2016 SIFF Preview

May 9, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 7, 2016)

It’s nearly time again for the Seattle International Film Festival (May 19th through June 12th). SIFF is showing 421 shorts, features and docs from 85 countries. Navigating festivals takes skill; the trick is developing a sense for films in your wheelhouse (as for me, I embrace my OCD and channel it like a cinematic dowser). Here are some intriguing possibilities I have gleaned after obsessively combing through every capsule description.*

(*Someday, I’ll get a life. I promise. After I watch this movie. Oh, and these movies…)

Let’s dive in, shall we? SIFF is featuring a number of documentaries with a socio-political bent. Action Commandante (South Africa) is a profile of anti-apartheid activist Ashley Kriel, who was gunned down by police in 1987 (at age 20) and name-checked by Nelson Mandela in his 1990 post-prison release speech. Ovarian Psycos profiles the eponymous East L.A. community activist group (young women of color who have formed their own “cycle brigade”.)

The Lovers and the Despot (UK) claims to be a “real life espionage thriller”, about the daring escape of a South Korean film director and his actress wife who were kidnapped at the behest of North Korean leader Kim Jong-il and forced to become his “personal filmmakers” (you can’t make this shit up).

And a little closer to home: Weiner (USA) is a frank (sorry!) behind the scenes look at Anthony Weiner’s “audacious, ill-fated comeback campaign” for NYC Mayor in 2013. Of course, in light of the current campaign cycle, it may all seem pretty tame now.

Two docs take a hard look at the ripple effects of high technology. Death by Design (China) looks to give you nightmares about how that little smartphone you’re holding in your hands right now is playing no small part in destroying our planet. Werner Herzog’s Lo and Behold, Reveries of the Connected World takes a more existential approach (doesn’t he always?), using “a series of vignettes tracing the past, present, and possible future of the internet.” If Herzog throws in a chicken dancing on a hotplate, act surprised.

Showbiz docs always fascinate me; there are a number of good possibilities this year. 1,000 Eyes of Dr. Maddin (France) is a rare profile of the somewhat elusive avant-garde Canadian filmmaker Guy Maddin (I’ve hardly even seen a photograph of the guy). Norman Lear: Just Another Version of You (USA) seems self-explanatory

. Bang! The Bert Berns Story (USA) is a timely release, as the largely unheralded songwriter/record producer of 51 pop/R&B chart singles during the 1960s was recently inducted into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We Are X (USA) profiles 80s rockers X Japan, “the most successful rock band in Japanese history” that we have never heard of. I am prepared to be enlightened.

The most intriguing “behind the music” entry this year is Red Gringo (Chile), the story of how U.S.-born Dean Reed became a huge pop star in South America in the early 1960s, then eventually…a “Communist icon” (Reds meets Jailhouse Rock?).

Turning to ha-ha funny: From director Jose Luis Guernin, The Academy of Muses (Spain) concerns a professor who “uses high-minded academic discourse in the pursuit of more carnal longings”. He gets called out by his wife, who sees through his chat-up routine…sparking “an improbable romantic comedy, dense with ideas yet lighthearted throughout.” Doesn’t that describe nearly every Woody Allen film since Annie Hall?

Speaking of whom, SIFF has snagged the Woodman’s Café Society for this year’s Opening Night Gala (it’s also the North American premiere). The romantic comedy is set in 1930s Hollywood, and stars Kristen Stewart and Jesse Eisenberg. I’m looking forward to Wiener-Dog, the latest cringe comedy from the always provocative Todd Solondz; a series of character vignettes filtered “…through the eyes of an adorable dachshund.” Arf.

Speaking of adorable lap animals, SIFF has both dog and cat lovers covered this year. Kedi (Turkey/Germany/USA) explores the unique relationship between human and feline residents of Istanbul, where cats are revered as deeply spiritual creatures (I’m guessing we’re going to see a lot of footage, of a lot of cats, doing a lot of cat stuff…pretty much wherever they want). Then there’s the doggie doc Searchdog (USA), showing how a K9 Search and Rescue Specialist goes about turning his raw recruits into four-legged heroes.

More selections in the “family-friendly” realm that have potential: The adventure comedy Hunt for the Wilder People (New Zealand) stars Sam Neill as “a cantankerous new guardian” to an ornery foster child; the two trigger a manhunt after they get themselves lost in the boonies. Keeping in the “incredible journey” vein, Long Way North (France/Denmark) is an animated adventure following a 15 year old Russian aristocrat on her quest to the North Pole to find her missing explorer grandfather (shades of Tin-Tin).

In case you don’t have enough drama in your life: Before the Streets (Quebec) is a redemption story of a young man who returns to the traditions of his Atikamekw community in the wake of a tragedy. Similar cultural themes are explored in Mekko (USA), a drama set in Tulsa about a Muscogee Indian trying to get his life back on track following his release from prison.

And if costume dramas are your thing, the droll Whit Stillman has adapted Jane Austen’s novella Love & Friendship for the screen, re-uniting his The Last Days of Disco co-stars Kate Beckinsdale and Chloe Sevigny (with big hats!).

I’m always a sucker for a good noir/crime/mystery thriller. Frank & Lola (USA) features Michael Shannon and Imogen Poots in a neo-noir revenge tale set in Las Vegas. A couple of “conspiracy a-go-go” political potboilers look interesting: If There’s a Hell Below (filmed in Eastern Washington) offers a Snowden-type of scenario involving “an ambitious journalist and a nervous whistle-blower” meeting up in the middle of nowhere to exchange information.

Our Kind of Traitor (USA) stars Ewan McGregor and Naomie Harris in Susanna White’s adaptation of a John Le Carre novel. And the “Czar of Noir”, Eddie Mueller will be in the house to introduce The Bitter Stems, the latest treasure to be restored in 35mm by his Film Noir Foundation. It’s a rarely seen 1956 Argentinian film about a fallen journalist struggling with conscience after committing the “perfect crime”.

There’s another special revival presentation at this year’s SIFF that will surely make action fans plotz…that would be the 4K restoration of King Hu’s highly stylized and hugely influential 1967 wuxia classic, Dragon Inn (without which we never would have had a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon).

More action: The Last King (Norway), set in a wintry 11^th-Century Scandinavia, is billed as “Game of Thrones on skis.” Arriving on the spurs of The Hateful Eight, we have In a Valley of Violence, with Ethan Hawke as a cowboy with a collie at loggerheads with a corrupt sheriff (John Travolta, who I’m guessing chews all the tumbleweed and cacti). It wouldn’t be a proper SIFF without at least one pulpy, Hong Kong-produced gangster flick…and The Mobfather looks to be it.

I always try to leave enough room on my plate to tuck into some sci-fi and fantasy. The Battledream Chronicle, which has the distinction of being the first feature-length animation film from the island of Martinique, is set in a futuristic world where humans have become virtual reality slaves (how is that different from now?).

In the live-action sci-fi drama Equals, Kirsten Stewart and Nicholas Hoult star as law-breaking lovers in an ultra-conformist “utopia” where heightened emotions have been genetically eradicated (looks like a cross between Logan’s Run and THX-1138). And steam punks finally get their own documentary…Vintage Tomorrows, which examines their unique sub-culture.

Obviously, I’ve barely scratched the surface of the catalog. I’ll be plowing through screeners and sharing reviews with you starting next Saturday. In the meantime, visit the SIFF website for the full film roster, and info about event screenings and special guests.

Documentary, Family Issues

We’re here, we’re soccer moms, get used to it: Gayby Baby ***

May 2, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 30, 2016)

NEWS FLASH: Just like the Russians, same-sex parents love their children, too.

And…their daily lives are virtually indistinguishable from any other typical family!

The parents feed, clothe, nurture their kids, have jobs…some even attend churches!

The kids go to school, play, laugh, cry, dream about their future…like normal kids!

I know, I know…I was just as shocked (shocked!) as you to learn all of these things.

Of course, I’m being facetious; although the sad fact remains that in the 21^st Century, there are still those who would be shocked to learn life for kids in same-sex households is in fact, not tantamount to a forced “indoctrination” into some ungodly type of “lifestyle”.

Australian filmmaker Maya Newell sets the record straight in Gayby Baby, her documentary portrait of four kids who are growing up in same-sex households. Actually, the director herself doesn’t set the record straight; she just aims her camera, and the kids tell the story (that is to say, tell us their stories). Out of the mouths of babes, and all that.

This was a smart move, because children don’t view the world as a political battleground. They haven’t lived on the planet long enough to formulate any specific agenda. Ask them a direct question, and you’ll usually get an unadulterated answer (unless it’s “Who ate the cookies?”). Naturally, they are all aware that having two moms (or two dads) is atypical from their schoolmates…but that’s not something that any of them seem to obsess over.

They are mostly concerned with…kid stuff. A 10 year-old is preoccupied with all things WWF (and earns a stern talking-to when a wrestling match with his younger sister gets a bit too rough). One dreams of being a pop star; we watch her prepare for her audition that could get her into a performing arts school (warning: this likely will not be the first, or the last time you’ll weather a preteen girl’s approximation of “Rolling in the Deep”). An 11 year-old boy who grew up a foster child struggles with literacy. Another 11 year-old boy is dealing with a crisis of faith, pondering surprisingly deep issues for one so young.

Newell’s observational, non-judgmental approach is reminiscent of Paul Almond’s 7 Up, a 1964 UK documentary profiling 7 year-olds from varied socioeconomic backgrounds, sharing their dreams and aspirations. 7 years later the same subjects appeared in 7 Plus Seven, with director Michael Apted taking over. Updates continued with 21 Up, 28 Up, 35 Up, 42 Up, 49 Up and 2013’s 56 Up (my review). Newell’s subjects here are equally unfiltered and forthcoming; they leave you wanting for a similar update down the road.

In fact, I became so absorbed in the universal everyday travails of these families that I forgot all about any political subtexts until a brief jostle at the very end of the film where Newell inserts footage of some of the kids participating in a pride parade with their parents. Even in this arguably pointed coda, there is no palpable sense of proselytizing. At the end of the day, the film is not about being gay, or straight. It’s about being human.

Historical drama, Male Bonding, Politics, Rock 'n' Roll

Shaker meets Quaker: Elvis & Nixon **1/2

April 25, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 23, 2016)

While the line dividing politics from show-biz has always been tenuous, the White House meeting between Elvis Aaron Presley and Richard Milhous Nixon in 1970 remains one of the more surreal moments in United States presidential history. From Smithsonian.com:

Around noon, Elvis arrived at the White House with Schilling and bodyguard Sonny West, who’d just arrived from Memphis. Arrayed in a purple velvet suit with a huge gold belt buckle and amber sunglasses, Elvis came bearing a gift—a Colt .45 pistol mounted in a display case that Elvis had plucked off the wall of his Los Angeles mansion.

Which the Secret Service confiscated before Krogh escorted Elvis—without his entourage—to meet Nixon.

“When he first walked into the Oval Office, he seemed a little awe-struck,” Krogh recalls, “but he quickly warmed to the situation.”

While White House photographer Ollie Atkins snapped photographs, the president and the King shook hands. Then Elvis showed off his police badges.

Nixon’s famous taping system had not yet been installed, so the conversation wasn’t recorded. But Krogh took notes: “Presley indicated that he thought the Beatles had been a real force for anti-American spirit. The President then indicated that those who use drugs are also those in the vanguard of anti-American protest.”

“I’m on your side,” Elvis told Nixon, adding that he’d been studying the drug culture and Communist brainwashing. Then he asked the president for a badge from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.

“Can we get him a badge?” Nixon asked Krogh.

Krogh said he could, and Nixon ordered it done.

Elvis was ecstatic. “In a surprising, spontaneous gesture,” Krogh wrote, Elvis “put his left arm around the President and hugged him.”

I’ll bet you thought E was going to say, “Thank ya, sir…thankyahveramuch.” Amirite?

He very well may have, but since there is no verbatim transcript, it’s up for conjecture. Which brings us to Liza Johnson’s featherweight yet passably entertaining Elvis & Nixon.

Co-writers Joey Sagal (who, interestingly, played an Elvis-like character for the premiere run of Steve Martin’s play Picasso at the Lapin Agile), Hanala Sagal, and Cary Elwes frame their screenplay with the most oft-recounted anecdotal lore surrounding the meet, shored up by a fair amount of creative license. Of course, this device (nowadays referred to as “fan fiction”) is nothing new. There have been a number of such explorations done on both figures; at least one featuring them together (the 1997 TV film Elvis Meets Nixon).

What makes this romp eminently watchable are its two leads: Michael Shannon (as Elvis) and Kevin Spacey (as Nixon). While this is far from a career highlight for either, they both have the chops to rise above the uneven script and carry the day. It does take a bit of acclimation to accept the hulking Shannon as Elvis; but he is subtle enough as a character actor to convincingly transform himself into The King, despite the fact that has no physical resemblance to his real-life counterpart (neither does Spacey, for that matter, but he utilizes his gift for voice mimicry to really capture Nixon to a tee).

The film is farcical in tone, but there are brief flashes of pathos. In a scene recalling De Niro’s “who am I?” dressing room soliloquy in Raging Bull, Shannon gazes into a mirror and laments about how disassociated he feels from “Elvis” the legend. It’s a genuinely touching moment. Spacey gets to flex his instrument in a monologue where he reflects to Elvis on their commonalities; how both men rose up from humble roots to achieve greatness (yes, I know…depends on how you define “greatness”).

It’s based on historical fact, but not don’t expect any new revelations. You may forget what you’ve just watched by the time you get back to your car, but political junkies will get some laughs. There are stretches where the film threatens to morph into a glorified SNL sketch, but at a short running time of 87 minutes, it’s over before you know it. If only I could say the same for the 2016 election…

On Music, Tribute

This is what it sounds like

April 21, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

RIP Prince 1958-2016

Do I believe in God, do I believe in me?

Some people want to die so they can be free

I said life is just a game, we’re all just the same

Do you want to play?

2016…the year the music died. Or at least it’s starting to feel that way. It’s all too much.

What can you say about Prince Rogers Nelson? If anyone could be labelled the “American David Bowie”, I’d wager this ever-evolving musical chameleon comes damn close. He was a true iconoclast. He was an amazingly gifted songwriter, vocalist and musician who could effortlessly segue from funk to rock, soul to psychedelia, R&B to jazz, hip-hop to techno…you name it. It’s as if he was created by a mad scientist who wanted to see what happens if you take DNA from Sly Stone, Paul McCartney, James Brown, Todd Rundgren, Jimi Hendrix, Stevie Wonder-and toss it all into a super collider.

His foray into cinema was more of a bumpy ride. Still, I have a soft spot for his semi-autobiographical 1984 vehicle, Purple Rain. While it is uneven from a narrative standpoint, the soundtrack is genius, a truly superlative song cycle in Prince’s canon. His 1986 “vanity project” Under the Cherry Moon, however, kind of put the kibosh on his acting career. It challenges Ishtar for title of Most Critically Drubbed Film of All Time. Still, its critics-to-audience score ratio on Rotten Tomatoes tells an interesting story. Only 25% of the critics “liked” it…but the audience score is 69%. As one critic wrote: “Strictly for Prince fans — but then again I am one.” Ditto. Obviously, he struck a chord.

(*sigh*) It’s getting crowded up there. Now George can thank him for this heartfelt solo:

Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince.

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

###

UPDATE: Wow. On CNN tonight, even Stevie Wonder was at a loss for words:

(from Newsmax)

Stevie Wonder Thursday described Prince as “a great musician, a great producer, great song writer” — and was nearly overcome with emotion when asked to perform something that reminded him of the music icon who died at age 57.

“I think I would probably break down if I do a song right now,” Wonder told Anderson Cooper on CNN in during an interview from his Los Angeles home.

Prince, who was pronounced dead after collapsing in his Minnesota home, once described Wonder, 65, as a role model and an inspiration. “He was incredible,” Wonder told Cooper. “I’m just glad I was able to say to him I love you the last time I saw him.”

The performers had appeared together on several occasions, including the BET Awards in 2006 and in Paris four years later.

“The times we did jam together were amazing,” Wonder said.

He described Prince as “someone who allowed himself to be himself and encouraged others to be themselves.

“He was very free — and to do what he did without fear was a wonderful thing because it’s always great. It is always great when we don’t allow fear to put our dreams to sleep — and he didn’t.”

Wonder cited 1984’s “Purple Rain” as his favorite — “the whole album was incredible” — adding that Prince “was able to mix the blessing of life of God and, yet, the marriage of sex and passion.

He had fun doing it,” Wonder said. “It is rare for me that I can feel with every single breath how he just passionately loved music.”

Behind the Music, Biopic, Jazz Musicians

Sketches of pain: Born to Be Blue ***

April 18, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 16, 2016)

My pebble on the beach is gettin’ washed away I’ve given everything that was mine to give And now I’ll turn around and find That there’s no time to live

-from “No Time to Live” by Traffic (Winwood/Capaldi)

The life of horn player/vocalist Chet Baker is a tragedian’s dream; a classic tale of a talented artist who peaked early, then promptly set about self-destructing. Sort of the Montgomery Clift of jazz, he was graced by the gods with an otherworldly physical beauty and a gift for expressing his art. By age 24 he had already gigged with Stan Getz, Charlie Parker and Gerry Mulligan. He began chasing the dragon in the 1950s, leading to jail time and a career slide. There are conflicting versions of the circumstances that led to a brutal beating in 1968, but the resultant injuries to his mouth impaired his playing abilities. While he never kicked the substance abuse, he eventually got his mojo back, and enjoyed a resurgence of his career in his final decade (he was only 58 when he died).

Baker has a mystique that has inspired filmmakers over the years. Jess Franco’s 1969 cult film Venus in Furs (my review) was seeded by a conversation the director once had with Baker (the protagonist is a haunted jazz trumpeter, who falls in love with a woman who may or may not exist). Bruce Weber’s beautifully photographed 1988 documentary Let’s Get Lost is a heartbreaking portrait of Baker toward the end of his life. Which brings us to writer-director Robert Budreau’s Born to Be Blue (limited release and pay-per-view).

Budreau’s film is a highly stylized “re-imagining” of the jazzman’s slow, painful professional comeback that followed in the wake of the beating that virtually destroyed his embouchure. In a super-meta opening scene, Chet (Ethan Hawke) is on a movie set, working out a scene for a biopic about himself, with his co-star Jane (Carmen Ejogo). An off camera romance ensues, with Jane pulling triple duty as lover, muse and drug counselor; trying to keep him off the junk as he struggles against the odds to regain his playing chops with a fractured jaw. Along the way, the couple takes a road trip to Chet’s boyhood home in Oklahoma, where he introduces Jane to his parents (Janet Laine-Green and Stephen McHattie) and feebly attempts to patch things up with his estranged father.

Jane isn’t the only person in Chet’s orbit who find themselves fulfilling a caretaker’s role; his long-time manager (Callum Keith Rennie), musical mentor Dizzy Gillespie (Kevin Hanchard), and his parole officer (Tony Nappo), continue to prop him up, against their better judgement (you know what they say: “Never trust a junkie.”). How much of this aspect of Baker’s life is being “re-imagined” here is up for debate; but it’s interesting to observe that in Weber’s 1988 documentary, even Baker himself admits (in so many words) that he knew he was a natural-born charmer, and he was never afraid to exploit it.

While the “junkie/alcoholic (musician, artist, writer, or poet) with God-given talent and a maddening gift for self-destruction” narrative is a cliché, Budreau’s film is bolstered by a very strong performance from Hawke; it’s an immersive portrayal that ranks among his best. Supporting performances are excellent as well. Overall, the film is moody, highly atmospheric, and evocative of the time period, with striking cinematography (by Steve Cosens). The dearth of original Baker music is glaring (copyright issues?), but Kevin Turcotte’s faux-Chet trumpet provides a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hawke does his own singing; very convincingly capturing Chet Baker’s essence (if not his exact tonality).

On Music

The riff rustlers

April 13, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

Forget O.J. Simpson. This will surely be the new Trial of the Century:

(from NPR)

A jury trial is now set for a lawsuit that says members of Led Zeppelin plagiarized a key element of the best-selling song “Stairway to Heaven.” The estate of Randy Wolfe, the late guitarist of the band Spirit, initially filed the federal lawsuit two years ago.

On Friday, U.S District Judge R. Gary Klausner ruled that there’s enough evidence to move ahead with a trial to decide whether Led Zeppelin and guitarist Jimmy Page unfairly appropriated the guitar line from the Spirit song “Taurus,” which Wolfe — performing as Randy California — wrote years before “Stairway to Heaven” was released in 1971.

The lawsuit was filed with a Philadelphia court back in 2014, the same year Led Zeppelin released a newly remastered version of “Stairway to Heaven.” A year later, the venue was changed to California, to the same court that recently ruled in favor of the estate of Marvin Gaye in its copyright infringement lawsuit over the 2013 hit “Blurred Lines,” by Pharrell Williams and Robin Thicke.

Among the claims in the lawsuit against Led Zeppelin: that the band perpetrated a “falsification of Rock n’ Roll History.” In his order, Klausner finds that claim “inventive—yet legally baseless,” saying that he diligently sought out anything that might support the theory.

Klausner also removed Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones from the suit, along with music publishers Super Hype and Warmer Music. That leaves Robert Plant and Jimmy Page as the leading defendants in the case.

Pagey and Percy, rockin’ the docket? Talk about a witch hunt…

Live from Jimmy’s house

That’s the story of rock ‘n’ roll, man…stealing riffs! After all, there’s only 7 major chords. Look at how many classic songs Buddy Holly was able to write using just three of them (A, E, & D). And even Buddy did a little creative “borrowing”, way back in the 1950s:

…sounds awfully close to an earlier Bo Diddley song:

…which was hijacked again over 30 years later, by George Michael:

Another classic example…starting with Neil Diamond in 1967:

…which obviously influenced:

…and re-emerged later as:

Perhaps this is all best summed up by one of my favorite 70s bands:

So endeth the lesson.

Drama

The empress has no pitch: Marguerite ***

April 11, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 9, 2016)

It’s been said that many who fancy themselves singers can’t “hear” their own true voice (ever been to a Karaoke bar?). Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder; but in the ears, not so much. Off key is off key, and unfortunately for wealthy arts patron Marguerite Dumont (Catherine Frot) this is Paris in the 20s, and Auto-Tune is many decades hence.

Her heart is in the right place, though. In fact music is her driving passion, and in the opening of writer-director Xavier Giannoli’s eponymous drama, we witness a gathering of aristocrats (and a few party-crashers) that has converged on Marguerite’s sprawling estate for a charity fundraiser. Marguerite has invited a number of accomplished musicians to perform. The biggest buzz surrounds the headliner-Marguerite herself, who has prepared one of her favorite Soprano pieces to regale her guests with. However, she’s holding off until her husband Georges (Andre Marcon) arrives; it seems he has car issues.

It turns out that Georges has frequent trouble with the car; weirdly enough this occurs every time Marguerite gives a recital at their home (although the significance of this “coincidence” has never occurred to the unflappably enthusiastic Marguerite). As the guests are getting impatient, the show must go on…and so Marguerite takes center stage.

When Marguerite begins to sing, erm, how can I put this politely…well, let’s just say she is no Edith Piaf. OK, full disclosure: Her caterwauling could decalcify your spinal column at 100 paces. She’s godawful. But…she’s so enthusiastically godawful that she is at once oddly endearing. We assume this, because nobody has ever told her how utterly horrifying her singing is; neither her guests (who in fact give her a standing O) nor her longtime butler (Denis Mpunga), nor husband (aside from those “problems” with the car).

Two of the “party-crashers” I referred to earlier are an ambitious young journalist and his pal, an avant-garde provocateur, who are intrigued by the inexplicably sycophantic cocoon of “admirers” that enables Marguerite to remain cheerfully oblivious to her atonal warbling. Do they do this out of kindness? Or are they being ironic? Perhaps there’s something the young men are “missing”? The pair decides to conduct a sort of social experiment. If they can coax Marguerite out of her hermetic bubble, into a real public performance, she might prove to be a true phenomenon. Stranger things have happened.

What ensues is a sometimes uneasy cross between The Producers and The Dinner Game. The saving grace is Frot’s brave and moving performance; she’s sweet, funny and heartbreaking all at once. Michel Fau is another standout as a fading opera singer who is reluctantly recruited into playing Henry Higgins to Marguerite’s Eliza Doolittle (his characterization also recalls the exasperated singing coach who is hired to tutor Orson Welles’ tone-deaf wife in Citizen Kane). While there are many amusing moments, this is not a lighthearted romp; the odious, uniquely human capacity to cruelly exploit others for personal gain is on full display. Then again, you know what they say: “That’s show biz!”

On Politics

Free to be you and me…but not them

March 28, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

Thank the Lord Vishnu this isn’t your father’s Georgia. Or is it?

(from The Guardian)

Administrators at an elementary school in Georgia are making changes to yoga practices for students, after parents complained such practices encouraged non-Christian beliefs.

Bullard elementary, in Cobb County, is one of a number of schools across the US and in Georgia to offer yoga and other mindfulness practices rooted in Hinduism and Buddhism as stress management methods for students.

Some parents at Bullard, however, felt the introduction of yoga was akin to pushing Hinduism on their children, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported.

“No prayer in schools. Some don’t even say the pledge [of allegiance], yet they’re pushing ideology on our students,” one mother, Susan Jaramillo, told 11Alive, an NBC affiliate. “Some of those things are religious practices that we don’t want our children doing in our schools.”

Really, Georgia? Seriously? Wait…it gets even more absurd:

Bullard is now making changes to how students go about the practice. When they go through the yoga moves, they will not say “namaste” or put their hands by their hearts, because the term and gesture are derived from Hindu custom.

Students will also no longer be allowed to color mandalas, spiritual symbols in Hinduism and Buddhism.

Oy. OK. First off, let’s examine the etymology of the word namaste:

(from the Urban Dictionary)

…an ancient Sanskrit greeting still in everyday use in India and especially on the trail in the Nepal Himalaya. Translated roughly, it means “I bow to the God within you”, or “The Spirit within me salutes the Spirit in you” – a knowing that we are all made from the same One Divine Consciousness.

That seems fairly benign. Like “hello”, or “good morning”. No…wait:

(from All Experts)

There is agreement among etymologists that Goodbye, Good morning, Good afternoon, etc. all derive from the word ‘God’; (Goodbye specifically from ‘God be with you’.) and times of the day inserted accordingly; All these greeting and parting expressions are found in earliest literature; recorded as early as 1200 in Layamon’s ‘Chronicle of Britain).

OK, that tears it. I demand that homeroom teachers immediately stop greeting their students with “good morning, class”. Because this is obviously pushing some kind of Christian agenda. I’m offended.

Wasn’t that a silly stretch on my part? I agree. Namaste. Peace out.

UPDATE: Oh, Georgia…just when I thought you were incorrigible:

(from the Washington Post)

Georgia Gov. Nathan Deal (R) on Monday vetoed a controversial religious liberties bill that had provoked outrage from Hollywood, sports leagues and corporations for what critics said was its discrimination against gay and transgender people.

“I do not think we have to discriminate against anyone to protect the faith-based community in Georgia, which I and my family have been a part of for generations,” Deal said at a news conference announcing his decision.

Deal’s decision comes two weeks after the state legislature passed a bill aimed at shoring up the rights of religious organizations to refuse services that clash with their faith, particularly with regard to same-sex marriage. Deal, who had already expressed discomfort with the measure, came under enormous pressure to veto the bill after the National Football League suggested it might pass over Atlanta for future Super Bowls, and leading Hollywood figures threatened to pull production from the state.

The decision drew immediate praise from gay rights groups.

[…]

Social conservatives, however, accused Deal of flinching in the face of liberal opposition. Among those who immediately expressed disappointment via Twitter was Russell Moore, president of the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission at the Southern Baptist Convention.

GA Gov. @NathanDeal veto of religious liberty protection is shameful.

— Russell Moore (@drmoore) March 28, 2016

Psst! Hey, Russell? You need to chillax. Have you considered yoga?

On Pop Culture

Video pirates beware!

March 24, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

Just because Blockbuster and Hollywood Video are kaput, don’t think that you are off the hook. You scofflaws know who you are:

A North Carolina man faces a court date after a bizarre arrest for not returning a 15-year-old VHS rental, but he may receive a little help from the movie’s star.

James Meyers said he was pulled over on Tuesday morning for a broken taillight, but later learned that there was a warrant out for his arrest because he had not returned a copy of “Freddy Got Fingered” he rented in late 2001.

The 37-year-old single dad told the Daily News that cops allowed him to continue driving his daughter to school, but was later handcuffed and taken into custody when he met up with police that afternoon.

Luckily for him, this lawless ne’er-do-well has a guardian angel:

[Tom] Green, who is currently on a stand-up comedy tour in Australia, told the Daily News that he is happy to support fans of his film, which was the subject of terrible reviews and currently has an 11% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.

The 44-year-old comedian, who said that Rotten Tomatoes is “in the business of hating on art,” said that he could put in a good word with the court or even help out financially as long as the outcome doesn’t involve an outrageous sum.

Goddam movie critics. Always hating on art. Insufferable snobs.

Apparently, this has happened before, back in 2014:

Kayla Finley, 27, had visited a police station to report a crime, only to find a warrant for her arrest had been issued in 2005, when she was 18.

Ms Finley had rented a VHS copy of romantic comedy Monster In Law, starring Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda.

According to local television station Fox Carolina, Ms Finley was “shocked and disgusted” at the arrest.

Police said several warning letters about the overdue video were sent to Ms Finley, but she had since changed address.

[…]

Monster In Law, released in 2005 and directed by Robert Luketic, was mostly panned by critics.

So there are 3 lessons we have learned today:

If the technology is obsolete, it’s probably overdue.
Critics are always hating on art.
Freddy Got Fingered and Monster In Law are obviously art.

Class dismissed.

Art world, Behind the Music, Documentary, Rock 'n' Roll

MoMA and dada: The Theory of Obscurity ***

March 14, 2016 Dennis Hartley

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 12, 2016)

I once unintentionally attended a Residents gig, at a club in San Francisco, circa 1980. Technically, they weren’t really there. They were “appearing” via (mesmerizingly weird) videos. The videos were being looped, concurrently on several monitors, in a small room isolated from the main stage. This presentation functioned as a sort of passive “supporting band” for the act I was there to see, Snakefinger.

Then again, as defined in a documentary called The Theory of Obscurity: a film about The Residents (and by the artists themselves) they’re not a “band”…so much as they are an ongoing art installation. So in that context, I’ll state unequivocally that I saw The Residents (you had to be there, man!).

“The Residents Ultimate Box Set” (Museum of Modern Art)

Director Don Hardy Jr. has taken on the unenviable task of profiling a band who have not only refused to reveal their faces in any billed public appearances over a 40-year career, but continue to this day to willfully obfuscate their backstory (and the fact that publicity is handled through their self-managed “Cryptic Corporation” puts the kibosh on any hopes of discovery).

As I inferred earlier, can you even call them a “band” with a straight face? Or are they more of an “art collective”? Or are they just elaborate pranksters? One thing that does become clear as you watch the film, is they are all of the above, and more.

Attempting to describe their music almost begs its own thesis-length dissertation; it’s best understood by simply sampling it yourself. Just don’t expect anything conventional. Or consistent; they are experimental in every sense of the word.

Considering that they have over sixty albums to their credit, Hardy obviously can’t annotate their full discography in a 90-minute film, but he does spotlight some of their more seminal efforts, like The Third Reich’n’Roll (best album title ever) and the ironically entitled Commercial Album (40 delightfully dada 1-minute songs, which the band actually rotated as a 60 second spot flight on San Francisco Top 40 station KFRC in 1980…talk about a meta ad campaign!).

On a purely conceptual level (as pointed out in the film) The Residents could be seen as the antithesis of the Kardashians; whereas the latter are the poster children for those who are “famous for being famous”, the former are “famous” for shunning (and mocking) the Cult of Celebrity at every turn. Yet (paradoxically) they are lauded as innovative multimedia artists (Hardy shows how serendipity led these “failed filmmakers” into becoming a band, who then by necessity stumbled into becoming music video pioneers).

The Residents have also been more musically influential than one may assume; members of Devo, Primus, Ween and the Talking Heads are on hand to testify as such. I was a little surprised that Daft Punk isn’t mentioned, especially since they literally wear their influences on their sleeves (well, in this case, their heads). While The Residents are not for all tastes, Hardy has fashioned an ingratiating, maybe even definitive, portrait of them.