Close the Book on 2012

All in all, this was a pretty darn good year for film. Or maybe I should say, a pretty darn good last three months since so much of the good stuff got jammed in at the end of the year, just in time for awards season.

It seemed like the studio screeners came later than usual this year and, since a birthday significant enough to celebrate fell right smack dab in the middle of the mad scramble of advance screenings, it seemed impossible that I would be able to see everything worth considering. I know I didn't in time for the San Diego Film Critics Society vote, but I participated as best I could and am generally happy with the winners.

I had more time to cram before the deadline for my own end of the year list, and since I cheated by working in an "also try" section of a dozen smaller, lesser-known films worth seeking out, I feel like I've 2012 some justice.

Between the deadline for my year-end summary and today, I've had time to pop in a few more DVDs that never quite made it to the top of the pile, but deserve a shout-out, so here goes:

"ParaNorman" and "Wreck-it Ralph" - I admit it. I tend to avoid the kid stuff since I don't have kids and feel completely out of my element trying to assess what is kid-friendly. And then I watch a great animated film like "ParaNorman" and, to a lesser extent, "Wreck-it Ralph," and remember that only the bad ones are strictly for kids. After our critics group picked "ParaNorman" as best animated film of the year (I abstained from that vote), I gave it a shot and was simply delighted at what I experienced. It's the first animated film in a long while that I've wanted to immediately watch again. I'd watch "Ralph" again too, if just to catch the hundreds of visual gags and references I'm sure I missed the first time, but I'd turn down the volume -- it gets about as irritatingly clamorous as an 80's arcade.

"Ai Wei Wei: Never Sorry" - This was the one documentary I just wasn't able to get to and I really wish I had. Watching this artist/activist take on the Chinese government and model the role of the rebellious artist for his countrymen and women was truly inspiring, and even frightening. (The film is also an unintended Twitter infomercial). I definitely found another hero to admire.

"Room 237" - I always believed I was traumatized when a babysitter allowed me to watch "The Shining," but insisted I run right to bed when my mom came home. After watching "Room 237," I know I was. I was just a little older than Danny, the little kid with the extrasensory gift, and I still recall the cold shiver of terror that ran through my body as I sprinted through the house and pretended to be asleep in my pitch black bedroom.

I hoped I could find someone to watch the documentary with me, but last night I finally gave in and watched it all alone in my apartment. I thought since it was about the crackpot theories that fans of the film have devised over the years  (actually, one of them I totally buy), and not the creepy film itself, I thought I could handle it. For much of the film, narrated by the perpetually off-camera theorists over corresponding footage from "The Shining" and other films, I could. It feels like a strange puzzle poem of imagery, with recognizable actors and scenes acting out the text. But once I clicked in to director Rodney Ascher's rhythm, the cold shiver returned.

Maybe it's the distinctive music, the possessed face of Jack Nicholson, those damn Arbus twins, or just the fact that Kubrick himself was such an enigma, but I just don't think I'll ever be able to treat "The Shining" as a text for critical study. I'll leave that to the crackpots.

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Later, Beav. Ya' never even existed.

This clip from last night's Daily Show is a brilliant piece of media criticism (if Fox news still qualifies) and a reminder that history isn't just something that happened before our time; it's still happening, and will continue to happen, every moment that a society, civilized enough to keep some record of its existence, manages to survive. It seems that Jon Stewart and his writers are the only ones calling it in real time -- well, in entertaining and easily digestible video format, anyway.

I love how Stewart cuts Bill O'Reilly and Bernie Goldberg down in such a way that we just "awww, how cute" at them like caricatures as adorably irrelevant as the Muppets' Statler and Waldorf, the two old coots blathering and bemoaning from the balcony seats about the inevitable end of their era as the American ruling class.

Oh, and the clip is damn funny too. Pairs well with "Lincoln."


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Off the Clock: "Silver Linings Playbook"

Tonight was a rare free night for me - no screenings I had to see, no articles I had to write. Instead of grocery shopping, cleaning my house or making plans with a friend,  I went to a movie (god help me). I saw "Silver Linings Playbook." 

Instead of my mini-notebook in hand, scribbling in the dark, I balanced an overpriced bag of popcorn in my lap, trying not to feel guilty for the munching that normally drives me insane in the theater. Tonight was all about passive enjoyment.

Well damn that David O. Russell ("The Fighter") for writing and directing a film that gave me no choice but to sit down at my computer, if only to say this: I just saw what could be my favorite movie of the year, and certainly my favorite romantic comedy in as long as I can remember. Here's my "off the clock" review.

"Silver Linings," based on a novel by Matthew Quick, has the warmth and wit  of a classic like "When Harry Met Sally," but instead of a sanitized, pre-9/11 New York City, where the characters' adorable neuroses drive the witty banter, we're in working class Philadelphia where feuds over football regularly lead to fights and mental illnesses get swept under the rug within a loving but misguided family. These people have real problems.

Pat (Bradley Cooper) has just returned home from a mental hospital after a violent outburst that broke up his marriage. Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence) is a hard-edged young widow who uses sex to blow off her anger and grief. How this  film manages to be both a sweet romantic comedy that celebrates the freaks in all of us, and a portrait of how a family copes with mental illness, is why this film is a triumph and David O. Russell a genius.

I expect Oscar nominations for screenplay and directing and, perhaps, some recognition for Cooper (who I can finally see as something other than that hot guy you'd fall for at a bar, even though you knew he's bad for you) and Lawrence, who's yet to give me a reason not to trust her. 

This is the perfect dysfunctional family Thanksgiving movie. And it might make that annoying thing your dad always says feel like a loving gesture with comedic undertones instead of just, well, annoying.

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The 'Sleepwalk' Stereotype

Tonight I'm writing up the last review before my long-awaited, sorely-needed vacation. I'd be understating it if I told you I was totally burned-out. Not in what I do -- I'm thankful everyday to have two jobs I enjoy -- but in how much of it I've been doing.  When one's on break, the other slog ons. Well, I'm shutting them both down, temporarily (I hope).

So while I'm on an airplane somewhere over the Pacific later this week, you can read my interview with "Sleepwalk with Me" director, co-writer and star Mike Birbiglia, and my review of the film, which both come out Friday. (You can find them at my U-T page as I'll be blissfully unable to link them here).

I make it pretty darn clear in both articles that I'm a fan of Birbiglia, "This American Life" and Ira Glass, who produced the film and co-wrote it. But what I don't get to say is that I'm kind of embarrassed about it. Not that I'm a fan -- because I think Glass and his peeps are doing terrific work that's led to a revolution of sorts in spoken audio entertainment -- but because I'm apparently exactly the type of person who is.

I know this because I simply cannot escape "Sleepwalk with Me," Birbiglia, Glass or any combination of the three. They're everywhere: on my iPhone, on my radio, in the newsfeeds crawling up my screen all day.

Now, I know there are plenty of people out there who've never heard of this film, or couldn't begin to tell you how to pronounce Birbiglia (I prefer Kristen Schaal's attempt in the film, Pandapiglio), so it isn't that Harvey Weinstein just threw in a couple million bucks to get this movie some Academy eyeballs. This is low-budget, grassroots, public radio-style marketing we're talking about.

I'm inundated because I am the exact target audience for this film, and the marketing folks know it. (I even told this to Birbiglia during our phone conversation and he freaked me out by saying he remembered seeing my tweet about it the night before. It really never occurred to me that he might actually read said tweet). I'm in my 30s, white, over-educated, left-leaning, consider myself more urban than suburban (six years living in NYC gives me some street cred, no?), etc. I'd probably shop at Whole Foods and eat organic if I could afford it.

That embarrasses me a little. And here I thought I was so unique.

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"Tsk, tsk," says Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne would be ashamed.* 

How dare a group of Batman zealots bully and berate innocent people (even if they are critics) in his name?  

Or perhaps there's something more sinister taking place? Because, really, why would annyone -- even a rabid fanboy troll--issue a death threat because of a negative review of "The Dark Knight Rises?" My theory? Maybe these internet thugs are just the first wave of Bane's anarchist army, coming to destroy Gotham -- I mean, America-- by rotting it from the inside out?

Or maybe it's just that some of the fanboys and girls still have that post Comic-Con adrenaline pumping through their veins. You know what might cure that? A short walk away from the computer, to the outside world, where the sun is shining and people are going about living their actual lives.

I wonder if any of their bile will make it to the comments section of my review? I only knocked off one star, but I had the audacity to point out some of the film's obvious flaws. Because, you know, that's my job.

*I wrote this post just hours before the tragic shooting in Aurora, CO. I can't even imagine what Bruce Wayne would say (or do, more likely) about that. My heart goes out to everyone affected.

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The Freddie Mercury Thread

Sometimes it's hard to remember that we live in a blessed technological era. Mostly because our gadgets, apps and social media networks flood our consciousness with a constant stream of information -- some useful or perhaps entertaining, but much of it irritating, if not downright upsetting.

But not tonight, when I decided to pick up a thread of information I found dangling before me. 

These threads almost always appear while listening to one of the many podcasts that accompany me while walking the dog or driving to work. The subject of interest depends entirely on the podcast – debut films by actors-turned-director if it's Filmspotting SVU (Streaming Video Unit, cute); the frustrating career of Nikola Tesla if it’s Stuff You Missedin History Class; the evolution of the English language from “Slate's Lexicon Valley;" the oversized ego of a reality TV show producer on “KCRW’s The Business,” or the most memorable TV sitcom finales on “Slate’s Culture Gabfest” (or maybe it’s “NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour,” I always get them mixed up. They're both great, though one is a bit snobbier than the other. Guess which?)

I could go on, but the point is that I’m usually learning something during my downtime (when I'm not horizontal on the couch). Of course, dog walking and driving aren't exactly ideal opportunities to start poking around on the Internet when I want to know more about a subject, so I usually absentmindedly drop the thread before I manage to get in front of a screen.

But tonight I listened to something that compelled me to go straight to the computer immediately after the leash was back on the hook.  It was this podcast from “KCRW’sUnfictional,” a show that features work by independent radio producers.  

The concept sounds terrible at first, but it is brilliantly executed. It’s a deconstruction of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” that lyrically weaves together different versions of the song in every style you can think of, from country to classical. There's also some clever "instructional" narration and a rotating cast of guest voices -- music experts, composers, musicians, Mercury's bandmates-- all chiming in with their interpretations and impressions of the song that defies all expectations.

I was three when “Bohemian Rhapsody” was released and I had virtually no association with it until the “Wayne’s World” movie, based on an SNL skit that dominates more of my high school memories than it probably should. I remember seeing the movie in the theater and being completely taken aback during the now iconic car scene. It was the first time I paid any real attention to the song and I thought it was quite possibly the craziest, funniest thing I’d ever heard (and a favorite movie scene as well). I also quickly caught on that just about everyone else in that theater was a hell of a lot more familiar with the song than this music dork. 

Freddie Mercury

At that point, I affixed the song in the "pop culture classic" category and didn't give it another thought until tonight, when I listened to an audio collage of exactly why it deserved to be there. Love it or hate it, you can’t deny "Bohemian Rhapsody" its uniqueness, courtesy of Freddie Mercury. So I picked up his thread and started reeling it in.

I started (where else?) on Mercury’s Wikipedia page, where I discovered some fascinating and surprising facts about his ethnicity (Parsi, another thread worth following), religion (Zoroastrianism), romantic history (women!) and his near universal acceptance (again, according to Wikipedia) as "one of the greatest singers in the history of popular music."

It was then I realized that I'd never actually seen a Freddie Mercury performance, only inferred what I thought it would be based on what I've heard about him over the years - flamboyant and outrageous. But was that all? 

Freddie Mercury at Live Aid, 1985

I was led to what Wikipedia deemed "one of Mercury's most notable performances" at the Live Aid concert in 1985. A quick YouTube search led me to this video of Queen’s set from that monstrous stadium show. I think the other bandmates were on stage, but it’s hard to say for sure because the camera operators clearly couldn't keep their lenses off of Mercury as he paraded across the stage wearing tight white jeans, a wife beater tank top and a leather-studded collar around his muscly bicep. His hair was slicked back, his buck teeth bad enough to distract you from his gyrations, tongue flickers and suggestive winks at the camera. He was simply electric. 

When I did lose focus during some of the band's more dated 80s songs, I marveled at the mammoth television cameras surrounding the stage and the multiple strands of electrical cords the crew and Mercury had to hop over and around. It all looked so cumbersome, especially when considering the bit of technology (iPhone) that led me down this path in the first place.

The performance picked up again with “We Will Rock You,” a song that immediately took me back to the stands of my high school football field, stomping my feet and clapping my hands while screaming the lyrics at the opposing team’s fans sitting across the field. Then it was “We Are the Champions,” and I found myself sitting next to my big sister in the backseat of my mom's car, singing with passionate glee.

By the time the 21-minute video was over, I was warm with Mercury’s infectious energy, only to turn cold when I recalled how he died in 1991, of complications from AIDS at the age of 45. He left this world just one day after announcing he was sick. This was around the time of Ryan White, and it’s hard not to think of the shame or judgement he must’ve faced. Or how, if he’d come of age today, he could’ve avoided getting the disease at all, or at least not have succumbed to it so quickly.

A bit melancholy, I decided it was time to let the thread drop, although who knows where it would’ve taken me next. Well, I do know. It took me here, to write this down and share with you. Maybe you’ll follow the same threads I offered you above, or perhaps you’ll forge your own path. It doesn’t really matter. The point is, we can so easily do that. 

And that’s why I love the Internet. 

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Help Me, Help You - The Skinny on Obesity

It's nearly June and I've yet to be enthralled by much of anything at the movies, including the two films I reviewed this week, Hysteria and Men in Black 3. So far this year, television has made the biggest impression on me as I catch up on the shows I've missed -- Breaking Bad, Downton Abbey, Mad Men-- and even a few current programs -- Modern Family, 30 Rock, Community. Sometimes I wish I were a TV critic.

But what's kept me most interested this Spring is a series I've been working on for my "real job" at University of California Television, which now includes a YouTube original channel, UCTV Prime. The series is called "The Skinny on Obesity" and it features seven short episodes that make the case that sugar is a toxin that's fueling the obesity epidemic. This is a theory most publicly espoused by UCSF's Dr. Robert Lustig, whose 90-minute UCTV talk, "Sugar: The Bitter Truth," went viral, sparking national coverage that includes a recent "60 Minutes" segment with Sanjay Gupta. 

When YouTube awarded us with an original channel (the only university to be included in their historic effort to fund and develop original content on the platform), we knew we had to dig deeper into Dr. Lustig's message, which was obviously striking a chord in the public consciousness. Hence, "The Skinny on Obesity," which posted its final episode today.

Now, I 've had to watch these videos over and over again, in many different stages of completion. I've offered input and, more so, developed the complementary content for the programs on the UCTV website. I've also been swimming in YouTube annotations, playlists and comments. Who knew my job would one day be fiddling around on YouTube all day?

The point is, it's starting to sink in. I can sense a deep-rooted shift in how I think about food in my daily life now that I have a deeper understanding of how my body processes sugar and the biochemical impact it has on my brain and behavior. I'm making different food choices; just little ones for now, but ones that fall on the lifestyle changing spectrum, not a flash in the pan diet. Pretty cool job perk if you ask me.

Hope you'll watch the series too - -and spread the word! My day job may depend on it.

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"Undefeated" is Unquestionably Moving

Look, "Undefeated" shouldn't have won the Oscar for Best Documentary of 2011. I'd have to really think it through to decide what film should've won, but I know it would be between "Bill Cunningham New York," "Project Nim," "Senna" and "Buck."

Even though I begrudge the film its Academy Award, I still cheer it on to victory in theaters. It's inspiring, poignant and heartbreaking. It's about how good coaching -- mentorship, really -- can change a kid's life. It certainly did for mine. And how can you not root for a movie that keeps you in a constant state of tears (happy and sad) the entire time -- BOTH times you watched it?

Of all the interviews I've done to date, talking to Coach Bill Courtney was the most thrilling. Not just because he is a hoot to listen to (he is exactly the same as he comes across on film), but that he so eloquently explains just how fundamentally his experience coaching the kids at Manassas High School changed his views on America's supposed "level playing field." Whether he meant to go there or not, he makes a truly authentic and refreshing political statement.

Here's my review of "Undefeated" and my interview with Coach Courtney. Hope you all go see the film and hope every man who has the time joins up with a mentorship program for at-risk boys. You are needed.

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Annual Oscar Complaint and Predictions

I have a serious love/hate relationship with the Academy Awards. As a television viewing event, it's by far my favorite -- even when it's torturously long, cheezy or just plain infuriating. Ripping on it is just as enjoyable as the rare moments of spontaneous elation (Cuba Gooding Jr.'s "Jerry Maguire" glee still probably tops it).

I never really had friends who enjoyed watching the telecast, which was fine  because it's really a tradition reserved for my mom and me. We both know when it's acceptable to talk during the broadcast, when to keep our mouths shut and, most importantly, we've actually seen most of the movies.

And now, the hate. The entire premise that the Academy Awards have anything to do with the "best" films of a particular year is beyond bunk. It's politics, pure and simple, covered with the same depth and perspective as the horse race primary coverage for the Republican presidential nomination. None of it has to do with the actual quality of the candidate, but how much money he has in the bank and how many commercials he can put on the air. It's a competition, yes. But one of marketing savvy, not filmmaking (just ask the Weinsteins).

And even if it was a legitimate competition between films, what's the point of that? Can you REALLY fairly compare "Tree of Life" to "Hugo?" And why would you want to in the first place? Ranking art (or at least attempts at art) is a premise that completely undermines the idea of art in the first place.

And if that argument doesn't convince you how silly it all is, then this one should: "War Horse" was nominated for Best Picture. Yes, "Extremeley Loud and Incredibly Close" is also an injustifiable inclusion in the category, but at least I could sit through the entire thing. I found "War Horse" to be so tedious and predicatable that I actually got up and left half-way through, something I've never done before. (And this from a girl who has a slight equine obsession.)

It wasn't until I became a professional film critic that any of this really bothered me because it suddenly became part of my job to participate in the ranking, or at least comment on it. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to watch the Oscars tonight. I'll be with my mom, with Billy Crystal on-screen, just like the good old days. But when so-and-so's name is announced as the winner, I won't be thinking that anyone really "won."

So now that I've taken all the joy and relevance out of the Oscars, here are my picks for the winners. Please keep in mind that politics really isn't my beat, but I did a fair amount of research -- and made a few Hail Mary picks of faith--so this really is my best effort. Let me know how you fared!

Alison Gang's Oscar Picks

84th Academy Awards 2012

You can read my justifications for the first six categories here.

• Best Picture: "The Artist"
• Best Director: Michel Hazanavicius, "The Artist"
• Best Actor: Jean Dujardin, "The Artist" (but Clooney is almost as likely a winner)
• Best Actress: Viola Davis, "The Help"
• Best Supporting actor: Christopher Plummer, "Beginners"
• Best Supporting Actress: Octavia Spencer, "The Help"
• Best Animated Feature Film: "Rango"
• Best Foreign Film: "A Separation"
• Best Original Screenplay: "Midnight in Paris"
• Best Adapted Screenplay: "The Descendants"
• Best Art Direction: "Hugo"
• Best Costume Design: "The Artist"
• Best Cinematography: "The Tree of Life" (this is one of the few picks I'm making out of sheer hope, because Malick's film should be recognized for something and this would be the most fitting category)
• Best Film Editing: "The Artist"
• Best Makeup: "The Iron Lady" (though I really want to be wrong. I'm pulling for "Potter." If "Albert Nobbs" wins, I might jump out a window.)
• Best Sound Editing: "Hugo"
• Best Sound Mixing: "Hugo"
• Best Visual Effects: "Rise of the Planet of the Apes" (really, how could anything else win?)
• Best Original Song: "Man or Muppet" 
• Best Original Score: "The Artist"
• Best Documentary: "Undefeated" (but I'm rooting hard for "Pina")
• Best Documentary Short: "God is the Bigger Elvis" (admission: haven't seen any films in this category, but this sounds like a promising pick)
• Best Animated Short: "The Fantastic Flying Books for Mr. Morris Lessmore"
• Best Live Action Short: "The Shore" 

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Saint "Senna"

My head is spinning after watching "Senna" on Netflix Instant. I can't decide which revelation to begin with so, rather than trying to finesse it, I'm going to take full advantage of the blog format and just spill it as it comes.

Before watching the documentary about Brazilian Formula One driver Ayrton Senna, I noted how my two favorite documentaries of the year --"Buck" and "Bill Cunningham New York"-- introduced me to two humble, inspirational men.  First it was Buck Brannaman, the real-life "horse whisperer" who found healing and remarkable inner peace through rehabilitating horses and their owners. Then came New York Times fashion photographer Bill Cunningham, who quietly recorded the changing times from the seat of his bicycle. Both films made me want to pack a bag and show up on either of their doorsteps, asking for them to adopt me.

And now there's Ayrton Senna. I can assure you that I wouldn't be asking him to adopt me if I showed up on his doorstep (he is a simply stunning man), but my level of admiration for his honesty, humility and nearly inhuman determination would be unmatched. When it comes to the best documentaries of 2011, let's call it a trifecta of admirable men.

Then there's director Asif Kapadia's choice to use only archival video from news coverage, team footage, home movies, and POV footage from inside Senna's car as it weaves so tightly through the narrow track that you can't help but hold your breath the entire time. There are no cutaways to in-studio interviews of the players (only the frugal use of voiceover narration from a select group of insiders). There's no sense that time has passed since Senna's prime in the late 80s through the mid-90s. You are on this ride with Senna and you are given no option to get off as the tension builds.

Kapadia is able to pull this off because Senna's career coincided with the rise of video culture. He didn't have just one or two news clips to choose from for each significant event, as might have been the case had Senna been a star of an earlier era. No, the director had a veritable smorgasbord of options as everyone and their brother seemed to be sporting a video camera during this time period.

We get different angles of the same event. Close-ups of Senna in anguish over another driver's crash. Press conference footage showing the awkward tension between the rising star and his threatened World Champion teammate, Alain Prost. Who needs a carefully scripted dramatization of one man's personal quest for victory and redemption, say "Moneyball," when you can piece it together using the real players, in the real moment?

It's almost uncanny how well Kapadia assembled it all together. It's also a little frightening when you think about how the lives of today's legends in the making --or any of us average joes--could, twenty years from now, be reassembled, edited, beautifully scored (as "Senna" was by Antonio Pinto ) and retold to a public that was on the verge of forgetting.

But the film also made me feel manipulated. I fell in love with the handsome, driven young man with a heart of gold. How could you not the way he's portrayed in the film? I'm not exaggerating when I say Senna comes off as Christlike. He's devoted to his family. His faith in God never wavers. He never brags. He never accuses. He drives with intelligence, not bravado. He rarely loses, and when he does or (gasp) makes a mistake, he always acknowledges the lesson learned. He values life outside the track, dedicating resources to help poor children in his homeland and pondering where life will take him once his driving career inevitably winds down. Senna's entire nation, crippled by poverty and political oppression, rested its hopes on his bronzed shoulders.

If the man had a flaw, Kapadia doesn't show it. Even his sex life, which one must presume was robust, is merely winked at. We get no sense of Senna as a boyfriend, friend, lover. Even his familial relationships are mostly unexplored. Believe me, I wanted to go along with the "Senna as Saint" storyline. Everyone wants a hero. All the better if he actually existed. For my own enjoyment, I was willing to buy in. That was, until this prominent credit popped up at the film's conclusion:

Made with the cooperation of Institute Ayrton Senna

This is the charitable organization established by Senna's sister after his death.

All of a sudden it felt like I'd been taken in by a highly produced tribute video made by the Senna family in honor of their beloved Ayrton.  That doesn't make him any less captivating, nor does it mean I'm no longer moved by the film. In fact, I can't get it out of my head. It just has an asterisk beside it now.

But I'd say Kapadia's most impressive accomplishment is his ability to weave in to the story a sort of "Formula One 101." I knew nothing of the sport other than what Sacha Baron Cohen showed me in "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby." At the close of "Senna," I understood the basics of the Grand Prix competition, both on the track and throughout the season. I got a feel for the politics and money that brought the sport to the relatively corrupt level of almost all professional sports. I even came to appreciate the immense skill the sport requires and why someone might find the thrill of being behind the wheel enough of a reason to put their life on the line.

So add an asterisk to my 2011 Best Of list and consider "Senna" to be on it.

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