drama

Squatters Rites

Chet Kozlowski — Thu, 25 Jul 2024 16:51:19 +0000

Squatters Rites Chet Kozlowski July 25, 2024 - 12:51

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The two bears of the title are a woman and a man, 30-something backpackers, first seen walking out of a shopping mall. The man barters with a little girl peering out of a car, trades a copy of Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil for French fries. The pair then goes to an apartment building, where they work the lock of one unit, and enter to find the place barren, no furniture except for a big bed with a pristine, unmade mattress. They strip down in individual bathrooms and shower, the woman languishing, the man screaming as if burned. They fall asleep on the mattress, the man getting up to lay out cardboard to sleep on.

“Goldilocks” is the owner of the apartment. She arrives to find the two bears there, asleep. Hence, Goldilocks and the Two Bears.

The women hit it off. The squatter, Ingrid, is tall and brunette. The owner, Ivy, is shorter and blonde. They retreat to a park so as not to wake the man, Ian, and exchange anecdotes. Ingrid, Ivy, Ian. Later we’ll meet Irena. Sense a pattern? Who is the I, the I, the I?

What could easily turn into an indie gabfest takes on nuance. The tales Ivy and Ingrid tell are by turns trite, provocative, and fantastical. Their chat is fueled by Ivy’s growing fascination with the more bohemian Ingrid. The women talk and bond, Ian wakes up and speaks in riddles. The squatters claim that as soon as Grandma arrives (it’s really her apartment), they’ll depart and squat somewhere else.

Tones and locations will change. Blackouts end scenes at the most beguiling juncture, always a surprise. Characters suddenly break the fourth wall and address the viewer. But it’s not showy. It’s part of a subtle and intricate tapestry that leads us back around to the stories Ingrid and Ivy tell each other.

This film shouldn’t work but it does. Goldilocks and the Two Bears (more about that title in a second) is the work of independent writer/director Jeff Lipsky. Mr. Lipsky cites as his inspiration Covid (isolation and separation), and his move from NYC to Las Vegas (culture mindfuck). G&TTB is set in Vegas, 2016.

I’m tempted to tell more of the plot, but its strength is the guilelessness with which it unspools. The actors’ skills make it work. They are relatively new faces, and they sell their characters without a hint of indie self-consciousness. Serra Naiman (Ingrid) exudes a vagabond’s free spirit yet seethes underneath. We presume Claire Milligan (Ivy) to be naive, but her shrewd cat’s eyes betray her growing infatuation with these two “broke junkies.” Bryan Mittelstadt is stoic as Ian, boyish, a self-styled sage who becomes cold and sinister. He uses Nietzsche’s phrase “Truth is a Woman” like a password of trust. None of the actors have appeared in major films but here show disarming confidence.

Mr. Lipsky has a keen sensibility and an eye for detail. Painting the bare walls of the apartment invites a shift in mood. Ian’s homemade bookshelf is stocked with worn copies of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, Joseph Heller’s Something Happened, Dorothy Parker’s collected works, and Men and Menstruation. Phobias abound. Ivy welcomes the intruders because she fears being alone. Ingrid fears dogs, specifically getting scratched by them. On a trip to the Strat Tower the trio encounters and woman who asks them to take her daughter up because she herself is scared of heights.

Jeff Lipsky has other films to his credit—including The Last Nazi (2019) and Mad Women (2015)—and if they are half as well-realized as this one, I have a new auteur’s works to anticipate.

But that title. Goldilocks and the Two Bears is a serious film and one to be admired. That title implies a facile satire of a popular fairytale. This movie is more than that, and the title might just misdirect people and keep them away. Mr. Lipsky, consider renaming it before it goes into wide release. Maybe something like “Squatters Rites”?

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Goldilocks and the Two Bears. Directed by Jeff Lipsky. 2024. In theaters. 136 minutes.

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Lukewarm for Teacher

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 15 Jul 2024 01:32:35 +0000

Lukewarm for Teacher Chet Kozlowski July 14, 2024 - 21:32

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Movies about a teacher hooking up with a student are almost always about forbidden sex. Titles like The English Teacher, The French Teacher, Dirty Teacher, and My Teacher My Obsession; IMDb lists dozens of films and TV episodes titled after Van Halen's single, "Hot for Teacher." Add to the mix that the teacher is married and the student is underage and you have a flat-out exploitation.

That dubious dynamic is at the heart of the Hong Kong film July Rhapsody. It handles the situation differently than in the West. Instead of seduction and torrid sex, the film’s approach is gracefully understated and lightly humorous. Hong Kong is different than you and me. July Rhapsody takes place at an elite private girls' school, which prepares students for a life of emotional curiosity. It's part of the curriculum.

Lam is a middle-aged professor of classic Chinese literature. He is a mild soul and an unlikely object of affection. Wu is his precocious student. She can name the exact moment she fell in love with him. A colleague warns Lam to be careful ("All her classmates know"), but an infatuation like this is accepted, even expected.

But that’s also not all July Rhapsody is about. Lam is in a midlife crisis, reconsidering the past and weighing the present. He’s led an ordinary life until now. He goes by the book, has raised a family, and insists on paying his own way, even when a wealthy friend offers to treat him. "Everybody leads his own life," he tells his wife Ching. A strict translation of the film's Chinese title is Man, 40, and that gets closer to the theme.

Jacky Cheung plays Lam with an affable John Garfield quality, a somewhat rugged exterior masking vulnerability. Unspoken emotions flit across his face, and every so often, he lets out a crazy giggle. As Wu, Karena Lam has a dewy charm, a young woman confident in her nascent sexual allure. She teases and flirts but is forthright about her desire. She informs her elder, "I always get what I want." When Lam drunkenly ruminates about the propriety of their affair, she says, "People must have forced you to self-reflect when you were young. As for me? I never doubt myself."

Anita Mui plays Ching, Lam’s wife. Her own trauma, revealed as the film goes on, counterbalances her husband's. Ms. Mui was a popular singer in Hong Kong until her untimely death in 2003 (from cancer at age 40). She's known in the US mostly for her roles in Jackie Chan's HK movies, like Drunken Master II and Rumble in the Bronx. This is her final film.

July Rhapsody is directed by Ana Hui, whose style is subtle and psychologically rich. Her movie has the gentle energy of, say, Sophia Coppola's Lost in Translation. She keeps on a steady narrative path but allows herself some playful innuendo—students frolicking, spraying each other with Coca-Cola, followed by a portentous fade to black; a domestic discussion about gluing a faulty toilet: "It's all dried up!" A trip Lam and Ching plan on the Yangtze River becomes a metaphor for much more. Along with an impressive filmography, Ms. Hui is the recipient of the British MBE. She directs from Ivy Ho's literate script.

July Rhapsody was made in 2022, and its release is long overdue. It's a touching depiction of generations in their joy, passion, and imperfection.

_____________________________________________July Rhapsody. Directed by Anna Hui. From Cheng Cheng Films. 2023. On DVD, Blu-Ray and VOD. 103 minutes.

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If You Go Chasing Rabbits

Chet Kozlowski — Wed, 03 Jul 2024 20:36:38 +0000

If You Go Chasing Rabbits Chet Kozlowski July 3, 2024 - 16:36

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Grief and self-absorption are at odds in the poignant new film Cottontail. A widower comes to grips with his wife’s death at the expense of his relationship with his son.

When we first meet Kenzaburo he appears to be a vagrant, trawling the city, trading favors. But we come to find out, he has lived with his son Toshi's family since his wife Akiko's death. Amongst her effects Kenzaburo finds a letter from her that reads, "Please don’t suffer anymore." She asks that he scatter her ashes at the site of their romantic idyl in England, Lake Windermere. Toshi wants to go. At her funeral, he tells his father, "It's the kind of thing you do with family." Kenzaburo evades Toshi to travel alone through the English countryside to complete her request.

Akiko and Kenzaburo's story is told in flashbacks. We see their shy courtship through their quarrelsome marriage. Kenzaburo is a failed author disgruntled with his life. Akiko is vibrant and wants a family. Toshi is born despite Kenzaburo's apparent disinterest and becomes the ongoing conflict between them ("I was busy. My work was important." "I wanted to be in your world, too.") As father makes his way, his wife's ashes in a tea can, while son Toshi strives to claim his place in his mother's passage and in his father's heart.

A film like Cottontail depends on the acting. Irish director Patrick Dickinson is fortunate to have a fine cast to navigate the emotional terrain. Lily Franky, a go-to for director Hirokazu Koreeda (Little Sister, Shoplifters) employs his woeful expression to great effect as Kenzaburo. Audiences may have trouble relating to a man who doesn't want children and resents them. Franky goes beyond words; he finds subtle shadings in his character. His eyes wander. He looks at some point away during important conversations, rather than at the speaker. Kosei Kudo plays Kenzaburo as a young man.

As Toshi, Ryo Nishikido shows a heartbreaking need to connect. Yuri Tsunematsu and Tae Kimura portray young and old Akiko respectively. And Rin Takanashi gives a wonderfully understated performance as Toshi's wife Satsuki.

The presence of Irish actor Ciarán Hinds (Game of Thrones) as a gruff farmer named John seems obligatory; his talents are underused. Aoife Hinds (Ciarán's actual daughter) is touching as John's daughter Mary, who takes pity on Kenzaburo and aids his journey.

Patrick Dickinson has directed shorts and Netflix docu-series. Cottontail is his first full length film and shows great restraint. He does not emphasize the fish-out-of-water aspects of a Japanese man traversing the English countryside. We've seen the scattering of ashes before as a narrative device, and it can become precious, an easy tug at heartstrings. Sequences like Kenzaburo proving incapable of dealing with Akiko's deterioration, where Toshi instinctively takes over, are harrowing and astutely character-driven (Mr. Dickinson also wrote the script).

The term "cottontail" refers to Beatrix Potter's classic book The Tale of Peter Rabbit. While this, too, could become a facile symbol, Mr. Dickinson uses it subtly, and makes it a wonderful bridge between East and West, father and son, life and death.
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Cottontail. Directed by Patrick Dickinson. 2024. From Level 33 Entertainment. In theaters and on VOD. 94 minutes.

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Found. Now what?

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 22 Jun 2024 14:00:00 +0000

Found. Now what? Chet Kozlowski June 22, 2024 - 10:00

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Tony Greene is an NBA superstar who, at the height of his career, comes home to find his house ransacked and his wife murdered. He leaves the game, dedicates himself to heavy drinking, and pretty much gives up. Years pass, and Tony, having been arrested for a DUI, is offered a chance at reduced probation if he coaches a women’s junior college basketball team.

That all happens in the first 15 minutes.

The team is a collection of misfits who need to be whupped into shape. A young woman named Destiny is a basketball prodigy who stands out not only for her ability but also for her attitude. She has a big chip on her shoulder and refuses to try out for the team, and when Tony attempts to get to the heart of the problem and recruit her, she snaps, “Stop caring.”

The team is made up of bright new actors, including Preet Kaur, Isabelle Almoyan, Hope Jordan, Antionette Howard, and Rayven Symone Ferrell. Brook Sill, of Netflix’s Cobra Kai and Stranger Things, also impresses as Destiny’s sidekick Kayley.

Stephen Bishop, as Tony, has a serenely athletic presence. He is a retired basketball player whose acting credits include Moneyball and Safe House. Raquel Justice, as Destiny, is effectively obstinate as his foil. She’s been seen in the TV reboots of Quantum Leap and Netflix’s One Day at a Time. Both actors are convincing and watchable, but their transformations from surliness to acceptance happen too abruptly.

In the best tradition of sports movies, alliances are formed, lives are restored, and individuals learn to work together. The team thrives. This sort of movie is an easy layup. The problem is that finding Tony makes it a complicated play and starts missing shots.

Writer/director Raven Magwood Goodson wants to tackle a compelling story in her script, but her direction is uneven and too reliant on clichés. Her court sequences lack excitement—she often puts her camera in a place that reveals her limited budget—and she resorts to clunky montages of pop music, newspaper headlines, and team hugs to convey progress.

Finding Tony is built on trauma. Not just Tony’s, but trauma upon trauma. Tony has his grief and drinking problem. Destiny is in an abusive foster home after being abandoned by her birth mother. And every so often, we get glimpses, set in the past, of a distraught sex worker who ultimately holds the key to redemption.

Ms. Goodson just has too many balls in the air. Her script makes it hard to tell whose story this is. Three-quarters of the way through the film, an attempt to tie all the stories together, comes to an absurd conclusion. Had she concentrated on one plot line, say Tony bonding with the team and taking them to victory, rather than going off in so many other directions, she’d have an enjoyable genre picture.

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Finding Tony. Directed by Raven Magwood Goodson. 2024. From Level 33 Entertainment. Available on VOD. 106 minutes.

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With Friends Like These

Chet Kozlowski — Wed, 05 Jun 2024 19:28:08 +0000

With Friends Like These Chet Kozlowski June 5, 2024 - 15:28

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The word "frothy" comes to mind while watching Guy Friends. There's an effervescence to it, a bubbliness that you don’t often see in films these days. It's in love with its characters, its setting, and its clichés—and it uses a lot of clichés—in a way that is almost refreshing. It's lighter than air. You expect it to float off at any second.

Guy Friends is Jonathan Smith's "Woody," as in Allen: it's a paean to the lifestyle of upscale New Yorkers. Like Manhattan, it's shot in burnished tones of black and white. Like Manhattan, its credits are white type on a black background. Like Manhattan, it uses cocktail lounge jazz to underscore the whimsey of the action.

Jaime Sharma (Kavita Jariwala) is a single Indian/American Millennial whose relationship has ended. She announces her breakup on social media and is instantly deluged with proclamations of love by her male followers. They've adored her from afar (even the doorman), and now she’s available. But Jaime wants something more, and that comes in the person of a former college friend's significant other, Sandy (Katie Muldowney). Sandy challenges Jaime's views about male friendship and about herself. Guy Friends is not a coming-out movie. It's too Mary Tyler Moore for that. It's about true friendship and how to achieve it in today’s dating scene.

Director Jonathan Smith has solid comic timing, paying off the setups of his script, and the story co-written by Chris Siemasko. Guy Friends was shot during the pandemic for less than $5000.00. His actors are lesser-knowns but not amateurs, and Mr. Smith deftly blocks and edits to disguise any awkwardness.

Kavita Jariwala, who is also Mr. Smith's future sister-in-law (!), carries off the part of Jamie well. The black-and-white cinematography highlights her striking features while equalizing the visual effect of the actors. Skin color becomes gray tones, which masks the paucity of ethnic diversity in the casting. This is a very white movie, which ultimately doesn't reflect the reality it celebrates.

Guy Friends feels like a first film, but it is actually Jonathan Smith's fourth. It's surprising, then, that its theme is so thin. His other films, notably The Worst Year of My Life (2012) and Batsh*t Bride (2019), have more heft, diving deeper into contemporary attitudes, but still in a richly comic way. Mr. Smith leans into his actors' strengths, even in the unfortunately titled Breast Movie (2010). He overreaches sometimes, resorting to tropes like montages of frolicking happy people set to pop music. But it’s always better to overreach than fall short.

We've often walked down this street before with Woody, Nicole Holofcener, Whit Stillman, Eric Shaeffer, et al., filmmakers who find the social mores of Manhattan fascinating.

But they also find themselves endlessly fascinating. Theirs are niche movies, designed to appeal primarily to the people they portray, and so are destined to languish on the lower shelves of a streamer like Tubi (that’s where to find Jonathan Smith's earlier films).

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Guy Friends. Directed by Jonathan Smith. Released by Freestyle Digital Media and Vile Henchman Productions. 2024. In theaters and on VOD. 85 minutes.

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Missing Parts

Chet Kozlowski — Tue, 16 Apr 2024 15:02:51 +0000

Missing Parts Chet Kozlowski April 16, 2024 - 11:02

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How do I review The Coffee Table?

Straightforwardly, like any other film? Doesn't do it justice.

Meta, not mentioning the movie at all, but inviting associations? Too cute.

With a trigger warning? I don't believe in them.

Should you see it? Yes.

What happens in it? Jesus and Maria argue about buying a gaudy coffee table. Maria hates it. Jesus claims quid pro quo: she wanted a baby at her advanced age, so he should get what he wants, too. Their newborn son squirms in Maria's arms. They argue about his name. Jesus buys the table and brings it home to assemble it. He can't put on the glass top because he's missing a screw.

To tell more would spoil it.

What's the upside to seeing it? The Coffee Table intelligently confronts issues of maturity, desire, guilt, fidelity, legacy, and the devastating consequences of careless actions.

What's the downside? You can't unsee it.

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The Coffee Table (La mesita del comedor). Directed by Caye Casas. Screenplay by Caye Casas and Cristina Borobia. With Estefania De Los Santos and David Pareja. 2022. In Spanish with English subtitles. 90 minutes.

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Sibling Reveries

Chet Kozlowski — Wed, 10 Apr 2024 14:35:47 +0000

Sibling Reveries Chet Kozlowski April 10, 2024 - 10:35

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In this age of hyphenates, the traditional writer (hyphen) director (hyphen) editor (hyphen) actor is more likely to identify simply as a "content creator." That's the way with Jennifer Levinson, whose content has amassed over 300 million views on BuzzFeed Video, VR Scout, and CryptTV. Trust is her first film.

Yet despite Ms. Levinson's Gen Z credentials, Trust is a surprisingly traditional film.

Three siblings assemble on the occasion of the suicide of their mother, an attorney who had gone quietly crazy. Dutiful sister Kate drives in from college full of resentment toward their estranged, cheating father. Flamboyant sister Trini, fresh off a bout of partying, arrives from who knows where with her latest temporary flame. Responsible son Josh, who lives at home and works at his mother's law firm, makes it his mission to keep the lid on the proceedings. Emotional wreckage ensues.

Trust opens at their stately suburban home, packed with mourning family and friends. They are a quirky bunch, mixing grief with eccentricity. Then to the funeral made bittersweet because, against Kate's knowledge and/or wishes, their mother has been cremated. Then, it's off to the lawyer to divvy up the estate. The word "trust" has a double meaning, referring to the sibs' precarious faith in each other and the trust fund to which they are entitled upon their mother's death.

Ms. Levinson's script is smart and solidly constructed, setting up tossed-off situational cues that become laugh or gasp lines later. Her dialogue is witty. Characters are introduced memorably in accordance with their personalities, and scene transitions are fluid. Director Almog Avidan Antonir handles the ensemble well, with an eye for small, telling gestures and reactions. Sten Olson provides crisp cinematography.

Trust is sad and hilarious, a tough combination to pull off. Some scenes stand out: Trini loudly crashes the funeral, Kate eyes the urn, and she wonders aloud if her mother's teeth are in there. "What about the screw?" she asks Josh, "When she tore her ACL?" Later at the house, born-again Trini leads a prayer praising "our dearest lord savior Jesus," prompting Kate to announce, "My mom is Jewish!" Smarmy Dad comes out of the woodwork to appear at the reading of the will. Kate's poignant choice of venue to read her mother's eulogy is well-staged.

Trust's characters have unexpected depth. They defy their initial stereotypes, show different facets, and earn our sympathy. Each of them gets good bits and opportunities to shine. Beleaguered Josh (Heston Horwin) holds it together until he doesn't, about the time when the wheels come off his mother's legacy. Trini (Kate Spare) pretends unity while suppressing an aching vulnerability and daddy issues (asked by Kate why she's sucking up to their father, Trini replies, "Because it's just what I have to do.”) Dad Damien (Linden Ashby) is a dashing philanderer who at crucial moments persuasively insists on his children's respect. Mr. Ashby (from TV's Teen Wolf ) and Wayne Wilderson (from HBO's Veep) as Travis, the family lawyer, are the most recognizable faces in this young and promising cast. (Drugstore Cowboy fans: see if you can spot Max Perlich.)

Kate is the heart of the film, facing an array of emotions while hindered by the drinking problem she hides. We are constantly drawn to her; she has some of the best business in the movie. Jennifer Levinson plays this pivotal role herself.

Joe Santos's score propels the action, but some needle drops are superfluous, like the Beach Boys' "Wouldn't it Be Nice" to underscore Dad's arrival. Wouldn't what be nice? It's just a way to use the opening drum beat to comic effect.

However, as entertaining as Trust is, it doesn't expand much on its opening conceit. Characters remain pretty much as they are introduced. If a "protagonist" is defined by the self-knowledge they achieve—how they change by way of the story—then no one here quite lives up to that title. Despite all the tumult, nobody seems to learn anything. They remain true to form.

Speaking of needle drops: Kate escapes to the tune of Etta James' version of "At Last." Really? Trust me, Kate will be back. This family saga is destined to go on and on.

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Trust. Written by Jennifer Levinson. Directed by Almog Avidan Antonir. From Menemsha Films. 2022. On digital platforms. 99 minutes.

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Life and Death, Joy and Grief

Chet Kozlowski — Thu, 21 Mar 2024 16:37:30 +0000

Life and Death, Joy and Grief Chet Kozlowski March 21, 2024 - 12:37

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As the title suggests, the new film The In Between is about borders: the borders we cross to get to each other and, geographically, the border between Mexico and Eagle Pass, Texas, the hometown of director Robie Flores. Having studied film at NYU, she returned there after the passing of her younger brother Marcelo (Mars). She may have intended her film to be a meditation on loss, but The In Between ends up being much more. In her quest for what was, what is, and what will be, Ms. Flores has produced one of the most poignant visual poems in recent memory.

“I didn’t want to dream that Mars was still here,” Ms. Flores says. “I was terrified to wake up to relive the shock every day.” Yet she goes.

Ms. Flores canvases the town, recording it all as if it might vanish. She wants to depict the “lifetime of ordinary adventures,” documenting Latino family life: kids stringing together balloons for a birthday party, a father and daughter learning a dance in their kitchen, a bunch of boys kibbitzing on a shoreline. People laugh, gossip, bond. A storm suddenly rips through an amusement park. Though she herself had no fifteenth birthday quinceañera (she opted to travel instead), she witnessed the preparations for that of another girl with detail and affection.

Ms. Flores is patient beyond her years. She waits. She lingers long enough to be trusted (or unheeded) by her subjects and is party to charmingly unguarded moments, like an interlude with two girls who drew each other in a “best friend” lottery in first grade and have been together ever since. One serene pan of the coastline at daybreak lasts a full two minutes (doesn’t seem long? Time it.)

Filmmaking runs in the Flores family: Robie enlists her brother Alex (Mars’ surviving twin) to see things she doesn’t. The siblings have different approaches: Alex gets right in there, and Robie uses her camera as an “invisibility cloak.” Adhering to an old rule of social etiquette, “Quiet girls look prettier,” she narrates sparingly. We catch glimpses of her as a shadow silhouette against a wall, following the action, her camera an appendage.

The In Between is delightfully DIY. It’s compiled of new footage, casual clips from school and New York, and old family VHS tapes. While filming, Robie and Alex discover a cache of hard drives on which Mars himself stored video files. In that way, he becomes a presence in absentia.

The Flores are part of a movement known as “Border New Wave,” Fronterizo filmmakers who take on challenging narratives about communities on the periphery.

The act of crossing over from Mexico to the US plays a role in The In Between, but the film is not political. To Eagle Pass, the bridge is a fact of life. The Rio Grande is a metaphor. Lines of cars queue up to cross as day turns into night. Border patrol cars cruise past mischievous boys playing around a low-slung border wall. A revealing conversation between Robie and Alex happens as a voiceover, the visual being a languid dolly along the columns that buttress the bridge.

The In Between is immersive. It’s like lowering oneself into a warm bath: you are enveloped in the sights and sounds of activity in a vital community. You wish you were there and that “there” would remain forever as it is.

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The In Between. Directed by Robie Flores; produced by Alejandro J. Flores. 2024. Produced by ITVS and JustFilms. Presented by Independent Lens/PBS. 84 minutes.

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In Praise of Unsung Actors

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 18 Mar 2024 19:00:23 +0000

In Praise of Unsung Actors Chet Kozlowski March 18, 2024 - 15:00

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I don't usually review movies like Riddle of Fire. It's billed as a neo-fairytale featuring mischievous kids. I'm not the audience for that.

But I put it on anyway. The film opens with pipe and lute music and an invocation in a faux Celtic font: "O come away with me to faery castle mountain…" Well, okay. But then we find out we're in Ribbon, Wyoming (?).

Four kids on dirt bikes load up pistols with hydraulic cartridges. They storm into a warehouse and steal a game console. They chatter on about this great new video game, implying that they will somehow enter it and that will be the plot of Riddle of Fire.

But the flatscreen they play on needs a passcode and only Mom has it. Bummer. Mom's upstairs in bed with a bad cold. The tykes pester her anyway. Can they have four hours with the game? No. Three? No. Two, pleeease? Mom makes a deal: they can have two hours if they get her her favorite comfort food, blueberry pie.

You still with me?

The bakery is sold out, so they go to a grocery store to steal the stuff to make it. They need an egg, but a rough-looking cowboy type has the last dozen and won't give up any. So they stowaway in the back of the cowboy's truck, and end up in the clutches of the (adult) Enchanted Blade Gang, a pack of mean desperados.

That's what the movie's about—not entering a magical kingdom or the wonder of childhood imagination, but the quest for a pie.

Is Riddle of Fire for kids? Children are threatened, guns are fired, kids say "shit" and "fuck." Is it for adults? No, the scenario is implausible, and the kids are annoying. Riddle of Fire (there's no riddle, and no fire) claims to be for everybody, but while watching, I ask myself if I'd turn this on and leave my kids alone with it. Kids act out what they see. When I was a kid, I got grounded for playing Moe to my brother's Curley, whapping him upside the head with a hard object. This goes beyond.

In terms of filmmaking, Riddle of Fire is haphazardly staged and either improvised or clunkily written. The dialogue doesn't exactly flow. The grownup gang members seem to come from a different, more brutal movie. The kids are asked to display emotions beyond their age.

I have to say, though, the movie looks good. The cinematography by Jake L. Mitchell has a '70s Kodachrome sheen, all saturated blues and yellows. In interviews, director Weston Rizooli claims to have shot the entire movie on film, not digitally. In fact, Kodak film gets its own screen credit.

The kid actors are all first-timers. They are, in alphabetical order: Phoebe Ferro, Lorelei Olivia Mote, Skyler Peters, and Charlie Stover. They do what the director tells them to do (though a dance sequence set to Baby, Come Back by Player is just plain silly). I have to wonder why, since they're all supposed to be from the same family, one speaks with an accent so thick it requires subtitles.

I should also cite the performances of Charles Halford, Weston Rizooli (he gave himself a part), Austin Archer, and twins Andrea and Rachel Browne as members of the gang. Danielle Hoetmer plays Mom.

Writer/director Weston Rizooli has shorts and music videos to his credit, and hes to be admired for taking on kid actors, as Sean Baker did in The Florida Project. For regional cinema, he aims high.

Back to the plot: Once the kids get to the lair of the Enchanted Blade Gang and our young protagonists handle firearms (Okay, kids, time for bed…), someone catches my eye. I think… who's that? I freeze the frame. The gang's leader, a woman, looks familiar. I scour the credits, no names leap out. Then it hits me. The actor playing her looks like… is it… Analeigh… Tipton…?

Not exactly. The ringleader is played by Lio Tipton, previously known as Analeigh. In her previous life, she was a figure skater, a finalist on America's Top Model, had a movie career including not-bad romcoms like Crazy, Stupid Love, and Two Night Stand, stints on TV shows like The Big Bang Theory, and more recently a role in B.J. Novak's Vengeance. Analeigh was known for an ethereal beauty that, sadly, didn't lend itself to conventional leading roles. To my mind Analeigh now Lio never really found her niche.

I love character actors. Their presence supports stars and let them shine. For me, their familiar faces provide a through-line from the movie at hand to a whole era of cinema. I am a fan. I spot them on the streets of New York (when my wife says, "Who?" I tell her, "You know, that guy," but she never recognizes them). I glimpsed William Sadler in a café in Union Square. I'd see Aida Turturro often when she was in The Sopranos. My head almost blew up when, in an ice cream parlor in the Village, Dan Hedaya sat down at the table next to us.

And now, here's Lio Tipton. Based on her performance in Riddle of Fire, I presume Lio Tipton has joined the ranks of character actors. Her former doe-like ethos is played down. Here she's sans makeup, channeling Patti Smith: a burst of hair, surly attitude, and menacing eyes.

Ms. Tipton has reinvented herself and it's great seeing her investing in her career (she's also listed as a producer of the Riddle of Fire). I'll look forward to seeing more of her.

Lio Tipton. No longer Analeigh but newly formidable.

She's the reason I'm writing this review.

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Riddle of Fire. Directed by Weston Rizooli. From Yellow Veil Pictures and Vinegar Syndrome. 2023. In theaters. 113 minutes.

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Pray for Us Sinners

Chet Kozlowski — Mon, 11 Mar 2024 21:43:28 +0000

Pray for Us Sinners Chet Kozlowski March 11, 2024 - 17:43

Topics

Film Review

Tags

drama

We open in the mean streets in Ireland, skinheads slugging, snorting and swaggering, "fook" this and "fook" that. Finding pride in their doomed lives.

Familiar territory, a genre onto itself. But you'll be unprepared for the gut punch that’s eventually served up in John Connors' blunt and brutal film, The Black Guelph.

The film opens on a crew of punks in a sea of backyard laundry lines, up to no good. One of them, Canto, sees you, and breaks the fourth wall, gets right in your fookin' face. "What'd'ya want?" he demands. He knows why you're here and he's got it all. We’ll follow his story first.

Canto arrives home to the projects to find his stuff in black garbage bags left outside his flat. He bellows for “Leah!” He swears and threatens and hammers the door. If she’s inside she won’t let him in.

Canto, now homeless, gets a new place from the big boss Ryan, the better to keep this bad boy under his thumb. This way, Ryan keeps feeding Canto's addiction and extending his yards of bad debt.

So Canto settles in, huffin' and puffin', making his deals. Soon he's begging Leah to let him come back home to her and his little daughter.

And that's when Dad comes to town.

Canto's father, Dan, is an artistic type, guitar slung over his shoulder, paintings he's done crammed into his bag. Dan sets up in an abandoned industrial space, empty save for a moldy couch. There he encounters a shy introvert named Virgil, a gentle soul who cares for his mother, herself a recovering junkie. Before he even sees Canto and has the chance to let him know he's back, Dan's acquired a surrogate son.

Director John Connors spins a fine web of relationships, creating a misfit community. His shooting style is naturalistic, handheld, (read: "low budget") and much of the acting is improvised.

Take Canto. As played by Graham Earley, he's all drug buzz and adrenaline with nowhere to go. His trajectory is one that anybody acquainted with a junkie will know well: a steady stream of promises and disappointments.

Dan the father (Paul Roe) stays on the edges at first, an eye of the storm, until his own inner demons become clear. As a child his trust was betrayed by a priest, and he's been addicted and wandering ever since. The depth of Dan’s tragedy turns The Black Guelph into a meditation on generations and why some fathers inflict damage upon sons.

Director/writer John Connors has acted in Irish TV, is a playwright and activist. He is also a member of the Irish Traveller community (Minceir), Ireland’s only indigenous ethnic minority. He uses the gangsta genre to the best advantage to tell his tale. Additionally, he plays Ryan, the local kingpin, with confident menace.

As verité as his film might appear, Mr. Connors' direction is surehanded. His script (cowritten with Tiernan Williams) plants plot points like landmines. Cinematographer Carl Quinn's camera is as nerved up as the characters. It jolts and careens, close enough sometimes to see pores, then stands back for a breath in wide shots. The film's subtle editing design (credited to Tiernan Williams) connects events past and present, most startling the intercutting between a spoon bubbling with heroin and the bestowal of the holy Eucharist.

Mr. Connors' has a keen eye: A shot of Virgil tucking in Beatrice, his addicted mom, has a holy glow about it. At a pivotal juncture, Dan and Beatrice stand both in their best clothes amongst urban squalor.

The cast is uniformly excellent. Besides Mr. Earley and Mr. Roe, Denise McCormack brings real pathos to Beatrice, and the codependent spiral she's in with her earnest son Virgil, played achingly by Tony Doyle. Lauren Larkin is Canto's long suffering baby mother, Leah. Kevin Glynn as Father Peter and Barry John Kinsella as the State Barrister are convincing studies in cruel power. Casey Walsh and Dean "Dubzeno" Murphy are Canto's buds and partners in crime, one brash the other quietly calculating.

What exactly is the Black Guelph? The movie won't tell you but look it up. The history dates back to 1300 AD and is devastating.

Given its genre, The Black Guelph has surprisingly little bloodletting. The violence is emotional, baked into aimless lives that crash together. While heartbreaking and harrowing, the film doesn't bask in carnage, and it offers something like an explanation of how, in John Connors' words, "unresolved trauma permeates through generations and flows deep within the psyche."

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The Black Guelph. Directed by John Connors. 2022. Produced by Cluster Fox Films. 120 minutes. On VOD and in theaters.