After dipping a toe into the pool of arthouse embrace and rejuvenation with James Mangold’s Cop Land, and finding the reception a bit chillier than he would’ve liked, Sylvester Stallone has mostly retreated back into his man-cave of 1980s-style actioners. This is not entirely a bad thing. His reasoned, surprisingly smart and moving Rocky Balboa, from 2006, stands as a compelling drama in its own right, and a worthy bookend to the original film. But this wounded mindset also begat 2008’s Rambo, a sloppy, nihilistic and near-pointless exercise in sadism and explosions-go-boom! theatrics.
The forthrightly titled Bullet to the Head, an adaptation of a French graphic novel set in the Louisiana bayou, would on the surface seem to fall comfortably in the mold of the latter — a block-headed, meat-and-potatoes-type action movie in which nuance is as much the enemy as any on-screen foil. And sometimes… well, sometimes the cover is the most appropriate way by which to judge a book.
Stallone stars as Jimmy Bonomo, an unapologetically direct hitman who, when his partner gets killed after a recent job, is thrown together by circumstance with Taylor Kwon (Sung Kang), a by-the-book visiting cop from Washington, D.C. Each targets themselves, Jimmy and Taylor form an uneasy alliance, to try to bring down a shady figure of the criminal underworld (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) and the psychotic enforcer, Keegan (Jason Momoa), doing his bidding. When Jimmy’s daughter Lisa (the not-unattractive Sarah Shahi) gets caught up in the mix, it only further stiffens Jimmy’s resolve to finish things definitively.
The most disappointing things about Bullet to the Head have to do with just how much of a retread it feels like — from the villains, with their master list of all the politicians and cops on their payroll, to even the bizarre, declamatory voiceover narration that opens (“Sometimes you gotta abandon your principles and do what’s right”) and ends the film. Screenwriter Alessandro Camon’s adaptation of Alexis Nolent’s Du Plomb Dans La Tête delivers its exposition in comically chunky paragraphs, and never quite figures out a way to make the targets that Jimmy and Taylor must work their way through seem like more of a viper’s nest and less of an obligatory mortal ladder.
Director Walter Hill serves as a pace-master, and keeps things moving briskly and effectively — even if the staging for one sequence where Keegan walks past a bunch of thugs, loudly murders guys in another room and then returns to the aforementioned room, where said thugs are not ready for him, is thunderously stupid. Stallone and Kang, meanwhile, have a bit of a nice, prickly rapport, even if their conflict seems largely manufactured. The problem, in a nutshell, is that Bullet to the Head isn’t quite insane enough. If you’re going to have a movie with an axe fight, and an Eyes Wide Shut-style drugs-and-sex costume party where topless women tango with one another, then shouldn’t you also not have the incriminating evidence your bad guy is paying to retrieve stored in a folder marked “evidence”? That’s insane, but not in a good way. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Warner Bros./After Dark Films, R, 93 minutes)
Monthly Archives: January 2013
Danielle Panabaker Says She’s Done With Captain Crunch
Danielle Panabaker is no stranger to big-screen gnarliness, having co-starred in horror fare like Friday the 13th, The Ward, The Crazies and even Piranha 3DD, in all its goofy, gory glory. In her new film, though, writer-director Austin Chick’s Girls Against Boys, Panabaker is on several occasions the one wielding weapons rather than being terrorized. She stars as Shae, a naïve college student who, after getting dumped by her married older lover and victimized by a scuzzy guy she meets at a party, gets drawn into a brutal and sprawling revenge plot by her coworker Lu (Nicole LaLiberte). I had a chance to speak to Panabaker one-on-one this week, about her take on the twisty movie, and why she’s probably done for good with Captain Crunch cereal. The conversation is excerpted over at ShockYa, so click here for the read.
Girls Against Boys
A wan, overly precious and self-satisfied psychological thriller that tries to toe the line between gender statement and ambiguity, Girls Against Boys is a kind of junior thrill-kill revenge flick that doesn’t touch the same high points of any of its many inspirations or antecedents. While it eschews overheated sensationalism in a manner that rather belies its most forthright plot synopsis, the movie doesn’t engage in the necessary heavy intellectual lifting to blossom into anything special.
Shae (Danielle Panabaker) is a naïve college student who, after getting dumped by her older married lover (Andrew Howard) and assaulted by a guy (Michael Stahl-David, of Cloverfield) she meets on the rebound, appears to be teetering on the edge of withdrawing into a cocoon. Her seemingly unstable co-worker Lu (Nicole LaLiberte), however, takes Shae under her wing, and suggests a brutal and unnervingly direct plot of revenge. Shae quickly acquiesces, and a number of men pay the price for, variously, their actions, inaction or gender. After a wild swathe of retaliation, though, Lu’s dangerously obsessive possessiveness threatens Shae’s burgeoning relationship with a shy classmate, Tyler (Liam Aiken).
Powered by a sometimes dizzy, sometimes grinding techno-type score that seems to aim for some sort of opaque mood statement not always matched in the movie’s visual vocabulary, Girls Against Boys is a revenge flick, but almost incidentally so. As grim or unsettling as some of the action is, Shae and Lu don’t manifest much reaction during their crimes. All the film’s men, meanwhile, are entirely incapable of reading reactions, which as rendered seems less a gender commentary and more the function of a poor script.
Writer-director Austin Chick seems chiefly to want to stir up a carefully crafted mood-bubble of indistinctness, but his scenes are entirely self-contained, and lack a grander cohesiveness — he doesn’t seem to have the interest, bravery, skill or combination thereof to push past the crust-layer of his conceit and into a truly interesting direction. The lack of deeper explanation here — Shae is too easily “in” with Lu’s plot, and lacking a strongly differentiated personality — gives off a thick feeling of no psychological seriousness. It is of small credit that, despite its premise, the movie doesn’t descend into lowest-common-denominator gore, but Girls Against Boys also has nothing of substance to say about the actions of its characters, so Chick instead has the girls just do things like sing along to Donovan’s “Sunshine Superman.”
Within the parameters of Chick’s narrative, Panabaker and LaLiberte deliver grounded, watchable turns. The former is quiet and introspective — a fact that Chick takes advantage of in the framing of his close-ups — while the latter, with a thousand-yard stare and almost comically large eyes, summons an elemental dread that outstrips the nastiness of her actions. The film, though, doesn’t achieve any of the absorbing backdrop grittiness or deep-rooted character insights of its assorted forerunners, like Lilya 4-Ever, Single White Female, Fight Club, Baise Moi or The Brave One, among others. Girls Against Boys is good at standing in contrast — and not being any of a number of dumb or reductionist things it could be, just based on its story. It’s far less successful making any sort of proactive and persuasive case of its own, however. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Anchor Bay Films, R, 92 minutes)
Zelda Williams Talks Noobz, Videogames, Her Famous Father
Certain second-generation actors or celebrities have a breezy charm and a well-grounded self-awareness about the benefits and drawbacks of show business life, while others wear bequeathed crowns of entitlement that can come across as unattractive. Zelda Williams, the 23-year-old daughter of Robin Williams and Marsha Garces, is just finding her way professionally, but already exhibits plenty of signs of the former. One of the highlights of the new road trip/videogame competition movie Noobz, Williams co-stars opposite writer-director Blake Freeman, among others, playing an enchanting but wisecracking gamer who’s the romantic interest of Jason Mewes’ character. I recently had a chance to chat with Williams one-on-one, about the movie, her unique name, videogames, her famous father and her screenwriting aspirations. The conversation is excerpted over at ShockYa, so click here for the read.
The Gatekeepers
An innovative, riveting and thought-provoking overview of the brutal history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, director Dror Moreh’s The Gatekeepers, along with the unfortunately overlooked Tears of Gaza, makes a strong and vigorous case for a re-examination of the United States’ relationship with Israel, and an adjustment that reflects the reality of them as a powerful ally but not a 51st state. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Sony Pictures Classics, R, 102 minutes)
Jeff Sneider Let Go By Variety
In surprising news, well regarded film reporter Jeff Sneider has ankled been fired from Variety, it seems, but in characteristic fashion the reportage on the split from the Wrap makes things cloudier rather than clearer. Getting fired over an innocuous joke tweet after getting beat on a scoop? The definition of bullshit — I’m not buying it. The real question, then, is why is this story even out there?
Knife Fight
A tack-sharp political drama with satirical underpinnings, Knife Fight digs into the characteristic foibles of high-rolling politicians through the point-of-view of campaign operatives, and dissects ego and ambition, idealism and win-at-any-cost pragmatism, but all without succumbing to lazy, armchair cynicism. A collaboration between Oscar-winning director Bill Guttentag and political consultant Chris Lehane, Knife Fight is smartly written and superbly cast, and one of the more lithe and entertaining explicitly political films of the new decade — a true movie of the moment that is every bit the look behind closed doors of modern American politics that The Ides of March was, but a lot more tonally balanced and laced with an undercurrent of hopefulness.
Media consultant and political strategist Paul Turner (Rob Lowe, crushing a pitch right in his performance wheelhouse) is a savvy, in-demand figure, juggling work on multiple campaigns from his San Francisco base, the movie’s main setting. Paul’s young and more naive assistant, Kerstin Rhee (Jamie Chung), still isn’t entirely sure of whether or not she wants to commit to this profession. Their two main present gigs are for Kentucky governor Larry Becker (Eric McCormack), facing a tough re-election challenge against a former major league baseball player, and California Senator Stephen Green (David Harbour), a popular war veteran whose incumbency is threatened by a blackmail plot at the hands of a scheming masseuse (Brooke Newton).
As Paul works to feed information through an ambitious reporter, Peaches O’Dell (Julie Bowen), he can’t help tumbling into a “FWB” relationship with her. He also has to contend with the persistence of an idealistic doctor turned would-be gubernatorial candidate, Penelope Nelson (Carrie-Anne Moss), negotiating a labyrinth of strategies and considerations that brings him into contact with his private-eye operative (Richard Schiff), a damaged college student (Amanda Crew) and a powerful TV network chief (Chris Mulkey) eager to use his airwaves for some political score-settling.
The crispness of its characterizations is what first jumps out at a viewer regarding Knife Fight. Each player, no matter how big or small, is imbued with a particular, identifiable motivation or at least world-view, and it’s in the push and pull of this morally grey twilight that the movie unfolds. Paul, who ponders what Machiavelli would do and counsels Kerstin on the outsized personal weaknesses that typically come with outsized political talent, is a brutal adherent to the dictum that the ends justify the means. Part of the beauty of Knife Fight, then, is that it forces a personal reckoning upon him without stooping to the calculating, pat ridiculousness of some 180-degree swing in conscience or character. As things go sideways, Paul comes to recognize certain boundaries, and the potential values of at least some moderation. But he does not ignore his experience, or abandon his principles.
Lest that all sound too wonky, Knife Fight is a lot of fun, too. While it’s not written or told with quite the same level of exuberant, sometimes over-the-top flourish as The West Wing and The Newsroom, fans of Aaron Sorkin’s somewhat similarly themed small screen political offerings would be especially advised to seek this film out. Lehane’s political experience (he was press secretary for former vice president Al Gore‘s 2000 presidential campaign, among much other work) comes through in the spot-on ads for Becker, Green and their opponents, as well as a myriad of small ways.
And the performances crackle too. Lowe, as rakish and charming as ever, is adept at tough but good-natured characters — slipping a knife into someone’s ribs with a smile. He has a surprisingly engaging rapport with Chung, who is also quite good, and it’s surely a credit to Guttentag — a winner of two Academy Awards for his documentary work — that actresses like Crew and Jennifer Morrison, among others, shine so brightly in their small roles.
Well put together and dinged only a smidge by an ending that could have used a few more smudges, Knife Fight puts a lively face on contemporary politicking. That KT Tunstall’s cover version of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” rolls over the end credits is yet another reminder that certain core American traditions endure, but also always serve themselves up for changes. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. In addition to its theatrical engagements, Knife Fight is also available to view on VOD, iTunes, Sundance Now, Xbox, PlayStation, Amazon, Google Play and YouTube. For more information, click here to visit its website. (IFC Films, R, 99 minutes)
Putin’s Kiss
Sort of a Russian companion piece to Erik Gandini’s nonfiction Videocracy, which looked at modern Italian life and the high-glitz, low-information media culture promulgated by prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, documentary Putin’s Kiss throws a light on dissident voices and oppositional political groups in the former Soviet Union, where once-and-present president Vladimir Putin has in ways both subtle and not-so-subtle encouraged the stifling of political foes and those seeking greater governmental transparency through a youth group known as Nashi.
Directed by Lise Birk Pedersen, the film takes as its two main subjects Masha Drokova and journalist Oleg Kashin. While still a teenager, the ambitious Masha joins Nashi, a 25,000-member strong, nominally “anti-fascist” movement whose members are pumped up with nationalistic fervor (in hilarious self-produced videos, some chant in unison, “It’s the best country, and dickheads are not tolerated here!”) and expected to pledge their unwavering support to Putin and all his policies. Masha quickly rises through the group’s ranks, becoming a top spokesperson for the organization. She’s given pause, though, when she slowly befriends a group of decidedly liberal journalists (unlike, say, most members of the United States Congress, she’s able to actually hang out and even talk with people with whom she disagrees politically), and learns of more radical factions within Nashi that engage in disruptive and abusive tactics which seem to run counter to democracy and other principles she holds near and dear. When her friend Kashin is later beaten so severely that he almost dies, Masha has a painful and difficult decision to make.
In her Variety review, Leslie Felperin tagged Putin’s Kiss “a riveting story about contemporary Russia’s dark side,” and while that’s largely true in the broad strokes sense of the encapsulation, the movie also never quite coheres into something truly special, mainly because it lacks the evidence to convict. While Masha in particular is an intelligent and compelling protagonist, the movie’s subtitled translations often seem dubious or at least lacking in nuance, which creates a certain space between viewer and subject. Additionally, there were times when I wondered whether I was watching a Russian politico’s version of The Hills, because the Danish-born Pederson never bothers to clearly communicate whether certain pat discussions she presenets are staged recreations involving the actual principal players or more generalized recollections. Ditto, too, some aftermath footage of Kashin’s beating.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Putin’s Kiss comes to DVD presented in 1.85:1 widescreen, with a Dolby digital 2.0 stereo audio track and complementary English subtitles. Separated into 10 chapters under a scored but static menu screen, the film includes as bonus features only a version of its theatrical trailer and a gallery of photo stills. This is really a shame, not only since the movie played at the Sundance Film Festival in 2012 (where it picked up the World Cinema Cinematography Award in Documentary) and would in theory have some interviews and press material from that event, but because the subject matter itself cries out for the deeper exploration and updates to which the home video format is uniquely suited. To purchase the DVD via Kino Lorber, click here; alternately, if you’d like to pay more via Amazon, click here. C+ (Movie) D (Disc)
Resolution
A genre-bending, psychologically twisty, meta-horror tale, Resolution bears a deceptively simple and straightforward title and logline synopsis for a movie that is anything but. When a well-meaning guy holes up with his old junkie friend in a cabin in the woods and forces him to kick cold turkey, strange events, mysterious visitors and personal demons commingle to intriguing, ambiguous effect. A fresh conceit told with an unfussy assurance, Resolution marks a solid calling card for co-directors Justin Benson and Aaron Scott Moorhead, auguring good things for their respective futures.
After receiving an email with a video message and a map from his friend, Mike (Peter Cilella) leaves behind his two-months-pregnant wife Jennifer (Emily Montague) and heads into the woods, where finds semi-estranged high school pal Chris (Vinny Curran) holed up in a run-down house. A paranoid crack addict convinced the government is spying on him, Chris is busy shooting at birds and play-acting some fantasy life of indeterminate origin. Mike has peddled his wife a more genteel version of his planned intervention, but once he separates Chris from his gun he tases his friend and uses a pair of handcuffs to secure him to a pipe.
The plan is to hang out for a week of forced detox. Soon, however, a series of weird incidents and contacts — involving everyone from two of Chris’ dirtbag drug buddies (Kurt Anderson and Skyler Meacham) and the Native American land owner of the house in which they’re squatting to New Age cultists and a traveling con man of some sort — upsets Mike’s mental stability. Discovering bizarre journals and audio recordings of telekinetic researchers further puts him edge, and then pictures and video of he and Chris start showing up. Are Chris’ rantings not so delusional, or is Mike perhaps suffering some sort of mental breakdown himself?
Benson and Moorhead’s collaboration is a fruitful one, evincing a well planned look and feel for the film. The latter serves as cinematographer, and the pair also edited the movie together, resulting in a spare but smart mystery that straddles the line between literalism and a metaphorical tone poem. Variously, Resolution evokes Christopher Nolan’s Memento (an obvious inspiration) and David Lynch’s Lost Highway, as well as more nominally straightforward genre offerings like Pontypool and Bellflower, which each possessed rich veins of warped, unsettling jealousy and ominous vibes that come at viewers sideways.
Resolution is honest about the impulses of addiction (“I never enjoyed life before I did drugs” is a gut-punch line of dialogue, from Chris), but could stand to have its core interpersonal conflict sharpened up some without sacrificing any of its overall narrative ambiguity. Regardless, the movie invites at least a couple different interpretations, the heady guesswork of which makes for a rewarding experience for genre enthusiasts with an additional indie predilection. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Tribeca Film, unrated, 93 minutes)
Noobz
An across-the-board comedic misfire that lamely tries to hitch its trailer to the $17-billion-a-year videogaming industry, Noobz trades entirely in familiar road movie and competitive-event flick clichés, and seems to regard its mere existence as a triumph that should be shared by all. A wearying stinker unredeemed by a handful of brave, game, small supporting turns (namely from Zelda Williams and Napoleon Dynamite‘s Jon Gries), multi-hyphenate Blake Freeman’s film is kind of like a cross between Road Trip, Empire Records, The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters and the modern-day videogame comedy that Kevin Smith’s third cousin never got around to writing. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Big Air Studios, R, 100 minutes)
Beware of Mr. Baker
Beware of Mr. Baker opens unlike any other documentary I can immediately recall, with its subject physically attacking its director. That the by turns sad and darkly comedic but never less than mesmerizing nonfiction tale manages to then still humanize Ginger Baker, virtuoso jazz and rock ‘n’ roll drummer of Cream and Blind Faith and generally certified madman, is a rather amazing accomplishment.
Renowned amongst contemporaries and celebrated by later generations of drummers as the “hammer of the Gods,” Baker was born in South London just before the outbreak of World War II, and lost his father to the war effort when he was but four years old. In a film that retraces his life in more or less chronological fashion, Baker comes across as an irascible junkie bully, given to capricious fits, serial irresponsible behavior (the second of his four wives was at the time of their nuptials the teenage sister of his daughter’s first boyfriend) and a generally nasty disposition. He more or less remains the same, even at 73 years old (“Go on with the interview, stop trying to be an intellectual dickhead,” he barks at one point).
The basic story arc here — sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll — is the same one that informs virtually every episode of VH-1’s Behind the Music. And the movie, which garnered the Grand Jury prize at its South By Southwest Festival premiere last year, only scratches the surface of Baker’s scarred psychology (a sealed letter from his father that he opened at age 14 seems to have coincided with the onset of puberty and rebelliousness). So what gives Beware of Mr. Baker, which gets it title from a sign posted alongside the driveway of his gated South African estate, its pop, its connective resonance?
In a word, Baker himself — because a moving and morally conflicted portrait of a true questing spirit emerges. With footage of his drum-offs against Phil Seamen and the like, and interview footage with Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Steve Winwood and others, the film makes an easy case for Baker’s full-spectrum music knowledge — as an innate gift further honed by tunnel-vision obsession. And yet Baker also had three kids, was by all accounts a terrible father and husband (at one point he moved to Africa for five-plus years, telling his wife he was in prison), and his own worst enemy, professionally. All the contradictions (including his weird love of polo, for instance) make for a fascinating case study in self-destructiveness. Throughout his life, Baker has exhibited an intense aversion to being alone, combined with a habitual tendency to push away those closest to him.
With Baker’s (apparent, pre-attack) blessing, Bulger has access to plenty of amazing photos and private home video footage that give Beware of Mr. Baker its spine, but he also intersperses his movie with crude but captivating animated segments, a la The Kid Stays in the Picture. Of course, Baker himself is the main star, narrating his own story and lashing out at Bulger along the way. A couple years back, Anvil! The Story of Anvil told the story of a marginalized rock group beloved by other musicians. Baker achieved much more success and fame, of course, but his story echoes these two movies, along with a pinch of The Devil and Daniel Johnston and Werner Herzog’s nonfiction portrait of Klaus Kinski, My Best Fiend. It’s a fascinating snapshot of artistic fitfulness, and a reminder that the flame of creativity can be unpleasant to experience up close. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (SnagFilms, unrated, 90 minutes)
Nina Hoss Talks Barbara, German Filmmaking, More
Australian and British actresses benefit from a common primary language in their crossover to American films, and over the past decade-plus a number of French- and Spanish-speaking actresses in particular — including Marion Cotillard, Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek — have made great professional inroads, winning acclaim and achieving significant box office successes in roles in both English and their native languages. There hasn’t really been a German actress to break through in the same fashion, however, unless one stretches the definition generously to include Franka Potente, who parlayed the international arthouse sensation Run Lola Run into a role as Matt Damon‘s imperiled love interest in The Bourne Identity and (briefly) its sequel.
Nina Hoss, however, might be on the precipice of changing that. Barbara, her fifth collaboration with writer-director Christian Petzold, is another stunning showcase for the actress’ uncommon intelligence and chameleonic beauty. I recently had a chance to speak to Hoss one-on-one, about the film, her work with the up-and-coming Petzold, the state of German filmmaking and her surprising affinity for a certain American cable TV series. The conversation is excerpted over at ShockYa, so click here for the read.
Let Fury Have the Hour
A well meaning and deeply felt counter-culture documentary touting societal engagement, creative response to problems as well as activism more generally, Let Fury Have the Hour rages against communal indifference and fiscal recklessness and greed, but never mounts much more than a scattershot attack against the mainstream targets and hegemonic establishment ideologies it fixes in its sights. Unfolding in the style of a rather exuberant mixed media collage, however, and featuring a wide array of interesting interviewees, the film is nonetheless a fairly engaging call to action, no matter the fuzzy, indistinct chorus of its melodious sermon to the choir.
Director Antonio D’Ambrosio’s movie, which premiered last year at the Tribeca Film Festival, is an unapologetically raw and impassioned slice of social history which takes as its leaping-off point the 1980s rise to power, respectively, of Ronald Reagan and British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, and then winds its way through the reactive artistic comings-of-age of a variety of figures. Those interviewed include artist Shepard Fairey, economist Richard Wolff, playwright Eve Ensler, rapper Chuck D (above), rocker Tom Morello, environmentalist Van Jones and filmmaker John Sayles, the latter of whom speaks quite interestingly and eloquently about attending the 1980 national GOP convention and experiencing firsthand the significant difference between the rhetoric on the floor versus what was televised in the event’s truncated network news packaging.
Let Fury Have the Hour touches on everything from counter-cultural phenomena like skateboarding and breakdancing to more recognized forms of art and music (particularly punk rock and political rap, in the form of Fugazi and Public Enemy). While discussing their own creative awakenings, the interview subjects provide a sociopolitical frame for their experiences, talking about (in their view) the predominant peddled worldview of those on the political right — that to care is selfish, to help is vain, and personal happiness is available chiefly through consumption and one’s individual purchasing power.
In one sense, D’Ambrosio’s headstrong resistance to more rigidly funneling his film through a stronger editorial lens is admirable, as it gives Let Fury Have the Hour a ranginess that keeps it fresh and surprising. At the same time, as a single cogent work, the movie leaves one wanting for more. There doesn’t seem to be a very strongly reasoned topic sentence here, something that a few half-hearted late stabs at connecting activism in general to the turbulence of democratic uprisings in Egypt, Tunisia and elsewhere seem to underscore. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. For more information on the film, which opens this week in Los Angeles at the Laemmle NoHo 7 and will also be released on VOD on March 5 via SnagFilms, click here to visit its website. (SnagFilms/CAVU Pictures/Gigantic Pictures, unrated, 87 minutes)
China Heavyweight
Award-winning filmmaker Yung Chang drew praise for 2007’s Up the Yangtze, which focused on the many socioeconomically disadvantaged people impacted by the building of the massive Three Gorges Dam in Hubei. With his latest movie, he returns to China for another unexpectedly lyrical snapshot of that country’s rapidly changing economic landscape. A nonfiction look at the recruitment and training of young boxers for future hopeful Olympic glory, China Heavyweight is an unadorned, guileless work that starts slowly but accrues a deeper emotional hold and resonance as it winds on.
In not dissimilar fashion from Pelotero: Ballplayer, a recent documentary which examined teenage baseball prospects in the Dominican Republic, Chang’s film illustrates how sports are still one of the most widely pursued avenues out of outright familial poverty or working-class despair. The director follows Qi Moxiang, a former boxing star turned state coach, as he and his minions scour impoverished villages and small family farms across the rural Sichuan province, talking up the nobility of their sport, and the possibilities it brings. With a stable of young talent that makes it through local tournaments, Coach Qi and others then begin their years of work at national training centers, trying to sharpen teenage uncertainty and tribulation into resolve.
There’s a sort of studiously incurious tone and emotional remove to China Heavyweight that takes some time with which to become accustomed. This initially marks the movie as something of a state-sanctioned exercise in propagandistic celebration. Slowly, though, Chang reveals himself to be not a pliant cheerleader, but rather a shrewdly quiet observer. Through the movie, one gets a crystal-clear sense of China’s plan of stoked national pride; their plodding, rung-by-rung focus on provincial tournaments reminds one of videogame levels that must be cleared in order to advance to the next section of play.
And as much physical training as there obviously is, the approach of Coach Qi and his colleagues is also heavily invested in psychology, and laden with metaphor and simile. One trainer stresses that entering the ring isn’t like going to gallows, but is instead like music. “It’s your concert,” he says. Later, the same trainer compares his job to molding clay into pottery, and says that after his discovery and five years of such work his pupils are finally ready to move on to be fired, stamped and glazed.
These pupils, though, are of course teenagers, and so they’re both headstrong and fragile in all the normal ways one might expect. For some, this means there’s a strong desire to turn professional and start making money (not really the goal of this program, from the government’s perspective), even if that runs counter to adult advice. For others, it means a declining interest in boxing overall. China Heavyweight juggles all of these different personal stories — including Coach Qi planning a return to the ring — in beautiful fashion.
It certainly helps that the film is so cinematically lush. Through evocative framing and editing, Chang and director of photography Sun Shaoguang construct a document whose astute social commentary lies as much in its visual capture and rendering as its actual narrative inquiry. China is a land of both old and new, and the balanced tension between these two poles is in abundance almost everywhere, but especially in the searching eyes and souls of its young. Boxing — banned by Chairman Mao in 1959 for its violence and American roots, and only restored less than 25 years ago — may not be an escape or safe haven for most of these kids. But such widescale training programs opens minds to ideas and avenues other than just national glory.
Housed in a clear plastic Amaray case with a double-color insert sleeve, China Heavyweight comes to DVD in a nice HD transfer, enhanced for 16×9 widescreen viewing, with optional English and traditional Chinese subtitles. In addition to chapter stops and its theatrical trailer, the release also comes with more than 30 minutes of excised scenes, which offer up more interview and fight footage. For more information, click here to visit Zeitgeist Films’ website. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) B- (Disc)
Blancanieves
A loving tribute to European silent films of the 1920s, writer-director Pablo Berger’s Blancanieves repurposes the classic Brothers Grimm fairy tale of Snow White, telling the tale of an oppressed daughter of a great toreador who runs away with a circus to find her destiny. The Best Foreign Language Film Academy Award submission from Spain (its intertitles come in subtitled Spanish), Berger’s fetching film is a reminder that cinema need not be constrained by words — that there is a universality to images, and stories can just as readily be told via a skillful ordering of those.
Unfolding in a romanticized Seville, Blancanieves opens on beloved and talented bullfighter Antonio Villalta (Daniel Giménez Cacho). When his career is cut short and his family upended, he remarries Encarna (Maribel Verdu), who slowly but surely cuts off his daughter from Antonio. Years later, the now-grown Carmen (Macarena Garcia, above) escapes and joins a motley troupe of traveling, bullfighting dwarves, where her latent talents and natural beauty attract attention and, eventually, bring her back into contact with her stepmother.
Winner of the Grand Jury Prize at the San Sebastian Film Festival, Blancanieves is destined to be dogged by comparisons to The Artist, nevermind that Berger’s film was scripted around eight years ago, not long after the completion of Torremolinos 73. In actuality, though, excepting the macro similarities, the two movies are actually stylistically quite different. There’s just a pinch of almost subliminal S&M kink to Berger’s vision, to go along with its cultural specificity.
Working with cinematographer Kiko de la Rica, whose black-and-white frames achieve a captivating luminosity, Berger has a clever and playful sense of visual storytelling — match cuts from a moon to a communion wafer, for example — that renders the lack of dialogue a moot point. Fernando Franco’s slick, smart editing additionally greatly benefits the picture, and Berger furthermore matches it a winning score from composer Alfonso de Vilallonga.
The performances, too, are engaging. Garcia, who sort of resembles a cross between Claire Forlani and Alanna Ubach, has a beautiful and naturally sympathetic visage, and Verdu shines as the sinister, scheming Encarna. This isn’t a movie for everyone, but arthouse cineastes and others who took a flier on The Artist last year should seek out the rich, rewarding Blancanieves as well. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Required Viewing/Cohen Media Group, unrated, 90 minutes)
Broken City
In his first directorial effort without his twin brother, Allen Hughes roots down into urban vice and sullied power corridors with Broken City, a muscular but middling thriller of sprawling political corruption whose reach exceeds its grasp. Starring Mark Wahlberg as a crusading, recovering alcoholic ex-cop gunning to bring down an ethically questionable mayor of New York City (Russell Crowe), the movie is gritty but narratively unconvincing in wide swatches, succeeding in tone and atmosphere more than the specifics of its conspiratorial plotting. For the full, original review, from Screen International, click here. (20th Century Fox, R, 109 minutes)
Brief Reunion
A solid, smartly wound little psychological drama that digs into some of the knotty qualities of mid-life adult relationships, when old acquaintances best left forgotten can drift into a life and bring unexpected turmoil, writer-director John Daschbach’s Brief Reunion is a spare but engaging examination of personal character, and the vacillating nature of right and wrong.
The ordered, rural New England existence of Internet entrepreneur Aaron (Joel de la Fuente, above left) and his wife, Leah (Alexie Gilmore), starts to unravel when an old college classmate, Teddy (Scott Shepherd), shows up. Prior to his arrival, Teddy has tried to befriend Leah and others online — a sign that prompts a couple of Aaron’s friends to advise a strict “zero tolerance” policy of non-engagement. Teddy is, it turns out, is a morally dubious and socially awkward hanger-on, the proverbial turd in the punch bowl.
But Teddy runs into Leah and worms his way into Aaron’s birthday party, where he brings along his girlfriend, Simone (Kristy Hasen). It doesn’t end with one uncomfortable evening, however. Soon Teddy is popping up at Aaron’s work, and posting online old photos that Aaron would rather he not. Hinting that he knows about a dark secret related to the success of Aaron’s initial web venture — something that Aaron himself is uncertain of — the resentful Teddy tries, in his own passive-aggressive way, to re-litigate the past and pry some money for an investment opportunity from his old acquaintance. Arguments and threats ensue, and a woman (Francie Swift) from Aaron’s past pops up as well.
Unlikely as it seems, Brief Reunion tangentially recalls Lawrence Kasdan, actually — The Big Chill by way of Dreamcatcher, maybe, minus any science-fiction. It’s on the surface quite different than those films, of course — more streamlined, and not as chatty. But its basic interest in the gap between hidden and stated feelings, and how that distance swells or contracts accordingly, based on company, is the same as Kasdan’s. Daschbach’s focus is more tightly trained on a single, collapsible dilemma, but he’s interested in the human condition. To go into much further detail would ruin some of the movie’s twists and turns, but when one character spits, “I’m not going to prison for that [person],” it reveals how often scruples are dependent on extra variables, and not some fixed absolute.
The low-budget Brief Reunion is spare but attractive in its construction. Daschbach and cinematographer Joe Foley settle on a muted color scheme and stark lack of extras that complement the movie’s slowly ratcheted up claustrophobia, while still finding some ways to give their movie some production-value pop. Daschbach’s cast also turns in solid performances; especially noteworthy is Shepherd, who captures the weasely nature of a guy whose misreadings of personal space and connection goes beyond confounding and into the realm of borderline pathological — to the point that dealing with him arrests and erodes one’s sanity.
The phrase “character study” gets bandied around a lot. Decades ago this movie might have been the type of major studio release new talent cut their teeth on before tackling some highbrow genre offering or literary adaptation. Now Brief Reunion, in its uncomplicated complicatedness, is the type of film Hollywood has mostly ceded to independent filmmakers. That is of course a fairly unfortunate thing on many levels. Daschbach, though, makes it seem not so bad, at least for an hour-and-a-half. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here; for more information on the film, click here to visit its website. (Striped Entertainment/Kagami Films/Triboro Pictures, unrated, 88 minutes)
2 Days in New York (Blu-ray)
Nobody can push buttons of exasperation and pull levers of hair-trigger emotional reaction quite like family — those folks who know all of the faces of the past you’ve tried to shake and shed. That truth is borne out in Julie Delpy’s witty, winning new comedy of relationships and culture-clash, 2 Days in New York. A nominal follow-up to 2007’s 2 Days in Paris, in which Delpy played the same character with a different love interest, this rather delightful romp eschews complicated plotting to instead luxuriate in and connect via a fresh, fun, wound-up energy all its own.
French-born photographer and artist Marion (Delpy) lives comfortably with her radio talk show host boyfriend Mingus (Chris Rock) and their two children from previous relationships. But on the eve of a big show — the centerpiece of which is a conceptual piece in which she’s offering up her soul for sale, for $10,000 — Marion gets plenty of extra stress when her family arrives for a visit. This includes her over-sexed sister Rose (Alexia Landau); her sister’s outrageous, weed-obsessed boyfriend Manu (Alex Nahon), also one of Marion’s exes; and her merrily bizarre and gregarious father (Albert Delpy), who thinks showers “deplete the immune system.” Falling back into old patterns, Marion starts spinning out of control, and this new glimpse of craziness puts Mingus further on edge.
Delpy collaborated on the script with Landeau and Nahon — each of whom also reprise their characters from Paris — and it’s clear that their offscreen rapport informs much of the rapid-fire bickering and gussied-up misunderstanding that fuels the movie’s comedy. Yet Delpy’s worldview and tone — neurotic, but knowing — also echo a female Woody Allen by way of Lina Wertmüller, funky and funny without tipping over into tedium or speechifying. Much of this balancing act owes to her directorial style, which is light and playful throughout, incorporating photo montages and a bouncy score of her own composition.
The pairing of Rock and Delpy is also a true delight. It gives Rock a chance to stretch a bit and do something different while also playing to his verbal strengths. Mostly, though, 2 Days in New York simply provides a showcase for the unexpected mash-up of Rock and Delpy’s respective styles and rhythms. It’s the same premise, basically, behind Nicole Kidman and Will Ferrell‘s casting in Bewitched, except that Delpy’s loose-limbed, lived-in movie is actually funny. 2 Days with this brood — in addition to what’s probably the year’s most inspired cameo appearance — will put a smile on one’s face.
Housed in a regular Blu-ray case, 2 Days in New York comes to the format via an AVC-encoded 1080p transfer in 1.85:1 anamorphic widescreen, with a DTS-HD 5.1 audio track that more than adequately handles the film’s fairly straightforward aural demands. Its supplemental extras include a five-minute EPK-type piece which intersperses interview footage with clips from the movie, the film’s original theatrical trailer, and a collection of interviews with Landeau, Nahon, Rock and the Delpys from the movie’s Sundance Festival presentation. There are also two separate interviews with Rock and Delpy, the latter of which — at 22 minutes — is the disc’s crown jewel, spanning casting inspiration to production. To purchase the Blu-ray via Half, click here. Or if brick-and-mortar retail is still your thing, by all means, rock on with your bad self. B (Movie) B (Disc)
Thor: Legend of the Magical Hammer
Middling animation and an erratic tone weigh down director Oskar Jonasson’s Thor: Legend of the Magical Hammer, a so-so family offering that offers up a different spin on the tale of the headstrong son of Norse god Odin.
Originally titled Legends of Valhalla, this foreign-produced effort finds village blacksmith Thor, empowered by a talking hammer that falls from the sky, battling an evil Ice Queen and her army of vicious giants threatening his village. The additional rub? Said Ice Queen has kidnapped Thor’s mother… so it’s personal as well!
The animation here leans toward that of the Aardman variety, but without as much skillful shading or nuance. Likewise, Fridrik Erlingsson’s screenplay seems like a catch-all grab-bag, informed as much by Shrek-style rude humor and attention-deficit-disorder-dictated action sequences as any of the mythological underpinnings of its actual narrative. Brisk (it clocks in at just over 80 minutes, inclusive of credits) but throwaway entertainment, this Thor makes Kenneth Branagh’s recent version look like the high art its visual vocabulary and framing wanted it to be; only those in need of some video babysitting need apply.
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case in turn stored in a complementary cardboard slipcover with raised lettering, Thor: Legend of the Magical Hammer comes to DVD presented in letterboxed widescreen, with a Dolby digital 5.1 English language audio track. While the transfer is solid and free of any artifacting or edge enhancement issues, there are no supplemental bonus features included herein. For more information, click here to visit the movie’s website. C- (Movie) D (Disc)
Mama
An effectively moody and atmospheric chiller about a pair of orphaned young girls who, after years of near-feral isolation in the woods, seem to bring back a spindly demoness with them when they’re reintegrated into society, Mama is a serviceable scary movie that never quite coheres into something special. In his feature directorial debut, Andy Muschietti’s film evinces the same mix of tony psychological horror and sinister fantasia present in some of executive producer Guillermo Del Toro’s own work, but gets tripped up clichés in the home stretch.
Both Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and the young Megan Charpentier are good, but Mama is a bigger lift for Jessica Chastain, and it reaffirms her talents as an actress while also minting her as a star. Apart from the mere different physical look, the film shows Chastain can credibly craft a character within a genre piece, which should go a long way toward keeping her in high demand with filmmakers. For the full, original review of Mama, from Screen International, click here. (Universal, PG-13, 100 minutes)
Quartet
A tepid autumnal dramedy aimed at aging boomer fans of arthouse fare like The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Mao’s Last Dancer and The Full Monty, Quartet represents Dustin Hoffman‘s directorial debut, but it’s shot through with so little in terms of conflict, stakes or even passion as to leave one questioning the very reason for its existence, let alone the legendary actor’s attachment to the material. Though rooted in a true story, the thinly sketched Quartet fails to ignite either much excitement of imagination or identification, resulting in an amiable bore.
The film unfolds at Beecham House, a special British retirement home exclusively for elderly musicians. Under the care of Dr. Lucy Cogan (Sheridan Smith), Cedric Livingstone (Michael Gambon, sporting a series of drapes with sleeves) holds court with his old, renowned colleagues, including genius composer/arranger Reggie Paget (Tom Courtenay), the rascally Wilfred Bond (Billy Connolly) and the ever-hospitable Cissy Robson (Pauline Collins). Their memories and bodies may be variously failing them by degrees, but they find solace in one another’s company. However, the arrival of superstar soprano soloist Jean Horton (Maggie Smith), Reggie’s ex-wife, throws their peaceful and ordered world into disarray. They try to recruit Jean into a staging of one of their more memorable works for a gala fundraising concert that will benefit Beecham House, but she remains stubbornly resistant until her old competitive instincts are finally re-awakened.
Adapted by Ronald Harwood from his own late-1990s stageplay, Quartet unfolds with a respectful and respectable, well-heeled polish, seeming to believe that its admittedly wonderful cast lends it an automatic sophistication which inoculates it against charges of tedium. Cinematographer John de Borman delivers warmly hued scenes that complement the on-screen bonds, and Hoffman’s location staging takes nice advantage of the grounds of Buckinghamshire’s Hedsor House.
The film, though, doesn’t offer much in even the way of programmatic uplift. Mannered to its core, Quartet is meant to be the cinematic equivalent of a refined, mid-afternoon snack of tea and biscuits (no small wonder, then, that Leonard Maltin dubbed it “as easy to take as a freshly baked scone with Devonshire cream”). But its characters are so direct in their emotional reactions, and of a piece in their articulations, that the film takes on the swift, no-nonsense narrative qualities of a small screen serial, absent any sort of life-and-death stakes. There’s some talk about the Beecham House needing money to stay in business, but there is no face of antagonistic opposition given to this loosely defined threat — and in short, no layered motivations or engaging subtleties at all. Quartet offers up a bunch of characters in service to an empty story. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Weinstein Company, PG-13, 97 minutes)
Ike & Tina: On the Road 1971-72
Concert doc meets engaging travelogue in the form of Ike & Tina: On the Road 1971-72, a nonfiction snapshot of musical duo Ike and Tina Turner as told from the perspective of legendary rock ‘n’ roll photographer Bob Gruen and his wife Nadya, who toured with them early during the decade that fashion forgot. In addition to awesome renditions of many of Ike and Tina’s best known tunes, this brisk but captivating movie also affords viewers a glimpse of the group at work in the recording studio, practicing their dance routines, goofing around in airports and even primping their ‘dos.
The complete track listing, for those interested, charts “River Deep, Mountain High,” “Pick Me Up (Take Me Where Your Home Is),” “Oh Devil,” “Gulf Coast Blues,” a wild version of “Shake a Tail Feather,” “There Was a Time,” “Heard It Through the Grapevine,” “Respect” (which now seems more than a little ironic in duet), “A Love Like Yours (Don’t Come Knockin’ Every Day)” (ditto), “Under the Weather,” “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,” “Walking the Dog,” “You’ve Got to Get That Feeling,” “Try a Little Tenderness,” a characteristically rollicking “Proud Mary,” “I Smell Trouble,” “Shine” and “I Want To Take You Higher.”
Housed in a regular plastic Amaray case, Ike & Tina: On the Road 1971-72 comes to DVD on a region-free disc. Lacking supplemental features, there’s no grand contextualization here for Turner newbies, unfortunately — nor a honest reckoning about the spousal battering that would explode their union. This is still a nice showcase for the music itself, however. To purchase the DVD via Amazon, click here. B (Movie) C- (Disc)
The Baytown Outlaws
A deeply but pleasantly weird sort of Southern Gothic battle royale, The Baytown Outlaws is a boisterous, sweat-soaked mash-up of The Boondock Saints, Smokin’ Aces, Wild Things and Sucker Punch (minus the latter’s material excess). While stipulating that at its core it’s fairly slight — and also constructed of prefabricated parts and characters who, despite their colorful nature, are basically kind of hoary clichés — it’s also hard to deny that director Barry Battles’ zonked-out genre romp, starring Billy Bob Thornton, Eva Longoria and a couple lesser known faces, is an awful lot of fun.
The film reaches a certain point of diminishing return, particularly as it tries to pivot in its third act, and deliver a more reasoned, grounded moment of emotional growth for its titular brothers. The Baytown Outlaws is more successful when it’s just wheeling and dealing, in batshit-insane fashion, through oddball set-ups and gnarly, knotted retribution. Still, the originality on display makes this energetic crime comedy curio worth a look for fans of the actors, certainly, and low-budget genre enthusiasts to boot. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Phase 4 Films, R, 98 minutes)
The Good Doctor (Blu-ray)
A solidly constructed little character study of dark romantic bloom commingled with slipping knot mental instability, The Good Doctor finds producer-star Orlando Bloom once again attempting to strike out and proactively define a screen personality separate and distinct from the blockbuster pin-up status conferred upon him by the Pirates of the Caribbean and The Lord of the Rings movies. The scale and stakes are much smaller than in something like The Talented Mr. Ripley (and the behavioral urges somewhat different as well), but director Lance Daly (Kisses) capably pulls strings in a manner that elicits tension and also elucidates the impulses of obsession.
Bloom stars as Dr. Martin Blake, an ambitious but insecure young doctor in the early days of his residency. Already nervous about making a good impression on his supervisor and would-be mentor, Dr. Waylans (Rob Morrow), and concerned with the impact of a minor slip-up on his chances at an end-of-year fellowship, Martin lives each day with an electrical storm of anxiety and quiet contempt for others raging in his head. He looks down his nose at Jimmy (Michael Peña), an admittedly less-than-professional orderly, and takes disproportionate offense at the slights of Theresa (Taraji P. Henson), a nurse whom he feels doesn’t show him the proper deference and respect.
When a teenage patient, Diane (Riley Keough), is admitted with a relatively minor kidney infection, Martin gains self-esteem from aiding in her recovery, and strikes up a friendship with her. Martin’s interest soon becomes warped, however, and when Diane’s condition improves he begins tampering with her treatment in order to bring her back into his life. When Jimmy later discovers evidence of this, it further compromises Martin’s professional future.
The Good Doctor effectively threads the needle between intimate character study and psychological thriller. Working from a script by John Enbom, Daly delivers a spare portrait of howling neediness that unfolds in a world without a lot of extra flourishes in setting or scope. There’s a smart, compact focus to the movie (even the specific city in which it unfolds is meaningless, apart from a coastal connection) that puts an audience right alongside Martin, and believably in his head, while still allowing for slight modulations in tone. It’s a different animal from something like Danny Boyle’s Shallow Grave, but similar in that it is both at home with and achieves intrigue, dark comedy and a slowly escalating tension and uncertainty about how things will play out.
The precision of Daly and cinematographer Yaron Orbach’s wide frames abet the actors, allowing for a rich and subtle interplay of action and reaction. Morrow is excellent, Keough is radiant and enchanting, and Peña is amusing as a smarmy, weaselly clock-puncher looking to capitalize on his bit of informational leverage. Bloom’s performance is very occasionally a bit self-conscious (he seems an actor always aware of the camera’s position) but also restrained. He succeeds in tapping into Martin’s vulnerability and self-delusion in equal measure — no small task.
The fairly late introduction of an investigating detective (J.K. Simmons), while meant to ratchet up the stakes, feels a bit like a rushed gambit to bring closure and finality to the narrative. Still, The Good Doctor doesn’t opt for a pat conclusion or render a moral judgment writ large. Its open-endedness is an enchanting conversation-starter — and bound to conjure up speculation about the out-of-office lives of your own care providers during your next doctor’s appointment.
Coming to Blu-ray in a regular case, The Good Doctor comes to the format in a superb 1080p high definition transfer, with rich color consistency and no edge enhancement or artifacting issues. The soundtrack, a 5.1 DTS-HD master audio track, is nice and subtle, abetting the movie’s understated atmosphere. Apart from the obligatory chapter stops, the movie’s theatrical trailer and optional English SDH and Spanish subtitles, bonus features consist of two short behind-the-scenes featurettes — a 10-minute bit that intersperses clips and on-set interviews, and a five-minute, even more promotionally-oriented segment for AXS TV. A more in-depth interview with Daly would greatly benefit this disc. To purchase The Good Doctor Blu-ray via Half, click here; if Amazon is your thing, meanwhile, click here. B (Movie) C+ (Disc)
Uprising
Simple, straightforward, first-person testimonials have been an integral part of nonfiction filmmaking for decades, lending voice to social issues and providing powerful personal contextualization for events whose scope can otherwise seem overwhelming. It’s just these sorts of powerful interviews which form the framework of the extraordinarily moving Uprising, which tells the remarkable story of the 2011 Egyptian revolution that toppled dictatorial President Hosni Mubarak from power. Augmented by equally amazing extant footage, this documentary is the authoritative behind-the-scenes snapshot of a watershed event in human history — the first digital age people’s revolution.
Directed by Fredrik Stanton, Uprising benefits from the sort of clean, well-framed narrative that typically only comes into focus years or in some cases decades after such a historical event. The film posits that four basic elements went into the Egyptian revolution. The first was the repression and unbridled corruption of Mubarak, who racked up a personal fortune worth an estimated $40-70 billion during his three decades of rule, which never repealed the martial law under which he assumed command after the 1981 assassination of Anwar Sadat. Finally fed up with this, an activist youth movement turned to social media, and on April 6, 2008, formalized itself in protest.
Then, in June, 2010, the murder of Khaled Said, a young computer enthusiast who exposed police corruption sparked widespread outrage, fomenting further objections. The following January, the Tunisian revolution toppled the regime of brutal autocrat Ben Ali, just two weeks before a planned January 25 Egyptian protest. Spurred on by that example, students and other young people took to Facebook. They had no idea at the time, but the revolution would be televised, it turns out.
There were the expected jokes at the time, organizers admit: Is there a dress code? And what’s the couples policy — does one need a date for the revolution, or can they come stag? But thousands upon thousands turned out, including popular actor Amr Waked (interviewed here). Many men and older people felt empowered to join only after seeing so many young women take up the banner. (Indeed, one YouTube video even includes an uncoded appeal: “If you’re a man, come join us.”) After a day of peaceful marching and protest that filled Tahrir Square, the conflict became more pitched in following days. State media published newspaper pictures with captions claiming supporters were rallying for Mubarak, despite banners within the photos showing the opposite. Then, of course, things got bloody, exacerbated by statements from Mubarak that were by turns defiant and clueless. Seeded with secret police and hardline party loyalists, camel-riding thugs took to the streets, beating people. Bullets and tear gas followed, felling over 800 and leaving 6,000 more wounded. It wasn’t until the Egyptian army sided with the people that the tide finally turned.
Uprising doesn’t try to take the same big artistic bite out of the apple that Ali Samadi Ahadi’s The Green Wave, which documented the unprecedented protests that rocked Iran in June, 2009. That movie interweaved animated segments to dramatize events. Uprising has gripping cell phone camera and home video footage (some graphic). Like that film, however, Uprising is an impactful snapshot of the very basic human yearning for dignity and freedom — a fact about which interviewees speak eloquently, and is also glimpsed through their brave actions.
The democratic struggle in Egypt is still ongoing, of course, so the true, concluding chapters of Uprising are not yet really written. But this is a well-expressed movie. Powerfully told from the perspective of the Egyptian revolution’s leadership and key organizers, Stanton’s film is more than just a rough draft of history, it’s a gut-punch cri de coeur, and a reminder of the universal values and desires we all share, regardless of culture or ethnicity. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. For more information on the movie, which opens in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Pasadena Playhouse 7, click here to visit its website.