April, 2011

Hot Docs 2011: Chaos and Control

Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then

 

 

By Nicole Armour

Brent Green’s seventies-set tinkerer-inventor documentary Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then employs hand-drawn and live action, stop-motion animation to tell the true-life love story of Kentucky residents Mary and hardware store clerk Leonard. They first meet when their cars crash, causing Leonard to fly through his windshield and land in the passenger seat of Mary’s car. Their connection defies physics from the start and continues in an unholy mist of magic and calamity. When Mary is diagnosed with cancer two years into their relationship, Leonard begins to build a house he envisions as a “healing machine.” Its mostly improvised construction, consisting of irregularly-tiered levels and a tower centrepiece that reaches perilously for the heavens, fills Leonard’s thoughts. In narration, we’re told each nail represents a problem that he strikes to make disappear. Still, they accumulate and, while shingling, they pour out of Leonard’s pockets, stream down the roof and accumulate in impossible numbers in the rain gutter. The house fails to save his wife. But after her death, he continues his project unabated for another fifteen years.

Green had the good fortune to visit the healing house before it was razed to the ground, after which he built a version on his property in rural Pennsylvania based on blueprints scrawled on cardboard that were found amongst Leonard’s effects. Green then surrounded it with several other buildings, fabricating a small town cum movie set, and also designed a handmade, working piano like the instrument Leonard used to play hymns. (Leonard’s fervent religiosity grew in direct proportion to Mary’s weakness and his own sense of loss.) Green directed and narrated the film, and wrote the script and musical score with collaborators. He also tours the film as a live performance during which he and other musicians, such as Fugazi’s Brendan Canty, play along in accompaniment. Through Green’s activities both on and off screen he conflates himself with Leonard, embodying a comparable fanaticism. When Leonard found that he lacked control of his life, he re-asserted that control by choosing a project and dedicating himself to its completion. Through live action stop motion animation, Green orchestrates his actors’ halting movements like a puppeteer.

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BAFICI 2011: Like Hippo Hunting in Pampas Grass

Un mundo misterioso

By Jay Kuehner

“I want content, not form!” – Mariko Okada, soliciting a kiss, in Yoshida Kiju’s Mizu de kakareta monogatari (Story Written in Water, 1965)

The BAFICI critic be damned. Again. When it seemed that the preeminent South American festival’s stronghold might yield to ongoing budget constraints and a native indie market suffering from insularity, the 13th edition of BAFICI proved resilient in its capacity to curate another vast and dynamic rejoinder to the implicit critical stance of how (rather than what) is cinema? “Judge for yourself,” the program seems to retort, offering up a surfeit of evidence capable of humbling, beguiling, or downright exhausting the spectator—all in a day, of course.

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…And I Feel Fine: Gregg Araki’s Kaboom

By Adam Nayman

A  berserk sugar rush of a movie featuring a cast so uniformly young and supple that Roxanne Mesquida registers as a veteran presence, Kaboom has been heralded as a homecoming of sorts for Gregg Araki. The story goes that John Waters urged Araki to try to recapture the adolescent kick of his early features, and there is a degree to which Kaboom‘s gorgeously bored, sexually voracious characters and criss-crossing conspiracy narratives function as callbacks to the laissez-faire funkiness of his ‘90s output. And yet for all its creeping apocalyptic dread and frantic pansexual hijinks, Kaboom is surprisingly and surpassingly sweet. Now in his early fifties and comfortably ensconced in the contemporary indie pantheon, Araki  is less bratty than benign, more Smiley-Faced than Totally Fucked Up.

“There’s a different point of view than in The Doom Generation (1995) or Nowhere (1997),” says Araki, who was recently in Toronto to present Kaboom as part of a career retrospective at TIFF Bell Lightbox. “I’m ten or fifteen years older, and as you get older you do get more of a balanced outlook. I’m in a completely different headspace and a completely different place in my life. I think when I made those earlier movies, I was a lot more like my characters—I was also unmoored, or confused. Now I’m more centred and have a stronger sense of who I am, and I think that’s reflected in the sensibility of the later movies.”

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Just Passing Through: Mike Ott’s Littlerock

By Michael Sicinski

Littlerock, California is, not to put too fine a point on it, a shithole. I’ve driven through it on my way to other places, and that’s really about all you’d ever want to do. It’s located in southern central California, just south of Edwards Air Force Base, and like a lot of such towns there’s an almost deliberate lack of anything to do. Boredom, you see, makes the Armed Forces all the more appealing: enlist, see the world and whatnot. But in his highly lyrical second feature, Mike Ott turns this idea on its head: what if “the world” comes to you?

In the past decade, so much has been written about the alleged resurgence in American independent cinema that the very idea has moved beyond mere cliché and become a kind of critical contact high. Because of the recent emergence of a few very unique and compelling film artists, festivals and magazines have taken the opportunity to pay undue attention to the middling-to-pedestrian efforts of others and call it a trend. “New Realism?” Is anyone seriously going to be watching films like Chop Shop (2007), Sugar (2008) or The Puffy Chair (2005) in ten years? (Is anyone watching Our Song [2000] or Raising Victor Vargas [2002] now?) It seems to me that the critical question is whether or not a piece of cinema successfully constructs, not just depicts or conveys, a sense of place. (more…)

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Heaven and Earth and Television Magic: The Cinema of Jesse McLean

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By Tom McCormack

Toward the end of Philip Roth’s Portnoy’s Complaint, the narrator travels to Israel and forms an uneasy acquaintance with a young woman named Ruth. The episode is contrived so that Roth can stage a symbolic dialogue: one between traditional Jewish values and the values of humanist, American Jews; between the Old World and the New World; between the world of belief, order, and rationality and the postmodern world of moral chaos. Ruth tells Portnoy:
The way you disapprove of your life! Why do you do that? It is of no value for a man to disapprove of his life the way that you do. You seem to take some special pleasure, some pride, in making yourself the butt of your own peculiar sense of humor. I don’t believe you actually want to improve your life. Everything you say is somehow always twisted, some way or another, to come out ‘funny.’ All day long the same thing. In some little way or other, everything is ironical, or self-depreciating.

Forty-two years after it was published, the old world’s condemnation of the new still cuts to the quick, and perhaps now more than ever. Ruth/Roth was aware that self-deprecation is never far away from self-loathing; irony is the tool we use to describe our disapproval of our own lives. Of course, nowhere is the reign of irony more evident than in our relationship to popular culture. Ironic products meet ironic consumption; we make self-mocking parodies of self-mocking parodies. The game is to stay one step ahead: whatever it is, it can be out-meta’d. To complain about any of this is to be labelled worse than a prude: someone who just doesn’t get it. (more…)

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