Eagle vs. Shark *
Loren Horsley, Jemaine Clement, Joel Tobeck
Directed by Taika Waititi
Heavily marketed as the successor to Napoleon Dynamite, the New Zealand indie film Eagle vs. Shark shows what happens when willful quirkiness and extreme ironic detachment overwhelm what should be a sweet and simple love story. The success of Napoleon Dynamite was thanks to its try-anything humor, certainly not its rich storytelling, and the bone-dry, deadpan dialogue that passes for jokes in Eagle vs. Shark is neither funny nor in any way human. When there are no laughs and even fewer emotions, there’s not a whole lot left to grab onto.
Not that writer-director Waititi doesn’t try. He piles on the self-consciously quirky elements, turning main characters Lily (Horsley), a shy, mousy fast-food worker, and Jarrod (Clement), a nerdy, self-involved clerk at a video-game store, into grotesque, inhuman mockeries, impossible to feel for or engage with. The only way this movie might work would be as a sad portrait of mental illness, since clearly both characters have Asperger’s syndrome, or something like that.
Inexplicably, Lily is completely smitten with Jarrod, who pointedly ignores her until she shows up at a costume party dressed as a shark (he’s an eagle, hence the movie’s title) and they start a bizarre romance that’s built on a lack of communication and a total disregard for Lily’s feelings on the part of both characters. Obsessed with enacting revenge on his high-school bully, Jarrod drags Lily with him to his hometown, where he continues to ignore and/or belittle her, while she bonds with his painfully caricatured family.
Waititi’s obviously trying for a bit of pathos, but his characters never exhibit anything resembling actual human behavior. Clement so effectively sells Jarrod as a sociopathic loser that he inspires both anger and pity, but never amusement or sympathy. That’s the end result of this smug, ugly film: You’re not likely to laugh, and you might feel bad for thinking you should. –Josh Bell
The Grand **
Woody Harrelson, Chris Parnell, David Cross, Cheryl Hine
Directed by Zak Penn
At first glance, The Grand is your standard sports movie. You’ve got Harrelson as “One-Eyed” Jack Faro, a misfit who has inadvertently bungled his late grandfather’s casino into imminent demolition. To save it, he has to win the Grand, a big poker tournament. Competing against him are the usual assortment of stereotypes: the dueling brother and sister, the Internet newbie, the geek savant, the old-school Vegas mobster and the eccentric foreigner. Of course Woody will win, right? He’s the down-on-his-luck hero and the biggest name in the credits. Except, this film is almost entirely improvised, and the final poker table is played by the actors for real, so anything can happen.
That’s the experimental premise of The Grand. But here’s the problem: If One-Eyed Jack wins, then the movie is as predictable as any sports movie. But if he loses, it’s unsatisfying. But suppose he does lose. Surely the filmmakers would twist the ending to make it satisfying. But if they can finagle a satisfying ending from anyone winning, what’s really at stake? These were the thoughts racing through my mind during the climactic poker scene—a scene that lacks improvisational humor because the actors were concentrating too hard on actually winning poker.
I found the final table fairly suspenseful because I knew that anybody could win. Had I not known that, I don’t think the scene would play dramatically.
The rest of the film is hit and miss. When the laughs hit, they hit hard, the way only improvisation can because it’s too random and quirky to be scripted. But there are also a few dry spells.
Ultimately, I applaud co-writer/director Penn for daring such an experiment. The result is something of a bad beat, but in some casinos, there’s a nice payoff even for that. –Matthew Scott Hunter
Bad Habits***
Elena de Haro, Jimena Ayala, Marco Treviño
Directed by Simon Bross
In Bad Habits (Malos Habitos), a reporter on TV says, “Mexico is drowning.” It rains relentlessly throughout the film, creating a mood of gloom and helplessness. The characters are also drowning, emotionally and psychologically, in this vivid allegory about obsession and faith.
Director Bross and co-writer Ernesto Anaya have created two infuriating lead characters. Matilda becomes a nun, thinking prayer, self-abnegation and mortification give her the power to save life and stop rain. Elena, an anorexic, cruelly punishes her young daughter, whom she fears will grow fat.
Bross uses the skills he gained as an award-winning director of commercials to make his first feature both visually and aurally potent.
For Bad Habits, actresses de Haro (Elena) and Ayala (Matilda) lost more than 20 pounds for their demanding roles. It adds an impressive quality to their performances. The eating disorders in the movie have a reality.
Bross and Anaya have fertile imaginations, and Bad Habits has some canny surprises. The movie leaves one knowing he has been through a powerful experience—it’s like being caught in a cold, hard rain. –Tony Macklin
I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone *** 1/2
Lee Kang-Sheng, Chen Shiang-Chyi, Norman Atun
Directed by Tsai Ming-Liang
It’s hard to judge the works of Malaysian director Tsai (who typically works in Taiwan) with reference to typical constructs like plot, pacing and character development. Watching a Tsai film is a lot more like staring at a painting for a really long time than hearing a story, and if your mind wanders while taking in his long, static shots, then part of the movie-going experience is appreciating where that takes you. For those who value film on a purely aesthetic level, a Tsai film is something of a gift, and his latest, I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone, is no exception.
The film features virtually no dialogue and nothing you could really call exposition. There is definitely a Taiwanese man (Lee, a Tsai regular) wandering the streets of Kuala Lumpur, who is beaten up by thieves and rescued by another itinerant (Atun). The rescuer seems to have an erotic or romantic obsession with his charge, who also forms a bond with a waitress (Chen). She in turn is taking care of a catatonic man (Lee again), who may or may not be her brother. I think.
The appeal here is in Tsai’s beautifully crafted images and the small moments that add up to a touching portrait of finding simple human connections in an unfeeling urban environment. It takes some careful attention and a not insignificant amount of patience, but if you can modify your expectations, Sleep is a highly rewarding experience. –Josh Bell
Viva **
Anna Biller, Jared Sanford, Bridget Brno
Directed by Anna Biller
Quentin Tarantino would probably go nuts for Viva, a pitch-perfect re-creation of cheap 1970s sexploitation films, because director/writer/star/editor/costume and set designer (whew!) Biller obviously has a deep love for and knowledge of the trashy movies that she so painstakingly emulates here.
Emphasis on “painstakingly”: Viva is so meticulous in its deployment of garishly colored sets, hideous outfits, deliberate overacting and outrageous sexuality that it quickly turns from a fun romp into an exercise in tedium. While Biller’s tale of a suburban housewife in 1972 LA who explores the sexual underground of prostitution, drugs, nudism and orgies is amusing at first and might have made for a good sketch or short film, at two hours it’s a bit mind-numbing.
Biller seems to have little to say about the era and the “free love” movement other than that it was ridiculous, which she says over and over again. There are a few hints of some darker exploration of gender politics, but they’re generally buried under an avalanche of silly costume changes. When even the nonstop parade of naked (and admirably realistic) flesh gets tiresome, you know the movie’s got some serious problems. –Josh Bell
Choose Connor **
Steven Weber, Alex D. Linz, Escher Holloway
Directed by Luke Eberl
There’s a point in Choose Connor when Congressman Lawrence Connor (Weber) tells 15-year-old aspiring politician Owen (Linz) a story about how he dealt with a bully who habitually stole his lunch money back in grade school. Rather than fighting to resist the bully or bring him to justice, Connor found a way to “work within the system,” using ingenuity and blackmail so that he could continue to pay off the bully, get his lunch for free and even skim a few coins off the top for himself. It’s a great story, absolutely oozing with Gordon Gekko corruption, and it leaves you wondering whether young Owen will stick to his idealism or join the System.
That’s what’s best about Choose Connor, a film that begins to do for politics what Wall Street did for capitalism. It shows us with subtlety and finesse how the people in power, blinded by the spotlight, begin to lose sight of the people they’re supposed to serve. Owen is the ambitious Charlie Sheen character, who, flattered by Connor’s offer to make him his “youth campaign spokesman,” begins to overlook Connor’s darker traits. The congressman and senator-to-be endorses conflicting policies, speaks in half-truths and rapes young boys for fun. Wait—what was that? Yeah, when Connor isn’t busy campaigning, he hosts Eyes Wide Shut-style rape parties for high-ranking officials.
And suddenly what had been a political allegory grounded in reality becomes a seedy, sensationalized conspiracy theory. Owen receives an anonymous videotape in the mail, which shows one of the molested boys interrogated by off-screen authorities. Who sent this tape? We’ll never know. Not that it matters. When Owen seeks help, he’s summarily told that it’s “useless to fight the system.”
The problem is that we were getting that same cynical message before the molestation plotline overwhelmed the narrative, but we were believing it then. Do most politicians become dishonest and corrupted by power? Possibly. Do they get together to rape children. No way. If they did, it would be a lot easier to fight the system. The reality is far more subtle and, ultimately, harder to fight. But this movie is all out of reality by the end. –Matthew Scott Hunter
Loren Cass * 1/2
Lewis Brogan, Travis Maynard, Kayla Tabish
Directed by Chris Fuller
Ten years from now, when his career has evolved, director Chris Fuller will look back on his first feature, Loren Cass, and think—that part was good, but why did I do that and that? Right now, the 21-year-old director, writer, actor, editor and producer shows no fear. He has the audacity of youth.
Loren Cass is 83 minutes of tortured angst. It is set in 1997 in St. Petersburg, Florida, a year after race riots that were initiated by the shooting of an African-American by a policeman. In the upheaval that followed, Fuller’s characters look for meaning in their empty lives.
The main trio are Cale (Fuller plays the role under the pseudonym Lewis Brogan), Jason (Maynard) and Nicole (Tabish). They are bored and wayward, without dreams or plans.
The dialogue between the lovers Cale and Nicole is particularly inspired:
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothin’.
What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Nothin’.”
Okay, now.
Fuller says that in Loren Cass he tried to capture “the mind and soul of adolescence and translate it into images.” He tried to create “bits and pieces of the mind.” Unfortunately the minds he captures are often vapid. The angst of superficial characters doesn’t exactly brim with interest.
One bad choice Fuller makes is the four times he leaves the screen blank to emphasize the verbiage. When you’re wondering if the projector broke or if Fuller ran out of film, it’s a bad sign. It’s a film, Chris.
But Fuller does have promise. At this point his best asset is his ability to create tension. Unpredictability breeds tension, and Fuller is adept at it. He does have talent and can build on that.
Loren Cass is neither a success nor a failure. It has a young director who is a work in progress. –Tony Macklin
Once Upon a Time Maria **
Julio Bracho, Ana Serradilla
Directed by Jesus Magana Vazquez
Part erotic comedy, part drug-induced fever dream, this experimental Mexican feature follows the exploits of an unreliable protagonist named Tonatiuh. During the course of the fragmented story, he will bed no fewer than four women named Maria, one of whom is more important than the others and probably the cause of many hallucinations. This doesn’t count his mother or his shrink, both of whom go by Maria.
The whole film is wrapped around like a Lynchian nightmare, but among Spanish-language contemporaries it has the frank sexuality of Alfonso Cuaron’s Y Tu Mama Tambien and the playful comedic tones of Pedro Almodovar’s Talk to Her, and the confusion of lovers is reminiscent of Alejandro Amenabar’s Open Your Eyes. Yet Vazquez’s movie is somehow apart. This could mean he’s a true original, or it could just mean he lacks the vision of the aforementioned auteurs. Whatever it is, it’s worth seeing just for the Maria played by the mischievous Serradilla, who will surely cause you of your own. –Benjamin Spacek
Look **
Hayes McArthur, Giuseppe Andrews, Miles Dougal, Spencer Redford
Directed by Adam Rifkin
Shot entirely from the perspective of surveillance cameras, Rifkin’s Look is a gimmick in search of a purpose. Although the writer-director finds a variety of angles and vantage points from which to document his characters via theoretical Big Brother-style spying devices, only once does he justify this method by giving it any bearing on the story or the lives of the characters. Instead, we’re left with what is essentially yet another intersecting-characters dramedy, a genre so well-worn, especially in indie film, that the addition of the occasional bit of night vision or videotape degradation certainly can’t make it fresh again.
Rifkin introduces a handful of rather broad types, including a teen trying to seduce her teacher, a lecherous department-store manager and a pair of slacker convenience-store workers. They have a lot of sex, occasionally steal and otherwise behave mildly badly when they think they’re in private. There’s also a pair of criminals on some sort of spree, and the major plotlines take some slightly dark turns by the film’s end.
Rifkin’s hook may sound exciting, but he doesn’t really have anything to say about the ubiquity of surveillance cameras in modern society, and he cheats by allowing his cameras to capture incredibly crisp images, perfectly intelligible sound and even the occasional zoom. Visually, the only significant result is a movie almost entirely devoid of close-ups.
Look really could have been shot in a traditional style without much of a difference, except that taking away the novelty would serve to expose how clichéd and poorly written it actually is. By the end, you’re ready to call for the abolition of video surveillance, if only so that you can stop watching all these irritating characters. –Josh Bell
All God’s Children Can Dance **
Jason Lew, Joan Chen, Tzi Ma
Directed by Robert Logevall
Short stories don’t plod. Movies sometimes do. Example: Logevall’s adaptation of Haruki Murakami’s short story “All God’s Children Can Dance.” Murakami is a deft, disciplined, lyrical artist. Logevall is not.
The next-to-last line of Murakami’s story is, “A gust of wind set the leaves of grass to dancing and celebrated the grass’s song before it died.” How do you put that on the screen? The answer is, you don’t—or at least Logevall couldn’t. A conventional shot of a tracer going through the sky doesn’t do it.
All God’s Children Can Dance is the story of searching for identity. Kengo (newcomer Lew), a young Asian-American, has been raised without a father, so his mother (Chen) has insisted he is the son of God. This is done less blatantly in Murakami’s story.
As a boy Kengo becomes a member of a religious sect, which he eventually leaves. Then he goes on a search when he sees a mysterious figure who may be his father.
Chen and Lew are adequate, but the actor who provides the most much-needed humanity is Tzi Ma, who portrays Kengo’s mentor.
Logevall is not served well by his screenwriter, Scott Coffey, who blunders through Murakami. Coffey relocates the story from Japan to LA. Most damagingly, he changes the mood, unity and sensibility of the story. His joke at the end about a big cock takes material out of context and makes a crass joke of Murakami.
Logevall can be an able filmmaker—All God’s Children Can Dance is visually effective. But, Robert, in the future avoid short stories, and get a new screenwriter. –Tony Macklin
Careless ***
Colin Hanks, Tony Shalhoub, Rachel Blanchard
Directed by Peter Spears
Wiley (Hanks) is your average neurotic guy with a boring life, until one night he steps on something on the kitchen floor. It’s a finger, and it’s not one of his. Thus begins his half-cocked, amateur sleuthing adventure, filled with an assortment of oddball characters. But it’s when Wiley meets Cheryl (Blanchard) that the plot thickens. This beauty might just be the woman he’s been looking for—and not merely because she has nine fingers.
The love story quickly takes a back seat to Wiley’s growing obsession with the detached digit. The investigation leads him to increasingly strange situations, but the accompanying quirky humor is a mixed bag, since some of the gags are a little too weird for their own good. One scene has a man throwing eggs at Wiley from a fourth-story window. Oddly, all the eggs smash harmlessly beside Wiley, who continues his conversation. That’s funny. But in another scene, when Wiley tells the police that he lost the finger, one cop’s reaction is so bizarre, we don’t laugh because we’re wondering what the hell this guy is even doing.
The answers we eventually get to the mystery are as offbeat and random as anything else in the film, but they lack that extra punch. When your movie begins with someone stepping on a severed finger while washing dishes, the surprise at the end needs to top that. And the tone of the resolution, with its philosophical voice-over and relationship ponderings, only highlights the film’s romance-department shortcomings, especially since Wiley never demonstrates that he’s more interested in the girl than the mystery. –Matthew Scott Hunter
The Fifth Patient ** 1/2
Nick Chinlund, Isaach De Bankole, Brendan Fehr
Directed by Amir Mann
A man wakes up in a run-down hospital in a tiny African nation with no idea of who he is or how he got there. Various shadowy figures interrogate him, accusing him of unspecified crimes. He must piece his life together while convincing his captors not to kill him.
This is an immediate and engrossing set-up, similar to the basic template for plenty of thrillers, and it lends The Fifth Patient a certain momentum that lasts more than halfway through the film, until writer-director Mann starts providing some answers about why exactly his main character (Chinlund) is in Africa, and what his mysterious tormentors and/or allies are trying to get out of him. As the possible spy begins to regain bits and pieces of his memory, along the way becoming more confident in his own espionage skills, the film resembles The Bourne Identity on a smaller scale. Chinlund has the looks and charisma of a young Harrison Ford, and he carries the movie well as he and the viewers embark on the same search for the truth.
Unfortunately, the truth we end up with is convoluted and unsatisfying, and the more Mann reveals the less interesting the movie becomes. He’s got a good visual style and a knack for creating suspense; he’d probably do well to direct a thriller that a stronger screenwriter had constructed with a little more narrative sturdiness. –Josh Bell
Throwing Stars ** 1/2
Jason London, Scott Grimes, Scott Michael Campbell,David DeLuise
Directed by Todd Breau
Adolescence keeps getting extended in the movies, to the point at which, at least for males, it’s now lasting past 30. (Actually, if you count The 40-Year-Old Virgin, it’s managed to hold on well into middle age.) Arrested development is at the core of Throwing Stars, a middling dark comedy about four childhood buddies who are struggling to deal with their adult lives. Oh, and they’re also busy trying to dispose of a dead body.
Yes, it’s one of those movies that uses an outrageous and contrived set-up to get its characters together so they can hash out their feelings and learn something about themselves. The group’s anxieties range from the pedestrian (an overbearing pregnant wife) to the extreme (accidentally killing a guy), but they’re all handled with roughly the same level of seriousness, which is to say very little. Director Breau and screenwriter Ryan Steckloff treat their characters’ problems cavalierly, hastily sketching them out and using the far-fetched body-dumping expedition as a replacement for character growth and emotional connection.
The actors playing the four friends (London, Grimes, Campbell and DeLuise) are all likeable enough, but Steckloff doesn’t give them much to work with, and Breau seems to leave them adrift, shifting awkwardly back and forth from stupid comedy to sappy drama. So much time is taken up with the inane plot that there is barely enough time for each character to have one or two emotional moments before declaring his problems solved.
Breau also shoots the whole thing in a flat, workmanlike style that underplays the zany comedy while shortchanging the dramatic moments. This is a film that seems too timid to be either outrageously dark or sincerely heartfelt, and the result is a dissatisfying middle ground that serves neither its characters nor its audience. –Josh Bell
Drama/Mex ***
Fernando Becerril, Juan Pablo Castaneda, Diana Garcia, Miriana Moro, Emilio Valdes
Directed by Gerardo Naranjo
A middle-aged man steals the weekly deposit from his company, walks out on his family and contemplates suicide. A young woman is torn between her boyfriend and an unreliable old flame who has reentered her life. A 15-year-old runaway struggles with being, well, a 15-year-old. All of these people could really use a day at the beach, which is what they get in this slice-of-life tale from Mexican director Naranjo.
Like fellow countryman Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, Naranjo weaves multiple narrative threads into a tapestry. It’s a marked improvement from his first feature, the drug-fueled Malachance, which screened at CineVegas three years ago. Both are notable for strong performances within character-driven plots, but the sophomore effort relies less on flashy stylization and emphasizes visual storytelling. As the burnt-out family man Jaime, Becerril does more with a tired glance than most actors do with an entire monologue. The only thespian in the cast, he gives the strongest performance—which isn’t to say there aren’t revelations to be found.
These include Moro as the lost girl who combs the beach, looking for rich tourists to swindle. Also the beautiful Garcia, whom the two guys fight over but neither deserve. The troubles of all these poor souls come to a head one night, which they are wont to do in these types of films, yet the results are surprising while adhering to logical character arcs. –Benjamin Spacek
Never on a Sunday ****
Silverio Palacios, Humberto Busto, Maya Zapata
Directed by Daniel Gruener
I think this film’s take-home message for U.S. audiences is that if you’re traveling to Mexico, and you plan on dying, be sure to do it on a weekday. But if you do happen to pass on a lazy Sunday, make sure your family sticks around the mortuary for the cremation because if a mortician has to work on his day off, he might be irked enough to sell off your corpse and give your folks an urn full of dog ashes.
This is what happens to Carlos’ late Uncle Julio in Never on a Sunday, and it’s bad news for Carlos (Busto) when Julio’s increasingly gamey corpse keeps showing up, since Carlos lied to his family about witnessing the cremation. Carlos’ attempts to respectfully dispose of the body lead to a series of darkly comic misadventures, political commentary and even an unlikely love story.
It’s gritty and unpredictable, but for all its morbidity, the movie’s a lively romp. American audiences might not pick up on the Mexican political jabs, but even without those added tidbits, Never on a Sunday remains multilayered and wholly satisfying ... especially for an extended funeral. –Matthew Scott Hunter
The Living Wake ****
Mike O’Connell, Jesse Eisenberg, Ann Dowd, Eddie Pepitone, Jim Gaffigan
Directed by Sol Tyron
What is the meaning of life? Is it finding love? Leaving one’s mark in the world? Or is it mining humor from ham steaks, rickshaws, linoleum back yards and blood-thirsty badgers?
According to The Living Wake, it’s a whimsical combination thereof. Combining O Brother, Where Art Thou?’s self-parody, Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s absurdism and the over-the-top dialogue of both, Wake begins with a faux newsreel on the life of eccentric artist and author K. Roth Binew (O’Connell). On the day of his prophesied death (a vague malady is to blame), Binew sets out with his acolyte Mills (Eisenberg) to make amends with various parties, take a final stab at leaving his mark in the world, bang a prostitute and, most importantly, seek the elusive, final wisdom his late father (Gaffigan) never got around to delivering.
What follows is a highly quotable (“Flex your muscle and abuse your power!”; “...and never have Ricketts been more erotic”) cult-classic-in-the-making. The humor comes fast and ends up hit-or-miss, but when it does hit, it hits hard, and a fittingly ambiguous ending avoids the trap most intelligent comedies fall into: a tidy, dumbed-down ending. Wake may appear superficial at first, but its scope quickly deepens. Most among us, the film accuses, cannot dare to be different. In lieu of leaving a mark, the cop-out is to occupy one’s time with romance, family, religion or alcohol. Binew and Wake aspire to much more. –Julie Seabaugh
Have Love, Will Travel *
Tae Davies, Chandler Rylko, Roxanne Arvizu, Jarrod Crawford, Billy Gallo
Directed by Dan Peterson
Stop me if you’ve heard this one: A girl walks into a hotel room. Some poor old sap gives her his money. He thinks he’s getting sex, but she skillfully manipulates the situation to get the job done without even touching him. By the time he realizes what’s going on, she’s out the door.
Welcome to the world of private dancers. Have Love, Will Travel opens with this slick scam of a joke, and it’s funny, because we see how it works and because the guy really doesn’t deserve any better. But it doesn’t really set the mood for the rest of the film, which has humorous moments but is mostly populated by depraved souls and scumbags.
We meet Whitney and Nathan. She works as a waitress and is trying to go back to school. He wants to be an actor. Of course they both have bills to pay. We watch as they slowly get sucked into this seedy underground, each of them trying to justify their actions along the way.
For a while the film skates by, taking us behind the scenes and providing us with some genuinely interesting information about how this business works. But we know it will end badly, as it does for two acquaintances of Nathan’s who do business with the wrong guy one night, at which point the film just becomes unpleasant.
The problem is that director Peterson’s biggest insight is that money makes people do stupid things. Like Showgirls and Striptease, this is sleaze masquerading as morality play. We should know better than to fall for that trick. –Benjamin Spacek
Tie a Yellow Ribbon ****
Kim Jiang, Jane Kim, Patrick Heusinger, Ian Wen
Directed by Joy Dietrich
A distraught young Korean woman wanders the streets of New York. It could be anywhere, for life is in a haze. Her current roommate has more or less kicked her out of their apartment. It’s just the latest abandonment for Jenny, who was sent away by her adoptive parents when she was 14 for a supposed indiscretion with her American brother. She is unique, and alone.
Writer-director Dietrich set out to make a film about the experience of young Asian-American women in the U.S. It’s a sullen and moody work, inspired by statistics of depression and suicide amongst that demographic. It’s also elegant and touching.
Jenny finds a new roommate, but just as she begins to explore new relationships with the other Asian-Americans in her building, her haunted past won’t let her go. Using gorgeous location photography in tandem with an evocative soundtrack, Dietrich gives the film a lyrical quality, as we drift in and out of Jenny’s dreams. The deeper we dig, though, the more we find her fears and desires are universal. It’s a personal and unique vision, but it is no longer alone. –Benjamin Spacek
Kurt Cobain About a Son ** 1/2
Directed by AJ Schnack
Elements you will not find in the experimental documentary Kurt Cobain About a Son include: any of Cobain’s music; footage of him or his band, Nirvana, doing anything; interviews with his friends, family, associates or anyone connected with Cobain or Nirvana; any documents or photographs relevant to the time period and events covered by the film, at least until just before the closing credits. What you will get are essentially two things: Cobain’s unadorned voice, culled from hours of interview tapes recorded by journalist Michael Azerrad for his 1993 book Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana; and a series of impressionistic images of Cobain’s native Pacific Northwest, created by director Schnack as a vague thematic counterpoint to Cobain’s words.
While Schnack creates an often beautiful photo essay on life in Seattle, his images add little to Cobain’s words. When he talks about the joy of playing club shows in Nirvana’s early days, we don’t see video or still photographs of the band doing that—just some nameless group of musicians, artfully shot but ultimately signifying nothing.
Throughout the film there is a maddening lack of context—Cobain’s name is never mentioned (not even in an opening title), and events in the band’s career and Cobain’s life are glossed over or omitted. Anyone coming to this film without a solid working knowledge of Cobain and Nirvana will be hopelessly lost, although possibly distracted by the pretty pictures. At the same time, a lot of what Cobain says is fascinating, and the intimate interviews—with their background noise of eating and TV-watching and even at one point Courtney Love asking Cobain to prepare a bottle for their daughter—are touching and sad. If only they’d been used as the basis for a real story, rather than this oblique exercise in pretentiousness. –Josh Bell
Great World of Sound ***
Pat Healy, Kene Holliday, Rebecca Mader, Robert Longstreet, John Baker, Tricia Paoluccio
Directed by Craig Zobel
Having worked on The Apprentice, director Zobel’s witnessed firsthand the lengths to which ordinary folks will go to achieve fame, wealth and success, or at least remove themselves from whatever unacceptable existence they’re stuck in. His Great World tells the story of the self-doubting Martin (a magnetic Healy), who falls in with a company promising to give the undiscovered musical talents of Charlotte, Louisville, Biloxi and beyond a chance at stardom ... as long as they’re willing to pony up the “good faith” dough to get the ball rolling.
There’s subtle humor to spare in the lively dialogue, most of it courtesy of Martin’s unassailable partner Clarence (Holliday), and welcome commentary on the state of modern star-making machinery. But the film abruptly switches gears during the “audition” scenes, for which real Middle-American hopefuls were told they were performing for real producers. The scripted and documentary-style segments don’t mesh particularly well, and the momentum of the scammers-getting-scammed storyline is subverted in favor of forced, discomforting voyeurism. Moreover, the broken-dream consequences of the producers’ actions remain conspicuously absent. Overall Zobel’s aim for realism is admirable, but he inadvertently revokes his own ability to suspend disbelief in the process. –Julie Seabaugh
Rocket Science ***
Reece Thompson, Anna Kendrick, Nicholas D’Agosto
Directed by Jeffrey Blitz
As far as quirky coming-of-age tales about suburban high-schoolers go, Rocket Science is not as unique as Wes Anderson’s grossly overrated Rushmore nor as genuine and charming as 2005’s underappreciated Thumbsucker. The narrative feature debut from Blitz, who directed the great spelling-bee documentary Spellbound, Rocket Science is full of mannered characters and oppressively whimsical music, with heavily ironic dialogue that often serves no purpose other than to encourage the audience to think, “Wasn’t that charmingly odd?”
In many cases the answer is no, but enough about Rocket Science is genuinely endearing that it comes out okay in the end. That’s mostly thanks to stars Thompson and Kendrick, who lend humanity to their gimmicked-up characters. Thompson’s Hal is a chronic stutterer with divorced parents and a bullying older brother; Kendrick’s Ginny is a snooty debate-team perfectionist who recruits Hal because she figures that the best debaters are the ones who have something to prove.
Thankfully Hal doesn’t blossom into some expert debater, and the movie hinges on his search for self-acceptance, which is portrayed as an ongoing process and not tied up neatly at the end. He falls hard for Ginny, but their relationship progresses unpredictably, and Blitz never indulges in the sickeningly whimsical indie-film love that can be just as insipid as any mainstream romantic comedy.
The plot lurches along in fits and starts, building to a climactic debate tournament that once again defies conventions, although the urgency of Hal’s twin competitive and romantic goals has sort of fizzled by that point. Luckily, every time Thompson opens his mouth and manages to get some words out, he gets you to care all over again. –Josh Bell