Tuesday, May 15, 2007

THE RAPE OF EUROPAThe Evening Class Interview With Bonni Cohen and Richard Berge


Quick on the heels of its two sold-out screenings at SFIFF50, The Rape of Europa is opening Friday, May 18 in Bay Area theatres (Embarcadero Center Cinemas in San Francisco, Shattuck Cinemas in Berkeley and Smith Rafael Film Center in San Rafael). Richard Berge, Bonni Cohen and Nicole Newnham's remarkable documentary is based on the book by Lynn H. Nicholas and narrated by acclaimed actress Joan Allen. It begins with the story of Gustav Klimt's famed painting "Gold Portrait," stolen by the Nazis from Viennese Jews in 1938. In a journey through seven countries, the film takes the audience into the violent whirlwind of fanaticism, greed, and warfare that threatened to wipe out the artistic heritage of Europe. For 12 long years, the Nazis looted and destroyed art on a scale unprecedented in history. But heroic young art historians and curators from America and across Europe fought back with an extraordinary campaign to rescue and return the millions of lost, hidden and stolen treasures. Today, more than 60 years later, the legacy of this tragic history continues to play out as families of looted collectors recover major works of art, conservators repair battle damage, and nations fight over the fate of ill-gotten spoils of war. The Rape of Europa tells the epic story of the systematic theft, deliberate destruction and miraculous survival of Europe's art treasures during the Third Reich and World War II.

I recently sat down with Berge and Cohen in the Larsen Associates offices to discuss The Rape of Europa. Richard Berge is a San Francisco-based filmmaker who has produced documentaries for PBS, Showtime, A&E, and others, including Yesterday's Tomorrows with director Barry Levinson and Sing Faster: The Stagehands' Ring Cycle with director Jon Else. He has a Masters degree in Documentary Film from Stanford University. Bonni Cohen is a founder of Actual Films in San Francisco and filmmaker for PBS, BBC, and Arte. She is currently producing Wonders Are Many, a documentary about the making of the Peter Sellars and John Adams opera, "Doctor Atomic." She has a Masters degree in Documentary Film from Stanford University. Her previous films include Democracy Afghan Style (co-director, 2004), The Nobel: Visions Of Our Century (2001), and Eyes of the Storm (1998).

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Michael Guillén: As I was thinking about meeting with the two of you today, I was trying to decide how to approach talking to you about your documentary. The Rape of Europa is so rich, its breadth and depth astounding, that it's almost daunting to begin. First of all I should say how much I respect and appreciate the intelligence you grant your audience. Yours is a truly historical document that I believe will be watched for years to come.

Richard Berge: Thank you.


Guillén: Since I have a particular fascination with the "substantiating connective tissue" between a book and its film adaptation, I was wondering if we couldn't talk first about how you went about securing the rights to Lynn Nicholas's book The Rape of Europa and how you then used her book to structure your film? And what is in the film that is not in the book?

Berge: How do you make the translation from the book to the visual?

Guillén: Exactly.

Berge: [To Cohen] Why don't you start with how we got the book?

Bonni Cohen: Nicole Newnham is the third of our triumvirate. She and I were working on another film about the combat artists of WWII and she was reading Lynn's book, finished it and handed it to me and said, "We have to option this book." It reads like a Graham Greene thriller. It's a narrative that has a dramatic arc with good guys and bad guys and treasure to be discovered and heroes at the end. Plus, it's a piece of this history that we knew very little about and we had really fancied ourselves as WWII buffs, certainly very well-educated in Holocaust history. Not that this is necessarily a Holocaust story….

Guillén: It's way beyond that.


Cohen: Yes. So we optioned the book and really mostly wanted to visit this new chapter. It seemed to simultaneously humanize the Nazis in this weird way. You got a deeper sense of them as people, not just these monsters who killed people. There were likes and dislikes and obsession and greed and well-thought-out cultural policy. It made the whole tale so much creepier and more evil in its depth. That really motivated us. The thought of putting art and culture at the center of an existential question about how people survive was compelling.

Berge: Lynn was a little apprehensive in the beginning because she spent a lot of time writing that book.

Cohen: She'd spent 10 years! She'd actually read the obituary of Rose Valland in Le Monde and that was what motivated her.

Berge: It may have been hard for her to turn this over to us but once she did and once she saw what we were doing, she trusted us and was supportive all the way, even to today. She's there for whatever we might need her for using her research.

Guillén: Clearly you promoted her. You gave her ample on-screen time to discuss her knowledge and you certainly have motivated interest in reading her book. Admittedly, I haven't read her book so that's why I was curious if the way she structured her book was a template by which you could then outline your film?

Berge: Her history is an exhaustively-detailed one. It's the definitive [history on the subject]. Obviously, people are doing to discover new aspects of this history but she really laid down the main themes and points….

Cohen: …and there are countries that we never get into.

Berge: So she's very comprehensive. She's chronological. We decided, "How are we going to tackle this? Do we have to tell the history of WWII? What can we assume about viewers' knowledge of WWII? Can we just do signposts along the way?" We decided to do chronological and then break it up into geographic themes so each country would represent a certain theme of the aspect of looting or wartime destruction. For instance, in Poland we talk about the degeneracy of so-called Slavic peoples and the [Nazi] need to eliminate their cultural vestiges, whereas in France they preserved it. [The Nazis] liked the Western Europeans. Holland had very much the same experience as France so we decided not to replicate that history even though they could have their own chapter. Italy was also stolen from but we decided to use Italy as a way of exploring the effect of the Allied invasion on art, which was inevitable. That also happened in France but we decided to use Italy as a good example of that. And then Germany is a place where—after it had been flattened—we explored the lengths that were [taken] to hide art underground and in castles to put it out of harm's way. So we tried to use each country as a theme that would fit into a chronology.

Cohen: The biggest departure from Lynn's book for the film adaptation were the contemporary stories. If you're asking a film audience to watch a straight history, it's almost impossible. You have to be able to bring them in on some level so it was a real challenge to find restitution cases that were going to play out during the course of our production period. In fact, we joked about how ridiculous it was to try to write the Maria Altmann Klimt case into the film because we had finished the film and then the [Altmann] case settled and we opened up the end of the film again.

Berge: We were taking a big risk on some of those [restitution cases]. Some of the avenues we went down, nothing ever happened.

Cohen: Nothing panned out.

Berge: So we had to can those. The other issue is that, while we were in the process of optioning the book and developing a treatment, a lot of restitution cases were happening—this was in the late 90's or 2000—some really big cases like a Matisse in a Seattle museum that was being fought over. There was a Degas that was being fought over in the collection of the Chicago Art Institute.

Cohen: And the law was changing.

Berge: So we thought, this is something that happened after Lynn wrote her book. In Russia, for instance, they passed that law nationalizing the stolen loot after Lynn had written her book, so we decided to incorporate that.

Guillén: Cultural patrimony and repatriation issues intrigue me because my training was in Central American archaeology where the looting of archaeological artifacts and their subsequent appearance in private and public collections has been a hot button for some time now. I'm well-steeped in these issues. I had never, however, applied them to stolen art from Europe. For some reason, when I saw European paintings in a museum, I just assumed they belonged there.

Berge: For somebody interested in Central American archaeology, I think it's arguable that the issue of Nazi art restitution, and the cases that have happened, has opened up the issue to broader claims about artistic patrimony from South America, from Greece, Italy. There are a lot of cases that are coming down.


Guillén: Absolutely. The other theme I much admired in your documentary is your treatment of how what is morally heroic within the individual crosses over generations. You have Rose Valland, a true hero during WWII in her efforts to chronicle the trafficking of these art treasures through a private diary. You have Dean Keller, another true hero during WWII attempting to save art treasures from accidental damage through the efforts of the Monuments Men campaign. But then you have someone like David Carroll of the Utah Fine Arts Museum continuing this heroic morality right to the present day by returning stolen objects to their rightful owners. He didn't have to do that but, in his own words, knew it was essential to do so to reinstill a humanity to these events.

Berge: That's right.

Guillén: How have museum officials responded to The Rape of Europa?

Berge: May I first just make a comment about what you've said? It's very interesting that—up until now—there's a whole group of metropolitan national galleries, the big institutions, and whenever they have a case they bring the lawyers out. They have to, because of their fiduciary responsibilities, [deal with] these things very carefully. It's the smaller museums like the Utah Fine Arts Museum and the North Carolina Museum of Art that have been very forthcoming with turning these things back to claimants once the claims have been justified.

Guillén: Does that discrepancy in the track record between the larger institutions and the smaller museums have anything to do with fears of compromising the ability to be eligible for loans from overseas international museums? I know that there was the relatively recent controversy over Egon Schiele's "The Portrait of Wally" at the Museum of Modern Art that actually got David D'Arcy fired from NPR. Does the size of the museum and its in-house policies regarding the foreign loan of art play into how willing they are to accommodate claimants?

Cohen: I think absolutely, right, yeah. It's much more incumbent upon the small guy to make sure that they know that their stuff is legally their's; there's much more risk.

Guillén: In terms of the talking heads then, did Lynn include several of these individuals in her history book? Or have you secured these individuals on your own? I was particularly impressed with Jonathan Petropoulos.

Cohen: He's another author in his own right who has as many books on this subject. It's not the one book of the exhaustive history, but he has a whole book out about the dealers and the historians who made up the team that found the art for Hitler and [Hermann] Goering.

Berge: He's a specialist in Nazi art policy. He's written two very interesting books. He spent 20 years researching this and he teaches at Claremont McKenna. He spent a lot of time talking to old Nazis for his research.

Cohen: Exactly. [Laughing.] Remember his story about the silverware with H.G. on it? He'd be visiting with the peasants or with families in the areas surrounding … he'd look down from eating and they'd be using Goering silverware.


Berge: He told me one story. He was in Austria and there was an area actually near the place where the mine is in the film? Near there was a retirement community for old Nazis. He went there to meet with them and he had a friend along with him once in this one town. He went into the local café, a small restaurant, and it was one of those places … you know how restaurants put pictures of patrons on the walls? Most of them were anonymous people, just locals, and he sat down, the place was full, and his friend goes, "Oh look! There's Herr Somebody"—some Herr Ex-Nazi Guy—and the whole restaurant turned and looked and they felt so uncomfortable they got up and left. Because they knew this was one of their friends.

Guillén: I can speak to that because I lived in Vienna for a month and, during that visit, had a dissonant moment one day when—after receiving some horrible looks from old people on the metro—I realized these were the selfsame folks who cheered Hitler into Vienna! So it's not that far removed.

Berge: No.

Cohen: The Austrians were much worse than the Germans in many ways.

Guillén: And you really pick up on that in your interview with the representative from the Austrian National Gallery. [In my best Daffy Duck voice]: He's just despicable.

Both: [Laughing.]

Guillén: So what are you hoping audiences will walk away with from this documentary? What do you want to motivate audiences to understand or do with regard to these issues?

Cohen: The critical thing at this point is where we are with Iraq and Afghanistan, to a lesser extent. We're desperate for people to see that this was a moment in time in our own history when our government rallied around art and made it a priority and went in there and did the right thing. It is an unprecedented moment in our history that has not been repeated. Unfortunately, we are now in a situation where our troops are in a country [that] is a minefield of archaelogy that we cannot replace and looters are just rampant in the country and we're doing nothing about it. Richard's done quite a lot of research on this. It's not a good situation. The hope would be that we can raise some awareness of what the right thing is to do and, hopefully, try and guide our government to start doing it.

Berge: In general, whether we pick WWII—I mean, this is the setting for this film, WWII—but, I think the big theme is the importance that art has for people. It's the human condition, of recording it in memory, and perpetuating what it means to be human. That tie that people have to their art comes through in the efforts that people made in this history to save it. This could apply to any conflict, to any situation that we need to say to protect art, to save our humanity and Iraq's a good case. When we were just starting to make this film, the Taliban in Aghanistan destroyed those giant Buddhas. You think of [how the Nazis defined] "degenerate art", it's exactly the same thing: power misused, misuing art for control.

Cohen: [To Berge] You made such an interesting point at one of the Q&As about how ironically Saddam Hussein's policy towards looters preserved the art.

Berge: Hussein seems to have shared some traits with Hitler. He wasn't a connoisseur of art like Hitler was but he knew the power of it. He used the Babylonian heritage to buttress his role as the modern Nebuchadrezzar. If he caught looters, he would execute them and that really dampened down the looting during the Hussein era….

Cohen: [Laughing.]

Guillén: Or at least careless looting.

Berge: After the first Iraq war, the looting started happening but he clamped down on it and it only happened at night. Then during the Clinton years, during the embargo and all the controls, he booted out all the archaeologists so the looters started to come in and loot at night. Then when the second invasion happened, collectors and dealers—don't know who they are but, probably in England and the United States—had put in orders to looters for specific things they wanted out of museums and out of archaeological sites so looters went in right on the moment of the invasion and started cutting out friezes from old palaces. Now it's a free for all. There's not enough people to be controlling any of these sites.

Guillén: Another point in your documentary that was well-taken—if not horrifying—is the bureaucracy behind the plundering. You've detailed that well, along with the shocking realization that military strategies were predicated upon the potential for the plundering of cultural artifacts.

Cohen: That there would be dealers and art historians that would go in before the invasion [to assess collections].

Guillén: I tend to think of wars as being fought for property defined as territory and not so much property conceived as the fungible currency of cultural artifacts such as paintings or smaller objects of art that were being transported and used—as you were saying, Richard—to bestow validation.

Berge: Prestige.

Guillén: The thirst, the hunger, for prestige goods brought in from vanquished cultures I know from my Mesoamerican studies, where you might have—let's say—a Mayan king who somehow through the course of historical events has acquired possession of an Olmec heirloom that strengthens and legitimizes his reign. So, to synopsize here, you're hoping that The Rape of Europa will profile individual acts of moral responsibility and heroism from which we can glean guidance today? Shining examples of people doing the right thing. This is one of the most positive and affirmative documentaries I've seen in a long time.

Cohen: The European efforts are really something to behold. Americans can learn a lot from this film just by watching how the Europeans responded to this crisis. In Italy, in France, bricking things up, sandbagging, moving out entire museums—these weren't just curators; these were truck drivers and receptionists.

Guillén: As an American filmgoer, I think the first time this even entered my consciousness was with the fictional narrative Tea With Mussolini. I suspect the general American public knows very little about the European grass root efforts to protect cultural legacies.

Cohen: Our hope is that they care somewhat. I mean, who knows?

Guillén: Do you feel that the American public has a sense of art as a cultural legacy to be protected?

Cohen: [Shakes her head no.]

Berge: Bonni might disagree with me, but hear me out for a second. First of all, shortly after Pearl Harbor the major museums on the East Coast and West Coast moved their collections inland. The National Gallery's collection went to North Carolina. The San Francisco Museum stuff went to Colorado. San Diego moved their stuff. So there was some consciousness to protect that stuff. Then, these Monuments Men who—before the war—had never seen these works of art that they studied in graduate school, saw them for the first time in the most dire circumstances and they were responsible for them. They came back after the war and I don't think it was a coincidence that, not only was there abstract expressionism, but there's a reason why the art world went from Paris to New York. These men and women came back and created the post-war art establishment. They created these institutions that we now take for granted.

Cohen: [To Berge] I completely agree with you at that time, but I'm talking about Americans today.

Berge: I'm just saying that that legacy continues to today and I think that there's a much greater sensitivity and appreciation of art now than there was after the War. And I think it's because of how their work trickled through.

Cohen: Can you imagine if there were an attack on American soil that the local 7-11 guys and the guys that run the gas station will be packing up crates of paintings?

Berge: No. No, I don't think so.

Guillén: Which leads me to something else, which speaks to the idea that art is somehow for the people. Perhaps in Europe there are established traditions of art being woven into the everyday life of people, but here in the States I suspect art is more privatized and almost class-oriented.

Cohen: Definitely.

Berge: That's a great point.

Cohen: I think that's absolutely right. When the Maria Altmann case was resolved and the issue came up around what she was going to do with the painting, LACMA (The L.A. County Museum), which is a public institution, were responsible and paid for the insurance to bring the paintings over [from Austria] in exchange for being able to exhibit them; I think it's fair to say in the hope that she would bequeath at least one of the paintings to the museum. That there'd be some consideration. Because if you look at Adele Bloch-Bauer's will, her priority (if you read it) is to insure that these paintings are seen by the public, which is why she wanted them to go to the Vienna National Gallery. Now, she didn't know what was going to happen in Austria but that was the public institution [she had in mind]. A debate arises around how this was handled, right? Because you can't really judge an individual's reaction to getting back something that belonged to her family under these kinds of conditions. However, what is an individual's responsibility to the public, both here in the United States and—I would even argue—in Vienna to having these Klimts seen by the public? We could go on about what we would have hoped to see and then what happened. I preface all this by saying there's no way to judge it, but in an intellectual and rational way I would have wished that the public consideration would have been more in the forefront.

Guillén: For me that was one of the most glaring disconnects in the documentary. To have Maria Altmann say on camera that she wanted her aunt's wishes honored to have these paintings made public or placed in a public institution and then to turn around and sell the painting to a private individual made me pause.

Cohen: [Ronald Lauder] is showing it in the Neue Galerie. It's the other four that we're concerned about.

Guillén: I see. I didn't realize it was being housed in the Neue Galerie.

Berge: It's a complicated issue because there are so many extenuating circumstances.

Cohen: There are a number of heirs and the legal fee; there's a lot going on that needs to be paid back.


Berge: [Maria Altmann] may very well have wished all of these [paintings] to go to a public museum, to go to the L.A. County Museum for all we know, but the single largest shareholder in those paintings was the lawyer who represented her. So how does he get paid? You can't break paintings in half. It does come down to how do you split up the assets? I'm sure there could have been a solution. There was a famous case in the North Carolina Museum of Art of a [Louis] Cranach that was discovered to have been owned by the father or uncle of a couple of Austrian women. When they gave indisputable proof to the museum, the museum said, "Sure, here, take it back." In gratitude for their forthrightness, just like the Utah museum, the sisters said, "Well, look. We thought there would be a fight. Why don't you just keep it? We'll take half the value and you just keep it in North Carolina where it's been for 20 years and everyone loves it." One would hope there would be more solutions like that. The problem with Austria is Maria Altmann was so bitter about the Austrian government fighting her for so long that she wasn't going to leave them there and cut a deal with them.

Cohen: In fact there was a while when they wouldn't even let her in the gallery. She'd come to visit the painting and they wouldn't let her in the gallery.

Guillén: Finally, I know that you did extensive research into this film and you probably left out lots and lots of information. Do you plan to do anything with that material? Is there a coffee table book in the making?

Cohen: The DVD will have extras on it. There's a ton of archival material. Fascinating human interest stories we just weren't able to tell.

Guillén: Well, thank you so much. What a remarkable document. I hope you keep on making documentaries of this caliber.

Berge: Thank you!

Cohen: Thank you for your interest.

Berge: And just to answer you, the DVD, hopefully we're going to have full archival films on there that haven't been seen. The Soviet government made a 25-minute film for the Nuremberg trials that documented their cultural destruction and we want to put that in its entirety. No one's seen that. There's great stuff so I'm glad to hear that you're interested because we're planning to maybe put a two or three DVD set together.

Guillén: That would make it one I would definitely want to own. As it is it's a documentary that one needs to watch several times; there's so much information and so many different stories. You could go off on each individual story.

Berge: I'm so glad. When we were cutting this we were like, "Is it too full of stuff? Is it too dense?" But it seems that people think it's just about right.

Guillén: It's just about right and Joan Allen's narration adds a nice temper.

Berge: She'd never done one before. That was the first time she'd ever narrated. Nice meeting you.

Guillén: Same here.

Cross-published at Twitch.

2007 SFIFF50—Michael Hawley's Wrap-Up


The Golden Anniversary edition of the San Francisco International Film Festival came to a close last week. I wish I could say it was the festival to end all festivals, but I can't. That's because, for me at least, the festival has always been great, and that's why I've been coming to it for 31 years. This year I saw a total of 22 films, in addition to what I had seen pre-festival. Two of them were the kind of mind-blowers you pray you'll experience during a festival, and another five were merely excellent by comparison. Nine more were very much worth the time invested and five were disappointing, but not painfully so. Only one was outright loathsome, and even it had its enthusiastic defenders. Those are great stats, in my book.

I'd like to begin by thanking the festival staff for this year's zero-tolerance policy on any and all electronic devices being used during the screenings. It seemed to work, as I didn't hear any cell phones ring or see any of those annoying lights (thereby making it unnecessary for me to get into any physical altercations … unlike last year.) Hell, I didn't even have to beg anyone to shut up. At several screenings I was able to detect scattered chattering, but it was far enough away to tune out. All I can say about that is, "People, if you have to jabber while watching a movie, pretty please stay home and do it in front of your TV set."

This was the first year I got to experience the festival as a member of the press, and it was wonderful to retreat from the madness at the Kabuki and take refuge in the relative tranquility of the press and hospitality suites. I'm very grateful to the publicity staffers who helped me secure last-minute tickets whenever I found myself with an unexpected afternoon or evening free. As a press member I also received a list of guests expected to attend the festival and learned that it's not a good idea to plan your festival by it. There were several high-profile no-shows (Bruno Dumont, Otar Iosseliani, Mahamat-Saleh Haroun, John Carney) and several directors showed up to introduce their films but for whatever reason never returned for a Q&A (Hal Hartley, Im Sang-soo, Kevin Brownlow). On the other hand, there were several surprise guests. The presence of Indonesian dancer Eko Supriyanto helped turn my screening of Opera Jawa into a real event. And I wanted to die when I later learned that Egyptian movie goddess Youssra had shown up for a screening of The Yacoubian Building.

One constant topic of conversation was the renovated Sundance Kabuki theater, which recently converted all of it auditoriums to stadium-style seating (with the exception of the main floor of House One). How wonderful it was to finally watch a foreign film there and not have someone's big head, big hat or big hair blocking my view of the subtitles. Everyone I talked to concurred, with the exception of one friend who claimed that because the distance between projection booth and screen is now shorter, wide-screen movies in particular no longer look as crisp. He saw Private Fears in Public Places at the Kabuki and at the Pacific Film Archive and said there was no comparison. This was certainly not my experience. I will say, however, that if the Kabuki wants to start passing itself off as some kind of high-end temple of cinephilia, it'll need to smooth over some rough edges. For starters, they can tend to the second floor men's room, with its leaky toilets, broken stall latches and trash cans that are overflowing by 1:00 in the afternoon. But enough about big hair and leaky toilets. Let's look at the films I saw, beginning with the highlights and working down to the low lights.


Garin Nugroho's Opera Jawa, quite simply, did me in. Spellbinding, heart-wrenching, perhaps even revolutionary, I left the Castro Theater that afternoon certain that I had just seen what would be my favorite film of 2007. The film is an all-singing, all-dancing re-imagining of a lusty tale from the Ramayana, given contemporary political subtext, and featuring eye-popping sets designed by Indonesia's greatest installation artists. We were lucky enough to have the film introduced by the man who commissioned it, avant-garde opera and theater director Peter Sellars, as well as having the aforementioned personal appearance by dancer Eko Supriyanto. The latter sat directly across the aisle from me and it was interesting to occasionally glance over and watch him watching himself on the Castro's enormous screen.

After a generous and informative Q&A, I floated over to the Kabuki to hear Sellars deliver this year's State of Cinema address. I'd never bothered to attend the address in the past, but boy did I make the right choice in deciding to tune in this year. Resplendent in an orange shirt with a string of chunky, blue African beads around his neck, and sporting his trademark gravity-defying hairdo, Sellars delivered a searing, impassioned speech that was perhaps more State of Humanity than State of Cinema. I was particularly fascinated by his discourse on the last year of Mozart's life, and how that became the inspiration for the six features he commissioned for the New Crowned Hope festival. He spoke without notes for well over an hour, tears occasionally rolling down his cheeks, and the audience leapt to its feet to deliver a big standing O the split second he finished. A transcription of this stirring address is now available at SF360.

The one-two punch of Opera Jawa and this speech all added up to one of the finest days I've ever had at this festival. Indeed, the following day I decided to scrap my ticket for Sounds of Sand and attend a second screening of Opera Jawa at the Kabuki. Big Mistake! There were major projection problems, the biggest of which was having the soundtrack sputter or cut out completely every single time there was a reel change. I was mortified for the festival, and really felt awful for my friends who were seeing the film for the first time. The experience was more akin to watching a movie in some Market Street grindhouse circa 1977 than attending a world-class film festival celebrating its 50th anniversary in 2007. Opera Jawa was the only film to receive a last-minute added screening this year, and I'm assuming it was in response to complaints about this unfortunate snafu.


The other sublime event of this year's festival was—as expected—the "performance" of Guy Maddin's Brand Upon the Brain! at the Castro Theater. I'd been salivating over this silent film with live accompaniment by a 13-piece ensemble, three foley artists, narrator and "castrato," ever since I read about its premiere at the 2006 Toronto Film Festival. It was everything I'd hoped for, and I look forward to the film's commercial release next month so I can more closely consider it without all the on-stage distractions. But what marvelous distractions they were. I never imagined that the foley artists—all wearing very scientific-looking white lab coats—would actually be on-stage in front of the screen. But they were loads of fun to watch as they created all the film's sound effects live. My favorite had to be the twisting of celery stalks to simulate the sound of anything "squicky," i.e. the scooping of human "nectar" from the brains of little children, or the bending of bones calcified by rigor mortis. Joan Chen also made an outstanding narrator, especially in the scene where the protagonist's mother has a fit of orgasmic histrionics. For those unfortunate enough to have missed this incredible evening, San Francisco photographer Steve Rhodes has a terrific selection of photos from the event here.

Of the five films in my "merely excellent by comparison" category, three were first features and two were the works of established directors; Im Sang-soo from South Korea and Carlos Sorin from Argentina. As it happened, I had the pleasure of seeing both of their new films on the same day. Im's The Old Garden is quite a departure from his last two features, the jolting infidelity tale A Good Lawyer's Wife, and the somewhat befuddling political satire The President's Last Bang. Earnest and sentimental, this new film tells the story of a political prisoner who is released after 16 years, the effect his absence has had on friends and family, and the tragic loss of a special woman who was unable to wait for him. Masterfully constructed, the film shifts frequently and seamlessly between the past and present, all leading up to a finale that packs quite an emotional wallop.


After the heaviness of Im's film, Carlos Sorin's light, hilarious fairytale, The Road to San Diego, came as a welcome relief. The San Diego of the title is famed soccer player Diego Armando Maradona, and the titular road is one traveled by Tati Benítez, a young soccer fanatic from the jungles of Argentina's Misiones province. One day Tati finds a tree root that bears a resemblance to his idol, and decides it's his duty to bring it to Buenos Aires where the soccer star is recovering from a heart attack. On the road we're introduced to a host of benevolent characters who help Tati along his merry way, all played by the type of engaging non-professional actors Sorin's films specialize in. You keep waiting for the scene where Tati gets cheated, robbed, beaten up or worse, but it never happens. Realistic? Hardly. Refreshing? You bet! It put a huge grin upon the face of this sports-hating quasi-nihilist that lasted long after the movie was over.

Jean-Pascal Hattu's debut feature 7 Years was the last film I saw at the festival and what a fine ending it was. Deliciously perverse and morally complex, it's the kind of film that's hard to imagine being made anywhere in the world besides France. The story is simple; Vincent (Bruno Todeschini)—in prison for seven years for an undetermined crime—convinces a reluctant guard to seduce his adoring wife and tape-record the sounds of their love-making. Needless to say, things get complicated mighty fast. Hattu, who also wrote the story and screenplay, was at the screening and gave a most interesting half-hour Q&A afterwards. An astounding first film, this would have been my personal choice for this year's Skyy Prize.


The other two debut features that made an impression on me were Zoe Cassavetes' Broken English and Joachim Trier's Reprise from Norway. I went into the Cassavetes film with a love for Parker Posey and pretty low expectations for what sounded like another lonely-girl-in-the-big-city rom-com. To my great surprise it was much better than that; intelligent, touching and hysterically funny. Posey has never been better suited for a role and her many fans should eat this right up. Equally good is Melvil Poupaud as the intense Frenchman she meets at a co-worker's boring July 4th party, and who just might be her salvation. Cassavetes, who also wrote the clever screenplay, is the daughter of director John Cassavetes, and her mother—screen legend Gena Rowlands—plays Posey's mother. Posey and Cassavetes were on hand to introduce the film, and returned for a brief, but spirited Q&A afterwards.

Now we move on to that group of films which I found to be quite good in their way, but which lacked the something that would have made them great for me. Or, conversely, these are films for which I might have lacked the something that would have made me see their greatness. At the top of the list would be Pedro Costa's Colossal Youth, which since its premiere at Cannes last year, has had me wondering which side of the debate I would eventually fall on … masterpiece or Colossal Bore? As it turns out I'm somewhere right in the middle. While I was in constant awe of Costa's stunning compositions and use of spot lighting, I was pretty much at a loss when it came to involving myself emotionally with his characters, which may have even been the point. And as tortuously monotonous as some scenes were, i.e. Vanda's lengthy rant about childbirth, I'm sure it'll be some time before I forget them. Incidentally, by the time the end credits rolled at the 155-minute mark, more than half the audience had abandoned ship.


Michael Glawogger's Slumming also came with some controversy attached. It's about two horribly obnoxious Viennese men, one a bellicose mega-drunk and the other a trust-fund scumbag, whose lives cross paths and are somehow transformed and redeemed by travel. Ultimately, I didn't buy it, but it was certainly great fun in parts, especially the scenes involving a frozen lake and some bobbing garden gnomes. The final scene, set just outside what I think was a brothel along some train tracks leading out of Jakarta, was for me, this festival's ultimate indelible image.

I enjoyed Hirokazu Kore-eda's delightful, revisionist samurai tale Hana, although it felt too long by about one-fourth. Just as likable (and the perfect length) was John Carney's Once, a self-proclaimed "art-house musical" about a Dublin busker and a Czech immigrant who literally and figuratively make beautiful music together. I also got a big kick out of Hal Hartley's Henry Fool sequel-of-sorts, the comic thriller Fay Grim, although it would have been even nicer if Hartley had stuck around for a Q&A. Or for that matter, if the film's star Parker Posey, had come to the screening at all. (This was very strange, considering that Posey had been in the exact same theater only 45 minutes earlier for the Broken English Q&A. And I don't buy the excuse given by Hartley that she "scraped her wrist and had to return to her hotel.")

Two remarkable films from Chad and Mexico dealt with issues which arise when a country is a war with itself. Mahamat-Saleh Haroun's Daratt (Dry Season) is a measured revenge tale about a young man who travels to the city to kill the man who murdered his father in a civil war. Unexpectedly, he finds himself apprenticed at the man's bakery and being made a family member, forcing him to confront issues of forgiveness and redemption. His choice is both surprising and satisfying. After the screening it was brought to my attention how much the film's story was like the Dardenne Brothers' The Son, only in reverse. This was another film commissioned by Peter Sellars for the New Crowned Hope festival.


From the other side of the globe came Francisco Vargas' The Violin, which ended up winning the festival's Skyy Prize for best first narrative feature. Shot in B&W to purposefully render vague the time and place in which the film is set, it explores a conflict between the brutal Mexican army on one side, and village campesinos and rebel guerrillas on the other. Connecting these worlds is quietly-crafty Don Plutarco, an 81-year-old, one-handed violin player who uses his talent and his instrument to manipulate and negotiate his way around the conflict. As portrayed by non-actor Don Angel Tavira, this was one of the most wondrous performances in this year's festival.

Of the four documentaries I saw, my two favorites had several things in common. Both documented life on a Caribbean island, both were made by offspring of famous directors, and both were criticized for being too narrow in their focus. The Sugar Curtain by Camila Guzmán Urzúa (daughter of famed Chilean documentarian Patricio Guzmán) is a nostalgic and bittersweet look back at the "golden age" of the Cuban revolution, specifically the 1970's and 1980's up until the collapse of the Soviet Bloc. Guzmán Urzúa grew up in Cuba during that time period, when children were "taught life as a spiritual experience, not a material one," and indeed the life she portrays is idyllic. During the Q&A she was criticized for barely mentioning the horrible treatment of dissidents during this "golden age," or the role of the U.S. trade embargo in hastening the island's economic collapse. Her defense was that these issues were better left for another movie, a stance I can't wholly agree with in light of the film's short 86-minute running time. As expected, there were anti-Castro-ites in the audience who lambasted the film in its entirety, claiming as they always do that there was absolutely, positively, never anything at all good about the revolution. Guzmán Urzúa rightly ignored them.


The other documentary was Ghosts of Cité Soleil by Asger Leth (son of director Jørgen Leth, subject and co-director—with Lars Von Trier—of The Five Obstructions). Cité Soleil is a slum on the outskirts of Port au Prince, Haiti, named by the U.N. as "the most dangerous place on earth." Leth's urgent, beautifully shot film focuses on the lives of two notorious gang leaders over the course of several months in 2004. It's amazing to think how a European director could have obtained this kind of access, but as Leth remarked during the Q&A, "When you're in your early twenties and you think you're going to die, you want to tell your story." Access also comes in the person of Lala, a duplicitous white female French relief worker who becomes romantically involved with one of the gangsters, and acts as a mediator to negotiate a truce with the government. As dynamic as the portraits of these two self-proclaimed "thugsters" were, I found myself getting mighty bored with all their macho bullshit, gun-waving posturing (to the point where I nodded out for a while). A little reflection and perspective would have been welcome in its place. Incidentally, local organization Global Exchange was on hand before and during the screening, passing out flyers decrying the film's alleged demonization of former Haitian president Jean-Betrand Aristide.

So that about wraps up all the good stuff I saw. I'm afraid that the rest of this post is paved with disappointment, starting with the two other documentaries I saw. Kevin Brownlow's Cecil B. DeMille—American Epic wasn't bad, it was just your standard issue TCM documentary, and—had I known that—I would have waited and watched it on TCM. Tahani Rached's much anticipated These Girls, about young women living on the mean streets of Cairo, sorely needed some structure and context.

Probably the saddest and most disappointing film of the festival for me was Otar Iosseliani's Gardens in Autumn. It gets off to a rollicking start, but soon dissolves into an endless series of bland, absurdist musings, and the novelty of seeing Michel Piccoli in drag can only keep things afloat for so long. This disappointment came as quite a surprise after having watched Julie Bertuccelli's delightful Otar Iosseliani, The Whistling Blackbird, a portrait of the director and the making of this film. It's enough to make one wonder if the 73-year-old director's years of masterful filmmaking are now behind him.


Tariq Teguia's Rome Rather Than You from Algeria had the dubious honor of generating more audience walk-outs than Colossal Youth. This indulgent slice of Maghrebian mininalism/miserablism was like a compendium of all the boring parts from every boring art film you've ever seen. You've got your disaffected youth, your existential malaise, your cryptic inter-titles, your endless tracking shots of people walking walking walking or driving driving driving or searching searching searching while a cacophonous score squawks on the soundtrack. A woman stands in front of her stove waiting for the coffee water to boil, and—guess what sucker?—you get to wait right along with her. And stick around, because soon you'll get to watch her mop a floor. I came to this screening excruciatingly fatigued and in need of a nap, but forced myself to stay awake less I miss the one revelatory moment which would illuminate all this other nonsense. Surprise … that moment never came. If nothing else, I greatly admired the director's audacity and would have stuck around for the Q&A had I not needed to seek out a press ticket to The 12 Labors. This Brazilian film by Ricardo Elias was also a disappointment, although in a much more conventional way. Basically a retelling of the Hercules legend, with Hercules as a novice Sao Paolo motorcycle courier out to prove his worth, it's an ambitious idea weighed down by stiff performances, clunky dialogue and a labored premise.

Last and least we come to Ying Liang's The Other Half, a well-intentioned social issue film that had all the aesthetics and artistry of a public access TV show. Ying, who won last year's Skyy Prize for Taking Father Home (which alas, I didn't see), took his $10,000 prize money and vowed to return this year with another film. In the industrial city of Zigong, our sullen heroine Xiaofen gets a job clerking in a law office that takes on beleaguered female clients. For a film that purports in its press kit to be "a contemporary report on the status of women," I was surprised how many of these clients were portrayed in their interviews as petty, opportunistic brats and harpies. Xiaofen is never seen during the interviews, but we know she's there because of her constant off-camera coughing, the director's unsubtle way of telling us that industrial pollution is the film's other grand theme. Xiaofen also has a drunken, deadbeat gambler boyfriend who may also be a murderer, and a mother who's always trying to pawn her off on some soulless businessman twice her age. And on and on and on. Stiffly acted, with atrocious sound and a monotonous, static camera that never, ever moves (and not in an artistic Tsai Ming-liang kind of way), I was truly appalled to find this film in our festival. It's especially irritating considering that there were only two films from China in this year's line-up (not including Hong Kong) and this was one of them. I have to ask the programmers: out of all the films made in China in the past year, was there truly nothing more interesting and accomplished than this? For starters, how about Jia Zheng-ke's Still Life, which won the Gold Lion at Venice last year and is perhaps SFIFF50's most glaring omission? As I mentioned in my first paragraph, this film was enthusiastically received by some at the matinee screening I attended. All I can say is, mileage has never varied more wildly than this.

Cross-published on Twitch.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

2007 HOLEHEAD FILM FESTIVAL—Lineup


What do ghosts, madmen, monsters, and cartoon merriment have in common? Why San Francisco's 4th Annual Another Hole in the Head Film Festival ("Holehead") of course! Accompanied this year by its baby sister—The SF Indiefest: Gets Animated Film Festival—the lineup runs June 1-14, 2007 at the Roxie Film Center. Billed as "an old-fashioned movie matinee twofer or a cinematic yin and yang" SF Indiefest presents two … two … two fests in one! During the daylight hours of Summer, the brand-new Gets Animated program offers some of the finest in independent animation as well as studio rarities. But when the sun goes down, the spooks come out for miles of celluloid horror at the 4th annual Holehead Festival. The lineups for both festivals are available at the SF Indiefest website, along with all attendant logistical information.


Highlights? Opening night is the world premiere of Simon Cathcart's StagKnight, which has been extensively covered at Twitch in no less than (count 'em) eight entries. Gomorrahizer's most recent entry encapsulates all the rest for easy reference. Gomorrahizer erroneously states, however, that StagKnight's world premiere will be at Italy's Salento Fear Fest in late May. A review of the Salento program confirms this is not the case; that honor is reserved for San Francisco's Holehead where Simon Cathcart will appear to introduce the film.

Closing night will be Matthew Leutwyler's Unearthed, which has likewise been written up at Twitch here, here, and here.


Along with StagKnight, there will four additional world premieres: B. Luciano Barsuglia's Zombie Farm, Tom Shell's The Thirst, Jason Kartalian's Driller (referenced twice at Twitch, here and here), and Richard Schenkman's The Man From Earth. There will be three U.S. premieres: Sion Sono's Hazard (profiled by Gommorahizer at Twitch) and Kei Fujiwara's ID—both from Japan—and Peter Stanley-Ward's Small Town Folk from the UK (recently profiled by Twitch team mate Mack).

Cross-published at Twitch.

05/14/07 UPDATE: My bad. Gomorrahizer swiftly pounced on me to say that he's correct. Stagknight is world premiering at the Salento Horror Film Festival as part of their Splattercontainer Night. I stand corrected. Though I am curious why Holehead is billing their opening night feature as a world premiere when it's not or, more relevantly, why I even care?

2007 SFIFF50—Fritt Vilt (Cold Prey) Q&A With Director Roar Uthaug


What I want to know is why my mother didn't call me Roar? Some guys have all the luck.

As ever, the Twitch team is way ahead of the pack. Todd first reported on Norwegian director Roar Uthaug's Cold Prey last summer, offering up the Norwegian Film Institute capsule and a teaser trailer. Peter followed through with the poster, a full-length trailer and the prescient comment that "a simple premise well-executed is a beauty to behold." The film opened in Norway in mid-October (on Friday the 13th, to be exact) and Gomorrahizer reported on distribution updates. Commenting on his post, a Twitch reader offered up a Studna.net interview with Uthaug, which sheds light on the film's working title: "The Norwegian title is a hunting term that directly translated is Fair Game, something that is allowed to be hunted on. As the teenagers are in our movie. Since there are so many films called Fair Game (and it doesn't sound very horrorish) we have chosen the international title: Cold Prey." Finally, in his review of films in 2006, Todd included Roar Uthuag in his Five Directors To Watch. Todd writes: "Uthaug has the unusual distinction of having helmed a slasher film that gets absolutely everything right other than the actual slashing but there's no doubt that he and Annila together represent a rising wave of young Nordic film makers eager to shake off the arthouse expectations of their local industries and create something more visceral. And what Cold Prey does well it does spectacularly well—it is impeccably shot, flawlessly paced and features some compelling character work."


Programming associate Rod Armstrong—who brought Cold Prey to SFIFF50 as part of his Late Night Movies series—likewise focuses on the film's characterizations: "Screenwriter Thomas Moldestad reinvigorates the horror genre by imbuing his vivid characters with distinct personalities—it's genuinely affecting to see some of them iced." Rod reiterated that point introducing the film: "What I really appreciated about this film—because, obviously, if you've been seeing other late shows—this year they were all horror films; they were all from different countries. This particular film is part of the slasher genre. All too often in those films, you're just waiting for the next person to die and kind of guessing, 'Okay, will it be this person that I don't like very much? Or this person that I don't like very much?' Whereas in this film more attention is paid to character development, which I appreciated, so that's not as much a factor. Although you're thinking, 'Well, gosh, who might die next?", you actually do have some emotional stake in it." Further, Rod appreciated the film's exquisite cinematography of Norway's mountain regions and Uthaug's "full use of the location."

Wuss that I am, I caught SFIFF50's alternate mid-afternoon screening of Cold Prey, co-presented by the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts with support from the Consulate General of Norway, San Francisco. I was delighted to take part in a Q&A session afterwards.


Roar Uthaug—as the Svensk Filmindustri International website lays out—"made his first axe murderer film in the eighth grade in junior secondary school. He was first educated in video production at the Mediefabrikken in Akershus county, and later in directing at the Norwegian Film School in Lillehammer 1999-2002. His graduation film The Martin Administration was nominated for the Student Oscar as Best Foreign Student Film. He has been employed as director for commercial films and music videos in Fantefilm since the summer of 2002."


Rod started off the questioning by determining the locale of the film, which Roar identified as Norway's Jotunheimen mountain range. Cold Prey was filmed in a hotel skiing lodge on the edge of the Jotunheimen National Park. This lodge is open for business all year except for the three most fierce months of winter when the roads are impassable. Of course this is when Roar and his crew rented it for filming. They painted the walls dark to make it look like it had been abandoned for years and then had to swiftly paint it back to its original state before the lodge opened for the season. It was a tight transition; they had guests coming in the day after Roar's crew pulled out. The paint was literally still drying on the walls.


The entire film was shot on location, other than for one additional day of off-site shooting to secure close-ups and that sort of thing. The entire cast and crew moved into the lodge for six or seven weeks. Since the roads were impassable, all the equipment had to be brought in by snowmobile. Out of cellphone range, they had only one phone to communicate with the outside world, which they all shared to phone home at night. Despite isolation, the cast and crew got along well. They had a small screening room to watch videos. They started out by watching horror movies like The Shining (which has obvious wintry affinities with Cold Prey, not the least being room 237) but graduated to comedies like Dodge Ball to lighten the mood.


One fellow asked the question that I wanted to ask: There's an obvious (and only slightly irritating) Burger King product placement early on in the film and the rock music score was sung in American English. Why? With disarming candor Roar explained that Norway has Burger Kings too and he was not opposed to a little product placement to secure some funding from them. As outlined in the aforementioned interview, to make a horror film in Norway is not that easy. "As we are quite a small country, with a limited amount of moviegoers, all our films are government funded. Previously the funding has gone through film consultants, which mostly have preferred films of an 'higher artistic value' than what is thought of from horror films. But now we have a new 50/50 funding, which means that if you raise half your budget from private investors, the government gives you the other half. This has made it a lot easier to make more commercial films, like action and horror." That makes it easier to accept Burger King's promotional involvement. Rod wanted to know if there was a toy giveaway?


As for the music, they're all Norwegian bands and it's not that uncustomary for European rock bands to sing in English. Turbo Negro delivers a powerful and comic closing theme to the film with their song "All My Friends Are Dead." The only music in the film that's sung in Norwegian is the old (i.e., 70's) music on the stereo when the power comes on at the hotel. I didn't catch the female singer's name, but, Roar commented that all the lyrics of these older songs are about winter, or going skiing, or waiting for summer to come. Currently, there are no plans for a soundtrack.

The rights for US distribution have been bought but it's not clear yet whether that will be theatrical distribution or straight to DVD. Through the title sequences Roar attempted to create a sense that the film's events were based on fact; but, they're complete fiction. The concept came to him through one of the producers who is an outdoors enthusiast. Most Norwegian films are made in Oslo and this guy wanted to make a film that would get them out of the office and show off Norway's scenic grandeur. A young co-worker offered the idea of snowboarders going up into the mountains and getting killed. He thought that was a brilliant idea and ran with it. Like Roar, screenwriter Thomas Moldestad graduated from the Norwegian Film School and was brought in to develop the script.


The film boasts a hot, youthful cast. Todd has already made mention of Cold Prey's "rather attractive Viking lasses" and I would be remiss not to go hubba hubba for the film's Viking lads. The cast includes Ingrid Bolsø Berdal as Jannicke, Viktoria Winge as Ingunn (who likewise features in Reprise, also at this year's SFIFF50), Tomas Alf Larsen as Eirik, Endre Martin Blindheim Midtstigen as Mikal (my favorite), and Rolf Kristian Larsen as Morten Tobias. Mentioning to Roar that in the U.S. slasher flicks are often the way young actors get launched in the movie business, I asked if he could tell us more about his young actors. Norway, Roar explained, is such a small country that there's not a lot of opportunity for young actors. Unlike the United States, there's not even television series like Buffy, the Vampire Slayer that help young actors gain celebrity before being cast in feature films. If you want to cast someone in their early '20s, they will all be unknowns. Though the lead actress Ingrid Bolsø Berdal is the only one who has been in a couple of other movies in minor parts, all of them have had an amateur theater background. Rolf Kristian Larsen has secured the lead role in Roar's next film. Roar qualified that none of his cast were snowboarders and that stuntmen were used for those sequences.

Noting that he had effectively tweaked the slasher genre—reminding audiences of the effects of bad parenting—I asked Roar if he intended to continue in the horror genre and what projects were down the pipeline for him? Roar responded that he wouldn't mind doing more horror films but he would also like to explore other genres. Currently, he's working on Cold Prey 2; riding the success of Cold Prey, which opened last fall in Norway and ended up being the #2 box office draw of 2006. He lost first place to a football comedy. Norway is such a small country that his loss could be measured in 2,000 admissions. Cold Prey drew 165,000.

Just as Todd noted that Uthaug bears "the unusual distinction of having helmed a slasher film that gets absolutely everything right other than the actual slashing", Roar was asked why his axe-wielding murderer—who has killed everyone so gruesomely and (relatively) thoroughly—would suddenly become careless, leaving two of the five unconscious but not dead? Again, with endearing frankness Roar explained that the killer was becoming "old and sloppy." That made everyone laugh. "He's not a very good serial killer," Roar apologized. Apology—and entertainment—accepted.

Cross-published at Twitch.

2007 SFIFF50—My Afternoon With Heddy Honigmann On "The Rock"


"I guess I seem ungrateful with my teeth sunk in the hand that brings me things I really can't give up just yet."—Joni Mitchell

When I covered the SF International last year I was so excited. I was fresh to writing about film, exploring the interview process, and wooing publicists. This brand new world with its unique sociality promised a respite from an HIV spike that landed me in the hospital twice with life-threatening ailments and cost me a career I had spent an adult life developing and to which I could no longer return. What to do when retired on disability? What to do? Rather than be another of Eric Steel's subjects caught unawares, I thought, "Write, Michael, write as if your life depends upon it" as—in many ways—it did. I thought, "Maybe there's a job for you somewhere in all this that will allow you to leave this mantle of disability behind, this taint of no longer being of any use to anyone…."

It's been an exciting learning curve, there's no question about that, with some incredible perks, but some stern lessons as well. First and foremost, God bless the film writer who has his own. I've met critics for Variety who can barely pay their rent. I've wolfed down finger food with press who resemble a slave class writing for a dime a word, groveling for passes to festival fare. Some of the older guard recall when you could actually get some good money for a piece of writing, before freelance funds dried up, and before the competition became steep with all these pesky new internet journalists, these "cloggers" rushing to the tar pits with the last of the dinosaurs. It's all just sticky sticky sticky these days. The writing may have given me my self-respect back but it wouldn't pay the bills without my benefits. So what does that mean exactly? Should I—as some writers insist—refuse to write for free? And if I write for free (as I frequently do), what promotional angle compensates? More exposure? An expanded reading public? More chances to do more work for free? I came down with pneumonia a month or so back; a direct consequence of trying to write too much too fast for too little. Flat on my back I had to ask myself what I was doing?

Don't get me wrong. I felt thrilled to be one of the first bloggers allowed press accreditation. To have walked through that door when someone left it accidentally open. I remain grateful to have gone behind the scenes to learn not only how movies are made but how festivals are constructed and just how the pedigree of a film is gained. Artistry and business make strange but fascinating bedfellows. Sure the freedom I initially experienced has since been threatened by a collar covered in newsprint and the yanked chain of hold review release dates. Or has it? Was it truly coincidental that smack dab in the middle of SFIFF50 Variety's Anne Thompson had the feature article on the odd fit between old models of print film coverage and jump-the-gun bloggers? At the same time Anthony Kauffman wondered who he could trust among all the new writers and what immediately came to my mind was the process by which I came to trust him: his writing. Doesn't it come down to the writing and if what you write is something people want to read and hear? And isn't there enough to go around? Or do rich relations just toss breadsticks and such? God bless the film writer who has his own….

How many roundtables on how many press junkets does a child have to endure to win his one-on-ones? And even when you've earned that, where's the thrill in talking to someone a dozen journalists have talked to, town after town, hotel after hotel? When does it become nearly impossible to come up with an original question? Or the time to transcribe the talks? When does the success seem nothing more than a sad ragged puppet dance for the publicists who would really prefer you not to write anything negative and who would really prefer you wait a week before the film's release. It's not that I have anything against rules, not really, but where's the joy in such a dance? How can you find a new meaningful life in such writing?

Perhaps in the balance? Something for them and then something for me? What a treat it was to talk to Herschell Gordon-Lewis mainly because no one else was talking to him just at that time. What a treat to talk to Peter Ketnath in Berlin because I was willing to drop some coin to cover the phoner. What a treat to promote local filmmakers in the queer community who don't get much coverage. Moments of rapture when it comes to film writing.


When my filmbud Gustavo Fernandez contacted me to advise he had been chosen to be Heddy Honigmann's host while she was in town and would I be interested in spending the afternoon with them on a sail to Alcatraz, I smiled deep deep down inside, lit up from within by that smile. Payback. "Of course," I replied. You have to understand, I loved Forever—as I've written—and I had even considered submitting an interview request with SFIFF publicity but heard through the grapevine that Heddy didn't really like interviews and everyone I knew was aiming to talk to her so I just didn't feel like wrestling elbows in that throng. Besides, truth is, I didn't want to interview her. I just wanted to spend the day with her and maybe we could talk about Forever along with whatever else we might talk about. And maybe if the waves sparkled just right and the seagulls hovered just right we wouldn't need to talk at all?

It was a lustrous day, perfect for sailing out to The Rock. I've lived in San Francisco since 1975 and have somehow neatly avoided visiting Alcatraz. I guess that's not all that unusual. We take for granted what's nearby. I've gone to remote Mayan sites in the rainforest. I've wandered Istanbul, Paris, Mexico City. It only took 30-some years to make the time for Alcatraz and I'm grateful to Heddy Honigmann for inspiring me to take the trip and to Gustavo for making it easy.

Heddy's son Stefan met me in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel where I looked like someone who was obviously looking for someone. He introduced me to his mother who was wearing a pendant in the shape of a film camera; one he had designed for her when he studied two years as a goldsmith. Heddy was smoking cigarettes like there was just much too much oxygen in San Francisco. This surprised me because she was clearly frail, recovering from back surgery, and—through most of our visit to Alcatraz—once I offered her my arm, Heddy clung on tightly for support. I loved providing it. It made me feel of use.

Sure, we talked about Forever. Not only about Père-Lachaise, but the many cemeteries of the world where she and I have been informed by the memories of others. Cultural inflections make cemeteries different. They're colorful in Latin American countries and more stately in Europe. The Jewish cemetery in Prague has been rumpled by invasive roots, I told her, the Romerio in Chiapas has doors laid upon the tops of graves which once a year are opened to allow conversation with the dead. I mentioned that I noticed that most of the characters in Forever were accustomed to their grief, expressing the religiosity of memory through the tender maintenance of graves. Only the one character, the woman who had lost her husband to the bee sting, cried. Ah yes, Heddy sighed, nodding her head knowingly, the grief was still fresh with her. Yes, she said, it was difficult asking the cab driver to sing. Difficult to sit for hours waiting for the stories to come to her. She would see things—a young girl reading to a grave—and use her telephoto lens to draw closer, hoping that her interest might draw them over to her so that she could find out more. Who was the young girl? What was she reading and to whom? In the closing credits, I said, you have an image of a Mayan stelae. Ah yes, she said, the funeral marker for Guatemalan author Miguel Angel Asturias. Yes, I know, I said, I've actually met the woman who made that monument marker. A small world: the who's who of cemeteries.

I was thrown in the slammer at Alcatraz, blinking in the dark, confined just long enough for the wishful phosphorescence to begin to glow beneath my lids. Heddy liked the dining room, imagining the past. We sat there for a long while before making our break to sunshine. Facing San Francisco, we soaked in sun. Has San Francisco changed since you first moved here, she asks. Oh yes, I answer, the skyline mainly, all these new buildings, this wall of highrises. And inside? The same amount of constructions put up in the name of progress and defense. San Francisco has changed and I have changed and neither of us are as young as we once were. She wants to return to San Francisco, she says, she wants to make a movie here. She's been talking to Jeanette Etheredge (who Graham calls the festival's official legislator) about doing a documentary on the Tosca. What a wonderful idea, I encourage her, there's so much history there. Yes, and surely she would interview many a personage who has frequented the space. The script to Paris, Texas was written there, y'know, late at night when all the other patrons had gone their various ways. But the movie still hasn't come to her. She doesn't know yet what the movie about the Tosca would be. In the interim there is much research to be done. Which I would be happy to help you with if you like, I offer. "Would you?" she smiles, "that would be so helpful."

I think to myself, "Now there's a writing project!" You can still write about film but in a different way, which seems to be the daemon haunting me most of late. We talked about La Vie En Rose. She hasn't seen it but knows it has already opened in France, and not to very good reviews at that. But she acknowledges how difficult it would be to make a movie about Edith Piaf; a woman whose stylizations, whose hand gestures, whose emotional voice hid the woman within. How could a filmmaker find the woman within underneath all of that performance? It would be too difficult to capture in a feature film. It would require a mini-series and even then one couldn't be absolutely sure.


Returning to the city, Heddy snacked on churros before we dropped her off at the Fairmont, ruddied from the sun, exhausted, but scheduled for two interviews at the Kabuki. "It's been an honor and a privilege to spend the day with you, Heddy," I said, clasping her hands in mine. Her smile was sweet. "I hope you will always remember our day on Alcatraz," she answered.

Forever, Heddy. Forever.

Photographs courtesy of Gustavo Fernandez.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

2007 SFIFF50—Off the Hip


Though Cinematical's James Rocchi enjoyed the pairing of Victor Sjöström's The Phantom Carriage with Jonathan Richman's "score", I found the experiment an irksome failure. I would have much preferred silence to this squawky, screechy, lurching composition that Richman imposed upon the film. Most importantly, and oddly enough, Richman and his crew repeatedly distracted me from the film (which in and of itself had a superimpositional allure; check out Squish's write-up at The Film Vituperatem). In what I consider to be a serious error in judgment, Richman elected to emphasize dramatic moments on screen by suddenly going quiet, as if that would highlight the on-screen action; but, all it effected was to divert anxious attention to the musicians, wondering what had happened? Had they lost their sheet music? Maybe we all would have been better off had they lost their sheet music? Lincoln Spector at Bayflicks.Net concurs that these moments of silence seemed arbitrary. Shahn at Six Martinis and the Seventh Art noted that Richman and his combo "seemed to perform set pieces which lasted different lengths than the scenes on the screen they were meant to accompany" and that, fundamentally, "it didn't work as a soundtrack." He likewise expressed his disfavor of the trend to pair "any old musician" with silent films. Brian Darr at Hell On Frisco Bay—though more obliging to Richman's effort than myself—somewhat concurs and elucidates that the function of a narrative film score is to "sustain and propel changing moods", which Richman's "score" did not achieve.


Pedro Costa's Colossal Youth is difficult viewing, a long stretch, but—man!—its compositional dexterity conjures up every painterly criteria I can think of. It was very much like being allowed sole access to a darkened museum where paintings hover midair illuminated by focused spots. Part Caravaggio, part Rembrandt, its psychological approach to lighting served to illuminate insight from within and reminded all over again of the gravitational force fields of images that pull you into orbit. I can fully understand why Darren Hughes flew all the way from Knoxville, Tennessee, lured by the opportunity to view this film one more time, having caught it at Toronto last Fall. It requires that much attentive respect. Don't be surprised if it resurfaces later on The Evening Class in an amplified write-up.

The Devil Came on Horseback, Annie Sundberg and Ricki Stern's documentary on Former U.S. Marine Captain Brian Steidle's efforts to alert the world to the atrocities being committed in Darfur, was equally difficult to watch but for different reasons. Repeated imagery of charred and tortured bodies set against Western indifference made for a somber, timely testament of the ongoing genocide condoned by the Sudanese government. The Q&A was equally difficult but for more mundane reasons. The measured and informative comments by the director and representatives of local activist agencies often met bizarre and grandstanding opinions in the audience. I tired of the frequent attempts to co-opt the discussion and left early to get away from the stink of a "more moral than thou" atmosphere.


Though visually arresting, the themes in Satoshi Kon's Paprika were beaten with a stick and—in my estimation—the audience response was surprisingly tepid. I should have been content with all the adulation at Twitch.

Pascale Ferran's Lady Chatterley is admirably faithful to D.H. Lawrence's story "John Thomas and Lady Jane" (the nicknames granted the sexual organs of that story's impassioned protagonists), especially in its manner of representing how passion motivates tropisms of soul within the context of seasonal landscape. Passion becomes the regenerative light and warmth to counter a stifling and oppressive class structure, momentarily obliterating it in the equal playing field of the mutual orgasm. It's compelling to watch how Jean-Louis Coullo'ch as the coarse gamekeeper Parkin and Marina Hands as Lady Chatterley blossom in their love and desire for each other, becoming more handsome and more beautiful as the film and their affair unfolds.


Cristophe Honoré's Dans Paris is a sexy, sophisticated homage to l'amour fou this side of the nouvelle vague, tipping its hat to Godard's narrative experimentations and Truffaut's sung dialogue (wonderfully replicated on the SFIFF website). When a script this intelligent likewise features pert breasts and arousing glutes, satisfaction's more than guaranteed, especially when those breasts are on Joana Preiss dancing topless in her flat and the lean buttocks belong to Romain Duris and Louis Garrel, two of my favorite French heartthrobs. Meow.


Otar Iosseliani's Gardens In Autumn was perhaps my main disappointment from SFIFF50, lacking narrative structure and offering self-serving spontaneity as a substitute. It reminded me of the admonition in Antonio Machado's poem: "What have you done with the garden entrusted to you?" Though Michel Piccoli never failed to amuse in drag, he was not enough to save this film. By contrast, Julie Bertuccelli's Otar Iosseliani, The Whistling Blackbird is a fascinating study of the idiosyncratic filmmaker during the making of the less-accomplished Gardens In Autumn; clearly one of those rare instances where the "making of" is better than the film. I saw Bertuccelli's documentary first and, after finally seeing the film, it bolstered my appreciation of producer Martine Marignac's irate frustration. Otar really didn't need those scenes with the wild boars; they added nothing to the film other than a brief, visual aside. I loved when Bertuccelli asks Iosseliani: "What is the opposite of the singing blackbird?" Iosseliani doesn't miss a beat: "The man who works too much."


Im Sang-soo's The Old Garden, on the other hand, is a well-tended piece of cinema. Sirkian in ambition, it shifts melodrama towards poignant relevance. Though essentially a love story, The Old Garden reminded me of that moment when a regional cinema expresses its local history in such a way that it crosses over to an international audience. Though I knew nothing about the Gwangju Massacre going into the theater—something the film's presumption has been sometimes faulted for—I left wanting to know more. The thrall of memory becomes a handmaiden to transcendence; the ashen trace of self-immolated revolutionaries becomes all that's left of love sacrificed on the altar of politics. The love that remains haunts with a wisp of a smile on its face.

Cross-published on Twitch.

Friday, May 11, 2007

THE WILD PUSSYCAT


It's a testament to the trust San Franciscan audiences have in YBCA curator Joel Shepard's creative programming that they put money down to buy a ticket to a grindhouse double feature whose titles have been a closely-guarded secret. Of further note is that several key members of Bay Area press elected to catch Joel's program rather than the other hot ticket across town: SFIFF50's closing night feature at the Castro Theatre. To hell with Edith Piaf; give us grindhouse!!

Acknowledging that his is a belated riff on the Rodriguez/Tarantino vehicle, Joel seized the opportunity to augment his grindhouse doublebill with choice trailers from his personal collection of exploitation trailers. Joel negotiated with Austin's Alamo Drafthouse—whose Weird Wednesday screenings are the stuff of legend—and secured prints of The Wild Pussycat (1968) and Drum (1976).

The Wild Pussycat is a feral delight that had Joel's YBCA audience caterwauling with laughter. When this Greek sexploitation film screened at the Alamo Drafthouse last Summer, one audience member rushed to IMdb to pronounce: "[T]his black and white film is one of those great emotional European films that shows Americans how to passionately smoke cigarettes, and scream like an animal when the situation warrants it." Another Alamo Drafthouse attendee categorized it as a "surprise gem of melodramatic sleaze." I have to add that it's prrrrrrversely prrrrrrfect.

Poor Vera (Kathy Impro) is pathetically in love with her goodlooking boyfriend Nick (Dean Byron) who pimps her out to ugly old men to pay the rent and who—when he discovers she's pregnant—punishes her by gagging her and tying her to a chair so she can watch while he humps a new girl. Vera faithfully records Nick's sardonic treatment of her in her diary. Disgusted with her, Nick throws Vera and her belongings out into the street where Vera, in turn, throws herself in front of a car.

Too late to save her sister from Nick's callous treatment, Nadia (Gizela Dalli) arrives on the scene to claim Vera's effects; namely the aforementioned diary. Reading how Nick humiliated his sister (he sodomized her in front of a lecherous voyeur!), Nadia plots her revenge. It's all cat and mouse for the rest of the film. Gizela Dalli exudes a cool radiance as Nadia—part Candy Darling, part I Dream Of Jeannie, part Madonna—with prrrrfect eyeliner and prrrrrfect accessories to her mod wardrobe. But her most totemic accessory is a white fluffy pussycat who poses through the opening credits and whose startled reactions to some of Nadia's sexcapades brought the house down.

So how does Nadia get her revenge? Well, I'm not sure I should spell that all out. Suffice it to say that whereas in some countries "slut" means stop, that's not the case with Nadia who uses sex, sex and more sex to lure, capture and torment cocky Nick who doesn't remain cocky for long.

The Wild Pussycat is one of the funniest films I've seen in ages. Apparently, with only some minor changes, Joe D'Amato remade the film as one of the Emmanuelle movies. Entertainment value aside, what further intrigues me about this film is that it nailed the "girls kick ass" meme long before Tarantino's Death Proof. It's wonderful that some of these grindhouse features are being re-evaluated and that curators like Joel guide the way. He gets a big gold star for this one.

Cross-published on Twitch.

Friday, May 04, 2007

SPIDERMAN 3


"Spider got tangled in the black web that he spun."—Willis Alan Ramsey

There are some fast and furious special effects in this movie, and they will serve to satisfy Spidey's fans the first weekend or two of this movie's release; but, as a whole, the movie fails for getting too caught up in itself and the franchise is wheezing out of steam.

Spiderman 3 could have been more appropriately entitled Weepyman 3 and no one is more to blame for that than Christopher Young and his (allegedly) "original" music. Audiences aren't allowed to experience even one authentic moment of emotion as Young manipulates reactions to every scene in the film with coldhearted determination and numbing efficacy.

At last night's capacity WOM screening at San Francisco's Metreon IMAX theater, the applause was so tepid it sounded like a few wet fish flopping around on shore. The shouted jeers were much more pronounced and the disappointment palpable. Further, the film's blatant moral—"The greatest battle lies within"—clung persistently like the meteoric parasite that converts Spiderman's costume from red to black. I felt like I was scratching at it furiously trying to get it off me before I turned into … something else. And what would that something else be? A venomous critic? A pablum-fed audience who accepts that immoral behavior can be turned around as simply as changing one's wardrobe? Or crying buckets of tears because it's so hard to do the right thing? Am I the only one who felt that depicting Peter Parker's "bad" side as something of a ghetto pimp was just this side of racist if it weren't so stupid first?

Sam Raimi's best work here is in the comic asides. Brief cameos by Stan Lee and Bruce Campbell earned applause. Campbell, in fact, steals the show as a maître d'. Topher Grace follows closely behind with his obsequious Eddie Brock and his power-addicted Venom.

Yes, the aerial battle sequences between Spiderman and the Green Goblin were a hundred times more spectacular than similar sequences in the first Spiderman, although admittedly much more violent and visceral, literally bonecrunching. I look forward to watching this film again on dvd where I can turn the mute on and fast forward to the action sequences. Yes, the Sandman reminded me of The Mummy all over again right down to the howling sandstorm sequences. Yes, Venom needs a dentist. Yes, Kirsten Dunst should not sing and Bryce Dallas Howard should sing, "Do you know the way to Mandalay?" Yes, objects like wedding rings and lockets are hopelessly fetishized. And Tobey Maguire? There comes that sad moment when an actor caricatures his own portrayal of a character; a sure sign to move on before getting caught in the web of Spiderman 4.

Cross-published on Twitch.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

2007 SFIFF50—Black Sheep


What can I tell you? This movie is so baaaaaaaaaad, it's good!

I'm grateful to programming associate Rod Armstrong who—scouting the Midnight Madness series at the 2006 Toronto International Film Festival—secured Jonathan King's New Zealand horror flick Black Sheep for his San Franciscan audiences, albeit for a sole late night screening. Though I'm not one to usually stay up late for festival fare, I couldn't resist finally catching a film that had been unanimously recommended by my Twitch team mates and to gauge the alternate demographic attending the film; a youthful crowd hungry for comic gore. I think I might have been the oldest member of the audience and fully expected someone to come up to me to say, "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!"

There's always a black sheep in a wealthy family. In this case, it's elder brother Angus who subverts his father's sheep raising enterprise into something a little more hair raising. Younger brother Henry—in therapy for his ovinophobia—returns home to find the wooly herds have gone genetically awry.

Citing the resemblances, influences and deliberate homage deftly structured into Black Sheep, Rod Armstrong noted Peter Jackson's Bad Taste (1987) and commented that King actually worked with Jackson's WETA Workshop to develop the film's sheep-human-werewolf hybrids ("were-sheep"). Another obvious inspiration is Sam Raimi's classic The Evil Dead (1981). In his Twitch review Andrew Mack writes that King himself cited An American Werewolf in London (1981) as one of his favorite horror films and an inspiration for Black Sheep. Mack, by the way, deserves an honorable mention for his alliterative description: "monstrous mutton mutants"! In his Twitch review, Todd Brown confirms Rod's allusion to Peter Jackson's Bad Taste where, apparently, Jackson blows up a sheep. Todd adds that Black Sheep's "sublimely silly premise [is] pushed out as far as it can possibly go . . . maintaining a crackling pace throughout." Further, in his interview with the director, Todd also references Billy O'Brien's Isolation (2005) [which Bruce Fletcher pulled into Holehead's 2006 lineup], another example of genetic experimentation gone wrong set on a farm. Isolation, however, is about killer cows and takes itself much more seriously. It is an intriguing coincidence that both films came out around the same time. Must be something in the meat.

Todd's interview with King likewise underscores the choice (whether budgetary or aesthetic) to deliver the film's visuals through in-camera effects rather than CGI, accounting for its 80's innocence. Whereas in the 80's there might have been stylistic throwbacks to the era of 50's horror and science fiction, it's noteworthy that pre-CGI has now become a kind of nostalgic aesthetic, which Black Sheep utilizes to winning effect. And as someone who grew up with a grandfather who was a sheepherder and a stepfather who was a sheepshearing contractor, and who worked as a wool gatherer for my stepfather during my junior year, Todd's question about what you can get a stunt sheep to do was charmingly naïve. As King answered him, sheep are very similar to dogs in what they can be trained to do. We had a pet sheep named Sancho who was trained to be a "judas sheep", the one who wears the bell and leads the herd into the shearing corrals. Sancho was one of the most intelligent pets I've ever had.

Relaying notes forwarded by the director, Armstrong said King wanted to bring together two things that he loved: horror films and sheep. "I think the results speak for themselves," Rod quipped. "He also has a more subversive agenda," Rod added, "which is to play with the image that people have of New Zealand." King says there is a common joke among Kiwis about people who live on farms and exactly what they do with sheep and he also wanted to skewer the bucolic image that the New Zealand Board of Tourism wants to promote: "See where Lord of the Rings was filmed!" Rod believes Black Sheep is a lot more fun though the cinematography of the New Zealand countryside is every bit as vivid. "I actually think the New Zealand Board of Tourism should get behind this film too!" Rod asserted and his audience laughingly agreed.

When King brought the idea to Peter Jackson's modeling and effects workshop, they realized how readily sheep can transform into monsters; they have creepy eyes and scary feet. Without question, one of the film's successes is how King sets the stage so that by the time a herd of sheep crest a pastured hill, you panic. As King mentioned in his interview with Todd, if you buy the early scene where the mutant lamb puppet bites Grant, the environmentalist, "you're on board for the rest of the ride."

Cross-published on Twitch.