A movie of considerable if to-scale surprises, micro-budgeted indie From the Head invites a certain amount of snickering and lowered expectation going in, touted as it is, in punny fashion, as the directorial debut of a “veteran strip club bathroom attendant,” and set to boot in the very same arena of his experience. Yet as far as movies located almost entirely inside a bathroom go, this one is light years better than Hunter Richards’ insipid London, starring Jessica Biel, Chris Evans and Jason Statham. Written, directed by and starring George Griffith, From the Head is an intriguing pop-psychology character study — a movie of minor revelations but shrewd behavioral observations.
Unfolding over the course of one evening in 1995 New York City (though the year seemingly makes no discernible difference, except for the lack of cell phones), the movie stars Griffith as Shoes, a bathroom attendant at a fairly respectable strip club. Between handing out paper towels and having folks bringing him shots, Shoes doesn’t much have time for his yo-yo and well-worn Samuel Beckett book but there they are with him, tucked away in the corner. His chief aim and concern, of course, is prying tips out of the (frequently tipsy) patrons who wander in to take a leak. While sharing jokes, advice and a smoke with the dozens of these customers (including Matthew Lillard and Jon Polito) who cycle in and out, Shoes also pleads with the matriarch of the strippers, Ruby (Samantha Lemole, above), to stop sharing that this particular night represents his third anniversary of employment.
There are more than a few moments of armchair philosophizing herein (“Everybody hits the ‘What-am-I-doing-here?’ monologue if they stay here long enough,” Shoes tells one guy), but From the Head is basically a giant grab-bag of accumulated details and occurrences — of conversational riffs and small moments of pique, compassion or practical advice, like counseling a married guy not to try a new cologne. In many respects, the movie most impresses in its steadfast avoidance of ante-upping dramatic gambits (hey, it’s even 65 minutes before anyone barfs). Things happen, and there are telling character moments, but there isn’t any dynamic plot, per se. In general, Shoes is overwhelmingly subdued, and thus something of an interesting Rorschach for viewers, who may find different interpretations in his demeanor.
The film’s staging — its flow of customers, and general rhythm — is handled quite well. And Griffith has a great presence. His tight smile and socially appropriate, slightly askance gaze — combined with the litany of patter, tailored in smart, quick ways to how he sizes up incoming visitors — reveals that, clearly, he knows of what he writes, both anecdotally and in feeling. But there’s also a centeredness to him that would seem to translate well to other roles. Griffith doesn’t feel the need to trade in cheap demonstrativeness; his Shoes is well-worn, but honestly so. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here; to visit the movie’s website, click here. In addition to VOD offerings, From the Head is available on DVD on July 9. (Breaking Glass Pictures, unrated, 93 minutes)
Daily Archives: June 22, 2013
LAFF: My Stolen Revolution
Ben Affleck‘s Oscar-winning Argo opened up some eyes to the Iranian Revolution, which — largely owing to American support for the overthrown Shah — never really seemed to receive a full and honest treatment in the United States press at the time, and certainly hasn’t since relations between the two nations have calcified in distrust. Even nastier scabs are ripped off, however, in the emotional documentary My Stolen Revolution, which tells the story of a group of female dissidents tortured under the Islamic regime.
Her memories sparked by the recent “Arab Spring” protests in Iran, director Nahid Persson Sarvestani — a stalwart Communist Party intellectual who escaped the country with her one-year-old daughter — tracks down five of her far-flung former comrades, one of whom also escaped but the rest of whom were imprisoned and tortured. What ensues over the first half of the film is a sort of Broken Flowers-style travelogue, driven by the director’s desire to have her adult daughter understand their roots, as well as her desire to expiate the guilt she feels over the arrest and subsequent execution of her younger brother Rostam. For the second half of the movie, Sarvestani gathers the women at her home in Sweden, where they share and reminiscence.
Some might argue that the narration which channels the others’ experiences through Sarvestani’s free-form shame and remorse is self-absorbed, but My Stolen Revolution, which just enjoyed its North American premiere at the Los Angeles Film Festival, is primarily a work of witness. The stories (including infections resulting from beatings, and at least one rape) are sometimes gruesome and almost always outright inhumane, but mostly just overwhelmingly heartbreaking; the notion of a young girl acting out on her blindfolded doll just the sort of physical abuse and physical beating she saw her mother take in real life is hard to process.
Like a wide variety of documentaries dealing with genocide and torture — including Rob Lemkin and Thet Sambath’s Enemies of the People and Errol Morris’ Standard Operating Procedure — My Stolen Revolution shines an uncomfortable but necessary light on the cruelty and sadism that too often goes hand in hand with absolutism, whether religious or otherwise. As much queasy ire as Sarvestani’s movie evokes, though, its subjects are sterling examples of the resilience of the human spirit. For the full, original review, from ShockYa, click here. (Real Reel Productions, unrated, 75 minutes)