Obligatory Top 10 List -- and more from 2010

"What's your favorite movie?" is probably my least favorite movie-related question. What I love about film is its potential for variety. Does it sound reasonable to judge "Clockwork Orange" against "Mary Poppins?"  I think not, which is why I like to name these two fine films as my favorites if I'm pushed to provide an answer. Just imagining Alex and his droogs in the same room as the sublime Ms. Poppins is enough to make my point.

So when it comes time to offer up my Top 10 Films of 2010 list, I'm immediately resistant. Especially after seeing so many other lists that pretty much echo each other. Alas, I give in to peer pressure and give you the ten films that made the strongest impression on me this year. Plus some movies that defied my expectations (both good and bad) and another batch that just plain pissed me off. Here you go -- and Happy New Year! 

* Links go to my original Union-Tribune reviews. No link means I didn’t review it.

Top 10 Films of 2010  (in no particular order, other than alphabetically)

127 Hours


Yes, I have a soft spot for all things Franco, but his performance as trapped hiker Aron Ralston is truly remarkable. Put that together with Danny Boyle’s energetic and imaginative direction and you get a film that elevates a People Magazine cover story to an exciting bit of filmmaking. 

Black Swan

Despite its tendency towards high-gloss camp, director Darren Aronofsky’s visual stylings and Natalie Portman’s notable performance puts this graceful fever dream of a film in my Top 10.

Blue Valentine


Director Derek Cianfrance takes a sideways look at love by weaving a couple’s painful disintegration together with their first falling in love. It’s a sad but beautiful contrast that owes much to Michelle Williams’ terrific performance opposite a fine Ryan Gosling, who’s ill-fitting accent is the only thing keeping me from heaping praise on him as well.

Carlos


The sheer scope of this 5 ½-hour epic about infamous terrorist Carlos “The Jackal” qualifies it for my Top 10 list. But director Olivier Assayas’ ability to juggle so many subplots, languages, characters, and facts, along with Edgar Ramirez’s remarkable performance as the multi-lingual title character, make “Carlos” a must-see movie marathon.

Exit Through the Gift Shop

We saw a lot of films this year that addressed the line between truth and fiction (“I’m Still Here,” “Catfish,” even “The Social Network”), but this “documentary” by renowned street artist Banksy did it best with an entertaining and thought-provoking film that still has us guessing.

I Am Love


A luscious painting of a film starring Tilda Swinton as the Russian-born, porcelain-skinned subject trapped and isolated in a lavish Italian life. A breathtaking experience, and the British Swinton once again amazes – this time by delivering her lines effortlessly in Russian-accented Italian.

Never Let Me Go


Mark Romanek’s haunting yet restrained film, based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, is a quietly creepy tale of a dystopian future. With Rachel Portman’s unique score setting the tone, actors Carey Mulligan, Andrew Garfield and Keira Knightley expertly guide us through this somber story.

The Social Network


Though it may take some liberties with the truth, director David Fincher’s film about the controversial founding of Facebook captures the geek-driven, wild west landscape that led to the world dumping their personal lives online –at the command of the socially inept Mark Zuckerberg. Definitely worth two viewings: one to soak up Aaron Sorkin’s snappy script, and the next to appreciate Fincher’s tight storytelling.

Toy Story 3

It took 15 years for Pixar to reach the final chapter for Woody, Buzz and the gang, and this funny, nostalgic and even scary sendoff is just about perfect. I still come to tears just thinking about it. 

Winter’s Bone


Writer/director Debra Granik takes us into the remote Ozark Mountains where chronic poverty and rampant drug use have led to both lawlessness and hopelessness. As the brave teenager who ventures inside this dangerous world to save her family’s home, young Jennifer Lawrence delivers a career-making performance. 

Honorable Mentions

A Film Unfinished 


An important lesson about historical interpretation, this documentary shows how the Nazis staged filmed scenes of Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto in a bold (and mostly successful) attempt to hide their atrocities. A history lesson for everyone.

The Kids Are All Right


Terrific performances by all involved, and a wonderfully fresh take on ‘family’ in the modern era.

Nowhere Boy 


No surprise that 40-something director Sam Taylor-Wood ended up married to her 19 year-old star Aaron Johnson, who’s charming portrayal of a young John Lennon will steal your heart as well. Terrific performances also by Anne-Marie Duff and Kristin Scott Thomas.

The Tillman Story 


An eye-opening and heartbreaking documentary that follows the family of former NFL star Pat Tillman on their unflinching quest to find out the truth behind his wartime death.

Unfortunate Omissions

There are only so many hours in a year and, sadly, I missed seeing these two films before time ran out. From what I've read and heard, I suspect they would've made my list.

Another Year – Director Mike Leigh’s latest ensemble film

Inside Job – Charles Ferguson’s documentary about the shenanigans behind the Wall Street collapse.

Biggest Surprises (Good and Bad)


The Crazies 


Horror kitsch and gratuitous gore interest me very little, so I assumed this zombie-style film would be total schlock. So imagine my surprise when I found myself covering my eyes, leaning forward in suspense, and having a hell of a good time – and I went to the screening by myself. That’s saying something.

Jonah Hill in Cyrus 


I expected to like this predominantly improvised film, despite the fact that it starred one of my least favorite actors, Jonah Hill. Well, the presence of his talented costars John C. Reilly and Marisa Tomei must’ve had him on his best behavior – and he comes out the better for it. He is off my shit list….for now.

Inception 


I admit it. I was carried away by the idea of Inception and the excitement around it. Upon first viewing, the film was a mind-tripping visual spectacle and worth the watch. But what surprised me was how quickly it faded from memory – kind of  like a dream that feels vividly real upon waking, but is gone by breakfast.

Kick-Ass 


Comic book movies are not my thing (hence my disinterest in Comicon). But Chloe Moretz as Hit Girl won me over. A blast of a movie -- controversy over its ultra violence and little-girl bad language be damned.

The Millenium Triology on Film (and in Swedish)

Not having read the Stieg Larsson books, the first film from the series, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, blew me away (particularly Noomi Rapace’s performance as Lisbeth, which damn well better earn her an Oscar nomination). But the two films that followed, The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, were an exercise in disappointment.

Salt

I’m not someone who favors Angelina Jolie (I’m putting it very politely here) and action movies fall very far down on my list of preferred genres. Despite these substantial strikes against it, I was thrilled by Jolie’s stunts and happy to a happen upon an example of a Hollywood action-thriller done right.

Unstoppable 


When I first saw the preview, I laughed in the most derisive way possible. Instead of proving me right, this runaway train tale got my adrenaline pumping and had me thoroughly entertained.

Money Better Spent on Rebuilding Haiti

Last and least, here’s a quick list of movies that felt like a waste of my time and, more importantly, a lot of money that could have been put to much better use elsewhere in the world. If you must know more, read my linked reviews and spare yourself actually having to see the films for yourself.

A-Team

Eat, Pray, Love

From Paris with Love

Get Him to the Greek

Greenberg

Grown Ups

I’m Still Here

Sex and the City 2

Somewhere

Valentine's Day

When In Rome

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Review: Carlos (4 out of 4 stars)

Just got home from seeing the 5 1/2 hour  "Carlos" at the Gaslamp Theater. Besides taking up the better part of a mostly sunny vacation day, it was entirely worthwhile-- especially as I put the finishing touches on my Best of 2010 list.

The film follows the exploits of the infamous terrorist Carlos "The Jackal" throughout the 70s, 80s and early 90s, and reveals him to be a charismatic sociopath with a hint of James Bond  -- if 007 fought exclusively for the bad guys.

Of course, Carlos sees himself as a loyal solider in the communist revolution and his ruthlessness earned him a lot of business --and protection--from like-minded regimes. But nothing lasts forever. While we're reveling in Carlos' militant globetrotting, we're also witnessing the evolution of late 20th century geopolitics--or at least its ugly underbelly.

Besides telling an immensely complex and compelling story, director and co-writer Olivier Assayas  deserves recognition for the sheer scope of the project,  shot in nine countries on three continents and featuring 11 languages. And, of course, the hyper-realistic hostage takings and down-and-dirty bombings, some of which reminded me of the bumbling terrorists in the comedy "Four Lions," playing just across the hall.

As Carlos, Venezuelan actor Edgar Ramirez is simply incredible, turning a shadowy public figure into someone frighteningly real. The role must  have been physically grueling as well, taking the actor from a svelte young soldier, aglow with  high ideals, to a bloated relic of the Cold War, hiding out in the few remaining countries that'll still have him. Oh, and Ramirez delivers his lines with equal strength in English, Spanish, Arabic, German, and who knows what else I'm forgetting. Amazing.

But the character's most compelling transformation happens gradually, as Carlos' extreme political ideals begin to twist and contort over the years, eventually becoming little more than bizarre justifications for cold-blooded murder.

It's understandable that you might be turned off by the film's running time. In fact, it was originally produced for television, so watching it at home over the course of a few nights could be a more convenient option for you. But seeing "Carlos" on the big screen, joined by a smattering of equally brave comrades-in-film, gives this monumental cinematic effort the respect it deserves.

And now to throw in a little playful disrespect, allow me to offer up a potential drinking game to pair with a home viewing of "Carlos."  A terrorist leads a busy life. Changing passports, airplanes and cars like most of us change our underwear. Assayas captures this constant stream of motion in almost obsessive detail, particularly when it comes to cars. Getting in. Getting out. Pulling Up. Driving Away. It's effective and, likely, accurate. But, if you're like me, it might become tiresome by the fourth hour.

This is where the drinking game comes in. One sip for every car door slam. Two sips for every curbside pull-up, driveway arrival or departure. A chug for every rental car driven away. A shot for every car that peels away from the curb. You get the picture. Enjoy. (But don't drink and drive.)

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True Grit; Closing out the Year

This week's review of "True Grit" (3 stars) brings my critical year to a close. Hard to believe I only started with the Union-Tribune  in January! Since then, I've managed to cram in 72 reviews and five feature stories (the final one, about the San Diego Christian Film Festival, is in today's paper). I also appeared in four pre-Oscar TV spots for Channel 10, where I did a spectacularly poor job of predicting the winners, but not too shabby on the teleprompter if you ask me! (This was during the bizarre period of time before the paper hired its new editor-in-chief. I don't think we'll be repeating this strange exercise for 2011, though who knows?)

I also became a member of the San Diego Film Critics Society this year, which meant I took part in my first DVD screener deluge (awesome!) and gave my two cents during our recent voting session, which yielded some interesting results for Best of 2010.

I also found my rhythm as a freelance writer with a full time day job. I don't get to review nearly as many films as I'd like and, now that I have a handle on what I can do without losing my mind, I'm hoping to cover more independent films in my 2011. Hollywood has done little to earn the amount of attention it gets (from me and everyone else) and, although I will still review the mainstream movies when appropriate, I will make the necessary adjustments to my schedule so that I can cover  films that may be more deserving of your attention--even if they don't  have the marketing budget to buy it.

I've also got my eyes and ears open for potential stories about local film festivals, filmmakers and events so drop me a line if you have a suggestion. Looks like the San Diego Black Film Festival and San Diego Jewish Film Festival are first up in the queue and I'm eager to see what they have to offer.

So those are my New Year's resolutions-- when it comes to movies anyway. What are yours?

I'm hoping to get a Top 10 list posted before we say so long to what has been a pretty crappy year (for film and for the world). Here's hoping we've got nowhere to go but up in 2011.

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Reviews: "The King's Speech" & "Tron: Legacy"

This week I reviewed "The King's Speech" and "Tron: Legacy," two films that have one thing in common--neither took top honors in the San Diego Film Critics Society's (SDFCS) 2010 awards, (though "King's Speech" was nominated for several). This was my first year as an SDFCS member and, despite some of the grumbling you'd expect from a roomful of opinionated critics, it was exciting to be a part of a group so willing to consider films outside the normal Hollywood Oscar bait (like "Winter's Bone," "Another Year," "44 Inch Chest" and "Ondine"). Let's just hope that someone out there in Academy-land hears our cries. Doubtful I know, but we did our part.

Colin Firth as King George VI and Helena Bonham Carter as the Queen Mother  

in "The King's Speech" (Laurie Sparham/ The Weinstein Company)

Not that I disliked "The  King's Speech," as you'll see in my review. It was just, well, expected. Enjoyable, yes, but not anything that had me walking out of the theater feeling electrified by brilliant filmmaking. As my mother described it, "It was a really, really good television movie." Still, wonderful performances, a compelling true story, and a good dose of royal gossip.

Jeff Bridges is shown in  "Tron: Legacy"  (AP Photo/Disney)

Then there's "Tron: Legacy," which was certainly discussed during SDFCS's voting, but only because the press screening took place the night before and people needed to vent about the film's assault on everything that is holy in sci-fi movie geekdom. I kept my mouth shut because, well, I didn't entirely hate it.

Granted, I had the lowest of expectations, especially after seeing the original "Tron" only a few days earlier (and falling asleep halfway through after spending the first half mocking its ridiculous story, costumes, dialogue and acting). So when I found myself generally wowed by the effects of its sequel, I went along for the ride and took it for what it was.

Yes, even the recreation of a young Jeff Bridges impressed me, though many are describing it as a "Madame Tussaud's-like death mask." I've still never seen anything like it and am excited to see how much better it'll get down the road. I mean, "Tron" looked cheezy as hell, but it still helped redirect our cinematic imagination.

Still, it would have been nice if the filmmakers had actually tried to improve upon the story--or even, gasp, reinvent it. Instead, they took the easy way out by trying to lure the Gen X audience with nostalgia, while attempting to appeal to a new generation of numbskull kids with visual spectacle and a hell of a lot of marketing. And, as we know, trying to appeal to everyone rarely gets you somewhere good (hear that Obama?).

Oh, and I got so distracted by placing "Tron: Legacy" in the context of its predecessor, that I stupidly neglected to include the following observations in my review. Michael Sheen, an actor I really admire, delivers a Tim Curry/Rock Horror-esque performance that is simply painful to watch. Perhaps he was directed to inject as much energy and silliness as he could muster to give an overly dreary film at least some sort of energy, but he just comes off as desperate and pandering.

On the other hand, Jeff Bridges (the 62-year old version) does give us a few giggles every time he channels the beloved Dude (because, well, The Dude abides). But each Dude-ish moment just pulls you out of the world that "Legacy" tries so hard to create. Let's just have the Coen brothers do a Lebowski remake instead, shall we?

Next Friday I review "True Grit" and profile the first ever San Diego Christian Film Festival (what else would a nice Jewish girl be working on during the Christmas season?)

Speaking of, Happy Holidays!

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Review: 127 Hours

No, I didn't review the new Harry Potter movie -- by choice, thank you very much. I figure it will get plenty of coverage by more qualified people who have actually read the books and seen the previous films. I mean really, is anyone going to go see it if  they haven't?

Instead, I opted for the man who needs no first name (at least in my book), Franco in "127 Hours." Though my (edited for space) review is in the print edition of the Union-Tribune today (11/19), it has yet to be posted online (this happens every week, much to my disappointment). So while I wait for them to put it up, I thought I'd share it here, complete with the final paragraph, which urges you to get over the fainting stories and just go see the damn thing. Here you go...

"127 Hours"
Rated: R
Running Time: 1 hour, 33 minutes
3 ½ stars

When outdoor adventurer Aron Ralston emerged from a Utah canyon with one arm and an inspiring --though gruesome--story of survival, many of us took a moment to consider how we would’ve responded in the same situation.  Could I cut off my own arm if it meant saving my life? Just how strong is my will to live?

Here’s what most of us didn’t think: Wow, that would make a terrific movie.

And that’s why most of us aren’t Danny Boyle, the British filmmaker known for taking chances and making movies that at first might seem unpalatable: the highs and lows of the junkie lifestyle (“Trainspotting”), a country overtaken by infected “zombies” (“28 Days Later”), and the injustice of India’s slums in the Oscar-winning crowd pleaser, “Slumdog Millionaire.”  With his latest release, "127 Hours," Boyle takes us deep inside a remote sliver of canyon, where Ralston (James Franco) is trapped, his forearm pinned beneath a massive boulder—and no one coming to the rescue.

Before the fall that made him famous, Ralston is introduced in a mad rush to escape. What exactly is he escaping? Normal life. The daily commute. The rate race. All shown to us in split screen as Ralston tears through his apartment, ignoring phone calls from his family and hastily packing for his weekly solo adventure into the wild.

But once he gets there, he’s hardly the picture of serenity. In fact, he’s whipped into his own frenzy of stubborn individuality, risk-taking and, as he demonstrates when he crosses paths with a pair of female hikers (Kate Mara, Amber Tamblyn), exhilarating cockiness – all of which slams to a halt with one unfortunately placed rock.

Ralston may be pinned in one spot, but Boyle’s camera is anything but, taking us to every place a frantic mind could wander while under such strain: sloshing inside a water bottle as its contents recede, through the lens of the camera Ralston uses to record his desperate thoughts, inside abstract patches of Ralston’s memory-- even under the skin of the doomed arm as his blunt knife cuts its way through.

But Franco is the vehicle that makes "127 Hours" more than just an exercise in claustrophobic endurance. As he’s proven with his oddly ambitious forays into everything from advanced Ivy League degrees to an experimental stint on a soap opera, Franco shows an unbridled willingness to play along and break new ground. And the fact that he
makes this Oscar-worthy performance look so easy, has you wondering what this modern Renaissance man can’t do.

And now the inevitable topic -- the self-amputation, which has led to a few reported cases of audience members fainting. Yes, it is a painful scene to watch, thanks to Franco’s courageous performance and Boyle’s superb assemblage of images and sound (I still can’t shake the nails-on-a-chalkboard chord that struck as Ralston sliced through the arm’s primary nerve).

But the scene is more than just a headline-grabbing gimmick. By the time Ralston arrives at this decision, he’s faced the personal failures that led him to this isolated place. They aren’t grand mistakes, just the small slights we all are guilty of, yet rarely get the chance to meditate upon—let alone rectify. 


But Ralston does get the chance, and by the time we get to the cutting, it feels less like a horrific choice than one more stubborn obstacle to overcome before he can begin life anew. If it were possible, I would’ve ripped the appendage off for him myself.

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Irving Thalberg and Me

I was reading about Dino DeLaurentis' funeral in the Hollywood Reporter and remembered why I first fell in love with movies. The 91-year-old Italian film producer had worked with just about every big name in film from the 1940s until just a few years ago: Federico Fellini, Arnold Schwarzenegger, David Lynch, Jeff Berg, Steven Spielberg, Baz Luhrman -- most in attendance at his LA funeral. When was the last time you got a crowd like that into one room?

To be honest, it wasn't the movies themselves that first grabbed my imagination. It was their time capsule nature that I loved. Every weekend, while watching Tom Hatten's Family Film Festival on channel 5, I felt like I was getting a glimpse of American history on my television screen.

It started as a fascination with what people "back then" dressed like, how they spoke, what music they listened to. Even a futuristic science fiction movie would show its hand with bell-bottomed spacesuits or clunky references to contemporary social issues like race relations or women's rights.

Don't get me wrong, I often loved the movies too. But the films that made it onto syndicated afternoon television weren't exactly all "Casablanca" - and I knew it. So I mined what I could out of Mr. Hatten's picks (including a soft spot for Doris Day/Rock Hudson/Tony Randall comedies), and the more context he gave --about the cast, the box office performance, whatever-- the more I enjoyed watching it.

When it came to current releases, I tended to prefer story and character over spectacle (still do) and, with big budget blockbusters in full effect during my formative moviegoing years, I was left with slim pickings. I gravitated towards quirky comedies like "Down and Out in Beverly Hills," "Raising Arizona"and "Ruthless People" -- all on my favorites list as kid. I also remember convincing my best friend to sneak into "About Last Night," an R-rated movie about a topic I wouldn't understand for another 15 years, instead of going to see "Back to the Future" because it promised to be just a "stupid science fiction movie for boys." (Don't worry, my judgement has improved since then. I think.)

I may have been uninformed of the current movie zeitgeist, but I could tell you all about the studio chiefs during Hollywood's Golden Era. Or at least I hoped to someday, if anyone ever cared to ask. The point is, I loved the old studio system -- warts and all.

In fact, the more I learned about how oppressive the system was, the more I wanted to know. The "bad" side, the ugly side of the business -- in the context of history anyway--is about as juicy as you can get, full of larger-than-life characters that feel like they could only exist in....well, the movies. By the  time he was laid to rest, Dino DeLaurentis had become more than just a movie producer, he was a force of personality. (The news today about the horrific murder of longtime Hollywood publicist Ronni Chasen is already bringing forth similar stories.)

By my sophomore year in college, my school announced it would begin offering a film studies major. While my well-meaning mother had convinced to me to choose a liberal arts school over a more technical filmmaking program, it still only took me about five seconds to change my major.  To keep with their classically-oriented core curriculum, the administration insisted that the major remain strictly film theory and criticism -  no actual "moviemaking."

We were, however, more  than welcome to volunteer as a PA for any of the graduate student films being shot, which I did --once-- with a friend/fellow major . While she fell in love with the heavy lifting, working for free, and long periods of waiting around followed by sudden rushes of panic, I was uninspired to say the least. I guess you could say I cared more about the product than the process. This major was perfect for me. (I'm happy to say my friend is now a successful line producer for indie films.)
 
So in between work study jobs and film-related internships (more posts to come about those), I stayed hunkered down in the school's shabby screening room, soaking up mind bending lectures on film theory from James Schamus, decade-by-decade surveys of American film with Andrew Sarris (a living piece of film history himself), feminist film studies with Molly Haskell. I sincerely enjoyed researching and writing a paper about producer Arthur Freed's contributions to the Hollywood musical.  I grew slightly obsessed with the myth of Irving Thalberg and, through that, discovered the industry's underdog Jewish-American roots  (I still treasure my copy of Neal Gabler's "An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood").

I adored the idea that "the business" was an entirely American invention. And that the image we manufacture of ourselves on film is our chief export to the rest of the world (whether we like it or not).  I first grasped this during a middle school trip to Europe when, after talking to locals and flipping through magazines, I was surprised to learn they assumed we all owned guns and listened to rap music -- an image that could only have come from the movies and television shows we produced ourselves. (I suppose these days they think we're all right wing extremists, still with guns of course.)

While I try to give every film my undivided critical attention at the time I review it, what I enjoy more than anything is taking a step back to see where it fits in our own history and self image. That takes some perspective and, having been a working critic for two years (plus 15 years working in and around the media/entertainment industry), I am happy to say I'm gaining some of it.  Not that any of this will help improve my Oscar picks this year.  But I'll still give it a shot.

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Unfair and Off-Kilter

I've received a fair amount of negative feedback on my review of "Waiting for Superman," the Davis Guggenheim-directed documentary about the struggling U.S. education system. For the most part, I stand accused of being "biased," "politically slanted" and even "an unadulterated liberal bigot." So I thought I'd take a moment to respond.

It's clear that the offense was caused by my opening sentence:

"Whether it’s a Fox News host shouting down a liberal guest or filmmaker Michael Moore shaming a well-dressed capitalist, much of our public discourse today feels like the run-up to a professional wrestling match instead of democracy. But there are some issues — particularly our country’s failing schools — that can’t afford to wait on the sidelines any longer."

My intent here, in case you missed it,  was to demonstrate how ineffective our style of public discourse has become, relying mostly on shouting and/or name-calling instead of honest, respectful conversation about some really big problems.

Re-reading it now, I can see that the examples I chose (Fox News, Michael Moore) were too inflammatory - and I wish I could revise it to say that Michael Moore was attempting to shame a well-dressed capitalist (whether he succeeds or not is up to the viewer). But I doubt that would make much difference, because what I took away from this experience is that there will always be some people who stop reading and ramp up to anger the moment they think they've encountered an idea they might disagree with. Unfortunately, this kind of proves my point, doesn't it?

But more important here is the misconception that a movie critic is supposed to be "fair and balanced," something I heard from almost everyone who wrote to complain. Allow me to clarify:

As a critic, it is my job to give you my opinion. Whether it's my personal aversion to shallow female roles or how many fart jokes I think are too many, everything I write is my opinion. And I prefer that you know where I'm coming from upfront; what you choose to do with it from there is entirely up to you. 

On the flip side, when I write an article profiling a filmmaker (as I did with Davis Guggenheim), my opinion is no longer relevant. Instead, I focus on delivering an honest portrayal of the person, their work, and what they hope to accomplish with it. To date, no one has complained that my Guggenheim article was "politically slanted" -- nor should they.

Until Netflix finally discovers the algorithm that can generate an entirely objective movie recommendation, we're forced to rely on the subjective opinions of critics, bloggers, or whoever else you think has a worthwhile point of view.  If you still believe we're supposed to be "fair and balanced," then I may not be the critic for you. But good luck finding another one without an opinion.

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Oh No, Another Holocaust Movie

www.afilmunfinished.com

I was talking with a friend today about "A Film Unfinished," the new documentary about a Nazi propaganda film shot in the Warsaw ghetto. I reviewed it last week and still can't get it out of my head (perhaps that's why I described it as "haunting"). But not because the footage was so shocking, upsetting or rare (which it is), but because it was able to alter my emotional understanding of the Holocaust after so many years of thinking I had wrapped my head around its awfulness.

There are plenty of films about or related to the Holocaust. So when another one comes out, you can just feel the unspoken (usually) groan of "Oh no, another Holocaust movie." I don't begrudge people that --unless it's coming from the "can't these Jews just get over it?" perspective, which I've heard before and pisses me off to no end.

But whether a film is based in truth or just pure imagination, it all comes down to compelling storytelling. And if you can rationally argue that we've used up every story, every struggle, every shred of the human condition from the Holocaust, then perhaps it's time for us to stop making films entirely.

However, if you're going to take your audience down this well-traveled path of horrors, then you better bring something new -- whether it's facts, style or perspective. Thankfully, "A Film Unfished" does in at least four ways:

• it provides the general public access to rare film footage of the Warsaw ghetto, normally available only to researchers;
• deepens our understanding of the Nazi propaganda machine through newly discovered outtakes and an in-depth investigation of Nazi records and post-war trial transcripts;
• shocks us out of our emotional detachment to black-and-white "history" with striking color footage of life in the ghetto;
• and it warns us by showing how a supposedly "civilized" Western society can segregate, degrade and dehumanize a group of people in plain sight.

Sadly, I have no doubt that my new depth of understanding will be applicable to the "history" that lies ahead.

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"Catfish" Bait

I was absolutely enthralled by "Catfish." And I hate myself a little for it.

(I wasn't able to review the film. If you want a summary and "real" review, check out Christy Lemire's  here; )

I've heard complaints about it being exploitative or perhaps disingenuous. I definitely felt those moments and came really close to agreeing a few times. But just when I was about to proclaim the film entirely frivolous and in bad taste, that damn Nev Schulman would do something sweet, or say something adorably charming, or just smile that smile and, well, I was back in it like a pre-teen with an embarrassing crush.

See why I hate myself?


I'm 37. That's not really old (if it is, don't tell me). But in the eyes of an early 20s hipster kid, I'm just some irrelevant 40-year-old or, at best, a cougar (a term I loathe). But I am young enough to relate. To remember when life felt like just one clever joke: fresh out of college with some artsy degree, living in New York City with time to waste, and the absolute certainty that what you and your friends do is interesting enough to document on video at all times.


Just thinking of myself at this age makes the hate grow just a little more. Sort of that "If I knew then what I know now...." thing. But if I did actually know then what I know now, would I  have done something like what these guys did: produce and sell a buzzworthy documentary that's complex in tone, asks relevant questions of a modern lifestyle, and is more suspenseful and entertaining than most fictional films I've seen this year?

Of course, I was also living below the poverty level when I was wandering the streets of Manhattan--something I'm pretty sure this group of guys, with their expensive camera equipment, NYC office (in addition to apartments, I presume), can't claim for themselves. Hence the fruitlessness of regret.


But I hate myself the most because I walked out of that theater with a dizzy-headed crush on a 24-year-old "reality movie" pretty boy just because he showed admirable courage (especially while his filmmaker brother tried to wimp out), followed by an unfathomable amount of compassion in how he handled the fallout. 

Was I entirely duped into believing that Nev actually is all of those wonderful things? After all, a film--any film-- is just a carefully selected and edited set of scenes, usually staged in some way or another. Just because it's called a "documentary," doesn't mean any of the characters' I met were being real. (Uh, "I'm Still Here" anyone?) But it sure is a lot more fun to believe a fantasy than pick apart the lies.

I guess I'm a lot like Nev. After all, he was willing to believe that there really are sweet, sexy, artistic, property-owning, flexible young women living on rural Michigan horse farms, out of reach from any man even close to his league.


Guess we all have reasons to hate ourselves a little. But you should see "Catfish" anyway.

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He's Not Here

I just finished writing up my review of "I'm Still Here," the Joaquin Phoenix "documentary" directed by Casey Affleck. You can find out what I thought of it when it runs on Friday in the U-T, but I just had to take a moment to say one simple thing: I still miss River Phoenix.


If you're anywhere near my age (and a girl who liked her Tiger Beat), then River's untimely death on Halloween 1993 was at least a little upsetting. For me it was more than that. I felt like I'd grown up with the guy--well, at least adjacent to him. And his talents were only touched upon before one bad choice stopped him cold (it frustrates me to no end seeing the Britneys and Lindsays of the world making even more destructive choices over and over again, and surviving to make the cover of yet another US Weekly).

I was in college when he died. Actually on a rare weekend away at a friend's beach house. When I realized I was the only one of my friends significantly upset by the news, I packed my bags, took the LIRR back to my dorm, and sat in my room to wallow.

I still think about him from time to time. When I'm near the Tijuana border crossing, I remember his performance in the 1988 Spy Thriller "Little Nikita," set in San Diego. When I see Leonardo DiCaprio in yet another Scorsese movie, I grow more convinced that River would've been his actor of choice if he were still here (sorry Leo, but you are a mere shadow in comparison).

But tonight, as I watched his younger brother Joaquin disintegrate into a (real or feigned) manic, paranoid mess, I wondered just how much River's death shaped his brother's life. He was with him the night he collapsed in front of the Viper Room and refuses to speak about his brother publicly. But it's impossible for me to consider Joaquin and his state of mind without thinking of River's place in it.

"I'm Still Here"opens with old Phoenix family home movies, including one scene of the Phoenix kids  bouncing about, performing some silly musical number. While the circular spotlight picked Joaquin out of the group, I desperately searched for signs of River. And there he was, in the back row, with an oversized guitar strapped to his small frame. It was hard for me to shake the image of that blurry boy and the grief that his brother probably still feels.

Having tragically lost a sibling myself this year, I'm willing to admit that I could be just projecting much of my grief onto the wild-eyed actor. But something tells me there's more to it than that.

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Stewart's Shades of Gray

When Jon Stewart takes a vacation, the news of the world gets a little harder to take. I'm not one of those people who rely on The Daily Show for "real" news, but Stewart's "fake" newscast takes the edge off the ridiculousness and hypocrisy of politicians, talking heads, everyday racists, and everything involving South Carolina.

When my boyfriend and I load up the latest show (one day delayed), we experience one half-hour of camaraderie with other people who actually see the world in shades of gray.

Instead of getting down in the dumps when Stewart takes a vacation, we've started watching archived episodes of The Daily Show. Our TV is connected to the web (we ditched cable, hallelujah) so we have all 11 years of the show at our fingertips. Neither of us watched the show regularly before about 2007 (night owls, we aren't), so we've had a blast going back and "discovering" correspondents like Steve Carell, Ed Helms and Steven Colbert.

But The Daily Show is so much more than comedy. Sure, some mistake it as a mouthpiece for the Left, but that characterization only holds water for lazy thinkers who see the world in black and white. That kind of thinking is for Fox News and MSNBC blowhards who want you to turn off your brains and tune in their channel for some adrenaline-pumping cheerleading.

Stewart, on the other hand, is the referee. He cuts through the bullshit, blows the whistle, and calls foul on anyone who step out of bounds. He uses humor to get your attention and, more importantly, illuminate the convenient narratives being shaped by politicians, media, and the corporations who own them all.

In effect, Stewart is America's mainstream media critic and, as far as I'm concerned, should be essential viewing for anyone who wants to see the world more honestly.

Since my review of "The Tillman Story" ran last Friday, I've received only two kinds of feedback: kudos for "telling it the way it is," and disdain for implying that the military or the Bush administration did anything wrong. Sides are clearly drawn - black and white, Left and Right.

But I'm curious to know what both camps will think if and when they actually see the film, which throws every assumption we're pressured to make -- about politics, war, honor, football players, family--into question. It's a film about shades of gray.

With "The Tillman Story" still on my mind, we decided to dig into The Daily Show archive and watch episodes from significant events in recent history. First we went to March 19, 2003, the day before the U.S. invaded Iraq. Then further back to February 6, 2003, the day after Colin Powell's presentation to the United Nations about Iraq's hidden weapons of mass destruction. If you need any proof of Stewart's good-natured ability to cut through the crap, these video time capsules are it, especially his interview with Bush speechwriter David Frum, whose smugness and phony "awe" of the President are sickening.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
David Frum
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

You also can't help but notice how much sunnier Stewart was back then in the early days of the Bush administration. Of course, he's older now, fuller-faced with more gray hair and better suits. But he's also angrier, more frustrated. I was a bit startled by the levity he displayed in talking about our run-up to Iraq. Still sharply funny, but without the "I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" vibe he has now.

You know why? Because he knows that his gray-shaded take on the world is losing to the inanity of the Birthers, Tea Baggers and Glenn Becks of the world. And all these years he's been preaching to the choir. The very small, cable television choir.

We need more Jon Stewarts, more mainstream media critics, more angry, clear-thinking people insisting that Americans shove aside the black and white lazy-mindedness and start thinking (and acting) our way out of this mess of stupidity.

Start by going to see "The Tillman Story"-- and bring everyone you know.

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And we're off.....

Hi there. I'm Alison Gang, movie critic for the San Diego Union-Tribune.

As much as I love seeing my reviews in print, there's only so much I can cram into 14 column inches. So I've launched this blog to create a place where I can share my unedited opinions on film, television, media -- basically anything that dares to inform or entertain us.

Not that I pussyfoot around in my U-T reviews, but there are some scabs I choose not to pick in a mainstream, daily newspaper. So in print, I stay focused on the film and do my best to help the reader decide if it's something that fits their tastes.

None of that crap here. I plan on using this blog to get personal, political and just plain profane -- when I want to anyway. I can also be philosophical, emotional, and a total dork. The one thing I can't be is insincere, so whether you agree with me or not, I hope you'll at least know I mean what I say. I'm open to hearing why I'm wrong too, so use the comments section to tell me, or send me an email at alison@alisongang.com.

Who the hell am I to spout opinions? Well, I have a Film Studies degree from Columbia University, a Masters in Mass Comm/Media Studies from SDSU, and have worked in and around the TV/Film business for more than 15 years. So I think I have a broad perspective of how "the business" works - both good and bad. I've been the U-T's critic since January 2010, and before that for the La Jolla Light. I'm also a member of the San Diego Film Critics Society.
 
For more about me, read the U-T's "Meet the Critic" Q&A (January 22, 2010)

When I'm not in a crowded movie theater telling some loudmouth behind me to shut up, I'm usually at my day job as Communications Manager for University of California Television (UCTV) and UCSD-TV. I've been there since 2003 and love and believe in our public service mission. And I'm lucky to work for an institution that supports my extracurricular endeavors--and the extra cash during furloughs and budget cuts doesn't hurt either.

Thanks for joining me here!

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