independent film reviews

The boys line up for their morning exercises.

Alone in Four Walls is a beautifully-shot look at youths who spend their time in reformatory facilities for youngsters between the ages up to the age of the fourteen. Husband and wife duo Alexandra Westmeier and Inigo Westmeier have managed to capture the stories of a population largely unknown to the world. Most of the boys in the film are from rural areas of Russia, and most of them are in the reformatory prison due to theft; a couple are murderers and rapists (although the rapists largely declined to participate in the film).

The facility the boys are at is practically a school. They are given hot meals, classes to take, and books to read. For some, the facility is a luxury that offers regular meals and a more stable life; Despite being forced to do occasional chores and missing their families, the boys enjoy comraderie with those their age and have no real worries. There seem to be no huge disciplinary problems, and almost everyone seems more content than discontent.

About eight boys are featured closely in the film, with each of them revealing varying degrees of information about their lives in the prison and prior to the prison. However, the film primarily focuses on Tolya, a good-looking and seemingly very intelligent fourteen year old who was put in the prison at the age of thirteen for murder. His counterpart to the murder, who was sixteen, was given twice the sentence, at an adult facility.

There is no denying that this film is powerful, but there were many things that the film only loosely touched on. As powerful as it was already, it could have been more powerful.

During the Q&A after the film, the audience raised many questions with regards to where the boys were from, how they fared afterwards, what the areas they came like were from, etc. Although the filmmakers did visit the families and neighborhoods of some of the boys, causation was a factor that was largely ignored. It was somewhat implied, but not enough. There were a few statements by boys who said they had to steal to buy clothes or food for themselves, but for the large part, the film left you wondering why those boys were in there in the first place. For those of us who are not as familiar with Russia as the filmmakers are, many questions seemed unanswered (although to a Russian, the answers would surely be obvious).

In some ways, it is hurtful of the film to place so much emphasis on Tolya. Tolya seems to stand out as a logical, peaceful kid, despite his history of murder. The fact that he has a tense relationship with his father who will not return his letters — and who later kicked Tolya out of the house, according to Westmeier — makes it all the more obvious just how little we know about the boys.

The last statistic of the film revealed that 91% of the boys who went to those reformatory facilities would not reform and would later find themselves in adult facilities, where they would face harsher conditions and harsher sentences. This disturbing statistic was yet another reminder that this film gives us a view inside the lives of these boys, but fails to answer why the boys would keep committing crimes, especially when they seem generally well-adjusted.

Director:
Alexandra Westmeier

Producer:
Alexandra Westmeier, Inigo Westmeier

Editor:
Alexandra Westmeier

Screenwriter:
Titus Maderlechner

Cinematographer:
Inigo Westmeier

The soldier from the second clip contemplates suicide!

Collections like Fantastic Parasuicides, which combine three shorts by different directors under one title, always manage to peak my interest. In this case, all of the three shorts explore the idea of “suicide,” and due to my preference for black comedies, I thought this collection would be right up my alley. What I discovered was that only one of the pieces really held my attention; the other two were interesting, but hardly memorable or really even worth watching.

The first piece, by Park SoYeong, explores a girl’s suicide after failing an exam. It’s wacky, off-the-wall, and complete with poorly shot action sequences and sound effects along the lines of what you’d find in Pac Man. All definitely on purpose, and all intolerable if you do not find juvenile, nonsensical humor funny. In my case, I found it slightly amusing, but it definitely kind of turned me off to watching the other two, even though the other two are nothing like this one.The second piece, by Jo ChangHo, is almost dialogue-free and explores one soldier’s hesitations about committing suicide. He rents a hotel room in which to do the deed, but things take a turn for the unexpected. I’m not quite sure what the point to this story is, asides from the fact that there is obviously some kind of parallel between the life of a chicken and the life of the soldier. Definitely slow-moving, and, in retrospect, my least favorite of the three.

The third piece, by Kim SeongHo, is the least amateur offering by a long shot. A 70 year old man has suicidal plans for his birthday when he realizes that no one has remembered his birthday; from there, he stumbles upon a suicidal youngster and saves him. The film ends with not one, but TWO unexpected twists. Beautifully shot and effective in telling a story that the viewer will care about for longer than the duration of the story itself — something that the other two shorts failed to do miserably.

Directors:
Chang-ho Jo, Seong-ho Kim, Soo-yeong Park

Producer:
Stanley Kwak

Screenwriter:
Seong-ho Kim, Soo-yeong Park, Chang-ho Jo

Cinematographer:
Hee-seok Na, Young-min Kim

Music:
Jae-hwan Jeong, Hyeon-suk Choi, Myeong-jong Kim

Principal Cast:
Yeo-reum Han, Tablo, Ga-yeon Kim, Hwi-soon Park, Jae-jin Jeong

Language:
Korean

Liz and Jody, emoting my opinions on the film (read: disgust).
A film written and directed by filmmaker Joe Lia, Sweet Thing is one of the worst movies I have seen in a while. Don’t read ahead unless you want to see spoilers… which shouldn’t be a problem because the movie is definitely not worth watching.What’s amusing is that I knew what this movie was about before I even watched it, despite the summary on the back cover being extremely vague. The film was predictable.

Here is the atrocious plot.

Sweet Thing begins by following the separate stories of two women. Jody has a drug problem and quits her job to sell ice cream out of a sweet-looking neon green Jeep she’d purchased. The other girl, Liz, works at a drive-through coffee shop and one day decides to hit on a ‘graffiti artist’ named Brendan. The two immediately become lovers. Insert random cut scenes of the two running through various parts of Seattle. Insert pathetic attempts at street art. Insert ridiculous scene where the two have an elaborate, unlikely, and very foolish ploy to steal what must’ve only been $5 to $10 of marijuana.

For the summer, the graffiti artist goes home to visit his family. Liz calls him numerous times and he never picks up; he never calls her back either. In the meantime, she is spending a lot of time with Jody, who she happened to make quick friends with after Jody bought coffee from Liz’s coffee stand.

While Liz is working one day, the phone rings. In the next scene, she is at Brendan’s apartment, and she breaks up with him. He doesn’t like it, but there isn’t much he can do.

The two girls continue to hang out with one another, and soon Liz makes a move on Jody, who says that there are too many things about herself that Liz doesn’t know. Liz gets rejected. The two don’t seem to talk again.

At the end of the movie, Liz has gotten back together with Brendan, and the two have just had their first real sex session together. Liz stares off at the rain hitting the windowpanes, and she is clearly unhappy. The end.

Hate to do this to an independent film director — and one based in Washington, at that — but this film is difficult to watch. The character development is poor and the characters were annoying to watch. Liz becomes best buddies with Brendan and Jody in an instant, regardless of the fact that they never really even have intelligible conversations with one another. The portrayal of drug usage is rather over-dramatized and hardly believable; it is akin to the marijuana abuse infomercials that involve teens running over bicyclists in drive-thrus. The list goes on. At least the Pacific Northwest is beautiful, but nice scenery doesn’t save this movie from being terrible. Confused teenage relationships might be interesting topics to explore, but this movie only explores those things on a cursory level.

I’m thoroughly, thoroughly amazed that Sweet Thing was an Official Selection of both the Seattle International Film Festival and Boston International Film Festival. My mind is completely boggled.

Director/Screenwriter:
Joe Lia

Producers:
Joe Lia, Matt McUsic, Guillermo Rodriguez

Music:
Patrick Kirst

Cast:
Jennipher Foster, Beth Ison, Jacob Teixeira
Language:
English

Film Website:
www.myspace.com/sweetthingmovie

Washington State Senator Maria Cantwell’s office has just received word that the four Americans and one Nigerian citizen who have been held in custody since Saturday by Nigerian authorities have been released to American Embassy personnel in Abuja.

The U.S. Ambassador in Abuja, Nigeria told Cantwell’s office that the Seattle-based filmmakers were picked up by a van from the detention center and taken to a hotel where they will spend the next two nights before “final processing” by Nigerian authorities.

The film crew had been issued a visa to return to Nigeria to complete a documentary about the impact of oil production on the Niger Delta. They were taken into custody on April 12th at a military checkpoint before being transferred to Nigerian State Security. Authorities claimed the film crew was violating laws by traveling in a restricted area. Attorneys for the Americans insisted that no laws were broken.

The families of director Sandi Cioffi, producer Tammi Simms, and photographers Sean Porter and Cliff Worsham are awaiting telephone calls from them to confirm their safe release.

Glass Lips (English translation), or Blood Of A Poet (literal translation), is Lech Majewski’s latest offering for the year 2007. Perhaps it is because I watched Glass Lips back to back with another Majewski film, Roe’s Room, but I found the entire viewing of Glass Lips to be quite painful. I’d been torn in a way that I have never been torn with a movie — the subject matter was interesting enough to make me want to continue watching, but every scene began painfully, with lots of slow panning and shots that seemed to hold no value. Visually, the film provides some well-shot scenes that make watching it at least somewhat entertaining, but the scenes more so slowly that they’d might as well be photographs.

Surprisingly, however, the fact that the film has no dialogue whatsoever is not actually a pitfall. Majewski succeeds in that you can understand emotions and some thoughts of the characters without a word being spoken. On the flip side, however, the characters are one-dimensional. This is not due to the fact that they don’t speak, however; it is due tot he fact that they are all mostly somber and rather twisted. They don’t really have a ‘normal’ bone in their bodies.

Glass Lips is comprised of a series of shots that tell three separate storylines that are somewhat interwoven. The two main characters are a father and his son, and the mother plays a cursory role. In the beginning of the film, we see the son — who later becomes admitted in a mental institution — being tortured by his parents for misbehaving. Instead of getting a whipping after spilling liquid at the dinner table, he has a belt tied around his neck and is forced to drink his soup like a dog. We later see that the dad is dysfunctional himself, and tortures himself in the same ways that he had once tortured his son. It seems that he is conflicted and feels responsible about the way his son turns out. In the mental institution, the son is actually the most misbehaved of all, and one underlying focus of the movie is on the sexual perversion of each of the characters.

I wish that a focus on strange behaviors alone would be able to save this movie from being a bit tiresome, but simply throwing in a slew of characters who are in a mental institution does not propel this movie to new proportions. In some ways, however, the film is worth watching; it is clear that Majewski has a keen eye for art direction.

Chalk is the latest release by Morgan Spurlock, so one is immediately pre-disposed to having opinions about it due to the fact that Supersize Me was so controversial. Although entertaining, Chalk is flawed in a most significant way: it comes off as a documentary when, in fact, it is not one. Its tagline, “Real teaching leaves a mark,” is extremely misleading.

At the time, I figured the film was a documentary. But I couldn’t help but wonder how some of the scenes were caught on camera, as having a camera in a classroom would certainly cause students and teachers to act differently. It wasn’t until I came home and double-checked that it began to make sense — the names of the teachers don’t match up with the names of the actors and actresses who played them so convincingly. It was a most disappointing discovery.

Four teachers were the primary subjects of the movie, and Chalk showed most of them in their classroom environments or in a teacher break room. Class sizes were tiny, quite unlike those of a real school.

Amongst the more notable teachers in the movie are Mr. Lowrey, played by Troy Schremmer, and Mr. Stroope, played by Chris Mass. Mr. Lowrey was a former engineer turned first-year teacher, and the focus was largely on his awkward stylings and numerous mistakes. He was probably the most actualized character, though, as he grew and changed throughout the movie. Although teaching was something that frustrated him at first, he began to like it and appreciate his students. He seemed to be the only teacher who actually learned from his students.

Mr. Stroope, the History teacher, wanted nothing more than to become Teacher Of The Year, and stopped only at threatening students who were smarter than him. Unlike Mr. Lowrey, he was relatively static throughout the movie — staying as the same determined, tempremental teacher that he started out as.

The movie is just short-term entertainment and is not at all life-changing, particularly because it’s not real. This small bit of relatively minor deception actually made quite an impact on me on the viewer… perhaps at some point someone will be able to make a documentary on the real trials and tribulations of teaching.

“3:10 to Yuma,” a remake of the1957 film of the same name, is the first of a few western themed movies to hit screens this fall. Its premise is simple: Christian Bale, playing downtrodden war veteran turned rancher Dan Evans, volunteers to help escort the devious outlaw Ben Wade, played by Russell Crowe. The group’s task is to get Crowe to the train departing for Yuma prison, where he is to be tried and punished for his crimes of robbery and murder. The train station isn’t far, but Crowe’s loyal thugs are determined to save their leader at any cost.

The film is a western geek’s dream, a whirling dervish of shoot-outs and stare-downs, filmed in the mustiest of locales, featuring two actors that would top anyone’s “most fitting for a Western” list. Crowe and Bale are a pleasure to watch, their interplay is spot on as they grunt and growl through every line like it’s never been done before. No one alive could play Ben Wade better than Crowe, whose mad dog visage and cunning grimace imply a devious intellect much more dangerous than any pistol. Christian Bale is equally flawless, with every cold gaze harboring a sense of deep desperation, one that has been smothered for far too long. Director James Mangold, whose resume includes Copland (yay!) and Walk the Line (boo!), is obviously also a big fan of the genre, giving in fully to all the indulgences associated with this era in film. Because of all this, including an exceptional Ben Foster as Crowe’s second-in-command, “3:10 to Yuma” feels more like a labor of love than anything.

And it’s this love that makes it easy to forgive the films numerous shortcomings. The story, never solid to begin with (the original short story was drafted out on a bar napkin), is full of large holes, making it difficult to suspend disbelief at times. The mercenary band’s holding of the legendary outlaw Ben Wade amounts to no more than a set of cuffs, which Mr. Crowe exploits again and again to agitate, harass and attack his captors. You’d think after he brutally kills one of them, the rest of them would wizen up and perhaps tie his arms behind his back or something. But no! He’s allowed to twiddle his thumbs and think of a new way to deal with his unwelcome escorts.

A more problematic issue in “3:10” is how it handles the central idea of the film. “3:10 to Yuma,” both the original and the remake, is lauded for its interesting character study of the archetypical hero and villain. Through the dialogue between Evans and Wade, the motivations of heroes and villains are both brought into question, as the protagonist is to the brink time and time again by Ben Wade’s incessant needling. However, this thread isn’t brought to a satisfying conclusion, rather it develops awkwardly, with Bale and Crowe shuffling their feet as they move back and forth (verbally at least) from good to evil. Ben Wade’s motivation is particularly difficult to understand, but it does make for a classy ending.

“3:10 to Yuma” is what “the Twilight Samurai” is to samurai films or what “Death Proof” is to the B-movie sex kitten vehicular homicide romp. Mangold delivers an excellent homage to an underappreciated genre (it’s not all about misogynistic cockfighting). Westerns are the purest of American mythos, where the dream of prosperity, freedom, and a better life is pitted against the harsh realities of the unforgiving world. Men are boiled down to their purest elements, foregoing trivialities like pomp and circumstance to create characters that, even with their larger than life personalities, feel like the every-man. And even if Westerns aren’t your thing, its worth it just to see these two leading men (especially Russell Crowe) turn in their best performances in a long while.

At first glance, Paprika is a stylish sci-fi detective thriller that uses dreams as a reason to explore the limits of animation. The visuals are exhilarating and titillating based on any level of criteria. But while many would be quick to write this film off as another “beautiful but brainless” offering from Japan, underneath all the sheen lies a fascinating and incredibly honest exploration of the joys and troubles of filmmaking. Paprika is an incredibly joyous film, multi-faceted and brimming with ideas, and it might be the best animated feature of the year.

Satoshi Kon has always been one of the brightest stars in anime, leaving his mark with works such as the almost flawless Perfect Blue and the heartwarming Tokyo Godfathers. His character designs are a sophisticated blend of classic caricatures and modern sleekness, rounded out with a sardonic edge that hints at something beneath the surface of every character. His films tackle subject matter not typically seen in Japanese animation, such as the deification of pop culture and the disease of social isolationism. But, as accomplished as they may be, his movies all have common flaws. They tend to lose their focus: sometimes exploring ideas too freely and not finding a clean path out, other times wrapping up too quickly and leaving loose ends behind. It’s as if he’s fighting against the clock (or perhaps the budget) – playing freely with the ideas for a while, but then suddenly rushing to a premature finale at the expense of cohesion and clarity. To some, his struggles might be a sign of stubbornness and a man unwilling to develop as a filmmaker at the expense of his imagination. But, as Paprika illustrates, this may not necessarily be the case.

The director’s latest film tells the story of a researcher, ice queen Dr. Atsuko Chiba, her device, the DC mini, and her alter-ego, the bubbly Paprika. Dr. Chiba uses the DC mini to lucidly traverse the dreams of her patients, helping them understand their own subconscious minds and the fears that dwell within them. However, the DC mini is far from complete and even further from government approval, which means she must adopt an alternate persona to accomplish her work. After one of a number of successful treatments, she returns to the lab the following day to find that someone has stolen the DC mini, using it for mass subconscious terrorism and altering the psyches of the people whose dreams he touches. It’s up to Atsuko (and Paprika) to track down the terrorist and restore order to both the dream world and the real world.

The centerpiece of the film, a large, noisy parade of souvenir shop trinkets and household appliances, marches aimlessly through the minds of people affected by the corrupted DC Mini. But this cacophonous celebration is not the terrorist’s desired result. It is the grotesque side effect of multiple streams of thought becoming a river of confusion – a Frankenstein’s monster of dreams. The parade, in a sense, is a Satoshi Kon film in itself. It represents Kon’s own creative instinct – a lush, innocent spectacle that gradually becomes something unmanageable and devoid of context or meaning. By personifying his own filmmaking process in this film, he effectively exposes his own artistic flaws for his characters, and the audience, to see. Even on first impressions, Dr. Chiba shudders at the nightmarish mass, speculating that it exists only to march towards the end of existence. Paprika and her cohorts are in constant battle with the parade throughout the film, struggling against it for control of their own consciousnesses and trying to contain it for the good of humanity. Kon battles in the same way with his own imaginative impulses of trying to wrangle in a rogue creation. In Japan, where animated film is definitely not a niche market, there are expectations that come with being recognized as one of the best in the business. While Satoshi Kon is well-respected, he has always desired the sense of commercial success that has evaded him time and time again. In an interview with the Washington Post, Kon states that he enjoys movies that are mostly understood, but still interpretable. It’s obvious from viewing any of his past works that there is a delicate balance between making disposable eye candy and making a meaningful film. Though he has yet to master that balance, it’s a conscious and fruitful struggle.

Detective Konakawa’s subplot provides another interesting angle to the story. As the film’s primary “patient,” Konakawa has his dreams visited by Dr. Chiba on more than one occasion. In his consciousness lies the history of film itself, comprised of scenes from Tarzan movies, film noir, romance films and more. It’s very reminiscent of what Satoshi Kon did in Millennium Actress, a sentimental tribute to the rich history of cinema. What’s interesting here is that Mr. Kon takes this side character, typically the cool and collected yet otherwise unremarkable cop, and injects him with some of his own blood and soul. As he discusses with Paprika in his dreams, Konakawa’s restlessness stems from a conflict between his love for cinema and his past failure as a creator. Sound familiar? In the end, Konakawa abandons his film aspirations, betraying his old friend and collaborator (who may or may not be Konakawa himself). This proves to be so painful that he can’t bear to watch movies he once loved. While Kon’s reaction to his own shortcomings may not be as extreme, they’re rooted in similar feelings.

Another fascinating moment of self-criticism appears later in the film. During an argument with Dr. Tokita, the morbidly obese genius who designed the DC Mini, Dr. Chiba exclaims that Tokita is exactly like the psychotic Himuro, Tokita’s former research partner and the main suspect in this mess. Both are unable to relate to the real world, Tokita because of his physical state and his child-like mind, and Himuro because of his repressed homosexuality. To compensate, both drown themselves in their hobbies, oblivious to the results of their actions and the responsibilities that follow. Mr. Kon has tackled themes of geek obsession before, damning it in his television series, Paranoia Agent. But in this instance, his tone seems more empathetic than cautionary. The same way the Japanese youth are obsessed with toys, games and cartoons, Satoshi Kon is obsessed with film. Time and time again, Kon has had troubles balancing what he wants to do (create fantastic dreamscapes and explore the modern human condition) with what he has to do (make a movie with a flowing progression).

Paprika doesn’t quite succeed in this respect; the ending does seem somewhat thin, and the audience is asked to blindly follow what is being laid out for them. Kon lays the sentimental flavor on a bit too thick, possibly hoping that the viewers might forget that some of the dangling ends were left untied. Nonetheless, Paprika is Satoshi Kon’s strongest effort. It stretches the boundaries of the genre while celebrating life, film, and the joy of innocence. The honesty and the transparency of the movie make it a fascinating window into the filmmaker’s mind – kind of a subtle, real-time commentary on his approach to the film as it plays. While his past films have left a residue of dread or perhaps uncertainty, Paprika is a celebration and leaves you with a feeling of pure joy. Paprika successfully delivers its message: dreams are important and shouldn’t be suppressed, and while life is full of responsibility, a little spice is always a good thing.

Synaesthesia: Kinski Balances Between Music and Cinema, Rock and Experimentation

On June 15th, the Seattle rock group Kinski played a sold-out hometown show at the Triple Door as part of the Seattle International Film Festival’s Face the Music program. Playing a live score to Berlin: Symphony of a City, a 1920’s era ode to Berlin by German avant-garde director Walther Ruttman, the event offered a unique opportunity to experience the combination of music and cinema in a live environment. I talked with Kinski guitarist Chris Martin a few days before the performance about the rigors of scoring a live film, their recent stint opening for Tool, and their forthcoming LP, Down Below It’s Chaos.

It almost makes too much sense that Kinski would choose to do a live score to the experimental silent film, Berlin: Symphony of a City. The band named themselves after Klaus Kinski, the wonderfully insane sidekick to legendary German New Wave director Werner Herzog (whose surname was also used in a Kinski side project). On top of that, Kinski’s sound has often drawn comparisons to the legendary bands of the German krautrock era. Basically, Kinski is steeped in kraut. So the pairing of them with Ruttman seemed like a match made in heaven. While there certainly were a few heavenly moments to be had, the performance often left me frustrated and disappointed at the possibilities for what could have been. The night began first though with a mesmerizing live score to the brilliant experimental short animation by Ruttman entitled Opus 1. It proved to be one of the highlights of the evening. While accompanied by a subdued yet ominous drone by the band, the flashes, pulses, and movements of various shapes sliding on and off the screen left me hypnotized by the synaesthetic experience being unfurled before my eyes and ears. Unfortunately, this initial excitement just made the underwhelming experience of the main performance that much more disappointing.

Symphony of a City begins with an ominously tranquil Berlin awaking from its slumber. The band starts off much like the film, offering serene atmospherics with a hint of uneasiness bubbling below the surface. The matching tones of the film and the band certainly heightened the overall experience. “The film was really emotional in a sort of experimental way,” says Martin when I asked him what attracted his band to the project. Watching the opening segment, I could definitely see what Martin meant. The film achieves this great interplay of experimentation and emotionalism, enveloping the viewer rather than alienating him. However, pretty quickly Kinski suspended their more contemplative sections and launched into a full on rock assault. While potentially sounding great by itself, the harder segments of Kinski’s score seemed awkwardly placed and out of touch with the overall mood of the film. Overall, the gap between the film and the music left me feeling like I was watching two separate performances that by coincidence were sharing the same stage.

Explaining the writing process for the film score, Martin says, “We just kind of had to change arrangements of the stuff that was already written. It’s not super tight to the film but it definitely kind of ebbs and flows the way the film did.” Martin went on to describe how the use of montage by Ruttman subconsciously affected the band’s decision to string together a combination of old and new material.

“Around half [the score] is sort of brand new things,” says Martin. “[It’s comprised of] bits and pieces that we haven’t used and a couple pieces that we came up with just for the film. It kind of became this retrospective of our band.” One difference was that the use of montage employed by Ruttman achieved more cohesiveness than the band did. While I did appreciate Kinski’s avoidance of keeping in perfect line with the film and thereby steering clear of coming off trite and overly ‘film score-ish,’ it would’ve been nice to see a little more cohesiveness overall.

What further punctuated the rift between the band and the film was the venue. It seemed as though Kinski was playing to a different audience than the film and venue could accommodate. Talking about the importance of venue for his band’s recent stint opening for Tool, Martin explains that, “a lot of people were sitting down. It was interesting because some of the shows had no floor seating and some would all be floor seating and the shows were completely different because of that. [Simply having] a bunch of people standing up it would change the vibe.”

During the performance at the Triple Door, it felt like the band’s ideal audience was a standing-room only crowd, but unfortunately, a posh theater like The Triple Door that offers dinner seating and three-course meals seems better suited for Tony Bennett than a band that prefers rock club environments. At the very least, the venue fit the band’s quieter sections better than its louder moments. Watching the band, I felt like I was at a raging rock show that I would’ve loved to have just gotten out of my seat and started moving to. I thought about what it must have felt like for kids to go to rock n’ roll shows in the 50’s forced to stir in their seats only to rip them out of the floors in the heat of the moment.

Interestingly, when I listen to Kinski’s new record, Down Below It’s Chaos, I get the same sense of excitement and disappointment. It’s as if the film combined with the live music accented Kinski’s greatest strengths and weaknesses. Again, on their new record, its limitation consistently results from the irreconcilability between the band’s penchant for straight-ahead rock and more heady experimentation. If it weren’t for the grainy distortion and atmospherics, the more straightforward segments of the record on songs like ‘Dayroom at Narita Int’l’ or ‘Punching Goodbye Out Front’ would approach generic 70’s AOR rather than Can or early Sonic Youth. Like their performance at The Triple Door, the songs on Down Below Its Chaos repeatedly follow this pattern of frustration. Often starting with intriguing noise drones or psychedelic guitar swirls, the majority of them all too often slide into generic sounding anthemic rock instrumentals. It’s clear that Kinski have the requisite talent to construct truly unique and exhilarating music (something not entirely absent from the new record mind you), but perhaps they still need to work their newfound love of rock theatrics out of their system.

In a way, the frustrating gap that seems to typify Kinski’s current output resembles the relationship between rock music and experimentalism altogether. At one moment, the band interlaces beautiful ambient melodies free of any particular structure. In another instance, they’re rocking out like they should be playing at Budokan (this was not helped by the clapping of the audience between the loud parts). This is not at all to say that rock music is incompatible with avant-garde experimentalism. Some of Kinski’s own influences were pioneers in bridging this gap (i.e. Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine, etc.), but Kinski seems to have each foot on both ends, unsure of which side to fall on. While it’s potentially intriguing to avoid making that choice, keeping the two sides distinctly juxtaposed can often do a disservice to both of their sensibilities. Here’s hoping they actualize the synthesis readily within their reach sometime soon.

New Zealand 2007, 93 minutes

It’s impossible to talk about Eagle vs Shark, a low budget comedy about weirdos in love, without talking about Napoleon Dynamite, a low budget comedy about weirdos coming of age. Taika Waititi’s latest movie borrows so much from the 2004 hit comedy that it never truly escapes its shadow, however hard it may struggle. Both films employ a fair amount of kitsch, relying on nostalgia and absurdist deadpan to milk laughs from the audience. Both films require the leads to be oblivious to their own social dysfunctions, allowing audiences to laugh freely at the characters, not with them. The humor isn’t mean-spirited; rather it’s more like going to the zoo.

The film begins with the socially-inept fast-food worker Lily crushing madly on the eccentric, mullet-wielding video store clerk Jarrod (played by Jemaine Clement, co-star of HBO’s Flight of the Conchords). Jarrod might as well be Napoleon’s foreign cousin, with his slack-jawed deadpan and off-kilter ideas of machismo (they should revive Perfect Strangers and cast these two guys as the leads). After indirectly inviting the timid Lily to an animal-themed costume party / video game tournament, the two begin their romantic journey, involving a trip back to Jarrod’s hometown. There, Jarrod deals with his family issues and some ancient skeletons in his closet, as Lily smiles and acts like the delicate flower that she is. Interspersed are jokes about martial arts training, homemade candles and make-up kit salesmen, which are presented in the exact same way that jokes about dance training, tater tots, and Tupperware salesmen were delivered in Napoleon Dynamite.

Mr. Waititi does a good job of making Jarrod a truly sympathetic character, which isn’t an easy feat since he’s responsible for the bulk of the assholery in this movie. And Lily’s wallflower act isn’t annoying as it is disappointingly one-dimensional. As for the other personalities in the film, there simply isn’t enough there for us to care about them one way or another. Most characters act simply joke fodder, showing up for a scene or two, only to fade into the background. And in the end, after all the forgettable gags and the twee-inflicted romantic episodes (complete with stop motion animation of discarded apple cores), there isn’t a shred of emotional resiliency that remains. These caricatures that populate the movie seem so strange and foreign that it’s incredibly difficult to feel any sort of empathy for their situation.

The movie drifts back and forth between awkward stares and genuine laughs unexpectedly, which wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t provoked to say “well, Napoleon Dynamite did it better. Eagle vs Shark may be a slightly different take on the same story, but the jokes remain the same. It comes off as too familiar, too much of a retread to really give credit to any sort of originality the film might have to offer.

Director:
Taika Waititi

Screenwriter:
Taika Waititi

Producers:
Ainsley Gardiner, Cliff Curtis

Music:
The Phoenix Foundation

Cast:
Loren Horsley
Jemaine Clement
Craig Hall
Rachel House
Brian Sergent
Joel Tobeck

Film Website:
eaglevsshark.net