A series of great shorts that redefine the manner in which “kids work’ is compared with “professional,” one in which “kid/student” is simply an age level rather than a definition of cinematic ability of expression or articulation.

Amy Bench’s work In this Place at first glance suggest a rudimentary application of graphic compositing, as a young woman shifts through background layouts of bright and exotic locations. We come to learn that Jane, a young explorer, is simply finding the means of escape from the low contrast, and more realistically photographed, 35mm footage with her mind’s eye of exploration in bright HD imagery. While this juxtaposition in itself holds a fascinating approach towards these two mediums and their relationship with young filmmakers, it also provides a justification for these compositing techniques that imply this artifice is of the love and excitement of imagination. Jane’s boring conversations with her condescending older brothers further perpetuates her desires for escapism, but when she attempts to develop her imaginary travels through video distribution, the distributor tells her the material is unrealistic and overly amateurish. Jane focuses her skills as a dreamer and video-maker to delight and reconnect her family through a love video made specifically for them, as she brings them into the emotionally bright HD footage away from the oppressive and dreary 35mm realism, bridging the gap between the optimistic visions of youth and falsely-imposed definitions of cinematic quality. Read on…

While these shorts provide for some great laughs, it’s the smart choices from intelligent directors that make these funny moments meaningful and memorable beyond their short duration.

Starting off the comedy block is commercial director Jeremy Berger’s The Van, which is able to provide some laughter due to it’s confident style and juxtaposition of Herman Melville’s poetics with a more crass modern humor. Although the image of a blow-up sex toy is paired with Moby Dick’s narrator description of his unhindered history of exploits plays on the social comedy of manners, the film unfortunately hit’s it’s peak. The chase between a biker messenger and the “white van” that assaults bikers is reliant upon technical proficiency rather than motivated by the psychological or emotional complexity of Melville. Perhaps what is lacking is the reason behind the pairing of the text of Moby Dick within the world of the bike-messenger that would really take the work into more complicated jokes, and perhaps become a more biting satire of contemporary eco-business warfare. Read on…

Lagueria Davis’ 1 in 3 is not so much a depiction of Lifetime–melodrama nor the exploitive horrors that are common in domestic abuse thrillers, but a more realistic drafting of the possibilities of subtle daily domestic violence. As a first feature, 1 in 3 is prone to raw craft, but it is the passion and careful intention of the film’s depiction of fear in domestic violence that allows the film to convey its message of strength and validate social advocacy.

An initial courtroom scene between Sydell, social service advocate, and her domestic violence client Angie defines several key concepts behind the film. As the judge hears another case, Sydell and Angie share a private dialogue through the passing of paper and pen. What Angie reveals is a fear of her abusive husband despite the safety of legal decisions. Though she may recognize the authority of the legal procedures, the fact remains that Angie’s voice is denied and the ramifications of this moment extend beyond the courtroom of rules. Angie’s husband not only proves the limits of legal restrictions when he pulls out a gun in a later scene, but also ignites the recognition of the realities behind Sydell’s job: a legal resolution does not stop the possibilities of violence, and perhaps forces an unintended silence of victims. While this sequence of events results in dramatic violence at the hands of a male aggressor and gunplay, the film reveals the forms of violence only begin with the physical and extend into one’s own complicity when fears become the driving force of daily decisions. Read on…

Although the dominance of ESPN over the concept of this documentary is so powerful, Jackass director Jeff Tremaine and editor Seth Casriel found ways to both defy and utilize the network’s clean format and structure while also presenting some incredible historical footage that places Matt Hoffman’s BMX footage into new light, and perhaps brings us the closest to the mortality of Hoffman’s unique biking style.

One of the most unique kinds of video work is hardcore bike and skate videos, one of my favorite genre of filmmaking. Such works impart a true love of a craft (in this case, biking) and often become overlooked by those who don’t share the same interest, nor know exactly at what it is they’re looking when such footage is presented to them without context. Yet, there is little that rivals such work in its ability to capture the harsh truths and intense passion of any particular, and fleeting, “moment”. While Tremaine and Casriel are able to incorporate such amazing footage, it is the way in which they are able to craft the reasons for such footage’s appeal that makes this documentary shine beyond a possibly rigid talking-head format. Read on…

In preparation for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, I cozied up with a copy of Tetsuo: The Iron Man, director Shinya Tsukamoto’s 1989 sci-fi mindfuck. The film holds its own as a low budget visual masterpiece, sporting only a handful of dialogue, impressive prosthetics and a phenomenal, pounding soundtrack. With the third film in the series, Tetsuo: The Bullet Man, Tsukamoto keeps the material anything but stale, but his form has suffered gravely over the years. While the film’s concept is solid (man turns into gun) there is far too much time wasted on narrative, an odd complaint to say the least.

In general, I deride films for poor narrative structure (a festival disease, if you ask me), but the thing about the original Tetsuo is that the story is told so vividly through the visuals, that things like character and plot development rightfully fall to the wayside. Fantastic, horrific events just occur in front of you, inexplicably. There was an arc, but it manifested itself in the amount of iron that sprung out of the hero’s body. Read on…

The British film The Infidel just reached American shores this week at the Tribeca Film Festival here in New York City. The irreverent comedy is about a Muslim who learns he is adopted and his parents are in fact Jewish. What ensues is a delightful comedy of errors that delves into the murkier depths of religious and ethnic stereotypes. You can read my full review over at Heeb Magazine.

I was able to get some face time with four people connected to the film. Josh Appignanesi is the film’s director and David Baddiel wrote the script. The two offered up some deadpan wisdom on the weighty subject their film deals with. The bulk of my questions (as you’ll hear) focus on reactions to the film and whether or not it is controversial. Both Baddiel and Appignanesi are passionate about their creative choices and the power of comedy in the most uncomfortable of social conversations. They say it better, so definitely check it out.

Omid Djalili and Richard Schiff, the film’s stars, are similarly serious when it comes to discussing The Infidel. Schiff, who is most well known in the states for his role as Toby Ziegler on The West Wing, takes particular offense at having any of his roles, including that of Lenny in The Infidel, labeled as stereotypically Jewish. The two exhude a comic energy that made it difficult for me to keep a straight face while chatting them up. Especially at the end of our talk, the two go off on the provenance of a few racial epithets. It is quite hilarious.

As always, I’ve said too much. Just click play already.

 
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Much like the film’s protagonist, Spork is a movie with a serious identity crisis. A veritable mashup of Napoleon Dynamite and Strictly Ballroom, director J.B. Ghuman, Jr. riffs on style but forgets to add the substance in this story a frizzy haired hermaphrodite who comes of age on the dance floor. It’s not quite a musical, a dance film or a hipster treasure trove, but instead a watered down version of all three at once.

Spork (Savannah Stehlin), so nicknamed because she isn’t quite a spoon or a fork (get it?), lives in a trailer park with her older brother. Her father left long ago and her mother is buried in the yard. Her best pal, Tootsie Roll (Sydney Park), lives in the trailer next door. Tootsie’s got a big mouth and the dance moves to back it up, but she rolls with a crowd of fly girls, which leaves Spork on her own once they get to school. Read on…

Ever since its dubious première at Sundance earlier this year, Banksy’s Exit Through the Gift Shop has exploded with discussion about its validity. Is it a real documentary, or is it staged? Is Banksy one person, or a collective? Is Thierry Guetta, the film’s pudgy protagonist, a diehard street art sidekick or a figment of Banksy’s twisted imagination? The truth is that it doesn’t really matter all that much either way. It’s a solid documentary whose mysterious existence only add to the fun.

For those who don’t know, Banksy is an irreverent street artist whose work has been celebrated (and in some cases, reviled) the world over. From graffiti stencils to off-the-wall sculptures to painted elephants, there is basically nothing that he won’t try. Add to that list filmmaking, or so we assume. Though Exit has a clear and proper title, in discussion most people will refer to it as “the Banksy film”, which is interesting because his credit reads, somewhat nebulously, “A Banksy Film”. That he appears on camera early on, be-shrouded and his voice modulated, as more of a subject than an auteur is our first sign that something may be amiss. Read on…