The festival has drawn to a close. Here are highlights from the final weekend.

Wonderful World

I cannot say that this was an altogether bad film. There were some funny moments and important lessons were learned. It came across, however, as a bit too cliché. It was writer Joshua Goldin’s directing debut, and he’s no spring chicken. I had hoped he would have known better, but instead this seemed to be the product of years of Hollywood programming. My biggest gripe (and it’s becoming a gripe with more films as time goes by) is the reliance on sex to further the plot. Matthew Broderick’s lead character does indeed need a spiritual awakening, but is the only thing that will get his attention a buxom exotic beauty? As soon as she appeared on screen, I knew that they would end up in bed together. Movies are a fantasy world, right? Let’s imagine a place where men don’t always think with their crotch.

It was nice seeing Michael K. Williams on the big screen. His character Omar is one of my favorites on TV’s “The Wire”. It would have been better to see the relationship between him and Broderick fleshed out a little more. As it was, most of their connection - apparently deep since Broderick escorts him halfway around the world - has to be assumed by the viewer.

Inju, the Beast in the Shadow (Inju, La Bête Dans L’ombre)

I must admit the main reason I saw this film was Benoît Magimel (delicious in La Pianiste). I was encouraged by the reference to Edgar Allan Poe in the film’s description. It is a fun French film noir set in Kyoto, Japan in the present day. There is murder, sex, intrigue, and an ostensibly smart man who really should have known better. What is obvious to the audience, is not so to the protagonist, Magimel, who is lead, of course, by his crotch with a bit of inflated ego mixed in. More entertaining than I had expected, the film hearkens back to the golden era of noir, which is pleasing in these times of excessive CGI violence and record-breaking profanity.

A Pain in the Ass (L’emmerdeur)

Hilarious French slapstick! See it!

North (Nord)

Another road movie of sorts, this one takes place on a snowmobile and a pair of cross country skis. A depressed Norwegian man must travel north to see his son one more time before his estranged wife moves south with her new husband. He makes a couple friends along the way, and I discover a new band!

Il Divo

Toni Servillo stars as Italian Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti, a particularly infamous man. (If you want to know if those ears are for real, watch him in Gomorra) A story with many players, spanning over a couple decades, a summary of events was given at the beginning of the film in several minutes of text only on the screen. This was a good thing, because then you can forget about trying to keep up with who’s who, who did what, etc. and just be taken in by the sights and sounds that make up this film. Excellent sound editing and use of the soundtrack and stunning visuals make it worth watching. I’m glad I got to see it at Cinerama on that huge screen. It has the makings of a blockbuster, if it weren’t for that Italian language thing. Movies with subtitles don’t generally go over well with the American masses. Too bad.

Home

A heartwarming and heartbreaking portrait of a family. We are introduced to them as they live their pastoral, idyllic lives beside a vacant highway amid vast fields. They are offbeat yet harmonic with each other. But then the highway opens, and their lives are completely changed. We watch as they first try to accept, then reject the chaos just beyond their front yard. It infects them, both individually and collectively. Home is a fascinating study of how progress can undermine humanity. Isabelle Huppert is delightful as always (see again La Pianiste, and another favorite, Hal Hartley’s Amateur).

OSS117: Lost in Rio (Rio ne répond plus)

Closing night selection of the festival. Director Michel Hazanavicius was on hand to introduce the film. More silliness from OSS117, the spy you love to hate. Some people complained the film was “more of the same”, but really, were they expecting the racist, misogynist, clueless character to have some sort of evolution? Enjoy it for what it is, and you will be much happier for it. Playing at SIFF Cinema 19 June, 7 pm. www.siff.net for tickets

My summation continues . . .

Small Crime (Μικρό Έγκλημα)

A comedic whodunnit set in Cyprus, I found this quite enjoyable. The leading man (Άρης Σερβετάλης-Aris Servetalis), though somewhat hapless, was quite charming, and I was rooting for him from the start. Someone dies in the tiny village, and the 2nd in command of a police force of two sets out to solve the mystery. Well put together with plenty enjoyable characters.

Against the Current

Super-small budget film about a widower (Joseph Fiennes) who decides to commemorate the five-year anniversary of the death of his wife and child by swimming down the Hudson River into the Atlantic Ocean. His best friend, played by Justin Kirk (”Weeds”, Puccini for Beginners), has promised to accompany him on this journey, and a casual acquaintence, Elizabeth Reaser, has joined as well (what’s a movie without sexual tension?). There are some road movie elements as they make their way down river—encounters with the locals, Reaser’s crazy mom played by Mary Tyler Moore . . . While Fiennes’ character really gives no compelling reason why he should die, he never really gives one why he should live. I think this film is a good conversation piece, but I’m not really sure if I liked it.

Final Arrangements (Bouquet Final)

A fun French film about a child of bohemians who resorts to getting a “real job” at a funeral home when his artistic dreams fail to pay the rent. Funny and slapsticky with a good amount sappiness mixed in. I’m not sure how close to reality the funereal scenes are, but several were definitely cringe-worthy. (Having family in the biz, I probably am a little more critical, maybe.)

Swimsuit Issue (Allt Flyter)

Two Swedish films in a row! One last year, and one this year! Who knew they had so many? (I kid. I’ve actually seen at least two more in the interim. ha ha)

This was a cute film about a dad who, in an attempt to be sporting with his buddies, also ends up bonding with his daughter. Through a series of events, the men find themselves members of an all-male synchronized swimming team with the goal of winning the World Cup. There are the typical conflicts that could be expected when one gender takes a role that has traditionally belonged to the other, and they are presented in a very funny way. An audience favorite, it is replaying at SIFF Cinema on 21 June at 6pm.  www.siff.net for tickets

Beauties at War (La Guerre Des Miss)

Entertaining, but a bit too predictable.

Welcome to my SIFF 2009 Post Mortem. Highlights from this year: the 35th anniversary of the festival, Cinerama, West Seattle, and SIFFter. The last item being a nifty application, for online or for iPhone, giving access to all the films available at SIFF. On the face of it, a handy tool, but really it only served to offer me too many choices and making it diffcult to narrow down my schedule. In prior years, I’ve had to struggle to add more films to use up my vouchers. This year, I had to delete films from My SIFF. Oh, woe is me!

Following are the films I did manage to see, and some commentary. Some are already scheduled for theatrical release, so you will have the opportunity soon to find out if you agree with me. Others you may have to wait a bit for the dvd.

Read the rest of this entry »

I remember back in 1997, seeing Lost Highway at the Angelika at the midnight showing on opening night. The film is, in a lot of parts, quiet - long stretches of silence or near silence throughout. It was an amazing experience to be in a full movie theatre - in New York City especially - where no one made a sound. The audience as a whole was totally into the film and respected the silence. It was beautiful.

I had a similar experience five years earlier at a preview screening of Dracula at a nice midtown theatre. Not a particularly quiet movie, but still the audience did not detract from it by whispering, crinkling candy wrappers, or letting their cell phones ring (were cell phones even a big thing in ‘92? There definitely wasn’t texting yet). We were allowed by the silent audience to make it a private experience while also sharing it with a couple hundred fellow filmgoers. This was in direct contrast to my 2nd viewing a week later at a multiplex in the East Village where there was a more typical NYC movie crowd. They laughed outloud at the cheesy parts, talked back to the characters on screen. . .  And I cannot say it wasn’t enjoyable also, just in a completely different way. Still, I’m glad I saw it first with the quiet crowd.

Yesterday I completed my second week of films at the 35th annual SIFF festival. In between films, I overheard a conversation about the change in the audience “consideration”. (I think this may have been a general statement about film audiences, stemming from a direct observation of the SIFF audiences.) Every year, audiences are asked to turn off phones and beepers, a couple years they added “anything that lights up, including watches”, and this year they’ve added “no texting”. Despite these requests, people still pull out their phones mid-movie. I sometimes ask myself: Do people really need to be told not to text during a movie? And the answer is Yes, yes they do.

Last week I watched Small Crime at Uptown Cinema. It was a cute little comedy set in Cyprus. Apparently the female half of a newlywed couple sitting in front of me was from that part of the world and had extensive knowledge to share with her other half. Throughout the entire film, she was offering little tidbits to him which I’m sure were interesting. I couldn’t actually hear what she was saying, but considering the subtitles floated just above their heads, I sure did notice. It was quite distracting, but not wanting to distract anyone else, I refrained from saying anything to them. I did kick her chair a couple times “on accident”. To them I say, if you want to discuss it as you watch it - rent it and stay home!

There have been a couple films in which I find myself in serious need of a potty break. I sit there, trying not to squirm, trying to figure out if I can hold out ’til the end, or if I should just make a break for it. I really don’t like getting up in the middle of a film, but when Nature calls . . . So I can empathize with other people who are wondering “how much time has already passed?” and “how much longer until the credits roll?” Sometimes it’s a very helpful piece of information, sometimes it just eases an anxious mind. To these people I say - Wear a watch.  Timex makes a really affordable white-face analog time piece that can be read in the light of most films, without even having to turn on the Indiglo. There is absolutely no reason you need to pull out a cell phone and light up the entire row just to find out what time it is. (You know what time the film started, take a guess!)

There is also no reason to have your phone on at all. If you really anticipate that someone might call or text you and cannot wait up to 2 hours for a reply, you really should consider renting a movie and staying at home. That way, if that emergency does take place, you can stop the film and resume it later, after the crisis has been averted. In this way, you are not annoying your fellow movie watchers, and you don’t have to miss the film. It’s a win-win situation.

The overheard conversation mentioned the more frequent home viewing as a cause for this type of inconsiderate behavior. I think there is more to it. As we become more addicted to our devices which connect us to other parts of the globe, we become less aware of our very immediate surroundings. If it weren’t a problem, we wouldn’t see signs at the coffee bar asking customers to refrain from cell phone usage while they are in line. Do people really need to be told to be more present in their immediate interactions with their fellow humans? Yes, yes they do. Will they listen? Hold on, I’ve got to take this call . . . .

I’ve been analyzing and stressing over my budget this week (as opposed to all the other weeks?) and have come up with a way to save a little money. Just a very little, I’m sure, but right now my “expenses” are already fairly pared down. I ask myself, what more can I do? So, I’ve decided to turn off my computer. From Sunday morning until I get home from work Monday night, the computer will be off. Usually during that time, while I’m awake, I’m checking my email hourly or looking up stuff on IMDb. But starting today, no more!

The reward should be two-fold. One, I should use just a wee less electricity each month. Two, I should find something else to do with my time. Don’t get me wrong, I will still be watching a lot of movies - that’s what I do - but I will hopefully fill some of the void with more writing, more reading of books, more listening to music. More thinking, really.

It’s like kicking away one’s crutches, but I think I’ll be fine.

So I get this “comment” the other day, and I’m not really sure what to think about it. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, it’s entirely possible that the “real” DJ Shadow happened upon this page and decided to post a comment using an email address he acquired from a free service. Not probable, but possible. Assuming this is one of those spam comments attempting to get free access to my pages, it’s actually kind of impressive. Usually the spam is from a Russian domain, with either a sputtering of nonsense, generic platitudes (”this good site. i like read it.” or something), or a pricelist for generic drugs. In other words, 100% obvious. This one, however, is a bit deceptive.

DJ Shadow

you are so bukowski
without the drink.
you are the spirit of bukowski
without the stink.

Mar 16, 2:42 PM

A quick search doesn’t give me any info on the rhymes. Perhaps they are meaningful to someone else out there. It doesn’t really matter.

For quite a while, I’ve really wanted to read Bukowski. Several people who I like have declared Bukowski one of their favorite authors. When people I like, like something, I automatically want to know more about it. Not necessarily so I can like it, too, but to gain some additional insight into the minds of those people. So far, I haven’t read anything. I tried watching a documentary about the author, including plenty of archival footage of the man himself. But after about 30 minutes, I was bored to death. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll read one of his books before too much more time passes. Maybe.

I finally finished reading Blindness earlier this week. I started reading it on 28 Jan. The last 30 pages took FOREVER. By that time there were no more startling revelations, just preparation for a conclusion. I nearly stopped reading it, but I really couldn’t guess how it was going to end. Actually, I did guess that everyone was going to die - not within the time frame of the book, but that the last pages would essentially declare that soon after one has stopped reading their story all the characters would be dead. (if that makes sense) Initially, upon finally reading the last word, I was disappointed in the ending. It seemed meaningless and incongruous to all that had lead up to that moment. The next morning, when I was discussing with myself why it was meaningless, it all of a sudden had loads of meaning. Well, perhaps not loads, but still, more than none. Now I can watch the movie, eventually. At least that won’t take two months.

Despite having recently watched The TV Set, I went ahead and watched another Hollywood commentary, The Deal.  Whereas the former was about a first-time director, the latter was about a last-time producer. William H. Macy was just about to call it quits permanently (i.e., die) when it struck him he could make one last joke at Hollywood’s expense. Setting out to make a Benjamin Disraeli biopic with a popular action star (LL Cool J) in the lead, we follow his misadventures all the way from the pitch to the premiere. Not as overtly bitter as some movies about The Biz, The Deal is endearing and silly.

The extremely silly Extreme Movie (from Dimension Extreme films) is a string of vignettes about young people trying to and having sex (with the exception of Jamie Kennedy. Can’t he play with kids his own age?). I watched it for Michael Cera and was not disappointed by his sketch. It was a little rushed, but they barely had any time or a budget. I think my second favorite was Andy Milonakis’ unconventional love story (at least he’s got biology as an excuse).  A lot of the people who made this film are in my age group, and yet I really felt I was too old to be watching it.

A Few Day in September is an espionage thriller starring Juliette Binoche and a handful of American actors which takes place in the several days prior to the World Trade Center attacks. I was a bit hesitant despite the star power (Nick Nolte, John Turturro) thinking that perhaps this film had “something to say”. However, I love espionage and I love Juliette Binoche, so I expected I would probably enjoy watching, but I really didn’t expect to like it as much as I did. I thought it might be similar to a Bourne film, less fantastical but just as tense and action-packed. It was not. It really was more of a character study of those who were planning to attend a fateful meeting on the night of the 10th. Had I known prior to watching that this is actually a French film, none of this would have been so surprising.

Well, we have just over a month left for getting sponsors, and I’m stuck at 52%.  I suppose I should just keep bugging my family. Most have not replied, not even to tell me to leave them alone, so maybe there’s still a chance.

I really, really want to be able to go all twenty-four hours. Plain old silliness, I know, but that’s who I am.

Aside: it snowed again last night. This morning the sea gulls are fighting with each other. (sounds like some sort of code)

King of Ping Pong is one of the films I was able to see at SIFF 2008.

I entered a writing contest. This is my entry. I was given genre: action/adventure, and subject: hot air balloon.

ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE

In your mind’s eye, you see yourself flung into a corner of a room, a rag doll tossed aside by a resentful child. Your neck is cramping in this position and several toes are asleep. You become aware of a pain like a hot knife in your shoulder and realize you are sitting on your right arm. With your left arm, you push away from the wall enough to free it.


Taking mental stock, you venture to move each extremity one by one. Everything seems to be in working order, even if it is screaming in agony. The movement has shifted you into a more human alignment, and you take a moment to breathe, filling and emptying your lungs thoroughly several times.


You open your eyes slowly to see you are lying in the bottom of what seems like a giant picnic basket. You wonder if you are somebody’s lunch. As the fog lifts from your mind, it becomes clear that you are actually toast.


There are frantic voices in the far distance. At this moment you don’t remember how you came to be in this predicament. However, you know those voices are searching for you, and they are not friendly. As if in a thunderstorm, you time their outbursts to try to calculate how far away they must be.


There is an eerie, green glow caused by the nylon ripstop draped overhead. In this light, you make an assessment of your surroundings before shifting your weight to try standing. The whole room shifts with you, and you hear the rustle of leaves just beyond. Carefully, you aright yourself, your head and shoulders colliding with the ripstop above. Apparently, you managed to turn off the burners prior to your descent, as there is no evidence of fire damage to be seen.


You pause, listening again to the voices, closer now, but by how much? How fast are they moving toward you, and how much time will it take you to get to the ground? They know exactly where I landed.


Gingerly, you lift the envelope away and look over the edge of the basket. There is no clear path down, but it doesn’t look to be very far. You contemplate just taking a leap, and instead take a step back. There are various items strewn about you, and you look for weapons, or anything that could be used as such. You slide a fire axe under your belt and a large knife into a pocket. You deem the propane tanks too cumbersome since you can’t find a back pack anywhere.


Once again, you are looking over the edge, and you begin your exit. You attempt to channel an inner dolphin to calculate the approach of your foes. You believe you have a good idea how much time you have, and you are only slightly discouraged.


You make your way out of the gondola and into the surrounding tree branches with only one or two close calls. At times you can’t hear the voices over the thud of your heartbeat. When you do, you can hear how much closer they are. You pick your way down, pausing here and there to wipe the sweat out of your eyes with your shirt sleeve.


You make it to the lowest branch and suspend yourself by your arms. You close your eyes, whispering something, anything, to give yourself strength. Along with the voices, you can now hear the forest giving way to the interlopers. This knowledge spurs you to action, or inaction as it were, for you let go of your perch and drop to the ground.


The snow is not as deep as it had seemed from the treetop and a just-covered rock causes your ankle to turn. You suck in some air to offset the pain. Reaching for the axe, you scan the foliage. A small branch looks like it could support you, and you hack at it with little progress. A stone rolls by and you are not sure if it was you or your pursuers who knocked it loose. They’re going to kill me, and I’m wasting time trying to make a walking stick. Tucking the axe away, you propel yourself in a downhill direction. Now you’re channeling your inner rabbit, pushing off from logs and small boulders in a determined burst of speed.


Despite your efforts, above the din of your ragged breathing, you can hear them closing in on you. You abandon the zig zag of the hare for a mono-directional cheetah sprint. You are blinded by necessity. The whips of branches on your face, arms, torso, don’t affect you, but one false step fells you.


You begin a series of somersaults; instinctively your arms move to cradle your head. At some point you feel the axe abandon you. There is wetness somewhere, everywhere? In the chaos it’s difficult to differentiate between snow melt, sweat, and—possibly—blood.


You feel yourself slow and reach out an arm to bring yourself to a stop. Your eyes won’t focus, partly from the spinning, partly from various impacts, but you try to stand nonetheless. You’re on your feet, and your heart pounds something fierce. Nausea floods your body, and your head feels as if it has doubled in size.


Your torso bobs left, then right, pitches forward, your feet all the while making vain attempts to stay under you. You catch yourself with your hands a couple times. You feel you’ve finally righted yourself fully, but your left foot steps rearward and finds only air. Your balance not fully regained, you have no choice but to follow.


The cliff is shear, so it is for the most part a free fall. You feel weightless, tossed again by that impetuous child. I suppose I must deserve this. It is probably your head that hits first, the back of your skull shattering instantly. Each limb acts independently, falling and refracting with the ragged river rocks. It seems whole moments pass before there is stillness, but then you are finally at rest. Now there is only the trickle of blood joining the larger cacophony of flowing water.

This week I decided to do something a bit out of character for me. I’ve entered a marathon for charity. No, not a running/jogging/walking marathon. It’s actually a sit-on-my-ass-and-do-nothing marathon. The only running will be to the restroom and Icee machine between films. (Actually, the King Cat Theater probably does not have an Icee machine. Bummer.)

As some people know, films are one of the few things I’m fairly passionate about. That’s why I have a 4-at-a-time Netflix plan as well as a Netflix player. And that’s also why I am a member of SIFF - Seattle International Film Festival. They run the largest film festival in North America (or maybe just the US, I don’t know) and provide me and others the opportunity to see a lot of films we otherwise wouldn’t. They are a non-profit organization that depends a lot on volunteerism and donations.

Anyway, back to the marathon. SIFF is attempting to raise money for a new headquarters in Seattle Center. A perfect location, if you ask me. Seattle Center can be the center of culture in this fair city. We already have the ballet, a couple live theatres, Teatro Zinzanni across the street, the grounds for Bumbershoot . . . It seems only fitting that SIFF be in the middle of all of that. Plus, the SIFF theatre is located in Seattle Center already. With the money raised from this event, they will build their home in the former Alki Room.

The way the marathon works is that each “runner” must raise at least $1000 in order to attend the marathon - 24 hours of film at the King Cat Theatre. This is where the “out of character” part comes in. I do not talk to strangers.  I barely talk to people that I know. And yet, somehow I have to convince enough people to throw in a few bucks in my name so that I can sit in a chair and stare at a wall for a day.

I know that people will think that movies are not “charity”, but they couldn’t be more wrong. Our culture, our society depends on the arts to get us through, to take us to the next era. When times are tough, we need cinema and other media to lighten our hearts and lighten the load. And in the future, just like the past, people may not read history books, but they’ll study the art we leave behind, and they’ll know who we were, who we are. Film is part of our immortality. And however frivolous it may seem, I truly believe I’m supporting a good cause. I only hope I can convince enough people, in my oh-so-antisocial way, to agree with me.

As of today I’m a third of the way to my goal. Fingers crossed I’ll make it to my goal, and beyond.