211: A-

Ondine: A-

Morning: C

The Trotsky: B+

Night Catches Us: D

ReGENERATION: B+

Cyrus: A-

Perrier’s Bounty: B

by The Great White Gypsy

For the last day of SIFF I spent a beautiful Seattle afternoon inside the Egyptian Theatre to watch Protektor, which was actually the Czech Republic’s 2009 Foreign Language Oscar submission.

For those of you not familiar with history: in 1938, France, England, and Italy decided to allow Nazi Germany to annex the western areas of Czechoslovakia in an attempt to give Hitler the cranky baby a lollipop. The Munich Dictate (or “pact”, as it’s known by everyone who didn’t get fucked over by it) resulted in a gradual but forceful occupation of much of what is now the Czech Republic.

This is the historical backdrop for Protektor, Marek Najbrt’s second feature. Unlike most WWII films, Protektor foregoes the typical holocaust or underground resistance plot in favor of a more tempered drama. Emil Vrbata (Marek Daniel) works for a radio broadcast company. His wife, Hana (the sexy and talented Jana Plodkova) is a renowned actress and singer working on a big feature film. Though she may look Aryan on a black and white screen with her blonde wig, Hana is actually Jewish. Instead of taking the advice of her fleeing costar, she naively remains in the country in the face of a Nazi occupation. Cinema is one of the first things to go, as is her sobriety. As more and more restrictions are placed on Jews, Emil must sequester Hana in the house more and more. He also must become increasngly involved in the radio program, which is now the German mouthpiece for propaganda, in order to keep his wife safe.

This might sound like a potentially taut drama, like Jakob the Liar meets Schindler’s List meets The Diary of Anne Frank, but it’s actually much more artistically driven. This is even evident in the opening credits. The film starts out with a quote from, ironically, Adolf HItler basically saying a “Czech” is a cyclist who hunches over while they peddle. Hence the constant flashes to the same kind of bicycle scene, and multiple cycles being featured in the plot. The music, the fluttering of bicycle spokes, and the main character peddling an old bike in front of a ‘40’s style green screen set a tone of humor and melancholy nostalgia. Production Designer Ondrej Nekvasil (The Illusionist) does a phenomenal job capturing Czechoslovakia circa 1940 and still keeping a modern feel. From the understated costumes to the feel of the cinema, and the throng of Jews being rounded up in the streets, everything in this film, despite the subject matter, is almost overwhelmingly beautiful.

Petr Marek’s simple yet evocative score elaborates on the playfully constructed tension of the film. Sometimes it’s just a few piano notes followed by 45 seconds of silence, sometimes it’s more lighthearted and involved, but it definitely makes the film feel complete in it’s concepts.

Perhaps most interesting to me is the editing. Pavel Hrdlicka handles some difficult elements very well. I think we’re all used to sound bleeds, but Protektor actually features “scene bleeds” (I think I just made that up, but it is now officially a word). It’s exactly what it sounds like. A scene will appear to change (i.e. from a Christmas party to an apartment), but after a brief shot of the next scene, it will go back to the one before. Sometimes it does it once, sometimes multiple times. It takes a bit to appreciate because it is initially confusing, but it’s an innovative technique that was pulled off nicely. There is also a scene where a sound bleed is actually dialog between two characters that is about two minutes ahead of the camera. The conversation begins while one character is looking for another one, and by the time he finds him, we only actually see the tail end of it. Again, takes a little getting used to, but it works.

Now that I mention it, this whole film will take a bit of getting used to. It’s not a bad thing, I just don’t think American audiences are accustomed to lighthearted views of WWII. This is a story about media stars. A famous radio personality and a famous actress. They are not effected by the occupation and persecution we know occurred everywhere in Eastern Europe in the typical way. The Germans know Hana is Jewish, but because Emil is a trusted radio personality they look the other way as much as they can. At one point soldiers even search their apartment after an assassination attempt on a high ranking official. They find Hana, but they also find a magazine with Emil’s face on it, and they just leave. Most of the tension in this film will be whatever you bring into it. Whatever your preconceptions about the time period, that will be your threshold. There are round ups, and you do hear gunshots. There are conspirators, and they are executed. But you rarely see any of this; it is all implied and referenced by the characters.

That is the biggest (personally the only) problem with Protektor. Even though the couple faces conflict, infidelity, moral dilemmas, etc., there is little in the way of real danger. At the risk of sounding culturally ignorant, it seemed like everyone in the film thought the occupation, even Naziism, was a joke, or at the very least an unfortunate yet nonfatal thing that only happened to poor people. And maybe that was the point. Maybe Hana’s “hobby” of having her picture taken next to “No Jews Allowed Here” signs all over the city, and constant sneaking around, were all implying that celebrities who led the high life didn’t really understand what was happening until it was too late. Characters are constantly telling her, “You have a great life, you have nothing to complain about”, and yet she acts like a caged canary instead of a persecuted Jew. The artistic flair, coupled with the mental disconnect from the characters, unfortunately overshadow the events leading up to the end, and the effects aren’t fully realized until it’s too late.

As a film, I can see why Czechoslovakia submitted it for the Oscars. I can also see why it wasn’t nominated. At times boring and a tad culturally esoteric, it’s not going to be everyone’s cup o’ tea. But as a piece of art, it is an amazing achievement that features numerous creative concepts without ever coming across as pretentious or empty flash.

Also, I can’t get Queen’s “Bicycle Race” out of my fucking head.

FINAL GRADE: B

by The Great White Gypsy

Thursday night, I rolled down to SIFF Cinema for The Sentimental Engine Slayer, a film I’ve been looking forward to for weeks.

Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, the guitarist who formed Mars Volta, makes his feature film debut with a story he wrote, directed, produced, and acted in. He plays Barlam, a young man growing up in El Paso, Texas. His parents are divorced, he lives with his druggy sister and her white boyfriend, works at a small grocery store with his friend Oscar, and spends all his time building models of 1967 Mercury Cougars. Told in a fragmented, non-linear, surreal fashion, this is the story of his “coming of age”, and his attempts at a social life and losing his virginity.

When it comes to cinema, the term “avant garde” always makes me cringe a little bit. Mainly because people do dumb shit, call it “experimental”, market it as avant garde, and the masses fall all over themselves appreciating things because they don’t understand them. Luckily, that’s not the case with Engine Slayer. At least for the most part. Rodriguez-Lopez owns this film. It’s obviously his baby. Sometimes, you can just tell watching a movie that the final product is as close to the original idea as the writer/director can possibly get, and this is one of them. As disjointed, anxious, and surrealistically ordinary as the film is, at the end you can see all the pieces. I genuinely think that, from his first brainstorming session to final cuts, Rodriguez-Lopez did exactly what he wanted to do. It’s not maturity you see in the technical aspects, but it is an energetic, uncompromising focus that impressed the hell out of me.

As I said, the story is non-linear, and very disjointed. But unlike other films that boast the same format, I felt the scenes in Engine Slayer couldn’t have been organized any other way. As if the film isn’t linear, but the story is. (Now you know why I waited two days to review this one. Is any of this making sense?) We are fed bits of information at a time, in a very purposeful sequence. The tension and anxiety just from the frenetic plot is constant, and the music and cinematography make you want to have a panic attack at critical moments. In the intense scenes, the music becomes distorted to the point of speaker feedback, and the dialog gets garbled. This mirrors Barlam’s confusion and desperation and, though it takes a little getting used to, is a very effective tool. New cinematographer Michael Rizzi is solid with the camera shots. Whether it’s a fixed shot of a chaotic scene or a shaky tracking shot of something innocuous, everything has purpose. The final experimental touch seemed to be the bilingual script. The narration in the film is all in Spanish with subtitles. The dialog is mostly English, with some Spanish, both subtitled and not. The transition with all of it is very smooth, and understandable being set in El Paso.

Rodriguez-Lopez is even great in front of the camera. The rest of the cast is basically support for his main roll. Some of them pull of a little realism here and there, but he is the focal point, and for his first roll he is amazingly immersed in the character. He seems very comfortable in front of the camera, but considering the circumstances of his writing the script, i wouldn’t expect anything else.

Which brings me to my personal gripes with the film. According to the festival blog for the Tribeca Film Festival, Rodriguez-Lopez made this film because he was constantly having a nightmare with the same elements: confusion, anxiety, and murder. He wanted to get it out, and this film was his therapy. Now, I don’t necessarily have a problem with this concept; H.P. Lovecraft did the same thing with horror stories. But when you write, direct, produce, and act in something that came from your unconscious mind, and you cast your family and friends in most of the rolls, and decide to experiment with it, it comes off a tad too narcissistic. When someone makes a film, especially an experimental one, it can’t just be about how you make it, it also has to be about why you make it. Why am I telling this story? Am I even telling a story? As technically phenomenal as The Sentimental Engine Slayer is, my first thought when the credits rolled was, “What was the point of that?”. The character made no breakthrough in his “coming of age”, he didn’t get the girl, or become popular. Come to think of it, his social status didn’t really change at all.

There is a list of things in this film that I didn’t see a reason for. Transexuals, Barlam’s compulsion to strangle anyone and everyone, his obsession with the kid he suspects is his half-brother, his father being his psychiatrist, his sister’s drug addiction, his collection of crucifixes, the awkward and completely unnecessary scene involving a gun, and numerous other minor characters and subplots. While I appreciate a surreal story about a kid finding his way in life, I don’t think the film even says how old Barlam is. There is also nothing I can identify as inherently “El Paso” about his story. (it’s true, I’ve never been there). Granted, my favorite surreal mindfucks are Mullholland Dr. and Gozu, both of which prompt a loud “What the fuck??” afterward, but there was something just…unnecessary about so much of this film’s plot elements. And in a character-driven film where so much of the substance is Barlam’s interaction with the world around him, I think there should’ve been a little more restraint involved.

Personally, I didn’t find this film entertaining, enlightening, or particularly thought-provoking. That being said, I cannot deny that Omar Rodriguez-Lopez is just as ridiculously talented behind a camera as he is holding a guitar, and whether or not anyone else will like this film, I think any cinephile or Mars Volta fan should consider it a must see.

FINAL GRADE: C+

by The Great White Gypsy

For a change of pace today, instead of driving 25 minutes to Seattle for an SIFF viewing, I drove 25 minutes to the Kirkland Performance Center to watch Cargo, a sci-fi flick from Switzerland.

Directors Ivan Engler, and Ralph Etter decide not to break new science fiction ground (I don’t wanna. It’s stupid.), and instead tell the story of Arianne Portmann (Maria Boettner in her first feature), a doctor aboard an overcrowded space station orbiting earth in the year 2267. Apparently in the future, our dependance on technology and neglect of nature has left the planet mostly uninhabitable. The space stations are getting overcrowded and sickness is running rampant. Everyone’s goal is to either win or earn enough money to buy a visa to Rhea, a paradise planet lightyears away. Video messages between the worlds take years to travel, and are played on public TV screens to give hope to the public. Arianne takes a job on a cargo ship hauling construction materials to another station. It’s a 4-year journey, and the crew alternates between manning the ship and resting in hyper sleep. On her shift, 3 years and 8 months in, Arianne suspects that someone or something is aboard the ship. She wakes the captain and the security guard to investigate. When the captain is murdered, she wakes the rest of the crew to figure out who did it, and why their cargo bay is full of crates labeled “biohazard” instead of construction supplies.

When I was younger, I often heard the phrase, “Aim for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.” Even as a young, doe-eyed lass, I knew that was fucking loser talk. Unfortunately, Engler and Etter ate that shit up. The first thirty seconds of this film, I thought I was watching a Claritin commercial. The next 10 seconds, I thought it was Resident Evil. That didn’t really change as the film went on. In 107 minutes, I feel like I watched The Matrix, The Island, Pandorum, Alien, Sunshine, and Altered States. Virtually the only thing original about this film is the way these borrowed plot points fit together. I won’t spoil anything, but the beans get spilled about 45 minutes in, and after that nothing is shocking.

That’s another big problem with this film: the pacing. Tension can build, or ebb and flow, or spike erratically. But the tension in the film is almost flatlined. Even the overly-ambitious score by new composer Fredrik Stromberg couldn’t distract me from the fact that nothing was happening onscreen. It can’t even make the claim of being a slow, “isolation of space” film like Moon or Solaris. Mainly because there’s virtually no character development.

There are two great things about this film. One is the fact that it was made with a budget of under five million U.S. dollars, and the effects are mostly impressive. The space station in the beginning, and the one at the end, are not only well rendered but inventive in design. The interior of the ship looks good, and the cargo bay is a cold, empty, well-crafted contrast to the rest of the corridors. The other great thing, despite what I said before, is the concept. As unoriginal as all of the story and cinematic ideas are, the way they fit together in Cargo is an intriguing idea that, unfortunately, exceeded the skill of the writing. It doesn’t matter how good your idea is, if you can’t get it down right on paper, it’s never going to transfer to the screen with the same intelligence.

Cargo is not without it’s technical inventiveness or its sci-fi charm. But if you took out 15 minutes of pointless, artsy, new wave sequences, and the bullshit romantic element that made no sense, they could’ve used that time to build more tension and tell a better story. At least get some focus as to what kind of story you want to tell. Survival of the human race? Crazy mutant experiment? Alternate or simulated reality? No, you cannot pick “all of the above”.

Leave it to the Swiss to carry even topical neutrality into space.

FINAL GRADE: C-

by The Great White Gypsy

After a week and a half at SIFF, I’ve almost achieved notoriety. That’s right, I’m on my way to being mayor of the Neptune Cinemas on Four Square. Bow to me.

Today I fought a bit of good ol’ fashioned Seattle traffic to see Cell 211, one of the films featured in this year’s Ambiente: New Spanish Cinema. A gritty study of human nature, it is about Juan Oliver (Alberto Ammann), a newly hired prison guard who shows up a day early to work to get the lay of the land. During his tour a prison riot breaks out, and he is injured and trapped in a cell. He quickly removes his shoelaces, belt, and wedding ring, and poses as a new inmate. This gets him close to the riot leader, Malamadre (a typically focused and layered performance by Luis Tosar) and he attempts to play both sides and stay alive long enough to see his pregnant wife again.

The opening scene of this film will hook you. A strange man with drawn features is apparently crafting a makeshift shiv. We watch the process in silence, and curiosity turns to captivated discomfort as we watch him use it to vertically slit his own wrists. That is essentially the tone of the whole film. You will be uncomfortable, physically, morally, mentally and emotionally. It is only blatant a handful of times throughout, but it is there, the anticipation that something awful is about to happen.

Though I haven’t read the novel by Francisco Perez Gandul, the story in the film does a great job of staying away from certain traps. This is not a “message” film about prison conditions, or government inadequacy. This isn’t even really about trust and betrayal, or plot twists (sorry Shayamalan, keep moving.). It is about morality and human nature. This is like The Standford prison experiment, but on a smaller, more character-driven level.

Admittedly, I’m not as well versed in Spanish cinema as I might like. I haven’t seen any of Daniel Monzon’s other four films. But the direction in Cell 211 is very mature. The patience and purpose involved in not only Monzon’s screenplay but also many of the shot sequences is commendable. Even in a volatile environment like a prison riot, there is a calm in the execution, a restraint that actually adds to the tension. Cinematography, editing, and music were all solid, if not perfectly appropriate for the story. My only technical complain is that there are three separate time periods in this film. There is the prison riot, Juan’s flashbacks to that morning with his wife, and flashforwards to the prison officials telling their story to a review board. There’s nothing wrong with this mechanism, but the review board scenes were too few and far between until the very end, and only served as an annoyance. Also, the flashbacks with Juan’s wife, I feel, were grouped too closely together. Ultimately the effect worked, but I think I would’ve been more moved if there had been less of it.

Alberto Ammann is new, even to Spanish film, but he does a great job. His character is intelligent and quick on his feet, especially for never setting foot in a prison before. He claims to be in prison for first degree murder, an offense that apparently only gets you 19 years in Spain. Malamadre doesn’t believe him at first, saying he would never harm a fly. That’s exactly how Ammann looks. Yet the foreshadowing in what is one of several great conversations with Luis Tosar makes his descent into the prisoner mindset more gradual, and more believable. Tosar’s gruff demeanor in this film doesn’t hide a cliche intellectual bent on social reform like you may expect. He can’t write, can’t read very well, and is feared by everyone in the prison. He wants everyone to be treated decently, and at times is even very reasonable about it. There is enough heart in the performance for you to sympathize with him, and enough violence in his eyes that you never quite know what to expect from him.

ATTENTION HOLLYWOOD: STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THIS FILM.

Sorry, I had to do that. Not only am I fed up with the steady flow of immediate remakes, but Cell 211 is a classic example of my steadfast belief that foreign cinema doesn’t ruin stories by pandering. This film, as generic as it may sound to American audiences, swept this year’s Goya Awards (the Spanish Oscars) with eight wins, including best picture, director, actor, supporting actress, and adapted screenplay. It is a great film, very entertaining and emotional. But if Hollywood gets ahold of it, I know for a fact it will be just another retarded early summer remake (The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3, Assault on Precinct 13, just to name a few) I guarantee, people, if you wait to see the native Spanish version, you will not be disappointed.

FINAL GRADE: A-

by The Great White Gypsy

After a lazy Sunday afternoon, I headed back downtown to SIFF to catch Neil Jordan’s new film, Ondine at Uptown Cinemas.

I feel like I owe Colin Farrell an apology. Maybe not as a person, but definitely as an actor. For some reason, I have an immediate and unavoidable inclination to call him a douchebag every time I see his face in a preview. But if you really think about his complete body of work, he’s been in infinitely more good films than shitty ones. The last couple years, he’s been finding his equilibrium, and getting back to both independent and Irish film. So I think it’s pretty cool that Neil Jordan (The Crying Game, Interview with the Vampire) brought him on for his latest project.

Ondine is a grown-up fairytale loosely based on Celtic and Scandinavian mythology. Colin Farrell is a fisherman in Ireland. One day at sea, he pulls up his net to find a beautiful woman (Alicja Bachleda…oh my Jesus) drowned inside. He resuscitates her, but she claims to have complete memory loss and an intense fear of being seen by anyone but him. The next day, while his daughter Annie (Alison Barry with the best performance in the film) is going through dialysis for her failing kidney, he begins telling her about the woman under the guise of an old fairytale. She knows the woman is real, but she sticks to the “seal woman” mythology to keep the woman in their lives. But as fantasy and expectation confront each other, and the fisherman fights his own past demons, the film asks us two questions: “Is the myth real?” and “Does it matter either way?”

I’ve been a fan of Neil Jordan for a very long time now. Since I first saw The Crying Game, and my head exploded at the end (as a guy, that’s probably still the worse mindfuck/emotional manipulation in cinema history). He’s an incredible director who can both encapsulate and broaden a story with it’s characters and surroundings. And the fact that he hates working in Hollywood is, of course, a plus for me. So I may be a little biased, but I loved this film.

Again the master of manipulation, Jordan introduces the film as a fairytale. There’s not even a character introduction. When the first shot fades in, you barely have time to say “Once upon a time” before Farrell is pulling the woman out of a fishing net. With such a quick beginning, you are able to maintain your innate skepticism of any magic. Then doubts start creeping in. Even though nothing outrageous happens, you start thinking maybe it is supposed to be a fairy tale. At one point, I even found myself hoping the fairy tale was true, if only for the sake of the wheelchair-bound Annie. I won’t ruin the ending, but the blend of fact, fiction, myth, and realism added to the constantly changing and evolving cinematography created perhaps the best overall cinematic experience to ever come out of the Emerald Isle, and it proved to me that “feel good” endings don’t necessarily have to insult my cynical world view.

Cinematographer Christopher Doyle (Made, Rabbit Proof Fence, Downloading Nancy) does his usual great job with the camera. Between his growth as an artist, and Jordan’s amazing eye, this film has just the right mix of intimate, scenic, and artsy shots to capture not only the characters and the story, but the geographic and historic backdrop of Ireland.

Colin Farrell does a great job. There, I said it. He’s a humble fisherman who continues to mourn the loss of his mother, and deal with his past. His name is Syracuse, but everyone calls him “Circus” because he was the town drunk until it cost him his marriage. He continues to correct people on his name, and you can tell the entire time that he wants so badly to get away from the stigma, but he has zero faith in luck or the reversal of fortune. This conflict causes him to be wary of the “mermaid” at first, and the closer the two get, the more adamant he is that something awful is going to happen. Bachleda, besides being eight kinds of half-Polish-half-Mexican hot, does an impressive job as the confused mythical creature. And, as I said, Alison Barry steals the show as the “way too mature for her age” kid who puts all the adults in their places. Neil Jordan regular Stephen Rea even shows up in a small yet important and amusing role as Farrell’s priest/stand in AA sponsor.

Whether it’s a fairytale the forces us to reevaluate reality, or a real story that makes us yearn for the idealistic fairytales of our youth, this is a fantastic film that doesn’t for even one frame try to be a fantastic film, and it succeeds.

FINAL GRADE: A-

by The Great White Gypsy

So after a whole week of slacking (and having my wisdom teeth removed), I regrouped for the home stretch of the SIFF. I decided to get some local flavor with Morning at the Harvard Exit.

Set in and shot all over Seattle, Morning deals with some heavy subject matter. Michael and Sara are a young married couple, with a young son and a shaky marriage. One pivotal night, selfish decisions are made and seemingly innocuous circumstances cause the tragic death of their 2-year-old son. The couple begins an erratic downward spiral of blame, guilt, and alcoholism in an attempt to keep their marriage together while coping with their loss.

More than anything else, I have to say that I respect this film, and everything that went into it. Joe Mitacek, who grew up in the Queen Anne area of Seattle, didn’t just lose his director cherry with this film, but he wrote, edited, shot, and produced it as well. I feel like most of the time a newbie takes on this much responsibility, it’s with a simple, or comedic, or very personal project. But Mitacek attempted to run before he could walk in dealing with subject matter that falls under the “scariest shit ever” category for almost everyone. This isn’t even the cut and dry, stages of guilt drama that In the Bedroom was, or the feel-good coping found in Moonlight Mile or Imaginary Heroes. This is, “things are messed up, now they’re fucked up, now they’re really fucked up.”

As Mitacek himself pointed out in the Q&A afterwards, pretty much everything about the final product of this film rested on the shoulders of the two main actors and the composer. Andrew Ramaglia and Emily Cline each bring an amazing level of emotion to their respective characters. Granted, the acting isn’t exactly polished, and at times comes off as very scripted and contrived. You could attribute that to the script or the directing as well. And the couple’s chemistry together isn’t the best I’ve seen. But when dealing with the individual coping mechanisms, there is a rawness on screen you don’t see very often. Unfortunately the film is about the loss of a child, and while I could sympathize with each character separately I didn’t have enough backstory - or see enough quality interaction - for the couple, and it made it hard to feel anything for the devolution of their relationship.

Even when the characters aren’t talking, there’s really no emotional downtime in the film, and that’s thanks to first time composer Peter Murray. For this film, Mitacek needed a simple, unimposing yet thoughtful and even score. That’s exactly what he got. With a few simple guitar riffs, Murray essentially interprets the characters inner struggles, and contrasts them with Mitacek’s slow, calm shots of downtown Seattle. It’s not going to win any awards, but if you need the composer to be a solid-yet-silent secondary character, this is right on.

Everyone involved here has potential. Acting, composing, and the omnipresent Milacek, though I feel that the subject matter may have been better shelved until his second or third film. That’s really not a cop out. If this film hadn’t been shot in my home city, and if it had involved well-known actors, it still probably wouldn’t be considered a “great” film. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, after one or all of these people are famous, film buffs find this title and say, “Wow, even back then you could see (insert name here)’s skills.

Though every name attached to this film is new to me, it was really cool to have a Q&A after the screening. At first, Mitacek, Ramaglia, Cline, and Murray were the only ones on stage. As the questions continued, however, more and more familiar faces appeared until the entire cast was standing up front, and then mingling in the audience. They weren’t the most energetic group (they’ve probably heard the same questions a thousand times during their festival circuit), but they were all thoughtful, intelligent, and passionate about their craft. To me, that’s the coolest part of festivals. Even if the film had sucked, I would’ve enjoyed the experience.

FINAL GRADE: C

I am not a Drake fan. Not even a little. Aside from fleeting moments on Forever and Over, he’s inspired in me little more than indifference. Regardless, it seems like everyone has been caught up in his hype for the last 18 months. And unlike most Hip Hop upstarts in the aughts, he’s found a way to marry mass appeal to (alleged) authenticity. He’s one of very few to legitimately straddle the fence, fluently moving from collabos with ringtone-rap phenoms like Flo-Rida and Trey Songz to trading verses with lyrical heavyweights like Jay-Z and Eminem.

His rise to prominence completely bewilders me. I don’t understand it. I can’t accept it. Yet for some reason, I can’t completely dismiss it. There’s gotta be something behind it. Even old school Hip Hop heads I respect cosign on the Drake hype. His seven-track EP, So Far Gone, a collection of tracks from his mixtape, sold more copies than Only Built For Cuban Linx, Part II, an album I named in my Top Five of 2009. The buzz surrounding this man is incredible.

But, like I said, I’m not a Drake fan. His mainstream collaborations never held much weight for me. I’m the type of dude that prefers GZA over Jeezy and castration over a Nicki Minaj record. I grew up on that boom bap, mid-90s East Coast revival Hip Hop—Biggie, Nas and Wu-Tang. So all this radio play, club hit, female-centric “hip hop” doesn’t do it for me.

But first and foremost, I am completely in love with Hip Hop. I have been since I heard Slick Rick’s Children’s Story during recess in first grade. So if there is even a shred of legitimacy to this whole Drake thing, it deserves to be recognized. And in the name of Hip Hop, I’ve set out to uncover the Mystery Of Drizzy.

The Good

The best thing I can say about Drake is that he’s not dumb. He’s focused, well informed and knows his history. That alone is more than you can say about most of the young MCs trying to make a name for themselves.

From his So Far Gone till Thank Me Later and in between, he’s had a plan and he’s stuck with it. Understand your assets (pretty boy status). Accept your shortcomings (lack of street cred). Know your demographic (women). Build your base (pop-loving kids with Hip Hop inclinations). Earn credibility by working with established artists (Lil Wayne, Eminem, Kanye). Drake is to Hip Hop what Will Smith is to the movie industry. His career is well-plotted, with an end game in mind. Will Smith may not be the greatest actor. But he is fucking bankable and the general public loves him. Similarly, Drake isn’t the most talented MC or singer, but he makes bank and endears himself to the general public in ways most Hip Hop artists have failed to accomplish.

He also realizes that Hip Hop is more than just music. It is a movement, a lifestyle, a culture. Hip Hop has roots, a deep history and tradition that carries significant meaning for generations of people. Drake seems to understand and embrace this. While he may not represent the struggle from whence Hip Hop was born, he respects those that came before him. Shouts to Dilla, Wu-Tang, Onyx and biting quotes from dead prez evidence Drake’s appreciation for the history of the culture.

As far as the actual music goes, he’s definitely competent. Unlike a lot of the purported MCs out there (I’m looking at you Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em), Drake understands theme, cadence, wordplay and beat selection. Granted, his raw talent isn’t near the same level as many other MCs on the scene or even of his contemporary, J. Cole. He’s still worked with some incredible producers and knows how to ride a beat on occasion. When he rhymes, he says something of significance to him and his audience. Though he may speak of trivialities in comparison to artists like Brother Ali, Mos Def or Immortal Technique; his tracks have purpose.

These components combine to create, if nothing else, an interesting case study on the progression of Hip Hop over the last decade. Drake’s unique positive qualities are what has sparked many a discussion of his merits throughout the Hip Hop community.

The Bad

My issues with Drake are three-fold—lyrical content, style/skills and commercialism.

I struggle to find a Drake track to which I can sit back, bob my head and vibe to his lyrics. I’ve never heard him drop a verse that left me saying, “Word.” I just don’t feel dude. That’s probably because I am not his audience. Drake doesn’t make music for the heads. He makes music for the masses—specifically the female masses. And seeing as I have a penis, I’m not feeling his shit. I can’t get down with a 23-year old Canadian kid, who used to be on Nickelodeon, singing about relationships. If I want to hear want to hear a love song, I’ll listen to Marvin or Al Green.

Stylistically, Drake obviously understands the mechanics of MCing. However, his skills are modest. He rarely has those “Daaaaaamn” moments. His punchlines are adequate at best. He can ride a beat, when he wants. But it’s generally the same, Lil Wayne-esque, staccato flow. He shows some dexterity on a track like Show Me A Good Time, yet those moments are infrequent. There is something to be said about creating a recognizable voice and style, but it does not excuse sameness and repetition. Drake’s a one trick pony that keeps pulling out the same played-out metaphor pattern. His idea of adding variety to a track is singing his own hook. This wouldn’t be too awful if he were Quan. But he’s not. His singing is barely passable. If that’s his go-to move, Drake desperately needs to step his game up. As a result of these limited skills, Drake tracks end up blending together. Individual cuts get swallowed up in their own redundancy.

Most of all, his unabashed commercialism just rubs me the wrong way. Between his Degrassi roots and the Sprite commercial, everything about Drake strikes me as the antithesis of Hip Hop—or at least my Hip Hop. Can you imagine Chuck D doing a Pepsi commercial? Or KRS-One guest starring on Gossip Girl? That shit is ridiculous. His whole persona represents my biggest beef with modern Hip Hop—its transformation from culture to commodity. It feels like he’s shitting on the legacies of Hip Hop legends that he shouts out in sixteens. I expect far more from someone as well-versed in Hip Hop history as Drake.

The Conclusion

Is Drake worthy of the adulation being heaped upon him by the masses? Is my pseudo-haterism justified? I don’t know. It is extremely difficult to find legitimate reasons to hate Drake. There is nothing explicitly wrong with the man. But to say Drake is the next great MC is delusional. There are scores of superior MCs flying under the radar. If you threw Drake in a battle against Vado, Jay Electronica or Diabolic, he would get utterly destroyed.

To really understand and appreciate Drake’s place in Hip Hop, you have look at his work in context. Drake knows who he is:

He’s not Raekwon:

“I avoided the Coke game and went with Sprite instead.”

He’s a commercial, pop artist, focused on success above all else:

“Yeah. I want it all, that’s why I strive for it
Diss me, you’ll never hear a reply for it
Any awards show or party, I get fly for it
I know that it’s coming, I just hope that I’m alive for it I want the money, money and the cars
Cars and the clothes, the hos. I suppose
I just wanna be, I just wanna be successful”

And he’s unapologetic:

“What am I doing? Oh, that’s right I’m doing me. I’m doing me. I’m living life right now, man. And this what I’ma do till it’s over. But it’s far from over.”

He’s not claiming to be anything he’s not. That, in itself, is respectable. You have to judge Drake in the context of a Top 40, pop artist as opposed to an MC. That’s not a crutch or an excuse pardoning his less than spectacular mic skils. It’s just the reality of who he is and who he is trying to be. His image and career will not be built by the streets. He won’t climb to the top through diss tracks or social commentary or raw, unadulterated spit. Drake’s success will be defined by album sales, Twitter trends and MTV Video Music Awards.

Is there anything wrong with that? That depends on your views on commercialism. Personally, I won’t be buying any Drake records. I completely agree with Jay Smooth’s take on Thank Me Later. Shit’s just not for me. I can’t relate to him in any meaningful way. And for me, music, and Hip Hop especially, is about a personal connection. There are obviously tons of people out there who do feel Drake’s music—good for them. And if Drake ends up being their gateway drug to vast world of Hip Hop—good for him.