Film Review: Tabloid

Errol Morris made what is probably my favourite movie of all time, Vernon, Florida. I saw it at precisely the right moment, with exactly the right people, to understand it completely and become enthralled for life. It is made up of a series of interviews with the residents of the titular Southern city, which initially drew Morris' interest because of the high number of insurance claims for amputation coming out of it. Nothing about amputation made it into the movie, just clips of people making observations that veer casually between inane and batshit crazy.

It's not for everyone. Morris' later work is more focused and linear, his tv show First Person being a fine example. On it, he drew exceptionally deep interviews out of a diverse and bizarre lineup of personalities, including Temple Grandin, leading expert on cattle pen design, a mob lawyer, a cryogenicist who may have personally decapitated his mother, a retired CIA spook, and the world's foremost expert on giant squid. The show should be for everyone, whether they like it or not.

So a new Errol Morris is big news, and I finally found a copy of his latest, Tabloid. The movie investigates the strange case of Joyce Kinney, a former beauty queen accused of kidnapping and raping her Mormon lover. The case was the subject of a tabloid frenzy, hence the title, but Morris follows McKinney up to the present day, through a trip to Korea and revelations involving her pet pitbull Booger. Don't watch it if you don't like being haunted by uncertainty.

Like Marwencol, which I reviewed a year ago, the film does an excellent job of deepening the weirdness precisely when you thought it had gone to the hilt. Through it all McKinney seems comparatively well-adjusted, and the dissonance between her persona and her actions make for juicy discussion with your watching partners. I was hoping that stylistically the movie would harken back to Vernon, Florida, but it is more like a particularly gratifying, lush episode of First Person. The use of pop-up text and stock footage is probably necessary given that the film is talking about events that took place over thirty years ago, but also makes the presentation seem slightly more formulaic. That criticism is only a niggle, however, since there's nothing formula about the convolutions of McKinney's life. Also, the insights about the Mormon church are particularly interesting at a time when a Mormon contender for the presidency of the United States is big in the news.

So if I'm still waiting for the next Vernon, Florida, I was thoroughly entertained by Tabloid. Eat it up, Morris fans, and if you haven't seen any of his work yet, you've got hours of incredible documentary ahead of you.

Special Bonus Recommendation: If you enjoyed Tabloid, you might also like Crazy Love, about the deranged relationship between Burt Pugach and Linda Riss! Riss continues to live with Pugach, even after he hired someone to throw lye in her face. Not an Errol Morris but also quite confounding, with similar themes.

Film Review: The Secret World of Arrietty

This probably isn't the first place you'd think to come if you were on the lookout for a good kids' movie, but I just saw a great one I think would resonate even with my jaded, world-weary readership. The Secret World of Arrietty is the latest out of Japan's Studio Ghibli (released in 2010 but only now filtering down to Peterborough), and it's as fine and sensitive a movie as any they've ever made.

Although this one isn't directed by Hayao Miyazaki, the genius behind Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, he wrote and planned this piece before handing it on to Hiromasa Yonebayashi, who has very carefully maintained the spirit of a Studio Ghibli film. If you haven't seen any of those yet, the studio is famous for making beautifully animated movies with a moral complexity unusual for the genre. They seldom feature irredeemably evil villains, the pacing is slow and measured, and the animation is mainly hand-drawn.

All of which was strangely highlighted by my experience before Arrietty even started. Galaxy Cinemas in Peterborough shows good movies at the rate of about one per year; the rest of the time, it shows filthy crap that will imperil your everlasting soul. One time I walked past and counted six superhero movies showing simultaneously. But a Studio Ghibli movie on the big screen is a big deal, so I went with my girlfriend and my dad.

As soon as the previews started, I was embarrassed to have brought everyone to a kids' movie and began to entertain thoughts of apocalypse. The previews were for the kind of movies that only a culture in serious and speedy decline could ever make. In fact, it seemed to be picking up speed with every frame. The ads were spastic, noisy, morally bankrupt, and highly corrosive to the developing mind. The Lorax boasted an environmental message, but I doubted neon unicycle chases and Danny DeVito would raise the consciousness of its viewers. Brave is Pixar Animation Studio's reaction to the criticism their movies lack female protagonists, but the Braveheart references and impetuous I-will-not-marry-him! conceit seemed pretty warmed over. Mirror Mirror sank to lower depths, a kung fu retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves starring Julia Roberts.

Just as I was about to put out my eyes, a little girl in the front row, too young to control her urges, screamed out "This sucks!" She got a huge laugh from the audience, which I interpreted as collective relief. It reminded us that today's children are not ravenous consumers whose appetites can only be briefly sated by this kind of convulsive spectacle. As far as I could tell, that's an idea entertained only by a few insane rich people in Hollywood. Mercifully, The Secret World of Arrietty began.

The Studio Ghibli logo is a two-tone drawing of a forest spirit, in stark contrast to the Disney castle, which is now rendered in 3D with exploding fireworks. The movie's opening shots are of the ordinary natural world, exquisitely framed. A little boy drives with his aunt to the cottage where he will be staying. She asks him to wait in the car while she goes up the drive. The pacing immediately feels far more human.

I'll let you see it for yourself, but suffice to say that the movie exudes a wisdom that few kids' movies have. I like the way it excites the imagination using ordinary household settings. I like the way even when it is moralizing, as when the title character Arrietty and the boy argue, it is clear how their philosophies relate to their life experiences. I think the way it, like nearly all Ghibli films, portrays gender roles is far more genuine than the pseudofeminism pushed by the movies mentioned earlier, because Arrietty's equality is not determined exclusively by the fact she can swordfight and shoot a bow and arrow good as any prince. I think the frugality and resourcefulness displayed by Arrietty's family sends a more persuasive and positive ecological message than a CGI-Seuss extravaganza.

Here's an interesting anecdote: Miyazaki's first film, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, was originally released in North America as Warriors of the Wind. The film was heavily edited, excising its environmental message. The main character Nausicaa's name, a reference to Homer's Odyssey, was changed to Princess Zandra. The poster featured several male characters not actually in the film. Studio Ghibli was understandably disgusted, so when Harvey Weinstein suggested cutting Princess Mononoke to make it more marketable to Americans, a producer a sent him a katana with the simple message "no cuts."

If that's story is true, it's one of the greatest bits of movie lore I've heard. Without it, Princess Mononoke might never have survived the trip across the ocean, where it would eventually permeate my subconscious and work its way into every conversation about animation I've ever had. I might never have gone to see the movie I'm writing about now, which I enjoyed almost as much. I realize I haven't really told you what Arrietty is about, but the short answer is its based on the 1952 novel by Mary Norton, about a family of tiny people who live under the floorboards. I've never read the book, but I might now. I'd also gladly watch The Secret World of Arrietty again, and I recommend it to you, too.

Japanese poster

North American Poster

Film Review: Winter's Bone

You probably don't need me to tell you, since the film was nominated for four Oscars, but I saw Winter's Bone a couple nights ago and thought I'd chip in a recommendation. It's far gritter than most Oscar films, with nary a trace of gloss or glamour, as you'd hope and expect for a film about poverty and meth labs in the rural Ozarks.

Director Debra Granik earned that authenticity by shooting in real locations in Missouri and casting locals in several parts rather than big-name actors. I have a soft spot Southern Gothic and Appalachian stories, and the Ozarks seem to fit the same niche. Although I've never been there, it seemed to me the film's depiction of rural squalor was sensitive rather than exploitative. It never feels cliched even when the banjos come out, which is saying something.

That's an even higher compliment given the film is a full-blown thriller. The plot follows Ree Dolly (Jennifer Laurence), a put-upon seventeen year old carrying for her sick mother and two siblings as she searches for her missing father. It seems her father put the house up for bond before he disappeared, and it's looking doubtful he'll make his court date. One of the things I liked about the movie was the way it put a fresh spin on tried-and-true genre conventions. All the film noir, hardboiled tropes are there - the heroine gets drawn into the "case" through a series of interviews with increasingly menacing figures, all of whom warn her off the trail before they offer a single clue. In some ways the movie reminded me of Brick, which recast film noir in a high school. Winter's Bone is less stylized, and I appreciated the look at poverty and gender politics it took along the way. Full credit to Jennifer Laurence and Chris Hawkes for acting the hell out of their roles, too.

There's nothing remotely seasonal about this post, but if you're feeling a bit over-seasoned, this movie'll cut through the Christmas cheese like a hillbilly's flailing chainsaw. In fact, I liked it so much I think I'll look up Daniel Woodrell, who wrote the book on which the movie is based. Seems he's coined a whole new genre, "country noir," to describe his work. For those of you who've neither read nor seen Winter's Bone yet, here's a trailer to pique your interest:

Film Review: Take Shelter

Mental Health Awareness Month isn't until May, but it seems I'm getting a headstart with two posts on the subject in a row. Last week I made the case for The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky as the Saddest Book in the World, and over the weekend I finally caught Jeff Nichol's Take Shelter, a film with a similar bent I'd been hankering to see for months.

Nijinsky's book is non-fiction, of course, but Take Shelter handles its subject with enough sensitivity to deserve the comparison. It concerns a man named Curtis LaForche (Michael Shannon), whose apocalyptic visions drive him both to build a tornado shelter in his backyard and question his family history of schizophrenia. Part of the reason I'm so fascinated by stories like this one is because I have known people suffering from mental illness, and I have tried to write my own fiction on the subject. Let me tell you, it's not so easy. What Take Shelter does right is show exactly how Curtis is trying to be sane. Rather than becoming too engrossed in his delusions, the narrative, the tension, and the empathy are all based on how he is trying to respond to his plight. We feel more invested in his personal dignity, his sense of duty to his family, and his fear, and we can separate these things from the symptoms of his illness. Writer/director Jeff Nichols deserves a lot of credit for keeping such careful control of potent material.

That said, it works as a movie too. This is one of those films where your teeth and back hurt by the end of it and you're still sorry it's over. The tension runs higher than any horror movie I've seen, but has more to do with dread and unease than spectacle. Part of it has to do with some disturbing contemporary resonances, though the writing is strong enough to work them in without compromising the narrative. In Curtis' visions, it rains motor oil; at one point he calls his psychiatrist while standing at the gas pump. Notice in the scene where he pulls over to watch lightning on the horizon, there is a Real Estate sign in the lower righthand corner. Even the soundtrack seems to echo Curtis' life - he has a deaf daughter, and the soundtrack is mainly made up of high, ringing tones muting the dialogue and effects.

Curtis is played by Michael Shannon, and this movie makes it official, he's my favourite actor. He's already played crazy people to the hilt in at least three other movies (his turn in Revolutionary Road got him an Oscar nomination), but he continues to find new inspiration in each role. His role in Bug, based on the play by Tracy Letts and filmed as a two-hander with Ashley Judd, first turned me onto him. But Bug is more of a claustrophobic mindfuck than a study of mental illness. I'm a huge fan of Werner Herzog, but I have to say Michael Shannon's role in My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? is about the only good thing in the movie. Michael Shannon rises above the wooden dialogue and clunky scenes, a feat that even Willem Dafoe, Chloë Sevigny, and Udo Kier couldn't match (it's as if Herzog knew it and gave him all the plum lines - Shannon tells his pet flamingos "I know you're my eagles in drag"). If you want to see Shannon in some saner roles, I recommend his noirish turn in The Missing Person, or his performance in the lead role in Shotgun Stories, also by Jeff Nichols.

But enough about Michael Shannon - time to praise Jessica Chastain. She makes Curtis' wife Samantha more than a foil or voice of reason and gives her life of her own. Watching her move from furious to confused to genuinely worried in the course of one scene is heartbreaking. The filmmakers know it, too; the narrative is mostly framed around Curtis, but after he leaves the room in the aforementioned scene, notice how the camera lingers on Samantha just a few frames longer than necessary. It's a sly bit of editing that seals the emotional impact.

In researching for my own fiction, I've read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies in this vein. Even so, I can't think of another one that so effectively balances drama, sensitivity, and artful execution. It might not be everyone's cup of tea, so don't come complaining to me if you come out of the theatre anxious and bewildered. Sometimes, though, that's well worthwhile. 

Take Shelter Trailer: 

Movie Review: Blood Tea and Red String

The greatest video store I have ever known, Peterborough's Have You Seen, went out of business this month. I have no reason to live and I can't stop crying, but I cling to the memory of my last rental there. Christiane Cegavske's Blood Tea and Red String will always remind me of better times, before a gaping wound opened in Peterborough's cultural side.

If you don't like stop motion, stay the hell away. If you have a taste for it, Blood Tea and Red String is impossible to dislike. Christiane Cegavske would probably be glad to hear that, because it took her thirteen years from to go from idea to execution. For a move in production that long, it's remarkably cohesive - all the ideas I had thirteen years ago seem pretty stupid to me now. The end product looks like Jan Svankmajer animating a long-lost Alejandro Jodorowsky script. It even has the same kind of grainy, washed out colour that is Svankmajer's stamp. It doesn't have any animated meat, but it does have a cake filled with bugs. The Jodorowsky link comes through in waves of inscrutable symbolism and psychedelic mythology. That said, Cegavske definitely has her own thing going, a certain crafty, earthy, entirely handmade feeling that makes the proceedings feel a whole lot older than most releases from 2006. It also reminded me heavily of the stop-motion version of the Wind in the Willows, the difference being that the weirdness here seems intentional.

It has a plot. It has to do with a bunch of bat-eared crows with brown fur getting their idol back from a posse of white mice who stole it. Along the way they eat psychotropic passion fruit and face a spider with a human head (come to think of it, that's exactly the kind of stuff I was thinking about thirteen years ago). I'm not sure I understood a whole lot else, but I know I liked it. For a film as homemade and rustic looking as this one, I thought the angles and editing were sharp and creative and kept things ticking. I seem to be moving away from words, because like the Jim Woodring comics I wrote about a few months ago, this fairy tale is entirely wordless. It's got one helluva soundtrack to make up for it, though. Mark Growden's music, with its meandering, pastoral wooden flute melodies, sometimes verges on cheesy sixties folk but matches the scene perfectly and lends extra mystery. The music during the tea party dance made me excited and sick to my stomach, exactly what I look for in a soundtrack.

Cegavske says on her website that Blood Tea and Red String is part of a planned trilogy, and the next installment is almost ready to begin shooting. She's posted a tantalizing image or two already - if I have to wait until I'm in my forties to see I'm going to be disappointed. In the meantime, I heartily recommend the first film. I don't know where you're gonna find it... but enough lamenting, here's the trailer:

(P.S.I don't want to spoil the movie, but if you want to see that wonderful sickmaking scene with the dancing mice, it's available online here.)

Film Review: Adam's Apples

A Danish priest takes a paroled neo-Nazi into his church and asks him to set one goal. The neo-Nazi says he's going to bake an apple pie. Film, or ethnic joke? Film! And a good one at that. I enjoyed director Anders Thomas Jensen's The Green Butchers, and I thought Adam's Apples followed that film with black humour intact and an even sharper eye for drama.

The Green Butchers was based on the old feeding-people-human-meat-and-they-love-it routine. A pair of struggling butchers accidentally murder an electrician by locking him in the freezer, and make good on their misfortune selling him by the pound. In that movie too, the dialogue comes off brilliantly despite the subtitles - my favourite line came when one of the main character's asks his mentally challenged brother, a vegetarian, to dispose of some expired chickens. The brother runs weeping to the graveyard and buries them with the eulogy, "So long my friends. Fly up to heaven and ask for good weather."

Out of context, that scene sounds like it could come from a piece of Farrelly Brothers trash. What separates Jensen's movies is that somehow his characters retain a sense of dignity through it all.  Watch Mads Mikkelsen's performance in Adam's Apples and you'll see what I mean. I'm a sucker for this type of film, like a good Polanski or Coen Brothers, where the sense of unreality is heavy but nothing overtly surreal tips the scales. This film is similar to the Coen's A Serious Man in that it plays with a Book of Job theme, and although that film is grower, this one beats it if narrative is what you're after. The pacing in Adam's Apples is strong and moves from trial to trial briskly while upping the ante each time. The play with religious themes was subtle enough to appeal to anyone.

I seldom laughed out loud watching this one, but I did get a sense of satisfaction knowing that it was funny on a subliminal level. I'd skip it if black humour wasn't my thing, but anyone with a taste for it should look Adam's Apples up.

P.S.: I didn't want to write it up since it doesn't fit the usual aesthetic here on Bang & Jangle, but this weekend I also really, really enjoyed Mike Leigh's Another Year. Any time you're looking for a keenly observed and finely acted piece focusing on normal people you can't do better.

Film Review: The Illusionist (2010)

It’s been awhile since I recommended a film here on Bang & Jangle, but I caught one this weekend that deserves a mention. The Illusionist (no relation to the 2006 Edward Norton film) is Sylvain Chomet’s follow-up to The Triplets of Belleville. While the latter arrived with much fanfare, The Illusionist passed much more quietly. That’s a shame, because it’s a beautiful film.

Sophisticated animation for adults is rare, so as soon as I caught wind of this one I was eager to see it. The story is simple and concerns a down-at-the-heels magician in 1950’s Scotland. What makes this one even more of a visual feast is that it is virtually wordless, with only incidental comments in English, French, and some Gaelic. What comes across strongly is a keenly perceived sense of movement – the beats in each scene have a distinct musicality. I get the sense that the animators would see a crowded street with different eyes than I do. The exaggerations are subtle and never crude, the framing masterful. The animation also combines the best of new and old-fashioned styles, clean, colourful, and fluid but evoking a bygone era.

I appreciated the bleak touches that cut the whimsy whenever it gets too thick. In this cartoon, lonely people drink to excess and clowns attempt suicide. The overall feel is different from The Triplets of Belleville, and I imagine after that film’s success it would have been tempting to develop the kinetic style into a brand.  One reason for the difference might be that this film is an adaptation from an unfilmed script by famous French director Jacques Tati. I’ve only seen one Tati film, and awhile ago at that, but I remember the visual and comic sense being very similar.

Although there seems to be some conjecture on the subject, the script allegedly represents an attempt by Tati to reconcile with his estranged daughter. Chomet has been criticized for his adaptation, either for being disrespectful towards the family or for inserting maudlin elements into Tati’s vision. I definitely found the plotting to be fairly slight and sometimes sentimental, but never cloying. When a film looks this good, I’m happy to watch characters walk down the street. Chomet claims to be able to relate to the material because he has a daughter from a previous marriage himself whom he does not live with. My only complaint with the treatment would be that towards the end the film seems to veer from its melancholy straight into desolation.

The trailer is attached below, but if you like the style or the work of Tati it’s definitely worth seeking out the real thing:

The Greatest Film Ever Made Showing in Peterborough

Alejandro Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain is the holy grail of weird cinema. It's intensely surreal yet packed with meaning, and gutbustingly funny throughout. I doubt I will ever see anything like it again. Jodorowsky set out to give his audience an actual spiritual experience through film, and his work definitely belongs on another plane.

A little history: Jodorowsky's first feature, Fandro y Lis, caused a riot at the Acapulco film festival in 1968 and was subsequently banned in Mexico, where Jodorowsky was living at the time. As a consequence he skipped Mexico and released his second film, El Topo, to other markets, including the New York midnight movie circuit, where John Lennon caught it and was deeply impressed (with good reason - it's a humdinger). Lennon helped Jodorowsky finance his third film, The Holy Mountain.

Deepening the Beatles connection, George Harrison was set to star, but objected to a scene in the script where he was to have his anus washed by a woman with a shaved head and long silver fingernails, in a fountain with a hippopotamus. Jodorowsky told him that without that scene there was no movie. Harrison walked away and Jodorowsky cast an unknown, establishing the gold standard of  artistic integrity in the bargain.

I could rhapsodize about the film for days, but luckily I don't have to because it will be showing at the Spill (414 George Street North, Peterborough) on May 10th at 9:00. To make it a real feast for the senses, we're kicking things off with a couple bands: Them Blades will take the stage around six, and my brand-spanking new band The Real Coyotes will play between sets. You can get yourself in the mood with some hot music or come to the showing fresh, but either way we'd love to see you there.


A word of warning: the film is definitely what you'd call graphic, and contains such a pastiche of religious imagery that statistically it is guaranteed to offend. Just sayin' so you know what you're in for. Attached is the trailer to the film, to give you a sneak peak (including a glimpse of the hippopotamus scene):

"Marwencol" Is a Masterpiece

I love outsider art. That's art made by artists unaware of or uninfluenced by mainstream conventions, or perhaps just unable to effectively mimic them. If you haven't been exposed, see if you can find a copy of Artistry of the Mentally Ill by Hans Prinzhorn, or check out Songs in the Key of Z by Irwin Chusid. But perhaps the most affecting piece I have every seen on the subject is the documentary Marwencol, about artist Mark Hogancamp.

Mark Hogancamp was drinking in a bar New York State one evening when five men followed him outside and beat him nearly to death. As a result of his injuries Mark develops brain damage which virtually destroys his memories of his previous life. Then his insurance runs out, and Mark is unable to continue his rehabilitation therapy.

To complicate matters further, while going through old journals Mark discovers certain aspects of his old life that disturb him. In an attempt to continue his rehabilitation, he constructs a 1/8 scale WWII era Belgian village in his backyard, which he populates with dolls representing himself, his friends, and his enemies.

He names the village Marwencol, and uses it to stage dramas which eerie recall elements of his old life. He meticulously photographs these fantasies, which provide a record of his spiritual ups and downs. They also attract enough attention from the art world to get him a show in New York City.

The documentary is a masterpiece of stranger-than-fiction storytelling, but most importantly, the art itself is incredible. As much as Mark's work is about a larger healing process, you're also looking at an artist who has absolutely got the goods. As one of the interviewees points out, Mark's work is almost completely without affect. He never smirks and he is never self-conscious when it comes to Marwencol, which I think many artists would consider a titanic achievement. The documentary is sensitive both to Mark's story and its pacing as a film, and deepens the strangeness at regular intervals. Just when you thought that was impossible.

After that, I'll watch anything but director Jeff Malmberg. Watch the trailer below, and you should see the film in its entirety if humanly possible. There's also a link directly to some of Mark's photographs. Cheers, -M

Photos: http://www.marwencol.com/gallery/