So where was I?
Oh yeah, writing for a living, being sick with an upper respiratory infection (chest cold to all you science buffs), and generally being swamped by life. Since I make it a policy not to break movie reviews here of Jewish-themed films, hoping instead that you might be interested enough to check out Jewish Week, where they pay me for mouthing off, I haven't written about much of what I've seen lately. I will say that with Tribeca upon us, there are a few Jewish movies that I can recommend heartily so far -- Oren Rudavsky's The Treatment is a nicely judged romantic comedy drama with some lovely supporting performances; much to my surprise, Scott Marshall's Keeping Up with The Steins, which opens theatrically next month, is a deeply felt and frequencly charming satire about Hollywood Jewish materialism, and features a deft turn by Garry Marshall, the director's dad. (Better he should stay out in front of the camera, nu?)
But the nicest piece of news to cross my virtual desk came this afternoon when I got an e-mail press release informing me that Laurent Cantet's Heading South is opening in New York in July. My review of the film, which I like a great deal, is farther down this page. Go to March 4 and check it out. And when the film opens this summer, go see it. It opens July 7 at the Lincoln Plaza and the Angelika and on July 14 in LA at the Royal.
Meanwhile, my health permitting, I expect to be seeing the (newish -- it's really a year or two old) Chris Marker and the new Claude Chabrol in the next couple of days. And you'll be among the first to know when that happens.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
Back in the Saddle Again . . .
Brussels and Amsterdam are certainly pleasant places to spend a week, even a rainy week. Heavy-duty film towns, too. The b.w. and I spent a very pleasant hour in the Brussels film museum, which has a delightful interactive exhibit about early cinema and pre-cinema devices.
Didn't get to any movies, but with Tribeca and the spring releases bearing down on us, I expect the next month will make up for lost time.
Didn't get to any movies, but with Tribeca and the spring releases bearing down on us, I expect the next month will make up for lost time.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Off to the Low Countries for some hi-jinks
Yeah, I know, I was supposed to write about more of the ND/NF. Reality intervened, as it frequently does. First my hard drive imploded. Then my deadlines exploded.
That included two speaking engagements at the Rockland County Jewish Film Festival, which is still going on. If you are in that part of the world, I highly recommend it.
So I'm off for a week in Brussels and Amsterdam. Plenty of film connections there. Belgium has given us the Dardenne Brothers and Chantal Akerman. The Netherlands has given us Joris Ivens and Johan van der Keuken, who may be the most unfairly neglected documentarian in film history. I'll be shopping for DVDs, eating a lot more than is good for me, and generally having a fine time.
I may even find the time to post here if there is something of note to say.
That included two speaking engagements at the Rockland County Jewish Film Festival, which is still going on. If you are in that part of the world, I highly recommend it.
So I'm off for a week in Brussels and Amsterdam. Plenty of film connections there. Belgium has given us the Dardenne Brothers and Chantal Akerman. The Netherlands has given us Joris Ivens and Johan van der Keuken, who may be the most unfairly neglected documentarian in film history. I'll be shopping for DVDs, eating a lot more than is good for me, and generally having a fine time.
I may even find the time to post here if there is something of note to say.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
New Directors/New Films
I managed to miss all but one film from last year's New Directors/New Films program, as I struggled to finish my new book. Now the book is done -- just returned the first half to my editor with all the corrections and changes necessary -- and I managed a bit better turnout for the 2006 edition. (As if you care.)
Just my luck, this year's lineup, which looked so promising before the screenings started, turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. Of the 25 features on offer, I've seen 14 and expect to catch up with a few more in the next week or so. And I can heartily recommend . . . 3 enthusiastically. It's not quite as bad as all that, because a couple of others are worth a look and one or two more are interesting if not fully realized. But this year's ND/NF includes some of the worst films I've seen this year. Given the large number of films, I'll be brief.
The keepers:
L'Iceberg -- Dominique Abel, Fiona Gordon, Bruno Romy. A deliciously Tati-esque comedy with genuine visual wit and grace and hilarious performances from Abel and Gordon as a gawky married couple whose household is riven when she locks herself in a deepfreeze at the fast-food restaurant she manages. Once she emerges and is thawed out, Gordon becomes obsessed with heading for the Arctic and throws herself -- almost literally -- at a not-overly-bright fishing boat owner (Philippe Martz), while her no less maladroit hubby tries to decipher what has happened. A crisp 84 minutes, the film makes great use of widescreen for comic value and is a complete delight. The short that accompanies it, "Terra Incognito" by Peter Volkart, is also a wry, drily witty farago, a sort of Chris Marker joke documentary about arctic exploration that includes such stopping points as Nanopol and Nova Suburbia (where I grew up).
Twelve and Holding -- Michael Cuesta. I haven't seen Cuesta's debut film, L.I.E., but his second feature is smart and dark, alternately funny and very sad, and easily the most astute portrait of life in Nova Suburbia since Hartley's Trust. In a year in which seemingly every American indie is about kids on the cusp of adolescence, this one is the by far the most intelligent, deeply felt, funny and fully realized of the lot. Although the cast that seems like a reunion of Law and Order alumni (Annabella Sciorra, Bruce Altman, Tony Roberts, Adam Lefever, Mark Linn-Baker, Jayne Atkinson), it is the kids, unsurprisingly, who score the biggest points, especially Zoe Weizenbaum as a lovesick preteen with designs on a traumatized ex-fireman. Really intelligent, graceful filmmaking by Cuesta.
October 17, 1961 -- Alain Tasma. This political drama, based on historical events leading up to and on the eponymous date, when Paris police commissioner Maurice Papon essentially authorized a bloody round-up of peaceful demonstrators, Algerians who were supporters or members of the FLN, has the subtlety of blunt force trauma, but it is just as effective. As historical recreation and drama, it is reminiscent of Bloody Sunday, which it resembles structurally, but visually it has a sternness that is impressive. The film's pacing is a bit lugubrious, but its deliberateness also gives it much of its force. Tasma makes fewer concessions to audience sensibilities than Costa-Gavras and Pontecorvo -- the most obvious cross-references for the film -- and the result is grave but impressive.
Those are the three must-see films from the baker's-dozen-plus-one that I've seen so far. I'll continue with the not-quite offerings and absolute duds tomorrow.
The New Directors/New Films series is co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and the Museum of Modern Art from Wednesday, March 22 through Sunday, April 2. For information on schedules of screening times and venues, click on the links for either organization on the right-hand side of the page.
Just my luck, this year's lineup, which looked so promising before the screenings started, turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. Of the 25 features on offer, I've seen 14 and expect to catch up with a few more in the next week or so. And I can heartily recommend . . . 3 enthusiastically. It's not quite as bad as all that, because a couple of others are worth a look and one or two more are interesting if not fully realized. But this year's ND/NF includes some of the worst films I've seen this year. Given the large number of films, I'll be brief.
The keepers:
L'Iceberg -- Dominique Abel, Fiona Gordon, Bruno Romy. A deliciously Tati-esque comedy with genuine visual wit and grace and hilarious performances from Abel and Gordon as a gawky married couple whose household is riven when she locks herself in a deepfreeze at the fast-food restaurant she manages. Once she emerges and is thawed out, Gordon becomes obsessed with heading for the Arctic and throws herself -- almost literally -- at a not-overly-bright fishing boat owner (Philippe Martz), while her no less maladroit hubby tries to decipher what has happened. A crisp 84 minutes, the film makes great use of widescreen for comic value and is a complete delight. The short that accompanies it, "Terra Incognito" by Peter Volkart, is also a wry, drily witty farago, a sort of Chris Marker joke documentary about arctic exploration that includes such stopping points as Nanopol and Nova Suburbia (where I grew up).
Twelve and Holding -- Michael Cuesta. I haven't seen Cuesta's debut film, L.I.E., but his second feature is smart and dark, alternately funny and very sad, and easily the most astute portrait of life in Nova Suburbia since Hartley's Trust. In a year in which seemingly every American indie is about kids on the cusp of adolescence, this one is the by far the most intelligent, deeply felt, funny and fully realized of the lot. Although the cast that seems like a reunion of Law and Order alumni (Annabella Sciorra, Bruce Altman, Tony Roberts, Adam Lefever, Mark Linn-Baker, Jayne Atkinson), it is the kids, unsurprisingly, who score the biggest points, especially Zoe Weizenbaum as a lovesick preteen with designs on a traumatized ex-fireman. Really intelligent, graceful filmmaking by Cuesta.
October 17, 1961 -- Alain Tasma. This political drama, based on historical events leading up to and on the eponymous date, when Paris police commissioner Maurice Papon essentially authorized a bloody round-up of peaceful demonstrators, Algerians who were supporters or members of the FLN, has the subtlety of blunt force trauma, but it is just as effective. As historical recreation and drama, it is reminiscent of Bloody Sunday, which it resembles structurally, but visually it has a sternness that is impressive. The film's pacing is a bit lugubrious, but its deliberateness also gives it much of its force. Tasma makes fewer concessions to audience sensibilities than Costa-Gavras and Pontecorvo -- the most obvious cross-references for the film -- and the result is grave but impressive.
Those are the three must-see films from the baker's-dozen-plus-one that I've seen so far. I'll continue with the not-quite offerings and absolute duds tomorrow.
The New Directors/New Films series is co-presented by the Film Society of Lincoln Center and the Museum of Modern Art from Wednesday, March 22 through Sunday, April 2. For information on schedules of screening times and venues, click on the links for either organization on the right-hand side of the page.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
A tragedy that never seems to end
Every few years, someone writes that the AIDS epidemic is over. Then one of the clients on my GMHC Buddy team dies and I want to kick the shit out of the journalist who wrote that story.
Of course the AIDS epidemic isn't over. It's not over for the millions of Africans who are dying or orphaned. It's not over for the millions who will be diagnosed in the Indian subcontinent and China. It's not over for the over 40 million people around the world who are infected with AIDS.
And it's not over for the hundreds of men and women who rely on Gay Mens Health Crisis here in New York for information, education, advocacy and help. That's why after a six-month leave, I rejoined GMHC's Buddy Program this year. I have been working with people with AIDS for over 18 years and I'm still waiting for the Manhattan Project for AIDS that Bill Clinton promised, the billions of dollars in AIDS funding that George W. Bush promised. I expect I'll still be waiting for the Federal government to do something long after either of those two are long in the ground.
Indeed, what we've gotten most recently is the end of Ryan White funds for GMHC. So the Buddy Program now runs on a shoestring and a prayer.
Why am I telling you this? Because the 2006 AIDSWalk New York is taking place on May 21st and, as I have done for all but two of the 20-something years of the event, I will be walking to raise money for GMHC's programs. And now, we need the money more than ever.
What does this have to do with film? I suppose on some level absolutely nothing, except that when the epidemic started and I began counting the people I knew who had died, they were mostly people I had worked with in theater or film, and I don't need to tell you -- if you are reading this blog -- how many actors, directors, writers, designers, artists were taken from us by this fucking disease.
Here's your chance to do something about it. Please go to my AIDSWalk page and make a donation. I don't ask readers for money, I don't sell ad space on this blog and won't. But this is something you really ought to do, not for me, but for yourself.
Of course the AIDS epidemic isn't over. It's not over for the millions of Africans who are dying or orphaned. It's not over for the millions who will be diagnosed in the Indian subcontinent and China. It's not over for the over 40 million people around the world who are infected with AIDS.
And it's not over for the hundreds of men and women who rely on Gay Mens Health Crisis here in New York for information, education, advocacy and help. That's why after a six-month leave, I rejoined GMHC's Buddy Program this year. I have been working with people with AIDS for over 18 years and I'm still waiting for the Manhattan Project for AIDS that Bill Clinton promised, the billions of dollars in AIDS funding that George W. Bush promised. I expect I'll still be waiting for the Federal government to do something long after either of those two are long in the ground.
Indeed, what we've gotten most recently is the end of Ryan White funds for GMHC. So the Buddy Program now runs on a shoestring and a prayer.
Why am I telling you this? Because the 2006 AIDSWalk New York is taking place on May 21st and, as I have done for all but two of the 20-something years of the event, I will be walking to raise money for GMHC's programs. And now, we need the money more than ever.
What does this have to do with film? I suppose on some level absolutely nothing, except that when the epidemic started and I began counting the people I knew who had died, they were mostly people I had worked with in theater or film, and I don't need to tell you -- if you are reading this blog -- how many actors, directors, writers, designers, artists were taken from us by this fucking disease.
Here's your chance to do something about it. Please go to my AIDSWalk page and make a donation. I don't ask readers for money, I don't sell ad space on this blog and won't. But this is something you really ought to do, not for me, but for yourself.
Water, water everywhere . . .
A couple of years ago I was speaking at a screening of Christine Jeffs's Sylvia and someone asked me why there was so much water in the movie. At least, that's what I thought she asked. I started to talk about Jeffs's first film, Rain, and the possibility that the setting of both films on islands (New Zealand and England) and blah blah blah. My interlocutor interrupted me and said, "No, why is there so much water in the movies in general?"
Good question.
In fact, it was something I have thought about occasionally and, happily, I had an answer. A surprisingly simple answer, at that.
Filmmakers like water because it looks so good on film. Really. Rain combined with light is visually fascinating and adds texture to any sequence. And bodies of water are a unique visual phenomenon, at once solid and mobile, both deep space and flat. I don't know how you could ever get a chance to see it, since it's not on disk or tape (to the best of my knowledge), but the first few minutes of Manoel da Oliveira's Doomed Love is nothing more than a long take of the surface of the ocean, undulating slowly, an image that is at once both shallow and deep space, and that dichotomy introduces all the dialectical tensions that run through the next four hours of the film, both visually and thematically.
What made me think of this? I don't remember the initial trigger -- Ira Hozinsky and I were talking about this after a screening at the New Directors series (on which more later this week) -- but I just received a press release that brought it back to the forefront of my consciousness. The Brooklyn Academy of Music's BAMCinemathek (link on the right) is doing a quick mini-tribute to the late Shelley Winters called "Shelley Winters vs. The Water," April 5-25. Very funny, of course, since the first thing that jumped into many minds when she died last month was The Poseidon Adventure. But ol' Shelley ended up in the drink frequently in her film career, and BAM is also showing A Place in the Sun, Night of the Hunter and Lolita as well, on consecutive Tuesdays. Anyone who has seen Hunter will carry in the darkest recesses of their subconscious the terrifying/beautiful image of Winters in the car at the bottom of the lake. That image is a perfect example of what water can do for a filmmaker.
Good question.
In fact, it was something I have thought about occasionally and, happily, I had an answer. A surprisingly simple answer, at that.
Filmmakers like water because it looks so good on film. Really. Rain combined with light is visually fascinating and adds texture to any sequence. And bodies of water are a unique visual phenomenon, at once solid and mobile, both deep space and flat. I don't know how you could ever get a chance to see it, since it's not on disk or tape (to the best of my knowledge), but the first few minutes of Manoel da Oliveira's Doomed Love is nothing more than a long take of the surface of the ocean, undulating slowly, an image that is at once both shallow and deep space, and that dichotomy introduces all the dialectical tensions that run through the next four hours of the film, both visually and thematically.
What made me think of this? I don't remember the initial trigger -- Ira Hozinsky and I were talking about this after a screening at the New Directors series (on which more later this week) -- but I just received a press release that brought it back to the forefront of my consciousness. The Brooklyn Academy of Music's BAMCinemathek (link on the right) is doing a quick mini-tribute to the late Shelley Winters called "Shelley Winters vs. The Water," April 5-25. Very funny, of course, since the first thing that jumped into many minds when she died last month was The Poseidon Adventure. But ol' Shelley ended up in the drink frequently in her film career, and BAM is also showing A Place in the Sun, Night of the Hunter and Lolita as well, on consecutive Tuesdays. Anyone who has seen Hunter will carry in the darkest recesses of their subconscious the terrifying/beautiful image of Winters in the car at the bottom of the lake. That image is a perfect example of what water can do for a filmmaker.
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