Patrick Wang's feature debut In the Family (2011) [official site] recalls the sage counsel of the I Ching hexagram "Difficulty at the Beginning": Perseverance furthers. Since championing the film last November, In the Family has been recognized for its singular achievement in American independent filmmaking by critics across the board, including nominations for the Indie Spirit and Muriel Awards and—as indicated by the film's upcoming screening schedule—has achieved theatrical distribution across the states, opening in late April at San Francisco's Metreon Theater no less. Dear to my heart, however, is that my favorite Boise film venue The Flicks has programmed In the Family for Idaho during June's Pride Week. Not only am I honored to introduce and moderate the Q&A sessions for the film's San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) Sundance Kabuki screenings on March 9 and March 13, 5:15PM and 5:30PM, respectively; but, I'll have the added opportunity to treat Patrick to my favorite Boisean eateries during Idaho's Pride festivities. The San Francisco / Boise link strengthens film by film. On the occasion of In the Family's well-deserved visibility and, particularly, its presence at the 30th edition of SFIAAFF I thought now would be a good time to take another look at my earlier conversation with him.
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After having his directorial debut In the Family (2011) officially rejected from over 20 film festivals, actor-writer-director Patrick Wang decided to take on one more hat: self-distribution. Refusing to let festival programmers decide the fate of his penetrating and wholly original first feature, Wang is trusting that audiences and good old-fashioned word-of-mouth will give the film the legs it needs to traffic into the world. Not only is his determination admirable, but so is his film, which clocks in at year's end as one of the most mature and nuanced narratives this reviewer has seen in some time. Eschewing formula and stereotype, and comfortable with taking narrative and formal risks, Wang has delivered a heartfelt story woven around child custody, two Dads, parental loss, and the human side of the Law. The project is galvanized by strong performances from a competent ensemble and music by the legendary Chip Taylor, who has written such diverse hits as "Wild Thing" (The Troggs) and "Angel of the Morning" (Merilee Rush). In the Family is the kind of film that creatively circumvents industrial machinations to restore faith in independent filmmaking.
Patrick Wang graduated from MIT with a degree in Economics and studied energy policy, game theory, and income inequality at the Federal Reserve Bank, the Harvard School for Public Health and other organizations. As a theater director, he has specialized in classical verse drama and new works (Surviving the Nian, Jonathan Larson Award). He has taught and directed productions at the Stella Adler Studio and the Neighborhood Playhouse. As an actor, he has appeared in Jay Weisman's Surveillances (Panavision Prize), Saturday Night Live and One Life to Live. His decision to both act in and direct In the Family was—as he puts it—a "defensive" move: "I couldn't stand the things people were saying about the script. They wanted all the good stuff out and they wanted to bring in all the clichés I had managed to avoid. I decided to direct just to protect the movie."
My thanks to Patrick for his willingness to conduct an email interview regarding In the Family.
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Michael Guillén: In the Family is poised to screen at the Quad Cinema in Greenwich Village this coming Friday, how was that stroke of self-distribution arranged? What is your distribution strategy? How have you publicized the event? And what kind of outreach have you effected?
Patrick Wang: Yes, we are self-distributing the movie. If we do well with critics and audiences, we can hold over for additional weeks and book additional cities. The strategy is simple: focus on one city—home for our cast and crew—and let audiences see the movie. Distributors are afraid of not being able to predict how audiences will respond to this movie. That fear will not go away until we show them just how much audiences are capable of. The Quad is an excellent partner. They have a publicist who is helping us with notices and placing a few ads. We've reached out to groups who may have interest in the civil rights and racial issues you find in the movie. But in the end this is a very personal, human movie, and I think its success will come through very personal, human means of recommendation. Friends talking to cousins talking to fathers. I don't understand much about buzz, but I know conversation. And from our first screenings in Hawaii and San Diego, I absolutely love the intimate, meaningful conversations that emerge after people see this movie.
Guillén: You mentioned in our first conversation that In the Family has been officially rejected by nearly 20 film festivals. Surely this is not a comment about the value of the film's narrative content as much as it is about the film's running time and the difficulty programmers experience scheduling films into limited time blocks and venues, which begs the obvious question: why a first film that's nearly three hours in length? Did you consider this crucial to the nuanced maturation of your characterizations and themes? Do you have any regrets about that now? And is this why you are circumventing the festival circuit to have a theatrical run? Do you have concerns that a theatrical run will be one more argument against inclusion in festivals?
Wang: I thought I was making a two-hour film. As we were shooting, it became obvious that the timing and the rhythm of certain scenes were coming out differently than I imagined. Instead of just imposing the shape I was expecting on the scene, I tried to figure out why this was happening. I watched and watched the footage, and then I realized that these wonderfully thoughtful actors were giving me a very honest pacing. Words, expressions, actions all have to be bridged with an individual's thoughts, and they were being honest to that thought progression, which isn't always linear and full of momentum. But it was right. They got it right, and it was a privilege to capture it on film. It takes longer, but it is what makes the scenes and characters captivating. With this movie, I set out to make something meaningful and to do it honestly. Only those goals. I have done that, and so I have no regrets. As far as festivals go, for the most part, I cannot understand what they choose to include, and I cannot understand what they choose to exclude; but, I can understand my film opening November 4. So I'm going to go with that.
Guillén: Now that you have finished your first film, what can you say to first-time filmmakers to embrace or avoid?
Wang: I would say: be curious; do not be afraid of what you do not know; find collaborators who understand that ignorance can be a creative asset; let your confidence come from the enormous amounts of work and thought you've expended and not from your title. And love your actors.
Guillén: Sticky distribution issues aside, let's approach the title of your film. In the Family suggests some secret that is being contained; i.e., keeping something within the family. What do you think that secret is? How did you arrive at this title?
Wang: I like how three little words can be so evocative and yet be a little unclear and incomplete. I like how it is sort of a mishmash of phrases used to refer to the gay community: "family," "in the life." It's also a part of larger phrases like "keeping it in the family," "running in the family"; these feel a little exclusive and protective. So I liked this mix of inclusive, exclusive feelings I get from the title. I don't remember how I thought of it, I just know what I liked about it and why I kept it. And I get the sense of a secret too. I don't know what it is, but I think the instinct to keep it and exclude others from it is interesting.
Guillén: I'm intrigued when actors take the director's chair. That in itself is enough of a challenge but to then direct oneself as well seems daunting. How did you negotiate these double duties?
Wang: The most important tool I had in negotiating these double duties was time. I had almost nine months of pre-production. Before rehearsing with other actors, I essentially rehearsed with myself for five months. My style as a director and an actor is that 90% of my work is building up a foundation and instincts prior to photography, and only the last 10% of the work—which can be the most explosive and thrilling—is done during photography. So it's not as daunting as it may seem. And there are advantages too. In a film like this, if I were not acting, most of my energy and time on set would be spent communicating with the lead actor. So being both in one person saves a lot of time and energy. Also, you get this wonderful tool as a director / actor, which is you can direct the other actors from within the scene. You stay within your character, but if you need something different, if you want to change the rhythm, you can influence the scene right away. You don't need to wait until the next take.
Guillén: Describe your working relationship with your DP Frank Barrera [official website]?
Wang: I had never worked with Frank before, but we also had the benefit of five months of pre-production. We could take our time. We spent a month going through the script without talking any visuals. We talked about what we felt in scenes, the characters, what was happening and why. Slowly we started talking visuals, and slowly a design philosophy started to emerge. I didn't know what to call it, because it was new to both of us, but we had time to make it up and develop it and develop instincts for it. So by the time we were on set, we could make consistent decisions quickly and with confidence. We understood each other very well, our shorthand was really short, and we could be absolutely honest with each other when assessing the challenges in front of us. Our personalities fit. And he was ready to run with me in whatever unusual direction I was headed. Who cares that he had all the experience? It was just an ideal collaboration.
Guillén: As writer, director and actor, one could argue you're a one-man band; however, you have assembled an outstanding ensemble of actors and woven your performance fairly into theirs. How did you go about casting? Did you have certain actors in mind when you wrote your script? How did you level the playing field between performances, all of which have come off so natural and at commensurate intensity?
Wang: I think this cast is astounding. I didn't write with anyone in mind. I only knew two members of the cast beforehand: Brian Murray, who did a play with a friend of mine, and Park Overall—I had never met her, but I knew her work. Everyone else was introduced to me by our wonderful casting team: Cindi Rush and Michele Weiss. They took the time to understand my tastes and knew that I was not concerned about the superficial elements of character, and so they brought in a terrific range of actors for each role. We were also fortunate that some agents and managers really championed the project.
Independent films seem to be less interested these days in scripted naturalism, but I think that's how you see how great the great actors are. Our cast had different backgrounds but the same set of values when it came to acting. I tried to provide ideas and freedom, they provided care and thought. We rehearsed. And with such a sensitive bunch, we found ourselves all in the same movie in no time.
Guillén: Was the naturalism in performance achieved through improvisation? Especially with your young actor Sebastian Banes (who plays Chip), it seemed the actors worked off him, around him. How did you work with such a young actor? How scripted were these scenes?
Wang: In the whole movie, there's probably fewer than a dozen improvised lines total, most of them inconsequential. The script was set before casting, and we shot a white script. Sebastian does have a few improvised lines, but they are usually only one or two lines at the end of a couple of scenes. I would keep going, and he would keep going, and I ended up loving it, so I kept it. But everything else, it's the result of a really sharp kid who knows his lines and knows how to act with the best of them. He's precocious and sensitive and has real emotional imagination. The playfulness and surprise of improv was always there, but the lines were set.
Guillén: One of the things I most appreciated in your film was the avoidance of melodramatic sentiment to effect the narrative. I noted that your character Joey never cries. Can you speak to the emotional core off which you formed Joey's character?
Wang: One of the challenges I really enjoyed with this movie was to be emotional without being sentimental. One tool for avoiding melodrama is to simply avoid the melo- part of it. No score. The other part of it is to withhold. Instead of showing the emotion directly, show it indirectly, like reflected through another character. And what's interesting is that Joey does cry at one point in the movie, but it's in a wide shot and you have to really look to see it.
As far as playing Joey, he is an earnest character and I love earnest characters. Pericles is one of my favorite characters in theater. Thomas Stockmann. They are rare, but they are a real privilege to get to play. I also thought about my father as I played Joey. What Joey goes through when navigating the legal system is a little of what I imagine it must have been like for my father as an immigrant. Joey is cut off from his family—he's in completely unfamiliar, foreign territory—but like an immigrant, he gets by on a mixture of hard work, luck, and the generosity of strangers.
Guillén: You seem to have a tangible sense of working against stereotype. Case in point would be an Asian American speaking in a Southern accent. Not having the opportunity to speak with you directly, I'm not sure if you actually have a Southern accent or if this is yet more proof of your acting chops? What was the importance of setting this story in the South rather than, let's say, California, which is perhaps the location one might expect?
Wang: I don't have a Southern accent, but I grew up in Texas. I have great affection for the South. I think there are certain groups that don't get very sophisticated or diverse screen treatment: gays, Southerners, Asian Americans, lawyers, wealthy people. So I wanted to contribute to that range and depth. Also, I didn't want the audience to too easily identify with the characters and situations at the beginning of the movie. I wanted some element to be foreign and maybe uncomfortable.
Guillén: Another stereotype you've effectively resisted is that of the oversexualized gay male. You've created such grounded characters who have distinct priorities above and beyond sexual concerns. Where did the inspiration come for these authentic personalities? And how do you feel audiences will negotiate that authenticity, which proves difficult? It's easier, of course, to satisfy an appetite for the superficial and the stereotypical than it is to accept authentic characters with conflicted and confused feelings.
Wang: I had this mental picture of this family that I did not recognize or understand. And so I just started wondering about them, and—bit by bit—aspects of their personality and their history started to stick. As I focused on the episodes in their life that were the most interesting to me, they happened not to involve sex. But I know what you mean, certain people will feel confused or cheated seeing a movie in 2011 with two gay male leads and no sexually driven scenes. Still, I think there are others who are regular watchers of the standard fare who will be relieved to see something different and who will be delighted to see whole people and a genuine romance unfold on screen. I am.
Guillén: How do you conceive your relationship with your imagined audience?
Wang: The audience I make a movie for I imagine to be no greater, no less than me.
Guillén: How pivotal was the presence of the boy in determining the unforeseen attraction between Joey and Cody? The fact that their attraction to each other was as much a surprise to the two of them as to anyone else harkens to an authenticity rarely explored with such nuance.
Wang: You ask a very interesting question in how pivotal Chip was in determining the attraction between Joey and Cody. I'm not sure I know the whole answer; but, I think part of the answer is that the boy brings out a tenderness in each of the men, and witnessing that tenderness adds to the attraction between Cody and Joey.
Guillén: Speak to me about some of your actors. Not only is Trevor St. John attractive for being so handsome, but his volatility, his vulnerability, registered like flint sparks. The anger smoldering beneath his grief made him presumptuous and a bit arrogant but I liked that he wasn't a pure angel. Cody's darkness and the fact that he was somewhat unfair to Joey in the beginning made him more human, and succeeded in generating compassion towards him for coming to terms with his grief and, subsequently, his tragic and untimely demise.
Wang: Trevor is just a stunning actor. He understands the anything-goes aspect of personality, that you can find any combination of things in a single person. And he has the range and dexterity to give you many of these elements at once. In addition, he works so hard, and he cares about his work. It's a privilege to watch him do this thing. Sometimes he's a moron and I have to set him straight, but mostly he's brilliant.
Guillén: Kelly McAndrew as Cody's sister Eileen and Peter Hermann as Cody's brother-in-law Dave likewise struck me as amazingly genuine characters, right down to their conflicted confusion and their struggle to compromise.
Wang: Kelly was just a pro. She has more tools than any actor has a right to have and she defended her character and portrayed Eileen's struggles so fairly. It makes the movie. Peter was such a surprise in auditions. His performance was not how I imagined the character looking and sounding, but—in his interpretation of Dave—Peter deepened the character with more facets to Dave's personality than I had given him credit for. I love actors that surprise me.
Guillén: Brian Murray as retired attorney Paul Hawks was outstanding for being so central to the film's narrative traction going where it had to go. His compassion was inspiring, salient and warmly avuncular.
Wang: Brian Murray is a marvelous actor and an even greater human being. We were freezing when we shot that library scene, but there was a different kind of warmth in that room that I will never forget.
Guillén: As accomplished as these actors are, I am admittedly unfamiliar with most of them. Where have they come from? In the Family is without question an actors' showcase. How important was it for you, as an actor yourself, to achieve this? As an actor, what's it like directing other actors?
Wang: These actors come from everywhere: theater, TV, soaps, left field. Wonderful actors are everything to me. And each actor is different. They need different things to feel comfortable, to bring out their most creative work. Help them. Study them and help them, that's how I view my job as director.
Guillén: What are your hopes for this film? What is it you hope its narrative themes will advance?
Wang: It's easier to answer this question now that the film has screened. The audiences have reminded me why I made the film. I want people to feel something beyond the catalog of the five basic movie emotions. I want us to think about loss, family, unintentional hurt, the distance between people, the things we don't talk about, how we misjudge people. This movie is an exercise in sympathies, and I hope it can make us a little more attuned to the hurt and opportunities in our lives.
Guillén: Finally, tell me a bit about your own performance background and what led you to this creative juncture where you secured such control over a project?
Wang: I came to performance when I was about 20. Shortly after, I started a theater company in Boston where I learned how to direct and design. Theater was my great teacher and I have some very modest credits in television and film. I came to this project very much as a film outsider but—I like to think—pretty well versed in its fundamental elements: literature, performance, and photography.
I thought I was stepping away from the arts a few years ago, but this project brought me back. My father was dying and it was a wake-up call that you can't wait around to start living. You never know how much time you have. I was the single investor in this film. My life savings went into the movie, and I'm prepared to make zero income. When I tell people that, they think I mean breaking even, but no, I am prepared to make zero income. I think that's the mentality you have to have going into a project like this, otherwise you start to protect whatever little piece of the pie you've imagined for yourself and fear drives your decisions. I don't know if I'll ever make another movie but I'm going to make this one and I'm going to make it right, with no regrets. Wherever I am in life, I want it to be something I can point to and say, I did that. I did it honestly with people I love and I am so proud.
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Of related interest: Scott Eriksson's interview with Wang for Asians On Film and Richard Kuipers' rave review for Variety.
The San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) turns 30 this year, thereby joining Frameline, Mill Valley and SF Jewish in that pantheon of Bay Area film festivals whose essentiality has earned them a fourth decade. My own earliest SFIAAFF recollection is of watching A Scene at the Sea—my first Takeshi Kitano movie—at the Kabuki Theater some 20 years ago. Highlights of 2012's anniversary line-up include an in-person tribute to Joan Chen, a pair of world premieres from the talents behind Colma: The Musical, and Patrick Wang's In the Family, one of the most acclaimed American indies from last year.
Of all this year's programs, however, I'm most anticipating Scenes from a Memoir with Cherylene Lee. This celebrated playwright has been my neighbor for 10 years. What I didn't know until just recently is that she's also that Cherylene Lee, the Chinese-American child star who danced with Gene Kelly, headlined Vegas with her older sister and had numerous roles in movies (Flower Drum Song, Donovan's Reef) and TV (Bachelor Father, Ben Casey, McHale's Navy, My Three Sons, Dennis the Menace, M*A*S*H.) On Sunday, March 11 at Berkeley's Pacific Film Archive, Lee will stage a reading from her upcoming memoir, Just Like Really, augmented with photos and film clips, followed by a conversation between Lee, her sister Virginia and film historian Stephen Gong. The accompanying photo is of Cherylene Lee and actress Ruth Roman, from a 1967 episode of The F.B.I.
Back in 2008, SFIAAFF programmed Brilliante Mendoza's Slingshot and Foster Child (my reviews are here). These two films almost single-handedly reignited my interest in Filipino cinema, which had been dormant since the days of melodrama maestro Lino Brocka (himself the subject of a posthumous 2010 SFIAAFF retrospective). Ensuing exposure to directors like Raya Martin, Adolfo Alix Jr. and Lav Diaz furthered my enthusiasm for this national cinema. I was therefore very pleased to open up this year's festival catalogue and discover five new Filipino features in the line-up. I've had the chance to preview all but the Closing Night film, Prison Dancer, an "interactive web musical" which riffs on the viral 2009 YouTube phenomenon, Dancing Inmates of Cebu.
My favorite of the four films I did watch is Marlon N. Rivera's The Woman in the Septic Tank, a smart n' snarky comedy in which a young filmmaker cynically sets out to make a "typical" Filipino art movie, i.e., one specifically targeted to win international festival prizes. His project, With Nothing, tells the grim story of a mother forced to sell her son to an old white pedophile. Chris Martinez' well-constructed, rapid-fire screenplay follows the production team as they gleefully scout picturesque slum locations, take a meeting with their lead actress (real Filipina star Eugene Domingo, in manic mode) and visualize their film as a musical. It's frequently laugh out loud funny, especially if you're familiar with the films being sent up, like Mendoza's Foster Child and the works of Adolfo Alix Jr. I'm a big fan of the latter director's film Adela (my review is here), which screened at SFIAAFF three years ago—his new film Fable of the Fish, perhaps not so much. Here Cherry Pie Picache (who starred in Foster Child and cameos in Septic Tank) plays a poor dumpsite denizen who gives birth to a fish, but is determined to raise it like a child. This inspires absurdist, dead-end scenarios like Mom taking fishy on pram strolls through an aquarium and Mom attempting to baptize her offspring in the Catholic Church. If this fable had a moral, or even a discernible point to make, it was too subtle to register with me.
As its title suggests, there are real infants aplenty in Eduardo W. Roy Jr.'s Baby Factory, a low-key docu-drama that addresses the acute overpopulation problem of the Philippines. Shot in a beat-up, government-run "labor" hospital that in real life facilitates the birth of almost 100 babies per day, Baby Factory exposes us to the institution's inner-workings and daily dramas of patients and staff. Our fictionalized guide is a harried head nurse (actress Diana Zubiri) with her own issues—she's pregnant by a married man and is being pressured by her greedy family to work abroad. All this transpires over the course of one hectic Christmas Eve, with the action never leaving the crowded confines of the holiday-decorated hospital.
For a jaw-dropping look at another Filipino institution, I highly recommend Give Up Tomorrow. Michael Collins' documentary covers a 13-year legal case in which a young man is sentenced to death for the rape and murder of two sisters, despite photos and 42 witnesses putting him in another city on the day of the crime. Toss in paid prosecution witnesses, a lack of corpses or other hard evidence, a sleeping judge who later commits suicide, corruption leading up to the President's office and a mother channeling her dead daughters' spirits in the courtroom, and you've got just the iceberg's tip of this exasperating steampot of judicial miscarriage. Collins, who is related to the accused and therefore had special access, expertly navigates the case's twists and turns, delivering a cogent and absorbing piece of non-fiction filmmaking. Give Up Tomorrow won the audience award at last year's Tribeca Film Festival and has been deemed a "must see" by no less than Yoko Ono.
It's impossible to think back on last year's SFIAAFF without remembering the devastating news of Japan's earthquake and tsunami, which arrived on Day Two of the festival. A highlight of this year's line-up is The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom, a haunting new documentary from Lucy Walker (Waste Land) which was nominated for, but alas did not win, an Oscar® for Best Documentary Short. Filmed one month after the disaster and featuring an elegiac music score by Moby, Walker's film profiles survivors who find strength and hope in the blossoms' on-time spring arrival. The only other doc I previewed is No Look Pass, an interesting enough gaze at one young woman's transition from college to professional sports. A caveat to non-sports enthusiasts—the film is as much about basketball itself as it is the story of one particular Burmese-American lesbian athlete struggling with family and identity issues. Docs I'm hoping to catch during the festival include The Jake Shimabukuro Documentary (a portrait of the virtuoso ukulele player, featuring a live concert at the Castro Theater), There Once Was an Island (how the residents of a Polynesian atoll are facing climate change and a rising ocean), Love Crimes of Kabul (about an Afghani prison for women convicted of "moral" crimes) and Mrs. Judo: Be Strong, Be Gentle, Be Beautiful (the story of 98-year-old Keiko Fukuda, the world's foremost female Judo practitioner).
H.P. Mendoza (writer-actor-director) and Richard Wong (writer-director-cinematographer) are the multihyphenate talents behind Bay Area crowd-pleasers Colma: The Musical and Fruit Fly, both of which world-premiered to acclaim at SFIAAFF. This year's festival boasts two new works by this prodigious duo. First, Mendoza branches into the supernatural thriller genre as writer-director-cinematographer of I Am a Ghost. This haunted house mystery spins the tale of Emily, a ghost caught in a repetitive (and I do mean repetitive) cycle of events, necessitating a medium's involvement to guide her onward. It's a premise that increases in complexity and ultimately leads to an attention-grabbing climax. Anna Ishida gives an effective performance, although it's distracting that her lines, as both written and delivered, fail to match the Victorian era suggested by the film's art direction and costuming. Mendoza also penned the screenplay for Yes, We're Open, a sophisticated sex comedy of sorts which is the festival's Centerpiece Film. Richard Wong shot and directed this tale of an urban couple toying with the idea of an open relationship—with a second couple anxiously hoping to lead them astray. Yes, We're Open benefits from some knowing dialogue, an attractive cast and pleasurably recognizable San Francisco locations like Green Apple Books and the Roxie Theater.
This year's CinemAsia section (formerly known as the International Showcase) continues a recent SFIAAFF trend to de-emphasize the works of acknowledged Asian auteurs in favor of emerging filmmakers. For example, Hong Sang-soo, Kim Ki-duk, Lav Diaz, Pen-ek Ratanaruang, Hirokazu Kore-eda, Lou Ye, Shoji Aoyama, Jia Zheng-ke and Johnnie To all released new films in the past 12 months, but you won't find any of them in this festival. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I know many Bay Area cinephiles are feeling nostalgic for the days when such directors were an important part of SFIAAFF. Remember the knock-out retrospectives given Hong Sang-soo and Kiyoshi Kurosawa in 2007 and 2009 respectively? It's also notable there are no films from Iran this year, nor is there a Bollywood at the Castro screening (and as long as I'm lamenting, what's happened to the popular Out of the Vaults program?).
The most renowned director who is in CinemAsia's 2012 roster is prolific screwball Takashi Miike, whose Ninja Kids will undoubtedly prove to be great fun. Rithy Panh (S21: Khmer Rouge Killing Machine) is another name many will recognize. His latest is The Catch, an engaging low-budget, Vietnam War-era drama about an African-American pilot who is captured by Cambodian villagers recently brought under the ideological sway of the Khmer Rouge. I've also had a look at Ryang-Kang-Do: Merry Christmas, North! This slick, South Korean dramedy is a shamelessly saccharine yarn about a talking toy robot and some too-cute North Korean urchins. The world is certainly begging for humanizing images of North Koreans, but this goes beyond the pale. I was shocked to learn it was written and directed by a former North Korean political prisoner. Of the remaining CinemAsia selections, I'm most intrigued by 11 Flowers from prominent Chinese director Wang Xiaoshuai (Beijing Bicycle), South Korean war film The Front Line, which was that country's 2011 Oscar® submission and Night Market Hero, Taiwan's 2011 box office champ.
The festival kicks off on Thursday, March 8 with the world premiere of Quentin Lee's White Frog, followed by what's sure to be a typically fabulous Opening Night Gala at the SF Asian Art Museum. This will be one star-filled evening, given the famous cast Lee has assembled for his film: up and comers Booboo Stewart (The Twilight Saga) and Harry Shum Jr. (Glee), plus veterans B.D. Wong and Joan Chen. As I mentioned at the start, Chen will be given her own SFIAAFF Spotlight tribute this year, with two screenings that will highlight her accomplishments as both an actress (Saving Face) and director (Xiu Xiu: The Sent-Down Girl). (Chen will live forevermore in my own heart as Jocelyn Packard from David Lynch's TV series Twin Peaks). In this preview I've only touched upon half of what the festival has in store, so for the big picture be sure and check out the rest of SFIAAFF30's Doc Competition, Narrative Competition, CinemAsia, Special Presentations and six programs of Shorts. There's also New Directions, a catch-all for the festival's many non-filmgoing events that include a number of salons and panels, the Directions in Sound DJ party and extremely popular outdoor celebration Festival Forum, which takes place in Japantown's Peace Plaza.
Cross-published on film-415.
"The New Wave has been the template for so many emerging national cinemas. If you come from a country that has had, for instance, a fairly consistent film industry but of films that outside their own country nobody knows and nobody wants to see ... the moment that you then have a generation that has a chance to go to a film school in California or New York or somewhere else, when they go back they want to start a new wave. That's their model. There is no other model for saying, 'How can I go back to my own country and do something that is not the industry and is not television?' It has to be a new wave. ...It usually takes only one film to suddenly create a national cinema with a new wave effect."—Thomas Elsaesser.
Elsaesser's formula requires no further proof than the Vietnamese action film The Rebel (Dòng Máu Anh Hùng, 2007), which catapulted its director Charlie Nguyen and its two lead actors Johnny Tri Nguyen and Thanh Van "Veronica" Ngo into the international spotlight while kickstarting a new wave of Vietnamese filmmaking. Their follow-up effort Clash (Bay Rong, 2009) was an even-greater box-office success in Vietnam and arrived in the Bay Area as the centerpiece film for the 29th edition of the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF), where I had the pleasure of sitting down with this charming and refreshingly down-to-earth couple to discuss their stardom and what it means for the future of Vietnam's film industry.
My thanks go out to Jon Jung ("Coffin Jon") who accepted this conversation for podcast at his site VCinema, which specializes in Asian film from cult to the classics. Be sure to check out Jon's archives at VCinema for past podcasts relating to films from environs East, and enjoy my conversation with Vietnam's most glamorous duo Johnny and Veronica.
Cross-published on Twitch.
Because I enjoy the regional texture of multiple voices speaking on one film, my thanks go out to Philippine critic Richard Bolisay for allowing me to adapt key sections of his Lilok Pelikula review of Yanggaw (Affliction, 2008), which has been programmed into SFIAAFF's retrospective "After Death: Horror Cinema From South East Asia." Richard is especially keen to director Richard Somes' nuanced characterization of the folkloric aswang, in contrast to its more clichéd depiction in low-budget Philippine horror films.
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In Philippine folklore, the aswang is generally used to describe different types of night creatures that feed on human innards and blood. From the popular manananggal and mangkukulam to the werewolves and shapeshifters that vary according to one's regional background, the aswang is understandably a striking and enduring facet of local belief. Suffering from cultural amnesia while continuously striving to achieve Western standards of living, it could be argued that the aswangs are doing Filipinos a favor by sustaining an aspect of their folkloric heritage. Interestingly, this bloodthirsty figure of the aswang remains the most exploited character in Pinoy horror stories, from short pieces of fiction to TV serials, in every Halloween episode of magazine shows and documentaries, as well as in news reports of terror in the provinces. But where else could it be given such esteemed overuse than in cinema? Specifically the annual Metro Manila Film Festival that fosters endless Shake Rattle and Roll flicks that scare less than they frustrate.
What has long been missing in these generic efforts is depth. The aswang's grisly exploits—the number of dead increasing every day; the intestines of children and pregnant women scattered in the fields—have been overexploited. Most filmmakers have failed to give these familiar stories fresh yet unconventional dimensions and only one or two serious filmmakers have embodied these genre films with any sense of maturity. One of the few who has is Richard Somes, whose prior experience in production design has lent a great deal of credibility to his first full-length feature. Somes has subverted the genre's customary and overused narratives to reflect on the harsh realities faced by an aswang's family. He achieves this by slowly building up the tension within the family. At first, they are an ordinary family who live difficult but happy lives in a remote town. Then the daughter becomes afflicted with a poison in her blood stream that makes her crave human flesh. Somes depicts the family's transition from a peaceful to disturbed household as the monster becomes full fledged, escapes through the window, and returns with her hair in wild disarray and her fangs drenched in blood. The family struggles to maintain a sense of normalcy, until the corpses in the town start piling up, until suspicions rise and guilt darkens, until the monster has to be tied up, until the father's ambivalence sets it loose, until the monster begs for its death, until the father decides to slaughter it with a force so severe it turns him into an animal, until every memory of the aswang becomes a nightmare that only the afterlife can erase. The pacing in that critical transition transforms Yanggaw from a lowly, piteous flick into an admirable effort that resuscitates the hackneyed genre.
The acute similarity of horror stories to crime fiction—let's say Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series—is the emphasis given to murder. Whereas detectives are responsible for bringing justice in accordance with the law by solving clues that come their way, the principal character in horror—the murderer—creates the tension, provides the clues, and wreaks havoc on the community. In thrillers, we uncover the crime bit by bit until we reach the truth; in horror, however, the crime is right there in front of us, demanding our reaction. In this regard, the horror genre assails a psychological blow. Starting from the expected nightmare of the aswang, Yanggaw explores narrative threads revealed through personal relationships, touching upon themes of social betrayal, moral righteousness, and—most importantly—spiritual obedience. Though more the tragedy of a Filipino family—specifically in a town where faith is as unquestionable as the need for food on their table—Yanggaw admirably doesn't press too much on religion. Somehow that helps what happens become more tangible.
Fellow Filipinos will have multiple memories of previous aswang movies. There is no need to cite any specific one because, as any Filipino discovers, the idea is somewhat predictable. Traditionally, the aswang is a stranger, someone in the town whom no one knows much about, and her existence—right now I wish to bring to light the fact that every aswang in every aswang film ever made is a "she"—provokes nothing extraordinary. She is just like everyone, except for her nocturnal quench for blood. She may even be a figure of purity, like Aiko Melendez as the nun in Shake Rattle and Roll IV. Melendez's characterization was a clever twist because it increased her peril as a character, diverting suspicion away to anyone but her. But the usual problem is that the only thing that the story wants to deliver is the scare, the untying of the knot, the exposition and chase scenes often done in the sloppiest way possible. These films are tired excuses that stretch the vestiges of the genre, doing nothing good in particular.
In Yanggaw, however, the aswang is among us, we see her transform, we see her chase children, we see her as she rocks the bed with chains on her arms and legs, we hear her cry and scream, we know her, she is familiar. Somes has made her so recognizable that we forget she is a monster. The aswang has been given a depth of character through her family—her father's decisions and her mother's misgivings—the subsequent terror in the community when she runs loose, even the details of her murder. The illusion becomes truth. Yanggaw prefers depth to schlock, and the longer you watch it the more you realize that it is not so much about the aswang herself but the family that adopts her new persona even as they struggle against it. Once that belief has been suspended, there is really no turning back.
Ronnie Lazaro and Joel Torre don't have to do anything to prove that they are indeed the greatest Philippine actors of our time. Yanggaw makes you feel honored just by their presence. The volleyball game between the two camps has that flinch of unsettling strangeness; it makes the remote town feel even more remote. That it is in Hiligaynon (in an unspecified place somewhere in Panay Island, particularly where aswangs are predominant) does not seem to put any pressure on its mix of professional and new actors; Tetchie Agbayani is regal and utterly convincing. Erik Matti as the violent whip healer is surprisingly effective. Gio Respall and Monet Gaston add credibility to their family's demise. And finally, Aleera Montalla is appallingly menacing, she is the vamp of our nightmares. Claravall and Sacris fashion a distinct eye for visual character, their light and darkness are moving as if they are part of the story themselves.
It is agonizing that this brave trailblazer will be neglected by most. As for my part, I tell you, Yanggaw is peerless. It has a terribly magnetic vision almost close to Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan, the godfather of horror films.
Cross-published on Twitch.
With each edition, SFIAAFF uncovers, rediscovers and celebrates films that have "blazed the trail of independent cinema" through a fourfold Special Presentations program, which includes a film retrospective, an out-of-the-vaults screening, a filmmaker spotlight, and an on-stage conversation with a filmmaker. All but the latter receive special support from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. This year's retrospective "After Death: Horror Cinema From South East Asia" was a welcome tip of the hat to this populist genre, and a shout-out to its fans. The festival catalog qualifies: "While each film deals with horrifying stories about ghosts, spirits or more worldly entities, the stylistic expressions and atmospheres are as diverse as the countries of origin. The strength of these films is how they beautifully weave local folklore and superstitions into the stories."
From the Philippines comes Affliction (Yanggaw, 2008), which Twitch teammate Andrew Mack cautioned might disappoint horror fans unfamiliar with its cultural context. That's precisely what Francis "Oggs" Cruz provides in his review at Lessons From the School of Inattention. Not only does Oggs provide interesting production detail on the film's funding by CinemaOne, but he appreciates its deft genre-blending of mythic horror with the Philippine family melodrama. With his kind permission, I replicate his write-up for Affliction's SFIAAFF audience.
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Among the three horror shorts that comprise Shake, Rattle and Roll 2k5, the seventh installment in the horror franchise that started way back in the early 80's, is Richard Somes' Ang Lihim ng San Joaquin (The Secret of San Joaquin), about a man (Mark Anthony Fernandez) and his pregnant wife (Tanya Garcia) relocating to a rural town that is populated by aswangs (which—according to Filipino folklore—are monsters that partake the form of ordinary human beings during the daytime but transform into hungry monstrosities at night that feed on the blood and internal organs of humans, preferably the very young). Somes transforms what essentially is a straightforward story of survival (in fact, the short is ridden with logical loopholes and unanswered questions, the biggest of which is why any sane couple who are expecting their firstborn would relocate to an impoverished barrio with dubious residents) into a thrilling portfolio of his directorial mettle, although influences (F. W. Murnau, Tod Browning, George Romero, and Peque Gallaga: not really a bad lot to borrow from) are evident. Given the scarcity of good genre directors in the country—there's Rico Maria Ilarde (Sa Ilalim ng Cogon / Beneath the Cogon, 2005) and Altar (2007)—I was excited as to what Somes would offer next.
Three years later after Lihim ng San Joaquin, Somes releases Yanggaw (Affliction, 2008), whose screenplay has been gestating for a number of years before it was given the green light by CinemaOne, a local cable network that gives grants to several screenplays in their annual film festival (successful CinemaOne-funded films include Dennis Marasigan's Sa North Diversion Road (On the North Diversion Road, 2005), Sherad Anthony Sanchez's Huling Balyan ng Buhi (Woven Stories of the Other, 2006), Jerrold Tarog and Ruel Antipuesto's Confessional (2007) and Adolfo Alix's Tambolista (Drumbeat, 2007). The term yanggaw is an Ilonggo term that refers to infection, more specifically, of an affliction that turns normal human beings into aswangs. Somes' film centers [on] Junior (Ronnie Lazaro)—a former barrio official who retires from service because of disillusionment and eventually manages to feed his family through meager means—who suddenly confronts the situation of having Amor (Aleera Montalla)—his beloved daughter who suddenly returns from another barrio with a curious illness—degenerate into a rabid and murderous aswang at night.
Yanggaw is in concept, a horror film. However, Amor's horrific predicament is treated with the least sensationalism possible (especially if compared to other aswang films like Topel Lee's Yaya (Nanny, 2006), where much of the short centers on the nanny who turns out to be an aswang out to kill her wards, or Somes' Lihim ng San Joaquin, where the meticulously conceived aswangs (complete with computer-generated tongues) dominate the picture). She stays in the background (in fact, there is not much fuss as to her appearance; she is mostly hidden in the night with only the stark crimson of her victims' blood on her face to serve as her definitive feature.
Actually, Somes does wonders with his limited budget (CinemaOne gives its grantees one million pesos, or around $20,000 to complete the film). Utilizing simple make-up (there are no hideous prosthetic make-up, a staple in aswang movies), lighting (Somes shows remarkable adeptness, probably borrowed from Murnau, in utilizing shadows as implement for creating atmosphere; there's an impressive sequence wherein Amor appears from her room, complaining of her illness, with her body is partially illuminated while her face is completely unseen. It's a simply set sequence, but Somes effectively creates an awkward and eerie feeling throughout), sound (the ambient noise and the long stretched of deadening silence) and editing effects, Somes creates an effective set-up for the ensuing events.
The horror element (the aswang aspect of the feature) of the film is not there for cheap chills and thrills, but is there as basis for the lingering familial dilemma, very much like drug addiction or infidelity in normal family dramas. In fact, much of the picture observes the simplicities and the intricacies of the relationships (like Junior's observable disappointment with his son, who returns the favor to his father with striking indifference) among the family members. However, it is the family's struggle with Amor's affliction that becomes the heart of the film, converting Yanggaw from mere genre picture into an engrossing examination into the Filipino family's psyche, especially if confronted with such a divisive situation.
As Amor's illness worsens and her hunger for human meat escalates, Somes' audiences become witnesses to the family's encounters with moral quandaries (also escalation in gravity, from simple ones as having to choose between spending the money they don't have to bring Amor to a doctor in a faraway barrio to more delicate decisions as allowing Amor to hunt at night for her survival in exchange for the lives of the residents of their community), and eventually, to the family unit's complete deterioration. Thus, by film's end, it doesn't become surprising that the intensity of the drama heightens into near-operatic levels (the ending seems to belong more to a melodrama, with its swelling music and unneeded montage of crying faces), a slight aberration in the film's near-perfect control of mood and atmosphere. Having said that, Somes' Yanggaw, while riddled with pacing problems (there is reportedly a longer cut, which could fix the film's rushed feel) and an ending that could have been more subtly executed, is an achievement, mixing traditional elements of horror and family melodrama, creating a picture that is so bizarre, it will be stuck to your mind months after seeing it.
Cross-published on Lessons From the School of Inattention and Twitch.
Patrick Wang's feature debut In the Family (2011) [official site] recalls the sage counsel of the I Ching hexagram "Difficulty at the Beginning": Perseverance furthers. Since championing the film last November, In the Family has been recognized for its singular achievement in American independent filmmaking by critics across the board, including nominations for the Indie Spirit and Muriel Awards and—as indicated by the film's upcoming screening schedule—has achieved theatrical distribution across the states, opening in late April at San Francisco's Metreon Theater no less. Dear to my heart, however, is that my favorite Boise film venue The Flicks has programmed In the Family for Idaho during June's Pride Week. Not only am I honored to introduce and moderate the Q&A sessions for the film's San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) Sundance Kabuki screenings on March 9 and March 13, 5:15PM and 5:30PM, respectively; but, I'll have the added opportunity to treat Patrick to my favorite Boisean eateries during Idaho's Pride festivities. The San Francisco / Boise link strengthens film by film. On the occasion of In the Family's well-deserved visibility and, particularly, its presence at the 30th edition of SFIAAFF I thought now would be a good time to take another look at my earlier conversation with him.
After having his directorial debut In the Family (2011) officially rejected from over 20 film festivals, actor-writer-director Patrick Wang decided to take on one more hat: self-distribution. Refusing to let festival programmers decide the fate of his penetrating and wholly original first feature, Wang is trusting that audiences and good old-fashioned word-of-mouth will give the film the legs it needs to traffic into the world. Not only is his determination admirable, but so is his film, which clocks in at year's end as one of the most mature and nuanced narratives this reviewer has seen in some time. Eschewing formula and stereotype, and comfortable with taking narrative and formal risks, Wang has delivered a heartfelt story woven around child custody, two Dads, parental loss, and the human side of the Law. The project is galvanized by strong performances from a competent ensemble and music by the legendary Chip Taylor, who has written such diverse hits as "Wild Thing" (The Troggs) and "Angel of the Morning" (Merilee Rush). In the Family is the kind of film that creatively circumvents industrial machinations to restore faith in independent filmmaking.
Patrick Wang graduated from MIT with a degree in Economics and studied energy policy, game theory, and income inequality at the Federal Reserve Bank, the Harvard School for Public Health and other organizations. As a theater director, he has specialized in classical verse drama and new works (Surviving the Nian, Jonathan Larson Award). He has taught and directed productions at the Stella Adler Studio and the Neighborhood Playhouse. As an actor, he has appeared in Jay Weisman's Surveillances (Panavision Prize), Saturday Night Live and One Life to Live. His decision to both act in and direct In the Family was—as he puts it—a "defensive" move: "I couldn't stand the things people were saying about the script. They wanted all the good stuff out and they wanted to bring in all the clichés I had managed to avoid. I decided to direct just to protect the movie."
Guillén: Sticky distribution issues aside, let's approach the title of your film. In the Family suggests some secret that is being contained; i.e., keeping something within the family. What do you think that secret is? How did you arrive at this title?
Guillén: As writer, director and actor, one could argue you're a one-man band; however, you have assembled an outstanding ensemble of actors and woven your performance fairly into theirs. How did you go about casting? Did you have certain actors in mind when you wrote your script? How did you level the playing field between performances, all of which have come off so natural and at commensurate intensity?
Guillén: Was the naturalism in performance achieved through improvisation? Especially with your young actor Sebastian Banes (who plays Chip), it seemed the actors worked off him, around him. How did you work with such a young actor? How scripted were these scenes?
Wang: I had this mental picture of this family that I did not recognize or understand. And so I just started wondering about them, and—bit by bit—aspects of their personality and their history started to stick. As I focused on the episodes in their life that were the most interesting to me, they happened not to involve sex. But I know what you mean, certain people will feel confused or cheated seeing a movie in 2011 with two gay male leads and no sexually driven scenes. Still, I think there are others who are regular watchers of the standard fare who will be relieved to see something different and who will be delighted to see whole people and a genuine romance unfold on screen. I am.
Guillén: Speak to me about some of your actors. Not only is Trevor St. John attractive for being so handsome, but his volatility, his vulnerability, registered like flint sparks. The anger smoldering beneath his grief made him presumptuous and a bit arrogant but I liked that he wasn't a pure angel. Cody's darkness and the fact that he was somewhat unfair to Joey in the beginning made him more human, and succeeded in generating compassion towards him for coming to terms with his grief and, subsequently, his tragic and untimely demise.
Wang: Kelly was just a pro. She has more tools than any actor has a right to have and she defended her character and portrayed Eileen's struggles so fairly. It makes the movie. Peter was such a surprise in auditions. His performance was not how I imagined the character looking and sounding, but—in his interpretation of Dave—Peter deepened the character with more facets to Dave's personality than I had given him credit for. I love actors that surprise me.
Wang: Brian Murray is a marvelous actor and an even greater human being. We were freezing when we shot that library scene, but there was a different kind of warmth in that room that I will never forget.
