All posts by Dennis Hartley

Radio radio: La maison de la radio **1/2 and a Top 3 list

September 5, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 9, 2013)

Head of programming: La Maison de la Radio

Do you remember the opening scene in the sci-fi film Contact? As the visual perspective pulls further and further away from Earth, an audio collage of radio and TV broadcasts moves further and further back in time, implying that our terrestrial broadcasts are like the Energizer Bunny (they keep going, and going, and going…). Which could mean that some ham radio enthusiast in the Andromeda Galaxy is only just now tuning into one of my 1973 broadcasts as a neophyte DJ (hopefully, the Inverse Square Law will save him from the aural agony of my 17 year-old self trying to sound like Mr. Boss Jock).

Everybody has to start somewhere, but radio is unique because you’re learning in public. You have an audience right out of the gate, privy to every embarrassing mispronunciation and clumsy technical gaffe. That’s why I reflexively squirmed in tandem with a neophyte news reader who endures a merciless word-by-word critique of his aircheck by the news director in the documentary La Maison de la Radio.

This is one of the vignettes slickly edited to simulate a “day in the life” of Radio France (the French equivalent to NPR). While he inserts the odd interview segment that may jar you from your “fly on the wall” perch, director Nicolas Philibert utilizes the same meditative approach that informed his 2010 documentary Nenette.

In his previous documentary, Philibert’s subject was a taciturn female orangutan housed in a French zoo, who sat impassively behind a glass window, prompting self-absorbed visitors to chatter incessantly about everything and nothing, from banal observations to deep philosophical musings (the ape, of course, remains mum).

In the opening of his new film, Philibert overlaps snippets of chatter by the various Radio France hosts, slowly escalating the collage into a sort of cacophonous overture for his piece. Then, he begins to deconstruct the din, until one host remains, informing listeners that “…today, I want to talk about everything…and nothing.” You see what Philibert did there? In this film, we are now the orangutan, sitting impassively on the other side of the screen while these folks who yak for a living chatter incessantly about everything…and nothing.

Unfortunately, what ensues becomes less of a philosophical treatise on the higher primate’s compulsion to communicate and more of a repetitive slog of multi-take voice-over sessions, non-contextualized snippets of on-air interviews and editorial meetings.

The viewer doesn’t really gain any new insights regarding public radio, or the broadcast business (in fairness to the filmmaker, I’ve been in the radio biz for 40 years; so I will concede that what I perceive as just another boring day at the office could be fascinating to someone outside the industry).

On the plus side, Katell Djian’s cinematography is lovely; the best moments are when the action moves away from the endless corridors of the Pentagon-sized Radio France complex and out into the field. A correspondent and his driver hop aboard a scooter and cruise along with the cyclists to cover the Tour de France. A moment of Zen arrives as a sound engineer captures ambient night sounds of the forest with his parabolic mike (recalling the opener in Brian De Palma’s Blow Out). Sadly, these moments were not enough to quash my urge to start touching that dial before the end credits rolled.

# # #

So Philibert’s film didn’t make me want to crank it on up, get on my bad motor scooter and ride. But here are my top 3 picks for movies about radio stations that do:

American Hot Wax– Floyd Mutrux’s spirited 1978 biopic about legendary Cleveland DJ Alan Freed (newfangled rock-n-roll’s first real cheerleader) may not be 100% historically accurate, but it’s 110% entertaining (and remains criminally unavailable in any home video format).

The late (and underrated) Tim McIntire delivers a terrific performance as Freed, who courted controversy in the early 1950s for breaking new songs by African-American artists on his radio show (back when they were called “race records”) and for promoting “integrated” dance events and concerts.

There are great performance cameos by Chuck Berry, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and Jerry Lee Lewis. The film occasionally strays into superfluous goofiness, and it glosses over the 60s payola scandal that (sadly) destroyed Freed’s career, but McIntire’s all-in performance commands your attention.

Image result for comfort and joy 1984

Comfort and Joy– A quirky trifle from Scottish writer-director Bill Forsyth (Gregory’s Girl, Local Hero). An amiable Glasgow radio personality (Bill Paterson) is dumped by his girlfriend on Christmas Eve, throwing him into an existential crisis. Soon after lamenting to his skeptical GM that he wants to do something more “important” than his chirpy morning show, serendipity drops him into the middle a of a hot scoop-a “war” between two rival ice-cream dairies.

The movie is chock full of Forsyth’s patented low-key anarchy and wry one-liners. As a former morning DJ, I can tell you that the scenes depicting “Dickie Bird” doing his show are quite authentic, which is rare on the screen. One caveat: it might take several days to get that ice cream van’s amplified tape loop out of your head (“Hello, folks!”).

Image result for fm 1978 movie

FM– John Alonzo’s 1978 comedy-drama (written by Ezra Sacks) centers on fictional L.A. rock station “Q-Sky” FM, which has just shot to number one, to the elation of hip program director Jeff Dugan (Michael Brandon), who leads a team of colorful DJs (Martin Mull, Cleavon Little, Alex Karras and Eileen Brennan). While Dugan sees the win as validation for his “free form” approach, corporate HQ views it as a potential cash cow for landing big accounts like the U.S. Army. The battle lines between art and commerce are drawn…and it’s on.

Granted-the film is uneven, but the cast is game, the soundtrack is great, and Linda Ronstadt and band are in fine form performing several live numbers. It’s a nice snapshot of the era when “underground” FM was making a shift to the more corporate “Layla-Free Bird-Tom Sawyer” format that flogs to this day.

Documentary, Food

El corazon de la cocina: Spinning Plates ***

September 5, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 16, 2013)

I have a porn addiction. Food porn, that it is…thanks to those pushers who run the Food Network and The Food Channel. If I’m channel-surfing and come across Graci in the Kitchen, Giada at Home, Peaches en Regalia, whatever…I’m compelled to stop and stare, like a cat fixating on a goldfish bowl. Funny thing is, I mostly dine on takeout and don’t cook (unless boiling pasta or microwaving instant oatmeal counts). While we’re on the subject, when did we become Foodie Nation (as an ever-escalating portion of the world goes hungry)? And how and why have ‘celebrity chefs’ become the new rock stars?

Not that any of these questions are addressed in Spinning Plates, the debut documentary from Joseph Levy (whose previous credits include exec-producing a season of Food Network’s Ultimate Recipe Showdown). I just wanted to explain why I approached his film with trepidation (I’ve been so inundated by foodie docs that I was afraid that if I took one more bite I’d explode like Mr. Creosote in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life). However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover here a genre entry that is not so easily pigeonholed, filled with unexpected twists and turns…but imbued with heart.

The premise is very simple, a portmanteau interlacing three restaurateur profiles. And yes, one of them is a “celebrity chef”, Grant Achatz of Chicago’s 3-star Michelin eatery Alinea. Achatz is known for being at the forefront of “molecular gastronomy” (a cutting-edge cuisine way above my head…and pay grade). As the affable and boyish Achatz demonstrates some of the improvisational techniques and Rube Goldberg gadgetry he utilizes to create new food presentations, he doesn’t vibe a world-class chef so much as Bill Nye the Science Guy. Still, his passion and dedication is genuine (although he doesn’t go into specifics, it’s intriguing to hear him allude to a falling out with early mentor Charlie Trotter, who passed away just 2 weeks ago).

Passion and dedication also figure prominently in the stories behind the two very different family-run restaurants that round off the trio of profiles. “Family-run” is almost an understatement when describing Balltown, Iowa’s Breitbach’s Country Dining, as the business is a 120 year-old heirloom. Owner Mike Breitbach and his family work morning noon and night to keep their customers happy. Their tale is straight out of a Frank Capra movie. Their regular customers are so dedicated that many of them are entrusted with front door keys; frequently pitching in on their own volition to help with opening and closing duties at the huge facility (which also doubles as an unofficial community center).

And finally, while much smaller in square footage and staff size but no less a labor of love, we follow the story of La Cocina de Gabby, a modest Mexican restaurant in Tucson run by Francisco and Gabby Martinez, a couple with a 3 year-old daughter. Everything on the menu is a family recipe handed down to Gabby by her mom (who pitches in to help with the cooking). There are occasional hiccups having the whole family involved, especially when young Ashley decides to “act out” in the kitchen, fully audible to the customers (the joys of having a 3 year-old underfoot at work). But there’s enough love and support in this family to trump any downsides.

So then what separates this film from the plethora of docs and TV reality shows that bang away at the challenges and travails of running a restaurant? It’s the Behind the Music element of Levy’s film that ultimately grabs you by the heartstrings. Granted, while that is a bit of a hackneyed formula, I like the way that the director slowly serves up the back story of his subjects like a multi-course meal, in carefully weighed portions. And for dessert, Levy ties it together in one of the most beautifully nuanced denouements I’ve ever seen in a documentary. Cynics might scoff, but I was left feeling pleasantly full.

Behind the Music, Drama

Low country + western: The Broken Circle Breakdown **

September 5, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 23, 2013)

The Kingdom of Belgium is renowned for its Flemish painters and chocolatiers, but its thriving bluegrass scene has been perennially overlooked. Until now. Once meets Scenes From a Marriage in a generally well-acted but somewhat overwrought 3-hankie mellerdrama called The Broken Circle Breakdown.

If you love the sound of banjos, mandolins, and fiddles, topped off by them good old-timey close harmonies, you may be more receptive to this little ditty ’bout Jack and Diane…I mean, Kris and Rita…sorry, Elise and Didier, two Flemish kids livin’ in the low lands.

One fateful day, Didier (Johan Heldenbergh) a banjo player in a bluegrass band, waltzes into a tattoo parlor, where he Meets Cute with the fetching, well-inked proprietress, Elise (Veerle Baetens). When he asks her who the “greatest musician of all time” is, she says Elvis. Pshaw, says Didier, the correct answer is “Bill Monroe”. Who? she says…and they’re off.

Technically, I’m getting ahead of myself, as director Felix Van Groeningen (who co-adapted the screenplay with Carl Joos) elects to use the flashback/flash-forward device we’ve seen in similarly non-linear romantic relationship narratives like Two For the Road, Annie Hall, (500) Days of Summer and the aforementioned Bergman film.

We strap in and join Elise and Didier for a ride on the roller-coaster of Love, Marriage and Parenthood over a period of 9 or 10 years, through sickness and health, good times and bad times, joy and sorrow (mostly accentuating the sickness, bad times and sorrow).

The musical performances by Elise and Didier’s bluegrass outfit (The Cover-Ups of Alabama) are heartfelt (I’m curious if the actors actually did their own singing and playing). Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the drama.

The story runs wildly off track once someone has a grief-induced onstage meltdown, resulting in a bizarre political rant that seems to have party-crashed from a wholly different narrative. I’m not the world’s biggest country and/or bluegrass fan, but in this case, I could have used less soap-and more Opry.

Drama, Family Issues, On Politics, War(s) on Terror

Homeland insecurity: Torn ***

September 5, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 23, 2013)

In the wake of the recent LAX shooting, The Islamic Monthly ran an interesting piece by its Senior Editor Arsalan Iftikhar, who made this pithy (and prescient) observation:

Now, the same right-wingers who would shout “terrorism” from the rooftops if the LAX airport shooter was a Muslim will likely avoid using the word “terrorism” at all since the shooter was a white Italian dude from Jersey. They will characterize this non-Muslim terrorist as a crazy kooky loner whose undiagnosed mental-health issues or work-related stress probably led to the attacks.

Also, these same right-wingers who always call for the “racial profiling” of Arabs and Muslims after every terrorist attack will now be silent since they would now have to call for the racial profiling of every 20-something white dude from New Jersey.

As if on cue, there’s a new indie called Torn (running in limited engagements) that tackles that meme head on. Set in a quiet Bay Area bedroom community, Jeremiah Birnbaum’s modestly budgeted drama opens with a dreamy, lazily-focused montage of pure, tranquil suburban-American imagery: shoppers at the mall, doing what shoppers do.

Shortly after the segment dissolves into heavenly white light (rarely a good sign), we learn through a TV news bulletin that Something Terrible Has Happened. There’s been an explosion at the mall (possibly a gas line), and there are fatalities.

The TV is in the home of an upscale Pakistani-American couple, Maryam (Mahnoor Baloch) and her husband Ali (Faran Tahir), both just home from work and setting the table for dinner. On their answering machine, they hear a message from their son, telling them he’s headed for the mall after school (I don’t think it’s a spoiler to tell you what that portends).

As the couple begins to deal with their soul-shattering grief in the days following the tragedy, Maryam forms a bond and strikes up a friendship with a woman named Lea (Dendrie Taylor), a divorced, financially-strapped single mother who has also lost a teenage son in the incident.

However, Maryam and Lea’s burgeoning relationship is about to hit a major roadblock. Police investigators discover irrefutable evidence that the explosion was caused by a homemade bomb. The detective in charge of the investigation (John Heard) informs Maryam and Ali that their late son is the prime suspect, and that the FBI has been called in.

Suspicion weighs even more heavily on the family when the local media dredges up the fact that Ali himself had been picked up and interrogated after 9/11 (although never charged). Lea gets caught up in the rush to judgment, lashing out at Maryam and then giving her the cold shoulder. Lea’s moral superiority is short-lived. It turns out another teenager killed in the explosion had been bullying her son; he had vowed revenge and is now being investigated as well (the shoe is now on the other foot).

Despite the setup, the odd red herring and the fact that there is a “reveal” in the final shot, Birnbaum’s film is not a “whodunit” so much as a “why do we?”. Why do we rush to judgment? Why do we always fear the Other? And why do we always find it so difficult to look in the mirror?

Screenwriter Michael Richter wisely keeps the police procedural elements on the back burner, instead focusing on these central questions, via the shifting dynamics of Maryam and Lea’s relationship.

In other words, by handing each protagonist a glass house and a bag of rocks, he is leveling the playing field; thereby he is daring the viewer (by proxy) to cast the first stone after examining his or her own fears and prejudices. And for the most part, this device works quite well, thanks to strong performances from Baloch and Taylor. The message has been proffered many times before, but until it finally “catches on”, perhaps it cannot be repeated enough.

Family Issues, Musical, Religion

Miracle on 125th Street: Black Nativity **1/2

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 30, 2013)

I make a concerted effort to avoid trite phrases like “warmhearted musical that the whole family can enjoy” when dashing off a film review. But when it, erm, comes to warmhearted musicals that the whole family can enjoy…you could do worse than Black Nativity, a Yule-themed musical adapted from Langston Hughes’ eponymous early 60s Off-Broadway play by writer-director Kasi Lemmons (Talk to Me).

Glossy as a Hallmark card (and just about as deep), the film nonetheless ambles along agreeably enough, thanks to a spirited cast and a blues-gospel tinged soundtrack. Jennifer Hudson plays a struggling single mom who lives in Baltimore with her teenage son, Langston (Jacob Latimore). She decides (much to Langston’s chagrin) that this Christmas would be as good a time as any for her son to get acquainted with her parents (Forest Whitaker and Angela Bassett) from whom she has been estranged for a number of years.

After a long bus ride to NYC (which yields the film’s best musical number, a haunting, beautifully arranged rendition of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child”), Langston no sooner sets foot on Big Apple pavement than he’s being accused of theft and getting hauled off in handcuffs after an earnest attempt to return a wallet to a man who has absentmindedly left it on a store counter (I suspect I’m not the only audience member who flashed on the hapless newbie who gets racially profiled in the center section of Stevie Wonder’s “Living for the City”). Luckily, his grandfather (a reverend graced with the punny name Cornell Cobb) clears up the misunderstanding and gets him out of stir. Sullen Langston and his pious (if well-meaning) grandparents are off to a shaky start for their “getting to know you” romp, which includes the rev’s annual “Black Nativity” church event, family melodrama, and (wait for it) A Christmas Miracle.

Were the film not buoyed by the presence of the charismatic duo of Whitaker and Bassett, and the fact that someone is inspired to break into song every 6 or 7 minutes, the entire cast may have been in grave danger of drowning in clichés. Still, Lemmons’ film earns extra points almost by default, due to the fact that the “family holiday musical” is on the endangered species list. So if you’re into that sort of thing, hey…don’t let me be a cantankerous old Scrooge.

Art world, Big Money, Writers

Fellini is spinning: The Great Beauty **

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 30, 2013)

It doesn’t take long for the Fellini influences to burble to the surface in Paolo Sorrentino’s La grande bellezza (“The Great Beauty”). The viewer is immediately thrown into the midst of a huge, frenetic birthday party in honor of 65 year-old writer Jep Gambardella (Tony Servillo), and we are definitely freakin’ at the Freaker’s Ball with some of the more oddly-featured and garishly-attired denizens of Rome’s upper-crust literati.

Although many decades have passed since the singular success of his sole novel, Jeb has ingratiated himself into Rome’s high society over the ensuing years as a glib arts critic, serial womanizer and entertaining gadfly at parties (when accused of being a misogynist, Jep retorts that he is much more open-minded…he prefers to be addressed as a misanthrope).

However, Jeb’s ebullient birthday mood is about to get quashed. When an old acquaintance he has long lost touch with (and who ended up marrying Jep’s teenage sweet heart) contacts him out of the blue to share the news that his wife has died, Jep has an unexpected reaction, triggering a deep malaise. He begins to take stock of the self-indulgent pursuits that he and fellow members of Rome’s idle class indulge in to distract themselves from the shallowness of their lives.

The ensuing existential travelogue snaking through Italy’s ever-cinematic capital begs comparisons with Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, as well as Antonioni’s La Notte, another drama about a Rome-based writer in crisis.

While beautifully photographed and cannily evocative of a certain surreal, free-associative style of film-making that flourished in the 1960s (even if the narrative is set in contemporary Bunga Bunga Rome), Sorrentino’s film left me ambivalent.

Interestingly, it was very similar to the way I felt in the wake of Eat Pray Love. In my review of that film, I relayed my inability to empathize with what I referred to as the “Pottery Barn angst” on display. It’s that plaintive wail of the 1%: “I’ve got it all, and I’ve done it all and seen it all, but something’s missing…oh, the humanity!” It’s not that I don’t understand our protagonist’s belated pursuit of truth and beauty; it’s just that Sorrentino fails to make me care enough to make me want to tag long on this noble quest for 2 hours, 22 minutes.

Documentary, On Politics

Attack the block: Let the Fire Burn ***1/2

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 7, 2013)

While obscured in public memory by the (relatively) more “recent” 1993 Branch Davidian siege in Waco, the eerily similar demise of the Philadelphia-based MOVE organization 8 years earlier was no less tragic on a human level, nor any less disconcerting in its ominous sociopolitical implications.

In an enlightening new documentary called Let the Fire Burn, director Jason Osder has parsed a trove of archival “live-at-the-scene” TV reports, deposition videos, law enforcement surveillance footage, and other sundry “found” footage (much of it previously unseen by the general public) and created a tight narrative that plays like an edge-of-your-seat political thriller.

Depending upon whom you might ask, MOVE was an “organization”, a “religious cult”, a “radical group”, or all of the above. The biggest question in my mind (and one the film doesn’t necessarily delve into) is whether it was another example of psychotic entelechy. So what is “psychotic entelechy”, exactly? Well, according to Stan A. Lindsay, the author of Psychotic Entelechy: The Dangers of Spiritual Gifts Theology, it would be

…the tendency of some individuals to be so desirous of fulfilling or bringing to perfection the implications of their terminologies that they engage in very hazardous or damaging actions.

In the context of Lindsay’s book, he is expanding on some of the ideas laid down by literary theorist Kenneth Burke and applying them to possibly explain the self-destructive traits shared by the charismatic leaders of modern-day cults like The People’s Temple, Order of the Solar Tradition, Heaven’s Gate, and The Branch Davidians. He ponders whether all the tragic deaths that resulted should be labeled as “suicides, murders, or accidents”.

Whether MOVE belongs on that list is perhaps debatable, but in Osder’s film, you do get the sense that leader John Africa (an adapted surname that all followers used) was a charismatic person. He founded the group in 1972, based on an odd hodgepodge of tenets borrowed from Rastafarianism, Black Nationalism and green politics; with a Luddite view of technology (think ELF meets the Panthers…by way of the Amish). Toss in some vaguely egalitarian philosophies about communal living, and I think you’re there.

The group, which shared a town house, largely kept itself to itself (at least at first) but started to draw the attention of Philadelphia law enforcement when a number of their neighbors began expressing concern to the authorities about sanitation issues (the group built compost piles around their building using refuse and human excrement) and the distressing appearance of possible malnutrition among the children of the commune (some of the footage in the film would seem to bear out the latter claim).

The city engaged in a year-long bureaucratic standoff with MOVE over their refusal to vacate, culminating in an attempted forced removal turned-gun battle with police in 1978 that left one officer dead. Nine MOVE members were convicted of 3^rd-degree murder and jailed.

The remaining members of MOVE relocated their HQ, but it didn’t take long to wear out their welcome with the new neighbors (John Africa’s strange, rambling political harangues, delivered via loudspeakers mounted outside the MOVE house certainly didn’t help). Africa and his followers began to develop a siege mentality, shuttering up all the windows and constructing a makeshift pillbox style bunker on the roof. Naturally, these actions only served to ratchet up the tension and goad local law enforcement.

On May 13, 1985 it all came to a head when a heavily armed contingent of cops moved in, ostensibly to arrest MOVE members on a number of indictments. Anyone who remembers the shocking news footage knows that the day did not end well. Gunfire was exchanged after tear gas and high-pressure water hoses failed to end the standoff, so authorities decided to take a little shortcut and drop a satchel of C-4 onto the roof of the building. 11 MOVE members (including 5 children) died in the resulting inferno, which consumed 61 homes.

Putting aside any debate or speculation for a moment over whether or not John Africa and his disciples were deranged criminals, or whether or not the group’s actions were self-consciously provocative or politically convoluted, one simple fact remains and bears repeating: “Someone” decided that it was a perfectly acceptable action plan, in the middle of a dense residential neighborhood (located in the City of Brotherly Love, no less) to drop a bomb on a building with children inside it.

Even more appalling is the callous indifference and casual racism displayed by some of the officials and police who are seen in the film testifying before the Mayor’s investigative commission (the sole ray of light, one compassionate officer who braved crossfire to help a young boy escape the burning building, was chastised by fellow officers afterward as a “[‘N’ word] lover” for his trouble).

Let the Fire Burn is not only an essential document of an American tragedy, but a cautionary tale and vital reminder of how far we still have go in purging the vestiges of institutional racism in this country (1985 was not that long ago).

In a strange bit of Kismet, I saw this film the day before Nelson Mandela died, which has naturally prompted a steady stream of retrospectives about Apartheid on the nightly news. Did you know that in 1985, there was a raging debate over whether we should impose sanctions on South Africa? (*sigh*) Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.

Con Game, Conspiracy a-go-go, Politics

Bad hair decade: American Hustle **

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 21, 2013)

While I was waiting for the lights to go down at a packed sneak preview for David O. Russell’s American Hustle, a Gandalf-looking fellow wearing what can only be described as a Jed Clampett hat squeezed in next to me, gave me a nudge and asked, “So, what’ve ya heard about this one…is it kinda like American Gigolo?” (They always find me…I don’t know how, but they do).

Now praying for the lights to go down, I forced a polite smile and said “No, I don’t believe it’s about male hustlers. It’s about con artists, although it does take place in the 1970s.” He paused for a moment of contemplation. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “so it’s kinda like Boogie Nights?”

While stealing a quick visual check of the house for any other available seats, I replied “No, I don’t think it’s about the porn industry. I understand that it’s based on the Abscam scandal…if you remember it.” Huge mistake. “Ah! We must be about the same age! What year were ya born? Tell me, do ya have a good home life?”

Mercifully, I was saved by the lights.

My new BFF may have inadvertently stumbled onto something. It turns out that American Hustle actually is one of those “kinda like” movies. It’s kinda like GoodFellas, just not as stylish. It’s kinda like Jackie Brown, just not as clever. It’s kinda like Married to the Mob, just not as funny. And if you’re expecting All the President’s Men, fuhgettaboutit. Consequently, it is neither a candy nor a breath mint.

It’s best described as New Yorkers screaming at each other for an interminable 2 hours and 18 minutes (with guest conniptions from the Jersey side). After the winking disclaimer “Some of this actually happened“, we are introduced to sleazy con man Irving (Christian Bale), who preys on marks with the help of his “British” girlfriend Sydney (Amy Adams). When the two stingers get stung by an undercover FBI operation, the hotshot agent in charge (Bradley Cooper) offers them a deal if they help him catch bigger fish by conning a mobbed-up Camden, NJ mayor (Jeremy Renner) into serving as unsuspecting facilitator.

The “sting” here is on the audience, because Russell and his co-writer Eric Singer, while proving quite skilled at window-dressing this as some kind of rollicking, vaguely sociopolitical 70s period piece, use the retro vibe as sucker bait to string us along waiting for something interesting to happen; by the time we realize we’ve been had, the credits roll. There is far too little focus on story or character development and too much fixation on fashion, furniture and hair (Bale’s Rube Goldberg comb-over, Cooper’s perm and Renner’s pompadour deserve their own credits).

And while I’m nitpicking…about that music. While I love those super hits of the 70s as much as anyone else, if the story is set in 1978, why are 90% of the songs on the soundtrack from the early 70s?

It’s a drag to see such a good cast wasted. Bale, Adams, Cooper, Renner and Jennifer Lawrence (playing Bale’s estranged wife with aplomb) are skilled, but even the best actors need some direction every now and then (like when to dial it down to a dull roar, an instruction that apparently went either unspoken or unheeded). So don’t be conned.

Have a nice day!

Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

SIFF 2013: Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me ***1/2

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 1, 2013)

Founded in 1971 by singer-guitarist Chris Bell and ex-Box Tops lead singer/guitarist Alex Chilton, the Beatle-esque Big Star was a musical anomaly in their hometown of Memphis, which was only the first of many hurdles this talented band was to face during their brief, tumultuous career. Now considered one of the seminal influences on the power pop genre, the band was largely ignored by record buyers during their heyday (despite critical acclaim from the likes of Rolling Stone). Then, in the mid-1980s, a cult following steadily began to build around the long-defunct outfit after college radio darlings like R.E.M., the Dbs and the Replacements began lauding them as an inspiration. In this fine rockumentary, director Drew DeNicola also tracks the lives of the four members beyond the 1974 breakup, which is the most riveting (and heart wrenching) part of the tale. Pure nirvana for power-pop aficionados.

Documentary

SIFF 2013: Furever **

September 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 1, 2013)

Furever is a mildly engaging look at the peculiarly American obsession with memorializing pets once they have passed on. I say “mildly engaging” because this ground has been pretty well covered (no pun intended), most notably in Errol Morris’ classic 1978 documentary Gates of Heaven. Still, director Amy Finkel takes a fairly comprehensive approach, interviewing bereaved pet owners, psychologists and of course the people in the industry who make some pretty good coin off of other people’s grief (yeah, I know…I’m a cynical bastard). The film runs out of steam when you realize that it’s making the same point over and over, but inevitably piques morbid interest when it focuses on the extreme examples (like folks who have their dead “loved ones” stuffed).