Able Edwards is a great microcinema achievement. The story is set in a 1950s-looking B&W near-future where earth has become inhabitable. Space colonies float around the earth’s orbit. Deceased Media Tycoon Abel Edwards (An inspired mix between Walt Disney and Charles Foster Kane) is brought to life in the form of a clone sampled from the original mogul’s body as a desperate attempt from the Edwards Corporation to regain the falling empire’s glory.
The tagline is: “Apathy, technology, paranoia, disease and medication” This is so far the best achievement that I’ve seen in the so call mumblecore genre, which up to now, I quite often considered it an example of lazy filmmaking. There is still no excuse for auto focus, auto iris, and the absense of a tripod no matter how small your budget is. It is fine as an aesthetic choice, but the excuse “I don’t care about those things” is not good enough in my book. Art should have a discernable style, even if you do hand held and out of focus. And this film certainly does in its own pastiche kind of way.
This no-budget multi-award winning Cuban film caused a sensation when it Premiered in Havana because its honesty on breaking an often taboo subject in Cuban filmography: A family divided because of political differences and subsequent exile of one its members. A young homosexual man who has kept his sexual preference a secret from everyone except his sister (Yipsia Torres) emigrated to the US. Cuban veteran actor Enrique Molina plays the dogmatic father, Veronica Lynn his mother who strives to keep the family together. Together they decide to send a video letter to Miami.
The story begins when the family decides to send the exiled homosexual son a video letter. Things go wrong as a few secrets are unleashed during the making of the home video. One of the first things that grabs you by the neck
is the bravura of the performances. The film was shot in 5 long un-interrupted takes crammed inside one small apartment with a handheld shaky VHS camera. But if this sounds suspicious, please do yourself a favor and see it. Video de Familia is a perfect marriage of style and content: It’s dirty visual aesthetic is perfectly justifiable by the story, which is after all, a video letter (meant to be shot by someone that doesn’t know much about filmmaking) But It’s also a tour de force of narrative control and what microcinema is about in terms soaking emotions with the most limited resources. This film elicited tears from almost all the members of the audience that attended its limited theatrical release in Cuba.
It is an important film because it calls for a reunion as the only way to make things work in a country usually stubborn when it comes to politics. In the last 47 years certain Cubans shared a sad history of sacrificing family ties to preserve ideological convictions. Video de Familia’s humanistic intentions are as noble as the honesty of their moving portrayal.
Four stars
This Cuban short picks the ever effective troubled teenager theme to create an cryptic and oppressive mood of alienation in contemporary Havana. Our protagonist is a college student obsessed with finding a solution to an apparently absurd mathematical problem that relates deeply to his own existence. The story is fed to us through signs and icons. I could delve into its meanings but since its open for interpretations and the running time so short, I’ll simply refer to the mood it evokes.
Stand-By is tightly cut (if not always photographed equal precision), in a way it feels like a set-up for a larger story that never gets to unfold, almost as a trailer for a feature film. This feeling is re-enforced by an open ending that leaves you wanting for more or as glimpse of the themes this director will deal with in the future. I’ve always felt that mood pieces work better as features when you truly have time to develop a universe, filled with details that conform a more complete atmosphere devoid of time constraints.
Stand-By doesn’t break new ground, but it’s nicely done and it’s great to see a young filmmaker searching for a voice through alternative ways of storytelling rather than the same tired formulas.
Three stars
Race Memory is a short that examines contemporary racial issues. The story concerns Horton, an African-American police detective who was brutalized in his childhood by a racist white patrolman. One night at a bar he runs into an old man who might be or not the policeman in question, and so a dueling conversation ensues between the two; which brings up past and present racial issues about them and the society they inhabit.
Where this might seem like a fairly traditional approach (the Two-Guys-in-a-Room, now usually dubbed “The Sundance Genre”), Race Memory is shot in that vein, but later opts for a more experimental editing structure where flashbacks and documentary footage either linked to the story, or as historical background, helps to a create a more dynamic and experimental, often semi-documentary feel.
With sharply written dialogue, Race Memory is slightly hampered by occasional sententiousness in the performances; as if the actors were a bit too self-conscious of the heavy ideas their lines carry. In any case the issue is very minor and doesn’t really detract from this otherwise compelling short. Race Memory has an open ending that induces the viewer to review and question what has been previously debated.
Microcinema audiences will remember Tyler S. Wilson’s excellent and gripping short Abomination, reviewed on this site. For his follow up Tyler now goes slightly into supernatural territory, questioning the human existence.
Where Abomination was very concisely built around a specific event, here Tyler Wilson goes to broader territory that’s clearly influenced by the early Steven Spielberg of Close Encounters, or the teenaged angst of the suburban world in Donnie Darko, and even the rain of frogs in Magnolia.
Teenager Josiah (Trevor Marti) has a very close relationship with his mother; then an unexpected tragedy takes place, and makes Josiah start questioning the meaning of life. With a greater theme, Tomorrow’s Lullaby feels lighter than Abomination, but nevertheless equally crafted.
In the acting area, Trevor Marti is efficient and so is Sean Gormley (previously seen in Abomination); special mention goes to Kelly Devine as Josiah’s little sister.
That said, the atmosphere is beautifully realized and the visual storytelling is strong; the ending before the epilogue is quite effective.
The always-haunting score by Jeremy Delamarter heightens the sense of wandering in this very personal and spiritual quest. I do miss the social commentary ever present in Abomination, although there is a great scene in a high school class where the teacher has ordered as homework for the kids to write down what their future in life will be. Here Josiah explodes about the impossibility of predicting your goals in this scene that brings to mind the rebellious nature of (again) Donnie Darko.
Pacing is not as tight as in Abomination; part of the issue is, I think, that this 30 minute short is paced as if it were the first 30 minutes of a feature, and this feels like an unnecessary stretch that could have been avoided by slightly trimming the end of certain scenes.
Don’t get me wrong if I’m picky: there is a lot to like in Tomorrow’s Lullaby. The film is certainly worth a look for its sincerity, and is another step in the learning curve of a talented director whom although has proven himself very capable on his earlier short, is now willing to explore new ground in shaping new ideas for the even greater work he’ll certainly create in the future.
A hit man in wait of his next kill encounters a preacher while waiting at a spare rib joint. She is as determined to convert him as he is to carry out his mission.
Infidel is a quite interesting featurette that benefits from a good script, but is slightly hampered but uneven pacing. That said, there are several surreal dream sequences are particularly effective if somewhat extended, but they succeed in raising the film from its TV feel to another level of filmmaking.
What’s important here is that we have the work of a true screenwriter who understands the structure of drama and knows how to make his characters believable. At times the film turns really compelling and its characters are touched by a humanism and poignancy rarely seen in Microcinema. At its tricky running time of 56 minutes, I think the piece would have needed some trimming to cut about 15 minutes, or expand the characters outside of the ribs joint to make it feature-length.
Despite the minor shortcomings, after the film is over you are left with the effectively washed-out, drab-looking surroundings, several shots of a passing trains, a soundtrack that seems to evoke the mood of a Jim Jarmush film and mostly: Memorable characters. Despite having a preacher as a co-protagonist, the film is far from being preachy and manages to inspire sympathy for both the killer and the church lady.
What truly works is that you can find your own interpretation. As an atheist I took it as a mild attack on religion. Our killer is well-read and seems pretty smart. “You read too many fucking books,” his partner tells him at one point. The church lady might not the brightest person but after the initial annoyance of her preaching we see that her life is a mess and she is reaching out, as well as the killer, not to particularly God but for mere human contact.
No matter the drab world the characters inhabit and some minor technical shortcomings. Infidel is a film that has a heart. It’s sincere.
Fando and Lis depart in search of the magic City of Tar, which will probably offer a cure to Lis’ legs in order to make her walk again, aside from granting eternal happiness to both of them. The Search: An early thematic goal to the director’s later midnight classics El Topo and The Holy Mountain. Scandalous, and too sacrilegious for the audience at the Acapulco Film Festival, the film was subsequently dropped by the distributor in 1968. Fando and Lis remained obscure for over 30 years.
Alejandro Jodorowsky’s long-lost feature debut film is uneven, but it’s obvious that a raw energy and a torrent of imaginative ideas went into the making. Shot on weekends with a minuscule budget, casting friends and family, Fando and Lis plays like a cross of the later Fellini circus with the brutality of an early Buñuel film.
Structured as a road movie of sorts, our protagonists have bizarre encounters with an array of unpredictable characters. Many would call it violent, but there is a certain childlike quality in the staging: A burning piano is knocked over again and again in reverse motion; Mud bathers rise (a la Night of The Living Dead) at the base of a mountain; A knife perforates a little doll’s crotch, and snakes are introduced in the crack. I could go on describing the stream of images that stuck with me, but you get the point: Watch the movie.
Trying to explain its meaning is beyond the point, as Jodorowsky himself stated: “I’m more attracted to what I don’t understand.” The symbolism ranges from light social satire to striking, brutal imagery. Same goes for the B&W cinematography, which alternates from bland hand-held “backyard style” to breathtakingly executed shots (see the wonderfully choreographed spiral movement when Fando abandons Lis in a pit, running up the hill in circles in the background while Lis laments in the foreground).
Yet Jodorowsky seems more invested at times in the power of his ideas than in their proper screen execution. The action is sometimes clunky and/or hampered by questionable editing choices. This inconsistency doesn’t seem like a deliberate effect, since many sequences are conventionally but effectively cut. However, the use of music is quite expressive as well as many sound design choices.
Fando and Lis is not a perfect film, but “perfection” is an absurd term given the nature of the material. In any case, suffice to say that this feature debut resonates far more deeply than the sober, functional exercises that Hollywood chunks out every year, not to mention the “art-house mainstream” that permeates most of the Cannes Film Festival highlights of late.
Jodorowsky’s work is often closer to performance art than it is to film, if we take film as an expression of consistent atmosphere and cinematic flow, illustrating ideas at the fully extent of the medium. The auteur expresses that as a filmmaker; he doesn’t care whether the audience is bored or angry, he says a film should be made with your guts, without following any rules of cinematic grammar. The result is sometimes inconsistent but never disappointing.
In a world plagued by artistic concessions, Jodorowsky emerges as an artist with an unique voice, capable of delivering unforgettable images. His work is always refreshing and inspiring.
Four stars.
This remarkable feature debut about the coming of age story of a female serial killer will tempt many to call it “A triumph of style over substance.” Now the question is: Can style itself become substance? I think so. This film certainly delivers enough blood and guts for the gore-hungry crowd. KatieBird succeeds more in crawling under your skin than inside your brain. Torture scenes of pornographic violence are abounding, but after while the shock effect wears out. Ingmar Bergman once said that violence is more powerful when it’s not shown. But of course, this is an exploitation movie, and it delivers all the goods in an uncompromising manner.
The story is well conceived, yet I feel the screenplay runs out of gas after the first half, running 20 minutes too long. The movie has already an inherent nihilistic anger ever present throughout, but adding extra seasoning of social commentary to the misanthropic views of Katie and her Dad,would have helped to bake a more intellectually challenging piece, and transcend the boundaries of the usual genre trappings. Still the movie is quite entertaining as it is: Not really food for thought, but for your senses.
KatieBird is at times torn between becoming a psychological drama, or pure gore fest, and manages to work at both levels with success, although mostly through abuse of the latter. I always complain about most horror films, because I’m really tired of the mindless hacking, sawing, plucking, squashing, stomping and grinding. This one takes a great step in the right direction; as it explains with detail the character’s motivations and back-stories.
The performances, camera work and make-up are compelling, but most of all, this movie is a remarkable achievement in film editing (and not just at a microcinema level). I’m in awe at what Justin Paul Ritter has accomplished. Sometimes style can be just enough, and Katiebird’s is both inspiring and inspired.
Comic book-like panels are incredibly effective in depicting the fragmented physic of the lead character. Some might complain that the effect is overwhelming, but never before I had seen such creative use of split screens, perfectly timed to the action. Brian De Palma used (and abused) the technique in the 70s and early 80s. His concept was designed to dazzle us more than as a strictly narrative device. Here it is no different, but Ritter’s mastery of the technique reaches new psychedelic heights, evoking a consistently psychotic mood, which becomes the most important character: More powerful than anything happening in the story, if not necessarily horrific. The result feels occasionally like some of Dario Argento’s films, where style actually smoothens the gritty nature of the violence, are the horror becomes more bearable than in films like Irreversible where both the
visceral and emotional impact are calculated with sheer precision.
KatieBird will appeal both to gore-starved audience as well as the art house crowd, though the later might be turned off by the abundance of blood. In any case, if you truly appreciate good filmmaking, you must give KatieBird it a try. It’s an inspiring, promising debut from its writer/director/editor to everyone else involved in the production.
Four stars.
Let me start describing the synopsis of this highly successful experiment: Sometime in the 1960s a comet approaches the earth and threatens to collide in what would result in the end of humanity. One man decides to chronicle the last days on earth with his Super 8mm camera. If that triggers a CGI epic in your imagination, you’ll be 100% wrong. The Comet is a monumental arrangement of random super 8mm documentary footage taken by amateur photographer Bror Jacques de Wærn between 1959 and 1971 in Stockholm.
Wisely put together, director Johan Löfstedt conveys a state of imminence, punctuated by a sad love story and nostalgia for a lost era. So, is The Comet Sci-Fi? Yes, as an excuse. The filmmakers do not alter any of the individual shots, but all of them are taken out of context. Footage that was once mundane (even if occasionally dark and abstract) is now placed at the service of the somber storyline, complemented tremendously by the evocative score by Leif Jordansson, which emerges as a powerful character in the otherwise almost silent piece.
People look at up at tabloids, reading the fatal news in the paper. The elderly pity the young (title cards are interspersed at strategic moments when characters talk). The story escalates as the countdown starts: People running, cars fleeing the city, red sunsets, empty streets, atmospheric skylines of sublime architecture appear weathered by the grainy, jittery, wonderful texture of the Super 8mm. There are some real images of dead people (used to simulate suicides after newspapers announce there are 24 hours until the catastrophe). Some of these segments invoke panic, but there seems to a consensus among the conceived narrative and its characters that the end is unavoidable, and this is quite interesting: People march to their doom drowned in sadness more than distress.
Great percentage of the effectiveness is due to the fact that the world depicted is a Stockholm that no longer exists, a metaphor for the comet crashing in, destroying the past. Note how many elderly characters appear throughout.
More than Sci-Fi, it is an ode to a city and people that no longer exist. Not documentary nor fiction in the strictest sense, The Comet is a triumph of manipulation towards the creation of a rare kind of hybrid. The result is extremely haunting: A true work of poetry in motion.
Four and a half stars.