Friday, July 31, 2009

DVD of the Week: "Who Are You, Polly Maggoo?" (William Klein, 1966)


by Chuck Williamson

Directed by ex-pat fashion photographer William Klein, Who Are You, Polly Maggoo? is an anarchic confection of pop-art percolations, ribald comic set-pieces, and counter-cinematic abstraction.  Staged as mock-verite docudrama, the film follows the eponymous Polly Maggoo (Dorothy McGowan), a supermodel who doubles, for both diegetic and intra-diegetic spectators, as a blank slate, a sussied-up, two-dimensional tabula rasa on which lewd, fairy-tale fantasies are projected. For the French television crew that follows her, she represents little more than a facile variation of the Cinderella narrative: a rags-to-riches heroine in need of a prince.  But as the documentarians’ bungled, reductive response fails to answer the title’s central query, the film counters with a dazzling, deconstructive display that uses its fashion-industry trappings in the employ of an acerbic social satire of fame, gender, politics, mass media, and the so-called “society of the spectacle,” where the constant consumption of mass-produced images has corroded human relationships.

An absurdist farce, Who Are You, Polly Maggoo? bristles with comic energy and explodes with an orgiastic, near-manic visual design.  Resembling the experimental cinema of Godard, the film combines baroque costumes and symmetrical set-design with spastic, unmoored cinematography and jagged, jump-cut-heavy editing.  But the film’s success cannot be boiled down to its radical aesthetic design.  Above all, Polly Maggoo can be described as a caustic, near-flippant middle finger of a film, lacing its multi-layered social critique with biting, laugh-out-loud comedy.

Or as Polly herself might say: “Beep-beep!”

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Monday, July 27, 2009

Rooftop Films July 30-Aug 1: Featuring TROLL 2!


THURSDAY, JULY 30
TROLL 2
OPEN BAR AFTER PARTY FOLLOWING THE SCREENING FOR ALL IN ATTENDANCE
Venue: On the lawn of Automotive High School
Address: 50 Bedford Ave. @ North 13th St. (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)
Directions: L to Bedford Ave. or G to Nassau Ave.
Rain: In the event of rain the show will be held indoors at the same location
8:00PM: Doors open
8:30PM: Sound Fix Records presents live music by The Drums
9:00PM: Film
10:30PM: Filmmaker Q & A
11:30PM-1:00AM: After-party: Open Bar at Matchless (557 Manhattan Ave. @ Driggs) Courtesy of Radeberger Pilsner
Tickets: $9 at the door or online, OR buy a combo ticket for BEST WORST MOVIE AND TROLL 2 for just $11 HERE
Presented in partnership with: Cinereach, New York Magazine, City Council Member David Yassky & Automotive High School

FRIDAY, JULY 31
BEST WORST MOVIE
*NEW YORK PREMIERE*
An acclaimed feature length documentary that takes us on an off-beat journey into the undisputed worst movie in cinematic history: Troll 2. Directed by the now grown child star of the awful horror classic, this documentary is both hilarious and touching, providing insights into artistic vision and dashed dreams.
OPEN BAR AFTER PARTY FOLLOWING THE SCREENING FOR ALL IN ATTENDANCE

Venue: On the lawn of Automotive High School
Address: 50 Bedford Ave. @ North 13th St. (Williamsburg, Brooklyn)
Directions: L to Bedford Ave. or G to Nassau Ave.
Rain: In the event of rain the show will be held indoors at the same location
8:00PM: Doors open
8:30PM: Sound Fix Records presents live music by Kurt Vile
9:00PM: Film
10:30PM: Filmmaker Q & A
11:30PM-1:00AM: After-party: Open Bar at Matchless (557 Manhattan Ave. @ Driggs) Courtesy of Radeberger Pilsner
Tickets: $9 at the door or online, OR buy a combo ticket for BEST WORST MOVIE AND TROLL 2 for just $11 HERE
Presented in partnership with: Cinereach, New York magazine, City Council Member David Yassky & Automotive High School

SATURDAY, AUGUST 1ST
INDUSTRIANCE™ SHORT FILMS: BLOOD, STEEL, WOOD
Man battles nature, and nobody wins. Machines grow so powerful not a soul has control. And the more we learn about ourselves, our structures, our universe, the more chaotic it all appears. Intense, evocative, emotional, this complex program of short films presents a back and forth dispute between competing forces and ideas.

OPEN BAR AFTER PARTY FOLLOWING THE SCREENING FOR ALL IN ATTENDANCE

Venue: On the roof of the Old American Can Factory
Address: 232 3rd St. @ 3rd Ave. (Gowanus/ Park Slope, Brooklyn)
Directions: F/G to Carroll St. or M/R to Union Ave.
Rain: In the event of rain the show will be held indoors at the same location
8:00PM: Doors open
8:30PM: Live music presented by Sound Fix Records
9:00PM: Films
11:00PM–12:30AM: Reception in courtyard including free sangria courtesy of Carlo Rossi
Tickets: $9 at the door or online
Presented in partnership with: Cinereach, New York magazine, & XØ Projects

No refunds. In the event of rain, the show will be indoors at the same locations. Seating is first come, first served. Physical seats are limited. This means you may not get a chair. You are welcome to bring a blanket and picnic.

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Sunday, July 26, 2009

Mommy Issues


by James Hansen

If the brood of deformed evil children in David Cronenberg’s The Brood were just a little older and had slightly more complex, if equally deranged, minds, they would have been a lot like Esther (Isabelle Fuhrman) - the new spawn child showcasing her love of hammers, pianos, and arson (oh my) in the horror thriller Orphan. Despite its exceedingly familiar formula of evil kids behaving badly in (where else?) tree houses and playgrounds, Orphan ups the nasty on its way to being exceedingly entertaining and a downright riot.

An inverted Freudian slasher movie of sorts, Orphan works precisely because its twist is the pitch of the movie and the clear conceptual punch behind the otherwise overlong screenplay. There is something wrong with Esther, and the something, executed randomly (read: perfectly) in a spectacular gold mine of a sequence, like the big reveal in the classic B-horror film Sleepaway Camp, highlights why the film was working in the first place.


Freud aside for now, none of this works if the execution of the pitch is off, so major credit has to be given to director Jaume Collet-Serra (House of Wax) who sets the tone from the get go with a bizarrely violent opening sequence that underscores the unrest that lurks through the entirety of Orphan. No matter the wild direction of the story or the complete implausibility of the decision making, especially on the part of the dumb male (Name of the) Father (Peter Sarsgaard), Orphan keeps its serious tone, as do the actors.

Vera Farmiga, as the Mother, filling an inverted psychoanalytic position as proposed castrator of Esther, is all-in here, still managing to evoke sympathy amidst her insane plight. Whether she is sprinting through hospital wings, meeting with an intractable psychiatrist, or confronting her out of control foster spawn, Farmiga remains deeply focused and intensely dedicated. Isabelle Fuhrman gives a solid performance as Esther which is deepened by her hilarious costume design and some precise editing in certain sequences. Girl has more material to play with than Tim Gunn.


Most of this material for Esther comes from the clever Freudian inversion that, surprisingly, hasn’t been toyed with that much in horror. Freud never really knew what to make of girls, as the lack of a phallus makes his theory predicated on the existence of a phallus completely inapplicable. He admitted that there is likely something similar, but never knew exactly what the process would be. Well, low and behold, Orphan screenwriters David Johnson and Alex Mace have figured it out! Or, more likely, flipped it directly on its head, sense making or not. Esther is in direct competition with her mother, as her (blood) lust is directed to the person she most wants to bone err...lay - her father. By simply toying with this classic horror approach, Orphan derives a little extra juice, builds a lot more spunk, and flashes a load of balls.
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Friday, July 24, 2009

DVD(s) of the Week: “The Ascent” (Larisa Shepitko, 1977) and “Come and See” (Elem Klimov, 1985)


by Brandon Colvin

Prep your Netflix queues.

This week, we’ve got a double dose of post-thaw war films about Soviet partisans fighting in 1940s Nazi-occupied USSR – a Christian-ish parable of sacrifice, betrayal and integrity, Larisa Shepitko’s The Ascent (1977), and a devastating onslaught of horrifying inhumanity and bitterly deserved revenge, Elem Klimov’s Come and See (1985). And, the films aren’t the only perfect pair involved; the two directors of these visually and aurally assaulting tales of wartime desperation and brutality were . . . married.

(more after the break)


Shepitko and Klimov comprise perhaps the most potent wife/husband filmmaking duo ever to unite their careers in celluloid matrimony, rivaled only by the incredible 1-2 punch of Agnès Varda and Jacques Demy. Their respective masterpieces, The Ascent and Come and See are visceral, yet remarkably lyrical, never losing the spiritual and existential thrusts of their narratives while maintaining propulsive, riveting dramatic tension.

Certain moments from the films are absolutely indelible; indeed, they emblematize the movies in my memory lucidly and absolutely. Regarding The Ascent, it is a single, remarkable shot. The injured protagonist, Sotnikov (Boris Plotnikov), is bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound. Captured by Nazis, he lies on a wagon being pulled by his captors. The shot is a close-up, from above. Sotnikov’s head sticks off the edge of the wagon, stark white snow moving under it. He seems to levitate in relation to the blurred ground. His face is flecked with frost. His eyes are distant, perhaps locked onto some rapidly approaching metaphysical realm. Life is leaking out of him, and he floats, a prelude to his eventual martyrdom. The poetic fluidity of motion transforms the material into the transcendental.


Come and See’s outstanding moment, one of many (and one that, thankfully, provides no real spoilers), depicts a bombing of Byelorussian partisans camped in a forest, including the film’s young hero, Florya (Aleksei Kravchenko), and his pubescent love interest, Glasha (Olga Mironova). As the children wander through an endless expanse of trees, a Nazi explosive crashes near them. When the bomb hits, the film’s aural design is obliterated, then recast. Reflecting the sonic disorientation of the panicked, traumatized Florya, voices and diegetic sounds drop into a wobbly, unintelligible mess. The only audible element is a sharp, destructive ringing as Florya goes temporarily deaf. Wandering frantically through the exploding woods, Florya and Glasha make it to a nearby village, already reached by the Nazis, only to discover the gruesome fate of its inhabitants – the first annihilative step on a hellish journey toward the dark core of war.

In the exceptional canon of Soviet war cinema, The Ascent and Come and See stand equal to, if not above, any film one could name, from Battleship Potemkin (1925) to Ivan’s Childhood (1962). The sheer virtuosity of technique, intensity of characterization, and lucidity of style contained in Shepitko and Klimov’s films make it clear that their names should be included on any list of Soviet cinematic masters, alongside Eisenstein, Pudovkin, Dovzhenko, Parajanov, Tarkovsky, and Sokurov. However, both filmmakers remain relatively overlooked. With two of Shepitko’s films recently made available through Criterion’s Eclipse series, this will hopefully change, as both directors are disappointingly underrepresented on DVD. Even if The Ascent and Come and See were the only legacies left by this cinematic couple, their reputations would be sufficiently solidified; once you’ve seen them, you’ll never forget them.
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Thursday, July 23, 2009

Moonage Daydream


by Chuck Williamson

Each summer, sci-fi cinema becomes more and more vulgarized by the bombastic, near-pornographic aesthetic imposed by the blockbuster template: the shaky cinematographic foreplay and explosive pyrotechnic money-shots, marked with sloppy soul-kisses and the lubed-up afterglow of computer generated graphics. With films like Transformers and Terminator: Salvation, the consummation comes with the requisite kicking and squirming, turning our routine moviegoing practices into sordid, shameful fetish play. For many, the so-called “genre of ideas” has been degraded into a vehicle for base gratifications. But in the center of this orgiastic mess is Moon, a modest, ascetic alternative to the norm that, for all its shortcomings, breaks away from the obscene summer aesthetic. Although far from perfect, Moon is an intimate, contemplative science-fiction tale, a breath of fresh air that reminds us that the genre can do more than prop up loud, lifeless spectacle.


Directed by Duncan Jones (son of the original space oddity, David Bowie), Moon ripples with complexity, embracing both formal and narrative paradox; the film adroitly melds its muted, slow-burn aesthetic with wry humanism, logic-puzzle plotting with intimate drama. Moon begins with a languorous, claustrophobic montage where the camera drifts through the empty, sterile interiors of a lunar mining outpost positioned on the far side of the moon. Inside, the world contracts into a small, insular space, a location of stagnation and inertia dominated by the dull, moment-by-moment routine experienced by Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell), the moon base’s sole occupant. Through enclosed, antiseptic cinematography, the film forces the viewer to identify with the isolation and half-crazed loneliness experienced by Bell. Outside, the cold desolation of space exists as a monochromatic daydream, a phantasmagoric landscape filtered through muted, soft-focus photography. Visually, the film is a stunner, a lyrical, lugubrious travelogue that makes its protagonist’s longing and loneliness near-tangible.

But this aesthetic design, a pitch-perfect visualization of the seclusion and alienation central to the narrative, does not drown out the subtle humanity of its characters. Instead, these cold and sterile spaces function as the backdrop for an unexpected shaggy-dog humanism that effectively contrasts the film’s oppressive visual design. Filled with an unassuming warmth and low-key humor that, in a lesser work, could implode and turn the film into a dissonant mess, Moon effectively balances the two. Rockwell’s loquacious, wiseass persona fits perfectly within the film’s framework, grounding the cosmic, contemplative sci-fi trappings with a very human presence. In a fascinating performance, Rockwell plays a man trying to retain his humanity in the most hopeless of circumstances. His interactions with the lunar base’s advanced computer system GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey) blend sardonic humor with unexpected tenderness, and the pained, at times prolonged scenes of Bell viewing prerecorded videophone messages from his wife effectively recreates the trauma of isolation. This combination of the cosmic and the seriocomic gives the film the right balance of gravity and levity that, for all its occasional missteps, makes for some entrancing viewing.


Although Moon strikes this successful balance between these disparate elements, it nonetheless craters a bit under the weight of its leaden plot, a one-note museum piece of musty sci-fi clichés and mothball covered genre tropes. Despite its heady, well-conceived beginnings, Moon’s narrative grows a bit tiring near its conclusion. While the film remains engrossing even during its most unfortunate fumbles, the narrative dross that dominates its third-act—a jumbled mess of predictable plot-points and banal revelations—spoils what could have been a more contemplative and complex science-fiction drama. Even its most engaging narrative twists—Bell’s chronic hallucinations, the unexpected doppelganger—conclude with a forehead-slapping turn of events that ultimately diminishes their cumulative impact.

But Moon still preserves enough of its formal and narrative energy to remain both transfixing and surprisingly moving by its ambiguous conclusion. Despite its minor blemishes, the film is moody, melancholic, and quietly affecting, a hushed, meditative sci-fi yarn that doubles as excellent counter-programming to the exploding robots, post-apocalyptic shoot-outs, and time-traveling starships that dominated this summer. Like its protagonist, Moon represents an unassuming but human presence in an otherwise lifeless cinematic universe.
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Friday, July 17, 2009

Rooftop Films July 17-18


BLIND PIG WHO WANTS TO FLY
*U.S. Premiere* A stunningly strange series of interweaving sketches that include a Stevie Wonder-singing dentist, a woman who eats firecrackers, and a pig, all investigations of alienation, politics, love and lust.
Venue: On the roof of the Old American Can Factory
Address: 232 3rd St. @ 3rd Ave. (Gowanus/ Park Slope, Brooklyn)
Directions: F/G to Carroll St. or M/R to Union Ave.
Rain: In the event of rain the show will be held indoors at the same
location
8:00PM: Doors open
8:30PM: Sound Fix Records presents live
music by Kelli Rudick
9:00PM: Film
10:30PM: Filmmaker Q & A
11:00PM–12:30AM: Reception in courtyard including free sangria
courtesy of Carlo
Rossi sangria
Tickets: $9-$25 at the door or online
Presented in partnership with: The International Film Festival of
Rotterdam,
Cinereach , New York magazine ,
& XŘ Projects

Ticketing link:
http://newyork.going.com/event-618870;Rooftop_Films_IFFR_Blind_Pig_Who_Wants_to_Fly



LOS HEREDEROS

*US PREMIERE* A hypnotic documentary that observes the young working poor in the hinterlands of Mexico, alternately expressing the joy of children finding ways to play, the frustration of their harsh and repetitive lives, and the fateful acceptance of their existence.

Venue: On the roof of El Museo Del Barrio
Address: 1230 Fifth Ave. @ 104th St. (East Harlem)
Directions: 6 to 103rd St. or 2/3 to 110th St.
Rain: In the event of rain, show will be indoors at the same location
8:00PM: Doors open
8:30PM: Sound Fix presents live music by Lázaro
Valiente
9:00PM: Film
11:00PM-12:30AM: After-party on the roof: Open bar courtesy of Radeberger
Pilsner
Tickets: $9-$25 at door or online

Presented in partnership with: The International Film Festival of
Rotterdam
, Cinereach , New York Magazine

Ticketing link:
http://newyork.going.com/event-618875;Rooftop_Films_IFFR_Los_Herederos

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Thursday, July 16, 2009

Harry Potter and the Continually Uneven Narrative


by James Hansen

An imminent part of the cultural landscape, therefore worthy of criticism despite the fact that it would make a gagillion dollars with or without good reviews, the Harry Potter saga continues in film form this week with the highly anticipated Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Unquestionably one of the best books in the series, HBP deepens the Potter mythology with a narrative that is overwhelming yet surprisingly scant. Closely following the details, if not the breadth, of the book, major events surrounding HBP happen more offscreen than on, which makes the big onscreen events all the more major. This led to major problems for director David Yates, who also sits in the reins for HBP and the upcoming finale(s) Deathly Hallows, in Order of the Phoenix where a large narrative full of small details became a messy episodic narrative which was slapdash and equally clunky.

Many of the same issues bely HBP in direction and execution where Yates and Co. appear unwilling to settle on a story, tone, or visual style for more than five minutes at a time – a move that magnifies silly missteps into larger, self-defeating issues. Though Yates tries to keep the comedy fervent, it undercuts the effect of the dramatic scenes with the majority of the biggest moments falling flat. Without the artistic ability to meld the worlds of expanding love and impending doom together, or at least making the sections seem like they belong to the same movie, HBP ends up being similarly uneven to Order and equally frustrating in that the good parts are so good but are totally overwhelmed by the weaknesses of clarity in the direction.


The screenplay by Steven Kloves does little to give any impetus to much of anything involving the rise of the Death Eaters. Although they are apparently running all around town, a couple random reminders are all that are given as the driving force of rising evil in the movie. Nothing much rises though, its just sort of there, even as Draco Malfoy awkwardly lurks around the castle waiting for his shining moment. In one of the more insanely ridiculous moments of the series since the entirety of Chamber of Secrets, a sweeping shot out of the castle windows shows Harry comforting Hermione, slides across to find Ron snogging Lavender, and then, at the very top of the tallest castle, Draco Malfoy, perched like a Gargoyle awaiting his chance to slide some roofies to his totally Goth girlfriend before sexually asphyxiating himself to sleep. This is a prime example of inserting parts of the narrative where they do not belong and the effective mishandling of both sides that are instrumental to HBP.

The oddest thing is that, random as they are, many of the funny love scenes work – Jessie Cave plays the aloofly head-over-heels in love Lavender Brown to near perfection – and many of the dramatic sequences are solid, but their artistic craftsmanship is so disparate, as seen in the hysterically forced moment mentioned above, that they fail to ever come together with smooth transitions to make HBP feel like one narrative. Instead, HBP often feels confused with which way it wants to head. There is so much time spend on goofing around with the love stories and playing Quidditch – a sport that has suddenly become a enormously literal dick swinging contest – HBP’s major moments feel light, undermotivated, and insignificant. By the time the ball gets rolling, two hours into the running time, there has been so much nothing for so long that the entire crux of the plot feels tacked on.


Yet, despite the faults, there is a saving grace. Amid the plethora of big name British actors and actresses who have starred in the series, HBP is the first film in the series to be written in a way that allows for a couple star turns for Michael Gambon and Jim Broadbent. With such a large cast, characters often get lost in the mix and become more slight – Alan Rickman as Snape has yet to be in any single movie enough – but HBP gives enough time for Dumbledore and Slughorn to have some real shining moments that keep Yates’s shoddy filmmaking out of mind. Although the awkward transitions in and out of the pensieve hurt their overall effect, Dumbledore and Harry’s trip to the cave to find Voldemort’s horcrux, an aspect that is brought up way too late in the movie for its own good, is one of the best scenes in the series. Sharply edited and legitimately terrifying, Gambon has never been better (and if anyone was still doubting his ability to really be Dumbledore post- Richard Harris, those questions have clearly been answered, even if the scene fails to display the gravitas it should feature.) Slughorn, on the other hand, is a bit of a one note character, but Broadbent brings some real charm to the role – almost enough to sell Hagrid’s overlong perfunctory appearance, but not quite.

Unfortunately, HBP’s main set piece – the arrival of the Death Eaters to Hogwarts and Dumbledore’s murder at the hands of Snape – brings the film back down by making one of the major scenes of the series, if not insignificant, totally banal. The entire scene, as well as that profound individual moment, is so small and shot so distantly that when a sudden close up of Dumbledore falling from the castle (oddly similar to Rickman’s fate in Die Hard) is less sad and shocking than out of place and silly.


Immensely frustrating, HBP has so much in its that is so good and an equal amount that is just bad. Yates and Kloves again have a major problem in the execution of narrative balance and even more annoying problems with simple fixes. (Like, for instance, not using the exact same shot of Malfoy pulling the curtain off the Vanishing Cabinet every time he does it. Nitpicky as hell, sure. But, I mean, seriously?) Perhaps this is some sort of progress. Despite this largely negative review, HBP does a lot of things right and is largely enjoyable even when its doing them wrong. Its just that for a story that was practically begging to be adapted to the screen – the books became more and more cinematic with each passing novel – HBP could have, and should have, been so much more.
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Monday, July 13, 2009

"South Park": Older, Wiser, and Better Than Ever


by James Hansen

Released 10 summers ago this year, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is likely less seen today than the show, whether with continually great new seasons on Comedy Central and/or syndication there or elsewhere. But, as a rabid fan of the show since it began in 1997, watching the movie again recently was a revelatory experience. South Park may very well be the crowning comedy of the 1990s and not because its a great comedy that also happens to be a brilliant musical, but because it now stands as a marker for what South Park has come to represent in the fabric of American culture.


South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is fucking sweet (to borrow Kyle’s reaction to seeing Terrence and Phillip’s Asses of Fire) from the genius opening number “Mountain Town” to the end. Even for audience unfamiliar with the show, “Mountain Town” cleverly does exactly what opening numbers of classic musicals are supposed to do. Meet each character, get a sense of who they are, and introduce what the catalysts for the rest of the work are. No built-in fan base needed. Trey Parker displays impeccable command of the movie musical narrative with genuinely smart numbers in both in script and score, something lacking in movie musicals since the 60s and certainly unmatched in the overstated “return of The Musical” post-Chicago where an original movie musical has yet to be successfully produced. Not enough has been said about how great Parker is with music, as most of what remembered are the shocking lyrics, but the music, in conception and execution, is just outstanding.

Great as all of this is, the genuine praise was all said (more or less) upon the film’s critically successful release in 1999. So – to borrow a question Cartman poses to Mr. Mackey after being sent to the principal’s office for politely asking Mr. Garrison if he would like to suck his balls – what’s the big fuckin’ deal, bitch? Or, in more polite terms, why is this movie still critically relevant to talk about, apart from its genuine hilarity? Or, to reflect more personally, why am I choosing to suddenly write on this ten year old movie and throwing around adjectives like revelatory? Truth is, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is better today than ever before. This is not because South Park has aged well, gained relevance since the second Iraq War, or sustained itself as a biting television program ever since (although all of those things are true). What makes South Park: BLU even more exceptional today is the ability to see how Parker was complexly appropriating its own expanding position within the cultural landscape as a primary dialogic facet of the movie – something that no other movie based on a TV show has ever done.


All of this starts with Canada. Or, at least, with South Park’s favorite flappy-headed Canadians Terrence and Phillip. T&P have always been an underrated part of the South Park universe, as they have always represented an astutely calculated mirror image of parental reaction to South Park (“nothing but fart jokes and toilet humor”). Similarly, America’s red-headed stepchild ideology towards Canada over the course of the show bluntly points the finger elsewhere for the town of South Park’s constantly collapsing midwestern morality. While Terrence and Philip are the apotheosis of South Park’s worldview in the minds of parents, Canada, as a whole, is the laughable, yet undeniable force of wrong in the world that disguises itself in a hockey mask and infiltrates the previously established system of values. What parents just don’t understand, naturally, is that the problems may be closer to home than they wish. As “Blame Canada” signifies, Celine Dion and Ann Murray may take the hit from Sheila Broflovski and the Mothers Against Canada, but they are actually fueling the very war they are attempting to fight.

Parker’s choice to have T&P head-hunted by American parents, incidentally for T&P’s first movie and not for their similarly dirty TV show, is another brilliant move that reflects South Park’s own position at the moment of the film’s release. Cinema becomes the marker for mainstream culture rather than television so, accurate or not, South Park simultaneously promotes and challenges its own status as an evolving animated show, a form thought by many parents to be merely for kids (who, incidentally, are the only characters who are ever seen watching T&P), coming into the mainstream, by way of the production of a movie. Alongside this rather complicated idiom, South Park is also questioning its ability to have a positive or negative impact on the politics of childhood protection and self-destructive censorship. Parker's astute assessment, recognizing what South Park was at the moment of its release and forseeing what it would become, makes South Park: BLU the most fascinating work in the South Park canon.


Alas, the chaos eventually subsides and things again become super when South Park: BLU accepts and returns to its initial form – Cartman’s filthy fucking mouth, previously taken away by the V-chip, T&P back alive and working, after being briefly defeated at a hefty price, and Kenny staying dead, despite having the chance to be alive again. South Park: BLU achieves its timeless success by skewering everything that crosses its path while staying sharply focused on extensively evaluating the most important target: itself.

Watch Movies Online at iReel.com


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Saturday, July 11, 2009

DVD of the Week: "Eureka" (Shinji Aoyama, 2000)

by Chuck Williamson

Spanning a dreamily paced 217 minutes, Shinji Aoyama’s Eureka 
begins with the violent hijacking of a commuter bus—a cold, antiseptic sequence that ends with machine-gun editing—and concludes with the survivors’ arduous journey toward emotional and spiritual repair, a journey that culminates in a literal cross-country road trip through the decaying Japanese countryside.  Photographed through a monochrome veil of distortion, Eureka constructs a nightmare vision of Japan as a purgatorial wasteland, a diseased, sepia-tone world that externalizes the collective trauma shared by the three bus-jacking survivors: a pair of reserved siblings, Naoki (Masaru Miyazaki) and Kozue (Aoi Miyazaki), and the shellshocked bus-driver, Makoto (Koji Yakusho).  These deep psychic wounds ultimately draw the three of them back together.  Withdrawn from the world around them, they embark on an aimless expedition that promises to mend their wounds.  As Makoto later tells the children, “We need some time to find ourselves.”

Minimalist by design, Eureka belies its epic length and “from-the-headlines” plotting with its restrained, near-glacial cinematography.  The film visualizes the silence and stillness that punctuates every moment of its characters’ shared trauma through long, languid takes and elegant, meticulously composed images; formally, the film recalls the work of Tarkovsky and Ozu. But it is the film’s deep humanism that gives those images their thematic and emotional heft, turning what could be an empty formal exercise into one of the decade's richest and most rewarding films.  Eureka resonates with pathos and poignancy and pulses with life, weaving into its picaresque narrative scenes that are both stirring and spellbinding.  Like any good road trip, it is a transformative, damn-near-transcendent experience.

Because of the dissolution of Shooting Gallery Pictures, Eureka has never been released domestically on DVD.  However, it is available on a region-two disc released by Artificial Eye.

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Thursday, July 9, 2009

No Frills, Just Thrills


by Brandon Colvin

There is a certain paradoxical quality that arises from describing a larger-than-life subject using the humblest of means. It is a quality that benefits from the incredible pressure to invent new methods, new approaches, in order to compensate for grandiosity with ingenuity. Not quite minimalism, it is a kind of narrative deprivation, a restraint that requires alternative routes in order to circumvent convention, a restraint pervading the visual textures and rhythms of Michael Mann’s Public Enemies. Mann’s film is jarring in its refusal to indulge in classicism, confounding the romanticized aesthetic that characterizes popular depictions of the 1930s from Chinatown (1974) to The Untouchables (1987) to Changeling (2008), an aesthetic that portrays the era with lush cinematography, nostalgically embellished art direction, and winking dollops of pop cultural zeitgeist. Instead, Public Enemies relies on the relatively unplumbed possibilities of the digital medium, finding unusual beauty in the harshness of the unsentimental, unidealized image and portraying the ultimate pop icon of the period, John Dillinger (Johnny Depp), in the pixilated light of jittery cameras and unimposing historical detail.


This is no surprise to those familiar with Mann’s career as the preeminent avant-action filmmaker of the last few decades. Reflecting an almost amateurish zeal for immediacy and a mature preference for understatement, Mann’s films have consistently been hailed as both intense and intelligent, and, in his last few efforts, the writer/director has effectively explored a refreshing penchant for digital daring, particularly in Collateral (2004) and the underrated Miami Vice (2006), finding new angles and new rhythms for crafting genre works of the highest caliber. Public Enemies is the culmination of Mann’s envelope-pushing approach, combining his storytelling strengths with the aesthetic asceticism of blunt digitization, finding a quicker, faster, sharper way to communicate every aspect of one of the most fantasized and mythologized American lives.

From photography to pacing to performances, Public Enemies controversially suggests that legendary elaboration be damned. The film speaks directly, so directly that it might almost seem superficial in its refusal to dwell on psychological, philosophical, or moral implications; but it’s all there, hiding in the cracks and creases – in Depp’s sly smirks and blank stares, in Christian Bale’s self-conscious desperation as federal investigator Melvin Purvis, in the naïve obsession haunting the eyes of Billie Freschette (Marion Cotillard), Dillinger’s lover. Bank heists, gun battles, chase sequences – all are shot with utmost practicality, prioritizing efficiency and simplicity in framing and staging and producing a seamless stream of compositions that accumulate cohesively and clearly, a no-nonsense perspective that compliments Dillinger’s consummate professionalism. Establishing shots are rare and not lingered-over (Mann’s aforementioned immediacy), appropriately reducing the incredibly convincing sets and costumes to functional background information. There is no “oooh, ahhh,” only “what’s next?” Public Enemies is propulsive and pragmatic. Nothing too pretty. Nothing too orchestrated. Everything is on the fly, seemingly improvised, absolutely to the point – just as Dillinger would have preferred.


Public Enemies, however, is not without its missteps, the most frustrating of which is the romantic relationship between Dillinger and Billie, one of the few aspects of the film in which rigorous unconventionality subsides. The love story is central to the Dillinger narrative, almost distractingly so. While it contributes to Dillinger’s psychological depth, it adds unwanted sappiness in certain scenes, particularly the teary finale, and is a stumbling block in an otherwise surefooted story, bogging down the narrative in overlong courtship scenes. All things considered, the slight fumbling of the romance is a minor quibble, one that could be resolved with a bit of snipping and cutting, and perhaps a shift in emphasis during Public Enemies’ conclusion away from love and toward Dillinger’s legacy and impact. With a film so thoroughly fresh, it’s hard to complain, but stale is stale, even if the love story’s overall benefits outweigh its nagging detriments.

With Public Enemies, Michael Mann has produced a truly original piece of cinema. As an experiment in creating new relationships between form and content, it succeeds in demonstrating how an unexpected contrast in style and subject can unveil equally unexpected aesthetic possibilities. Mann has expanded the scope and size of stories that can be told using digital technology, looking forward to the mainstream acceptance of an alternative to filmic images. Using digital not as an imitation of film, but as a medium to be explored for its own unique narrative capabilities and visual qualities, Public Enemies is movie I have no trouble defining as downright progressive.
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Saturday, July 4, 2009

DVD of the Week: "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington" (Frank Capra, 1939)


by James Hansen

The DVD of the Week was purposefully delayed this week, as to make it land on the holiday. Although it might not have a ton of stars and stripes and fireworks shooting in the air, but Frank Capra's Mr. Smith Goes To Washington is still one of the most well defined, uplifting movies about the power of America's system of government and proof that each person can make significant changes if they keep working and stick to their beliefs. Jimmy Stewart is just terrific, as always, and Capra's direction, taking a single place and building an ecstatic amount of nervous energy leading to a couple of the best courtroom-type scene ever filmed, was never sharper. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington is a celebration of America and its individual citizens without the oftentimes annoying, blatant fanfare that drowns other Fourth movies in tired nostalgia. Forget Yankee Doodle Dandy. Mr. Smith is the man for me.

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