Film Review

Gluteus Maximus

Gary Lucas — Mon, 18 Nov 2024 20:30:06 +0000

Gluteus Maximus Gary Lucas November 18, 2024 - 15:30

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The 2001 GOLDEN GLOBES may best be remembered as the night that 78-year DAME ELIZABETH TAYLOR drew out the presentation of the Best Dramatic Film of the Year Award by first half-mangling the envelope containing the name of the winning film before being admonished by stagehands and production staff to announce the full slate of candidates first: Erin Brockovich, Wonder Boys, etc.. Eventually, she tore open the already half-mangled enveloped and extracted the card…and then issued forth with a high-pitched squeal of delight:

"And the winner is…GLAAAADIATOR!!"

The audience cheered. Dick Clark looked ashen and rolled his eyes—and I must confess I groaned (and not due to my empathy for poor Elizabeth's Biden-moment-like seeming cognitive infirmity gone live on national TV).

I groaned because I had recently come back from a lengthy European tour and needed to find out what all the hoo-hah was about this Gladiator thingy, the most recent cinematic gloss on ye olde Swords-and-Sandals genre, featuring Russell Crowe in a decidedly low-energy turn (his off-the-cuff mumbled "Upon my signal—unleash Hell" line being the biggest hoot of the film). And to think that THIS GUY was considered by critics and audiences of the day to be the finest actor of those years?? The whole picture stank, imho. My cup runneth over with scorn.

Now, we the commoners, of course, have grown up over many years with proper Ancient Roman displays of gratuitous violence and barbarism on the silver screen—going back to Francis X. Bushman’s and Ramon Novarro's 1926 turn in Ben Niblo's Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ…through Charles Laughton's decadent campy swish-athon as Emperor Nero in Mervyn Leroy's shockingly bloody (for 1951) Quo Vadis…touching on Stanley Kubrick's superb 1960 Spartacus with Kirk Douglas in top form …and on up through the mega-Brit 1976 television version of Robert Graves's I Claudius featuring Derek Jacobi (who is in both Gladiator's).

And truth to be told, methinks there is way more life in any of these aforementioned filmic and televised versions than in either Gladiator.

Once a world-class director with credits such as Blade Runner and Alien, Ridley Scott should seriously consider quitting at this point (ditto Francis Ford Coppola).

I mean, do either of these guys need any more buckets of ducats showered on their bloated productions??

I hate to say this because I adore Scott's early science fiction films (as well as Coppola's masterful early films like The Conversation). But like Coppola, Scott really seems way past his sell-by date, given the current climate.

Last year's Napoleon was a shameful embarrassment. Good old eccentric Joaquin Phoenix (and hey, I'm his fan, kind of) stumbling around Egypt firing loose cannonades aimed at the Sphinx (which never happened, which is true of at least 80% of the script according to the Napoleonic Code of worldwide historians and academics devoted to the Telling of Historical Truths, forsooth).

"Won't you JOIN ME?" was one of the plum moments plucked for the worldwide TV ad for Napoleon. Indeed. (A variant of this line is spoken by Paul Mescal in Gladiator in a bit of self-referential Ridley Scott-ism. Maybe they are gonna use that in the new TV ballyhoo to be rolled out this week. Would make sense, in an exhortatory kind of way).

This here movie is just a Holy Roman Empirical Mess. The CGI looks dated (blood-thirsty baboons, sharks, and rhinos cavorting in the Coliseum, notwithstanding). The soundtrack speaks in tongues, the principal actors boasting a mish-mosh of accents like in a badly-dubbed Steve Reeves Italian spectacle picture from the '60s. Denzel Washington sounds like he just stepped off the IRT, Irish hunk Paul Mescal sports the traces of his Trinity College acting school, and Pedro Pascal sounds and facially looks like he stepped out of the wrong epoch entirely.

Yet the film will run and run. It ticks all the boxes: Gross arterial spray? Check! Overly verbose exposition of key plot points? Check! Dialogue that sounds like it was run through an AI filter to remove all traces of anything resembling the way people might actually have conversed in those days? Check! And THAT my friends is Entertainment!

I was dying for the film to cut loose into pure burlesque on the order of "J. Caesar" (a one-act 19th-century farce I played Mark Anthony in up at Camp Kennebec in the early '60s).

You know, Cris Shapan-like cut-and-thrust parody/folderol:

That would have been way, way better than this po-faced exercise in Blockbuster 101. You know, camp it up!

When Pedro Pascal gets the crown of laurels put on his head publicly near the beginning of the film as a reward for his most recent rape, pillage, and slaughter, Scott should have had a member of the royal Roman retinue gasp and shout out:

"HE WEARETH THE HEAD-GEAR OF THE KING!!"

You know—foreshadowing shit.

In summa—there is more life in one frame of Howard Hawks's 1955 laff-riot Land of the Pharaohs starring Jack Hawkins and Joan Collins with a script by an in-his-cups William Faulkner than in the whole 144 minutes of this eye-and-ear-sore.

One redeeming feature: Dead Can Dance's Lisa Gerrard's name pops up in the soundtrack credits, which was nice—so hey, I'm not a TOTAL curmudgeon here.

But overall, THUMBS WAY WAY DOWN.

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A Glitch in Time

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 16 Nov 2024 14:56:21 +0000

A Glitch in Time Chet Kozlowski November 16, 2024 - 09:56

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science fiction

“We’re getting you home,” Joe promises his sister Sidney. In the fascinating new thriller, Things Will Be Different, “home” isn’t a place but a point in time.

The pair are dressed as survivalists, wearing Carhart coats and wool caps, and are armed with tactical rifles. They bolt at the sound of approaching police sirens. They retreat to an abandoned farmhouse, where they are poised to receive instructions from some unidentified authority. They perform an intricate procedure for synchronizing clocks that involves codes and incantations. They enter a bedroom closet that transports them back in time.

We know Sidney wants to return to her daughter, but she thinks Joe is dragging his feet. They end up in a different version of the farmhouse, in a different era, still empty but decorated with family portraits that may or may not be theirs.

What are these people up to? Are they in a post-apocalyptic America or fighting in a civil war? Tantalizing clues pop up: a Stonehenge-like chimney poking out of the ground. Visions of their mother. Joe and Sidney both have the same tattoo, a variation on the symbol for infinity. They consume copious amounts of booze left for them by their unseen hosts. They come upon a vintage cassette player through which they communicate with vaguely sinister voices. And soon, it’s clear they’re not alone. They’re being pursued and targeted.

Writer/director Michael Felker has created a fascinating puzzle of a film. His framing is precise and suspenseful. He has directed numerous shorts; this is his first feature. He and cinematographer Carissa Dorson up the sense of isolation by using sweeping Midwestern vistas of cornfields and open plains.

The film is produced by the prolific team of Aaron Moorhead and Justin Benson, who are known for Marvel properties and the moody and audacious 2018 film The Endless.

Things Will Be Different is minimalist in setting and budget but not in ambition. The payoff comes from the performances by Adam David Thompson (Joe) and Riley Dandy (Sidney). This is essentially a two-character piece (though Chloe Skoczen, Justin Benson, and Sarah Bolger are in effective minor roles), and both are riveting and act with conviction. Mr. Thompson has appeared in A Walk Among the Tombstones and Glass. Ms. Dandy starred in That’s Amor.

Things Will Be Different begins in medias res and stays there. All told, however, the time-traveling device is underused. The trailer hints at a zippy sci-fi á la The Butterfly Effect, and Things Will Be Different is not that. It’s moody and deliberate. It’s Primer crossed with The Road with a dash of Leave No Trace, and like those films, it lingers in the mind. It requires concentration and patience. It’s ultimately rewarding for the effort.

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Things Will Be Different. Directed by Michael Felker. 2024. On digital platforms. 102 minutes.

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Women, In Chains, Talking

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 09 Nov 2024 17:40:56 +0000

Women, In Chains, Talking Chet Kozlowski November 9, 2024 - 12:40

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What accounts for the appeal of abduction movies? They can be seen as a graphic act of misogyny or, in the best case, an inspirational story of survival. Either way, the appeal, such as it is, is to imagine a woman being kidnapped and to witness her violation and suffering.

The news used to carry intermittent cases of men keeping a woman—or women—chained up in the basement. We were meant to react in horror, but the Abduction Narrative has become a sub-genre of the horror film, spawning novels and films like Room, the Don't Breathe franchise, the various motifs of M. Night Shyamalan movies (i.e., Split) and Netflix series like the current Dear Child. These Abduction Narratives are usually produced by men.

This makes Last Known Location an interesting anomaly since it was written and produced by a woman. Aimee Theresa and her partner Danny Donnelly put out genre films under their Silver Octopus Productions. Last Known Location is their most recent offering.

Three women from different backgrounds are kidnapped by a shadowy figure and chained to the wall of his basement. Callie (played by Ms. Theresa herself) is a shy English tutor, and Danay (Sophia Lucia Parola) is a high-end therapist. They’ll be joined mid-film by Marly (Jennifer M. Kay), a feisty bartender. The women test their shackles, fear their turn to be taken upstairs, and plot to escape.

And they talk. And they bond. Ms. Theresa's script brings that to the genre: she uses it as a springboard for backstories that underscore the women's personal stakes. Callie is gay and unlucky in love. Danay has abandonment issues with her single father. Marly has just turned her online romance into a real one but frets that it's not real enough for her new partner, Keith (Patrick Hickman), to read her disappearance as anything other than ghosting.

In a genre that runs on perversion and bloody violence, Last Known Location is uncharacteristically clean. There isn't much blood, and the brutality isn't explicit. The filmmakers' purpose is drama and character development, which the script accomplishes with sensitivity. Ms. Theresa's script is compelling, even if her version of police procedures and the resolution is a little too tidy. But kudos to her for writing fleshed-out characters who are not objectified and with whom we can sympathize.

While the storytelling is solid, the filmmaking falls short. Last Known Location resembles a TV movie. Actual locations, not sets, are used: a local bookstore and a generic office serve as a police station. The basement prison is minimalist: chains, mattresses, and toilet, too orderly and spread out to be the site of forced captivity (in the closing credits, one cast member is thanked for the use of "her home" as a film set). The direction is unimaginative; more creative camera angles and lighting would have created a visually claustrophobic frame that heightened tension.

The actors do uniformly fine work; they are skillful and convincing. Here, in the dialogue, director Danny Donnelly keeps their conversations flowing at an engaging pace. The principal performances are augmented by Jamie Kerezsi and Dax Richardson as detectives, and Keith Illidge as Danay's father in flashbacks. An IMDb search shows the cast is becoming a sort of stock ensemble, cross-pollinating by appearing in films like The Arrangement, several shorts, and the Tubi series Certifiable.

Silver Octopus Productions is one of several regional companies supplying VOD content. They're based in Pennsylvania and besides narrative films do corporate videos, etc. In a market of exploitation and low standards, Silver Octopus strives for quality and is one production house to keep an eye on.

Ultimately, what makes this abduction film special is its woman-centricity. It's a stretch to call it refreshing, given the genre (and one can only wonder why Silver Octopus chose to work in this one, except to draw flies). All told, Last Known Location isn't perfect, but it's sincere.

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Last Known Location. Directed by Danny Donnelly. 2024. From Silver Octopus Productions. Available on VOD. 114 minutes.

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A Crime Spree Just Like Bonnie and…well, Bonnie

Chet Kozlowski — Fri, 08 Nov 2024 18:13:31 +0000

A Crime Spree Just Like Bonnie and…well, Bonnie Chet Kozlowski November 8, 2024 - 13:13

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American Meltdown is a jaunty satire about the way some of us live now. Billed as a "millennial coming-of-rage," it centers on Olivia, a woman who just can't catch a break. She's let go from her job and forced into a "hiatus until I stop qualifying for benefits." After that indignity, she comes home to find her high-end apartment ransacked and herself without insurance and deep in debt (her ex left her with an extravagant lease). Paranoid and uncomfortable in her home, she goes off to the beach, where she meets a wily pickpocket named Mari.

Mari's a former lawyer ("People don't like me once they get to know me") who now runs scams. Mari lives in a van and has perfected the art of taking what she wants when she wants, from the pockets of unsuspecting marks, at the grocery store, and generally in life. Her mantra is, "Do you like your life?" If not, change it. Olivia is at first repelled, then warms to the idea. The straight life isn't working for her, so maybe Mari's path is the one to follow. She asks the other woman to move in with her for protection and because she’s intrigued.

What follows is a mini-crime spree, told in retrospect from Olivia’s police interrogation after the fact. She tearfully relates the circumstances of her downfall and the events that led up to it. Olivia at first sees them as a modern-day "Bonnie and…well, Bonnie," blazing a swatch of delinquency and stickin' it to the Man. Eventually, the cracks in Mari's tactics start to show. She seems less of a free spirit and more of a sociopath. "Your only move is to move," Olivia tells her. But then the real fun begins.

Jacki Von Preysing (Olivia) and Nicolette Sweeney (Mari) are fairly new to the scene and real comedy finds. Ms. Preysing's big eyes and angular features contrast well visually with Ms. Sweeney's more compact, scrappy look. They make an attractive team, have real comedic chops, and are backed by the likes of Clayton Farris as a predatory property manager and Shaun Boylan as a ditzy cop. Christopher Mycheal Watson and DeMorge Brown round out the cast as, respectively, Olivia's ex and her interrogating detective.

American Meltdown takes on the foibles of the system and is genuinely funny. Its script and direction are brisk and intelligent. Writer/director Andrew Adams knows to keep the stakes simple while containing echoes of bigger films. The women's trip to the Grand Canyon is meant to evoke Thelma and Louise, but the violence done in the finale is mostly to real estate. Still, this stylish faux feminist fantasy, Mr. Adams' first feature, is lively, has good jokes and a snappy montage, aided by cinematographer Mark Evans and editor Joshua Cole.

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American Meltdown. Directed by Andrew Adams. 2023. Available in select theaters and on VOD. 82 minutes.

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Armand Assante: An Appreciation

Chet Kozlowski — Wed, 06 Nov 2024 02:45:39 +0000

Armand Assante: An Appreciation Chet Kozlowski November 5, 2024 - 21:45

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Allow me a brief appreciation of Armand Assante. The occasion calls for it: the release of Don Q, a new film in which he stars.

Few actors command the screen, like Armand Assante. I’d seen him first in 1978’s Paradise Alley as Sylvester Stallone’s brother. I’m a fan and have been since I saw him in I, The Jury, the 1982 version of the Mickey Spillane novel directed by Larry Cohen. His chiseled features (in his advanced age, he looks to be carved out of granite) and his naturalistic delivery brought Mike Hammer explosively to life.

Mr. Assante would go on to make a mark in TV, winning a Best Actor Emmy for his lead in 1996’s Gotti, and starring as Odysseus in an ambitious 1997 miniseries of The Odyssey. Other notable parts and awards followed, but to my mind he hasn’t attained the household-name and leading man status he deserves.

Which is odd, because he rose in the era of The Tough Guy. He was tough and he had soul. He played Gotti and Napolean and Nietzsche and was a mob boss in Hoffa. He was in American Gangster and The Mambo Kings and Private Benjamin. He’s the son of an artist and a poet. Despite his Italian (and Irish) heritage, he’s hasn’t appeared in a Martin Scorsese picture.

I don’t know the man. I only have my perceptions to go on, and he’s always struck me as an actor apart for his dynamism, which radiates off him. I saw him in a restaurant in the Village once, and even while relaxing, his presence was palpable.

Which brings me to Don Q. I’ve been thinking a lot about why certain movies are made. I know, I know: the profit motive. But there are easier ways to make money. Making movies is hard work: it takes a skill for organization, it’s subject to the whims of many, and it always ends up revealing something about the filmmaker, even if it’s only to ask why they took on the project in the first place.

In Don Q, Mr. Assante plays Al Quinto, a man full of bonhomie and goodwill. He considers himself the unofficial Don of New York’s Little Italy. Everybody knows him and hails him. He does good. He advises the owners of local businesses. He saves a Chinatown waitress from a sinister pimp. He cracks down on marauding skateboarders. He mentors a Mafia wannabee.

It comes around to the fact that Al Quinto is delusional. He’s not a Don at all, but a Walter Mitty type. Don Q. is Don Quixote. Which in the right hands could be an interesting premise. Think Brando in The Freshman. He pulled that off without tarnishing his image.

Don Q is a disjointed and amateurish film. It’s a parody of Mafia pictures and TV shows (The Soprano’s own Big Pussy, Vincent Pastore, appears in a thankless part) without understanding what makes them work. Don Q. pores over books of Mafia lore and has a voluminous library of DVDs and records which he plays on a vintage Victrola (?). He lives in a fantasy world and is advised by the ghosts of cartoonish gangsters dressed in Zoot suits (!) He instigates confrontations and says things like “Oh, you got balls?” and then walks away. Through much of it he seems harmless, so it’s incongruous when characters come to violent and bloody ends.

Don Q has the feel of a cut-and-paste just-pals production. Much of the film is improvised but lacks the skill and trust that convincing improvisation requires. It’s billed as a comedy but isn’t funny. The only comic element I see is the occasional Road Runner swoosh on quick pans.

So one wonders why, at this stage of his career, Mr. Assante goes along with all this, and even takes a producer credit. The early scenes of Don Q carousing Little Italy and Chinatown have a certain charm that is undone by what comes after.

I almost didn’t write this review. I have a rule: don’t review anything I can’t say something nice about. But I wanted to pay tribute to an actor I respect. And anticipate that more, better film roles await him in the future. Put Don Q behind us. Let’s toast a unique and strong actor who doesn’t seem to know his own strength.

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Don Q, Directed by Claudio Bellante. 2024. From Archstone Entertainment. Available on VOD. 84 minutes.

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New New York Stories

Chet Kozlowski — Sun, 27 Oct 2024 17:32:34 +0000

New New York Stories Chet Kozlowski October 27, 2024 - 13:32

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drama films

New York City is an endless subject and source for filmmakers. It’s where anything can happen, and there exists a reliable pool of great actors, still unmatched on the East Coast. It’s home to a plethora of movies and TV productions.

Three new movies of variable ambitions, variable budgets, and variable success document life in New York now.

Allswell in New York

Directed by Ben Snyder

The most successful film of the bunch starts in the East Village and moves to Brooklyn. Allswell in New York is an ambitious showcase for a largely Nuyorican* cast and its fuel is its women characters.

Daisy (Elizabeth Rodriguez) is part owner of a bar named Allswell, (a fulcrum for the action). Daisy has brought to town Nina, the pregnant young woman (Mackenzie Lansing) she found on Craigslist, who has agreed to give Daisy the adoption of her newborn. Ida, Daisy’s sister who runs a clinic, has found their ailing addict brother Desmond (Felix Solis) and brought him to the hospital. Serene (Daphne Rubin-Vega), Desmond’s wife, teaches voice lessons and is trying to dissuade their daughter Connie (Shyrley Rodriguez) from pursuing a life as a model-cum-sex worker.

Elizabeth Rodriguez and Liza Colón-Zayas look to be the prime movers of the project, both getting story credit, and Ms. Rodriguez producing. You’ll know her from Netflix’s Orange is the New Black, and Ms. Colón-Zayas from her role in FX’s The Bear, which won her an Emmy. Daphne Rubin-Vega is famous for her seminal role in Broadway’s Rent and In the Heights.

Allswell in New York also features a powerhouse cast of character actors including Max Casella, Michael Rispoli, and Bobby Cannavale. As well-meaning as the project is, I wish I liked it more than I do. Despite moments of abandon, the script is episodic and intent on leaving issues hanging, as one would for a TV pilot. For as many narrative balls as it puts in the air, none of them achieves a satisfying arc. Still, it has its transcendent moments, like Daisy’s ecstatic dance at her (and sullen Nina’s) baby shower, and Serene’s voice student bursting spontaneously into song. A poignant moment has an orderly closing the door to sick Desmond’s room so his family won’t have to watch a cadaver rolled by on a gurney. These instants give life to Allswell in New York, but they are over too quickly. We’re left with a lingering shot of the family members sitting at a table at the restaurant with very little resolved.

* “Nuyorican” is a mashup of “New York” and “Puerto Rican.”

InFidelity

Directed by Rob Margolies

Faces are familiar in the coyly titled InFidelity as well. The cast is led by Chris Parnell, known for his work in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, SNL, and Rick and Morty. You’ll know him by his voice alone. He was Dr. Spaceman (Spa-chém-in) on NBC’s 30 Rock. Carla Buono has been on The Sopranos and Stranger Things. Basso profundo and towering presence Dennis Haysbert was POTUS on 24. And it’s always good to see Illeana Douglas, from Modern Family, HBO’s Six Feet Under and various Scorsese pictures.

InFidelity is the most formal of the three films reviewed here. It plays like a chamber piece, going from room to room in an upscale West Side apartments, venturing out into the occasional nightclub or art space. Lyle (Parnell) and Holly (Buono) are a couple happily married for thirty years, when Holly gets a terminal medical diagnosis. Though devoted to his wife, Lyle speculates: Shouldn’t she experience being with a man other than him before departing this mortal coil?

Add to that offbeat premise a defiant daughter, a nosy best friend, and a suave soul singer (the likely partner for Holly) and you have an unsteady mix. InFidelity starts provocative but doesn’t really know where its convictions lie. Dialogue is stilted. Bits that are meant to be comical come off as cruel. A blow dealt demolishes not just libido but a livelihood. Too much of InFidelity is too big or too small. As watchable as the cast is, writer/director Rob Margolies sets up situations that feel inauthentic and leave one wincing.

Or Something

Directed by Jeffrey Scotti Schroeder

Or Something is the slightest of the three. It’s essentially a road trip: Olivia and Amir, strangers to each other, end up in hustler Teddy’s apartment to get money they both are owed. Teddy doesn’t have it but claims they can get it from Uptown Mike. So begins a trek by foot and subway to Harlem, essentially told in real time. It takes 90 minutes to get to Harlem, allowing for a lunch break. Or Something is about 90 minutes long.

Newcomers Mary Neely (Olivia) and Kareem Rahma (Amir) have chemistry and try to build empathy for the characters. Ms. Neely looks like a street angel, with enormous eyes and Cupid’s-bow lips; Mr. Rahma has an affable bear demeanor.

Olivia and Amir are not immediately attracted to each other (“You’re not my type,” says Amir. “What is your type?” asks Olivia. “Less spikey. You’re like a puffer fish.”) They soften, of course, and their banter, the heart of Or Something, amounts to musings about trauma, the objectification of women, and cats. Proper terms are corrected: “eating disorder” is mistaken for “eating disability.” Eventually, confidences are shared. They bond over a duet of Third Eye Blind’s “I Want Something Else (Semi-Charmed Life)” at a karaoke bar.

As ambivalent as its title, Or Something is hampered by a flimsy script. Its mise én scene is in so close on its NYC locations, it could’ve been shot on an iPhone. The absence of obstacles makes Olivia and Amir’s journey forgettable. A quest is judged by the difficulty of its completion. Olivia and Amir set out to find Uptown Mike and—spoiler alert—they find Uptown Mike.

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Vulgar Ironies

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 21 Oct 2024 01:17:16 +0000

Vulgar Ironies Chet Kozlowski October 20, 2024 - 21:17

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The man known as the Mayor of Aurora is a skinny, rumpled guy who looks like a vagrant but lives in a spacious mobile home. In the first scene of the documentary Sweetheart Deal, he sits on a park bench, lures in a pigeon, and captures it by hand. His name is Laughn Doescher, but he goes by his middle name, Elliott. He comes on as a sort of saint, affording comfort to a vulnerable population. Aurora is a section of Seattle, Washington, and is a center of drugs and prostitution, a sort of skid row of strip malls and neon signs.

The movie about Elliot starts out laudatory. He’s a character and smooth talker with his scraggly hair and pocked complexion. On good days, he’s a silver-tongued merry prankster. Then he turns evangelical—he calls addiction “the Monster” as he watches his charge writhe and whine in agony. Elliott is oddly endearing. We look past his filthy habitat, the grimy pans and scummy dishes, the butt-filled ashtrays, because he’s doing good. He’s not an addict himself, yet he takes in these poor souls, giving them a place to be, feeding them, and helping them kick.

Word about him spreads. A female newspaper reporter comes to interview him. He takes a shine to her. “No wonder you have a stalker,” he says. “Now you’ve got another one.”

The women he watches over include Kristine, who is a welder who found herself out of work and options. She has a scathing sense of humor, even at her worst. Then there’s Tammy, who pays her disabled parents’ expenses by turning tricks. Her invalid mother complains she’s out of cigarettes; Tammy nonchalantly drops that she’ll solve that by “sucking an extra dick.” Sara is “dopesick” and can’t shake even after her grown kids disown her. Amy is in the brutal throes of crack withdrawal; her animal wails from the back bedroom, barely sounding human. She’ll return to her parents and try to live up to the photos that hang in their home of her in high school, before her fall, when she was known as “Krista.”

These women are rough and resilient and, while self-sufficient, have come to rely on the guy in the RV on the corner and the haven he provides. Sara says she knows he’s a “slimy old man,” but she goes back to him anyway. She’s got nowhere else to go, and she needs a place to even out.

And through it all is Saint Elliott, unflappable and unassuming. He lives in a shithole, but for all intents and purposes, as they say, his heart appears to be pure. He just wants to help.

Sweetheart Deal was originally released in 2022, and its title was the more innocuous sounding Aurora Stories. This gives us a hint about how the project started as an omnibus of life on the streets. Directors Elisa Levine and Gabriel Miller focus in on four sex workers, I’d guess not suspecting that Elliott was the real story. This is Ms. Levine’s first feature. Mr. Miller, who was the cinematographer, died in 2019 before the film’s release.

Sweetheart Deal is shot handheld verité style. The filmmakers are true flies on the wall. Their access to personal conversations is remarkable. Ms. Levine and Mr. Miller’s subjects trust them and are forthright. That they had a bank of footage for what looks to have been a conventional documentary, that they were there at all, was a career-making coincidence. They were ready and had scrupulously documented events when those events took a turn. That’s what makes Sweetheart Deal unforgettable.

The less you know about Sweetheart Deal going into it, the better. A trailer will necessarily steer the viewer. The film sometimes feels voyeuristic, encouraging an unhealthy interest in peoples’ pain (one of those “vulgar ironies” astutely referred to by a character). The narratives that come out of their surveillance are heartbreakingly observed. The proceedings that make up the last half hour seem only too inevitable and yet are riveting.

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Sweetheart Deal. Directed by Elisa Levine and Gabriel Miller. 2022. From Abramorama. In theaters in limited release. 99 minutes.

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Survival of the Youngest

Gary Lucas — Sat, 19 Oct 2024 21:57:09 +0000

Survival of the Youngest Gary Lucas October 19, 2024 - 17:57

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war film

This fantastic film, to be released Nov. 1st, is written and directed by Steve McQueen, whose previous film Occupied City about wartime Amsterdam was so affecting.

This film, set in wartime London during the Blitz, is truly Epic in scale and execution--and both Caroline and I and our friend Jon Surgal left the Directors Guild of America screening room on West 57th Street in awe last night at its immense power (Caroline and I with tears in our eyes...as you may know, Caroline is British...but did you know that her soon-to-be 99-year-old mum actually removed phosphor bombs from Golders Green rooftops as a small girl during the Blitz? I thought not).

Saoirse Ronan (Belfast) is just phenomenal as a working-class mother with a young mixed-race son, the product of a short-term liaison with a Black expat before the war. Her 9-year-old son George, winningly played by impressive first-timer Elliot Heffernan, is told by his mother, who he loves dearly, that, unfortunately, he needs to evacuate to the country along with many other British children to escape the nightly deadly assault on London by Hitler's Luftwaffe. (And here I have to say that never has the Blitz been portrayed in such a staggeringly immersive way before on screen, in my experience. Kudos to Hans Zimmer's discordant, furious, frightening score and the film's sound designer).

Young George, in a spasm of home-sickness en route to the country, bravely jumps off the transport train he's been assigned to, survives, and is forced to live by his wits in the wild, enduring all sorts of daunting adventures in his quest to wend his way back to London and reunite with his grieving mother.

UK pop legend Paul Weller (The Jam) is compelling as the son's piano-playing granddad, with a noble visage that bears more than a passing resemblance to David Warner (Morgan).

The entire cast is superb, a panoply of staunch British faces and voices that occasionally break into rousing music hall and jazz songs (there is more than an affinity here with the current Broadway UK import The Hills of California, which we also adored: http://culturecatch.com/node/4366 ).

Steve McQueen has proven since his spectacular debut with 12 Years a Slave that he is a film director of the very first rank. His technique is assured, here mixing the aerial vistas of the German bombardiers over wartime London unleashing their deadly cargo with up close and personal views of the denizens of London forced into the Underground during the air raids--and his story-telling prowess is second to none. Along the way, his heart-stopping two-hour film boldly touches on themes of racism, class warfare, and the grim Malthusian Survival of the Fittest ("Nature is red in tooth and claw"—Alfred, Lord Tennyson).

Actual photo taken in London of the Blitz 1940

Very dark, very grim, very watchable, and very light in parts (especially in the super ballroom dancing sequences)--this film is, as they say, a FUCKING MOVIE!!

You have to see this.

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The Short-Lived Lives of TV Lesbians Plus "Juicy" Vegan Baking at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival

Brandon Judell — Thu, 17 Oct 2024 15:07:47 +0000

The Short-Lived Lives of TV Lesbians Plus "Juicy" Vegan Baking at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival Brandon Judell October 17, 2024 - 11:07

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Film Review

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LGQBT

Bulletproof Documentary

"How many LGBTQ Film Festivals are currently screening queer carryings-on on Planet Earth?" you ask. According to Wikipedia's listings, which I deem quite thorough yet incomplete, there are 179.

For example, the East Village Queer Film Festival is nowhere to be found on the list. That event should be nestled between South Africa's Durban Gay and Lesbian Film Festival and Japan's Ehime LGBT Film Festival.

Anyways, this here is an amazing development, especially for those of us who've grown up when the closest to queer representation was watching Paul Lynde center-spaced on Hollywood Squares.

Host Peter Marshall: "Paul, what is a good reason for pounding meat?"
Paul Lynde: "Loneliness."

Those were the days when we gays didn't really have a language to define ourselves. Now, we have too many choices to keep track of. "Heteroflexibility," for example, sounds more like a contortionist act than . . . . Well, you look it up.

All of this leads us to the 36^th edition of the Vancouver Queer Film Festival (September 11-22, 2024). With 97 films from 25 countries, you can bet that every LGBTQQIP2SAA conceivability is represented in many a tongue with many a tongue.

One of the more consequential offerings, one that should be scheduled in every college course dealing with gender, is Regan Latimer's endlessly droll, always astute work of media scholarship, Bulletproof: A Lesbian's Guide to Surviving the Plot. Beware, this doc comes with an on-screen warning: "The following contains scenes of graphic violence and coarse language. Viewer discretion is advised. Also, this film does not claim to be the definitive authority on every queer experience known to humanity. It's just a single, sparkly drop in a vast ocean of queer stories." But what a drop!

With seemingly hundreds of clips dating from the 1950s onward, Latimer maps boob-tube and celluloid lesbian invisibility, stereotyping, and murder all the way to the recent decades' life-affirming depictions. Yes, you'll travel back to your memories of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? (1969-1978); Little House on the Prairie (1974-1983); Fried Green Tomatoes (1991); Bound (1996); Glee (2009-2015); and, of course, Orange is the New Black (2013-2019).

Indeed, there was a time, Blanche, when the majority of lesbianic love stories wedging their way into teleplays would all end on a tragic note. Just visualize sweetly saying goodbye to your "gal pal" and then, within seconds, watching her being fatally struck by a car with a smile still on her lips. Hundreds of other lesbian characters have been offed by Hollywood since.

But it took the blotting out of three popular lesbian TV characters in 2016 within just several months for Bulletproof to be born. "Hey, what the hell!" As one interviewee suggested here to the director: "They should get all the dead lesbians together and put them in one movie." Instead of a cemetery, call it a "Sapphotery."

Employing animation, a first-rate narration, plus tête-à-têtes with actors, showrunners, academics, and your everyday lesbian TV viewer, Latimer has created an at-times surprisingly laugh-out-loud exploration of the devastating effects that an insensitive depiction of minorities can have on how society treats the same. Best of all, she details how the current cure (e.g., Gentleman Jack) was achieved and must still be nurtured.

But with the ACLU now tracking 530 anti-LGBTQ bills in the States, this doc's hope is stated thusly: "You know, now we find ourselves in mainstream culture, but in real life, it's just pretty scary. What I hope is that straight people who are watching queer media will say, 'Oh, that is a shared human experience. I can appreciate that,' and then get to the point where 'Hey, this isn't, you know, a person who's so different than I am.'"

The Proof of the Pudding film still

On the other hand, writer/director Suçon's 16-minute short "The Proof Is in the Pudding" ("La Cerise sure le Gâteau") might convince the very same folks that queer femmes are quite a bit different at times.

Financed with aid from the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (a group of San Franciscan activist-drag-nun-satirists), plus donations from dozens of others including Betty La Pisseuse and Lulu Moustache, "Pudding" is the perfect repast for those hungry for Sex on Wry.

The storyline is quite simple. Two friends are invited to a party. Their one chore is to bake a vegan birthday cake.

Now let’s meet the leads: Milly (Faye Darling) is a Brit dating someone named Arthur. Her pal Lise (Mia Nitrile) is French, delightfully tattooed, and quite hard to definitively label from the footage we’re supplied with. No matter. She, however, does "lesbian" quite well.

Puzzled by their assignment, the duo wonders just what goes into a vegan birthday cake. Immediately, they google and discover Simon Cusine (the glorious Théo), who has created a video for just such an occasion. You’ll need icing, sugar, coconut, and a bunch of dry ingredients, plus he insists, "JUICE."

Now the gals are ready to bake, especially because they have all they need for a tasty batter except for the "JUICE," which, for some reason, they assume means vaginal juices. Now, how do you get a cup or two of that specific liquid? Simple: you get horny, and the rivers will eventually flow.

But how do you get horny?

First, these determined lasses try individual masturbation, then paired masturbation, and finally, energetic smooching, oral sex, scissoring, and some thumping maneuvers. Clearly, nothing you’ve witnessed on The Great British Baking Show.

But it all works out. Yes, the cake is baked, the gals get clothed, and they go merrily on the way for a night of partying.

Having never personally experienced 14 minutes of continual fooling around and not being a voyeur, I found I had time midway to toast and butter an English muffin in the kitchen without losing the plotline.

Clearly, the talented, witty Suçon, who's an audacious member of the Parisian porn collective La Branlée, has created a sex-positive offering that will serve as a learning tool for lesbians-in-training, fodder for Julia Childs fans and as a refresher course for the already initiated.

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Woman Overboard

Chet Kozlowski — Wed, 16 Oct 2024 01:57:46 +0000

Woman Overboard Chet Kozlowski October 15, 2024 - 21:57

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Film Review

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drama

In the new Turkish film Afloat, a family gathers for a cruise. Sister Zaynep flies in from America with her American husband, Stephen. Younger sister Yasemin is mopey and obstinate. Father Yusuf is a charismatic journalist who attracts fans wherever he goes. The cruise is his idea: while waiting to hear whether he will be jailed for his reporting, he wants the family together to take a relaxing trip "one last time."

It's anything but relaxing. Though they bask in sunshine and eat luscious food, tension roils under the surface. Yasemin envies her sister's lifestyle and that she moved away at all. Mom Alev remains cooly aloof. Zeynep gets little support for her nascent career as a documentary filmmaker. Stephen complains that she "likes the idea of being married more than the reality of it." Stephen's also concerned that his passport has been stolen and that his wife is off her meds.

While this crew island-hops among blue skies, open water, and ruins, they trade barbs and pointed silences. Secrets are revealed. Feelings are hurt and betrayed. Father is the fulcrum, but Afloat belongs to its women and their struggle loving a "political freedom warrior." They pose and kvetch and rebuff their father's advice to just enjoy the time. "Is it only you whose mistakes have to be tolerated?" one asks.

Afloat's scenery is lovely, and its cast is attractive. Nihan Aker as Zaynep is model-elegant, while Elit Iscan's Yasemin is pretty and pouty. Serhat Ünaldi (the director's father), as Yusuf, is the picture of stability, even as everything falls apart around him. Oscar Pearce's Stephen is clearly incongruent with his pale complexion, red hair, and inexperience with the language. (The characters alternate between Turkish and English with acuity). Lila Gürmen plays reticent Alev with poise.

Writer/director Aslihan Unaldi was born in Turkey and is now based in Brooklyn. She teaches at Columbia University and NYU. She is also known for her previous feature, the environmental documentary Overdrive (2011). Not many films in Turkey are made from a woman's perspective. Ms. Unaldi seeks to rectify that.

Aslihan Unaldi lets the exotic locales and pretty people do the work. Granted, the deck of a boat doesn't offer many possibilities for camera angles unless the limited floor plan becomes claustrophobic. She manages to cull some stirring sequences: an interlude through island ruins, the sisters dancing to silent music in their earbuds, Yasemin biting ravenously into pomegranates.

As sumptuous and watchable as Afloat is, these characters don't learn much. If a narrative quest is structured to take characters through conflict and bring them self-knowledge, these folks remain predictably themselves. For all the potential built into these fictional (maybe autobiographical?) characters, they are pretty much the same at the end as when they cast off.

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Afloat. Directed by Aslihan Unaldi. 2024. 115 minutes