Punk Rock (and Chat) in Yer PJs!

While we wait for the May episode of Chas’ Crusty Old Wave, a special treat ... last month Chas and his buddy Liz were live on WPRK once again, sitting in with DJ Maggie on her Punk Rock in Your PJs show.
We chatted about radio days, about Florida and mostly about Canada, and we also listened to some fun, poppy powerpunk (plus a few surreptitious selections from Chas). Great fun, but rather different than what COW listeners are used to ...

If you’re in the mood for something a little bit different, head to Crusty Old Wave Central or iTunes and get your free copy.

Star Trek XI (2009)

Running Time: 127 min.
Director: J.J. Abrams
Stars: Christopher Pine, Zachary Quinto, et al

So I did in fact go to see the new Star Trek film on opening weekend after all, thanks to an invite from some friends (I had planned on catching a matinee after the hype died down a bit). As a long-time “Star Trek” (the original and animated series only) fan and a former professional movie critic, I tried to come to the film with several different mindsets going on at the same time.

First, as a TOS “Star Trek” fan, I expected not to like this. Sure, the casting looked good, but even the trailers had a few “continuity” errors (Kirk drives a stick all of a sudden?) which added to the trepidation.

I also approached this as someone who didn’t really identify with the Braga/Berman era at all, and was glad it was over. To be sure, I’ve watched a number of episodes of each of the various spin-offs from “TNG” to “Enterprise,” and couldn’t warm up to them. I more-or-less gave up on the film franchise after the seventh one (Generations) and saw the remaining three films on cable (and thought they were all crap). I didn't know much about this Abrams guy, but it was new blood and that’s often a good thing.

Third, I tried to approach this new film as a film, or perhaps as someone who had heard of “Star Trek” but didn’t “grok” it (heh) might see the movie. As pure entertainment.

Finally, I am not just a geek, I’m also a nerd. Which means I have enough scientific understanding of physics and space and black holes and whatnot to be annoyed with every sci-fi movie or TV show to some degree, because they never get the science right. I won’t dwell on this part too much, as others have done a better job of dissecting this aspect, but it should be mentioned that this film did try to get at least one aspect sorta-kinda right (hint: silence can be very dramatic), and I applaud that even as I raspberry them for the other much more egregious science-sins. I will even freely forgive them making a “bang” noise when the ship enters warp speed, even though it wouldn’t in “real life.” For the most part SF films should really try harder than they do to get this stuff right, but we’re highly conditioned to “bang” noises that accompany explosions or massive displays of power, so we’ll forgive them that one and ignore the entire ludicrous concepts (as seen here) of warp speed, teleportation, ray guns and so forth.

If you're going to read any further, I have to issue a spoiler warning, since this film is still in cinemas as I write this. We're going to get into the plot, twists and all, so be forewarned.

So, they asked after all that, how'd ya like the movie? :)

My summary review (the kind of brief and incomplete platitude you get when you ask "how are you?" to someone) is that Star Trek is good fun, well worth the money, a kick in the ass to a franchise that had gotten very stale, and on the whole faithful to the heart and soul of Roddenberry’s ideals and (more than I expected) to the TV series.

Once the excitement of the initial viewing fades away, however, there are some pretty serious flaws in this thing that bug the heck outta me. But overall the good outweighs the bad, more so for younger people than diehards like me.

The main Good Thing is the casting. Every one of the leads does a good job capturing the spirit of the character (and actor) they are portraying, in particular Karl Urban as Leonard McCoy/Deforest Kelly (let's face it, these people are inseparable from their characters on this show). I was thrilled to get hints of McCoy’s backstory (sadly just hints) as we discover the origin of the nickname “Bones” (which is not the obvious one you’d think -- a contraction of “sawbones” that has traditionally been used for military doctors for centuries -- and thus felt a bit contrived to me), and I thought Urban stole every scene he was in.

Almost as good was Zachary Quinto, an inspired choice for Spock who passes both the look test and (in my opinion) studied hard the *early* Spock we saw in the pilots and first episodes of the TV show (as this *is* meant to be early representations of these characters, right?) and nailed it pretty well.

Zoe Saldana plays Lt. Uhura, who is given an expanded role in this movie, and I think I would have encouraged her to be just a bit more soulful, but her part is more surprising than important to the story so her actual performance is secondary (blatant spoiler: she is Spock’s love interest -- surprise! -- in what is sure to be the most controversial aspect of the film). In terms of what she actually does viz the plot, it’s pretty much the same thing as the original Uhura -- make a dashboard full of coloured lights look good.

A fellow of my acquaintance, comic actor Simon Pegg, shows up late to bring us his Montgomery Scott. His take on the young engineer (which leads back to some directorial comments I’ll save for later) is different to the others, in that he doesn’t really try to ape James Doohan’s portrayal much at all (other than putting on a Scottish accent), but still does capture the mischievous nature of the character and will be accepted going forward.

I’m a bit compromised here as I know the fellow and generally like his work, but I have to confess that a) his Scottish accent is a bit variable and occasionally absent (most non-Scots won’t notice this, however) and b) someone should have slapped a wig on him. Pegg's pretty bald, and Scott ... you know, wasn’t. If you’re going to take the care to give Quinto the regulation Moe Howard/Beatle cut (Vulcans, apparently, never change hairstyle -- ever!), then I do not believe that we make it to the 23rd Century without a cure for male pattern baldness. Put a fucking wig on, Pegg. That goes for the otherwise-very-enjoyable Anton Yelchin as Chekov too.

In some ways, John Cho as Sulu had the toughest job. Sulu was a secondary character to start with, and never got that many lines or plots in the original series, so Cho has to remind us of him while having very little screen time or dialog to work with. I thought he did well with what he had, and hope Sulu gets more of a plotline in the next film (and oh yes, you read it here first, there will be a second film!). I'm still trying to figure out why a ship with teleportation needs to skydive Kirk, Sulu and the obligatory Red Shirt (guess what happens to him!) down to a mining platform (okay this bit has been explained, but how did they avoid burning up when entering the atmosphere? Again, magic won’t cover this one!) where they fight with ... swords and fists? (good catch, Ebert!), but at least it gave Cho an extra scene.

Which leads us back to Kirk. At the risk of stating the obvious, Chris Pine is no Shatner, and that's both good and bad (but mostly good, at least for him). His performance is a star-making turn to the point that he will probably bed as many women-of-suspicious-origin in the next few months as Kirk did in the TV show. Oddly, he does the worst job of the entire cast at channelling his predecessor (beyond having a passing resemblance) -- I can only imagine this was a deliberate choice on Abrams’ part -- and only pays lip service to the Shatnerian qualities of the character (yes, “Shatnerian.” Look it up).

Of course, Pine is far too busy running, jumping, fighting, hitting on women, and particularly dangling off slick platforms and/or being choked (repeatedly!) to bring much subtlety to the performance, and I suppose in that sense he is Shatnerian (heh), but I was disappointed that Pine didn’t at least incorporate a little of that Trademark. Halting. Speech. in his performance. Just a touch, man, is that too much to ask?

The second Good Thing about the film (and the thing that forgives most of its flaws) is the clear and unmistakable love of the original show Abrams, his writers and cast put into this. There are plenty of references that the general public will recognise, a lot of one-liners only the hard-core will smirk at, and a healthy littering of homages to the original TV series. This gives the movie a charm and familiarity even as we are asked to follow Abrams to somewhere a bit “new,” and saves Star Trek from being just another space action movie (albeit one with iconic characters in). Abrams is in my view (based primarily on this film and Cloverfield) not really a very good director, but he has a very clear idea about what he wants to see on-screen and won’t let a little thing like physics or sense get in the way of that.

His obvious choice to let the actors themselves incorporate as much or as little of the original characterisation as they see fit and re-use of some of the same ideas as his earlier work speaks of some laziness on his part, as though he was satisfied that the look and feel were sufficiently new and didn’t care if they got everything exactly right. How one could work diligently to make sure the music was just right (and it is) and yet do something flatly impossible (in any century) such as build a starship on the ground for the sake of a nice-looking matte shot is the kind AADD sloppiness that probably works in his favour with the target market (ie, AADD sci fi fans).

The final Good Thing about this film is that it covers a lot of ground and concepts, just as any good sci-fi movie should. After an initial sequence covering Kirk’s (alternate) birth story, we jump around from Iowa to Vulcan, to San Francisco for some Starfleet stuff, then off to deep space, Delta Vega, black holes and back and forth with epilepsy-inducing rapidity. I’m old and used to the slower pace of the TV series and previous movies, but the rapid-fire editing didn’t bother me as much as I feared; most of the time (note: most), the quick gasps of exposition were sufficient for me to follow the tale and of course younger viewers are very much used to the minimal-information-maximal-action style of today’s movies and TV. But I do have to pause here to give out my first Film Flaw:

Brickbat #1 - Steady the Fucking Camera Already!!

Probably because I have sensibly skipped most recent “high action” flicks like The Fast and the Furious etc., the overwhelming use of what I call “shakycam” is highly annoying to me. There are moments when the effect is quite desirable: when a torpedo hits your ship, for example, and the theatre (or your home stereo) is capable of complementing this with powerful Dolby 7.1 surroundsound, you want “shakycam” to add visual punch. I get that, and enjoy it when applied judiciously.

The problem is that Abrams uses that technique nearly continuously, so much so that non-shakycam sequences are actually noticeable, which is bad. In their effort to make the CGI effects and such look more realistic, Abrams decided on the same unrelenting “documentary” feel that made Cloverfield hard (for me) to watch and is what prevents sensible people from ever seeing The Blair Witch Project more than once. Shake, wander, lens flare, jitter, handheld -- the entire universe of Photoshop cam effects are present and accounted for. Does this make those sequences more realistic? Perhaps. But the “amateur/handheld” feel has a different effect on me; it reminds me that this is artificial, that it’s a deliberate move, and thus disturbs my suspension of disbelief greatly.

That said, the film does finds time to touch on many of the fundamental pieces of Roddenberry’s philosophies, from the role of Starfleet to the struggle of progression in civilisation and how we balance logic and emotion in that. New-Age Trekkies will be pleased. Next, let's look at something that I get the distinct feeling is less important with younger fans than it is with me:

Brickbat #2 - The Plot is PATHETIC!

One is often too busy “drinking it all in” on action-and-sfx-orgies like this one to really think too much about the plot, but even as I was sitting there I had more than the usual number of “wait a minute ...” moments. Now, this is hardly the first time a Trek plot had some problems, but most of them could at least be followed. This one is damn near incoherent, and that’s not just my opinion -- I dare you to try to get anyone just out of the theatre to explain in a meaningful way the whole “revenge of Romulus” plot in a manner that makes sense. Hint: they won’t be able to, in part because the SFX, pacing, non-linear editing and general cacophony distract one from the details, but also because the details don’t make a lick of sense. It is *required* reading to pick up the comic-book prequel, Star Trek: Countdown (!!) in order to follow the actual storyline, and even then there is a fertiliser truck’s worth of incredulity to spread around. You can download issues of this digital comic onto your iPhone, which would be helpful before going to see the film. Pity they don't tell you this.

Here’s what else the movie doesn’t tell you: ironically, the character that “died” first in the original movies (Spock, in Wrath of Khan, though he is reborn in the next film) lives far longer than any of the other crewmembers (a feature of both his Vulcan heritage and rebirth, apparently). Very late in the 24th century, Spock is still alive and still active as a diplomat in the Federation (this is the time period “Next Generation” was set in, and the comic features plotlines involving those characters).

All of the above is not referenced in any way in the film.

Spock goes on a mission to stop an “imminent supernova that threatens the galaxy” (science-nerd note: bullshit!), planning to use “red matter” (a complete Macguffin, but never mind) to create a black hole to “absorb the explosion” (more bullshit!), but he fails (!!) and Romulus (home planet of the Romulans, duh) is destroyed, but Spock's ship gets sucked into the black-hole-now-worm-hole (coughBULLSHITcough) along with the Romulan miner-ship Narada.

Really, Starfleet couldn’t find anyone other than a 200-year-old Vulcan to handle this job??

The captain of the Narada, a Romulan miner named Nero, is enraged by the destruction of his home planet. He and his crew shave their heads and tattoo themselves in mourning, and vow revenge on Spock, but somehow (MAGIC!!) Nero came out of the wormhole 25 years before Spock’s ship will, though he doesn’t know this quite yet. In a fury, the Narada attacks the science vessel USS Kelvin, on which are Kirk’s father George (as first officer) and his very pregnant mother Winona Kirk (played by Jennifer Morrison). The attack completely alters the timeline from that point forward, creating the “familiar but quite different in places” alternate timeline in which the entire movie takes place (so that's why Chekov has curly hair!). George Kirk sacrifices himself and the ship to buy the crew of the Kelvin (including Winona) time to escape, and Nero discovers that Spock’s ship will emerge from the wormhole in 25 years, so they wait for it (!!).

Now, before we go any further, ask yourself this question: Imagine you are Nero, and you have just been flung into the past in your very advanced technological spaceship because of the traumatic destruction of your home planet and its people. Do you:

a. Head to Romulus, show off your ship as proof of your claim you are from the future, and help the Romulans to escape their terrible destruction, or do you

b. Sit around for 25 years and wait for the guy who didn’t save your planet to show up so you can extract revenge?

Yeah. It took me a while to notice this gaping huge plothole, but there it is. But sit tight, it gets stupider later on ...

This is the point at which the Star Trek movie actually begins. Apart from a painfully brief and thoroughly confusing bit of flashback, much of Spock’s mission, the reasons for its failure and the timeslip are just glossed over in a too-short interlude before the explosions and killing start up again. We sort of gather at the end of the first scene in the movie that Nero (played very TNG-esque by Eric Bana, quite correctly in light of the hidden backstory, but if you didn’t read the comic book seems very out-of-place) is in the wrong time period, but not much else.

We take a break from that to watch Kirk and Spock grow up in their wildly-different worlds. Kirk is a snotty tearaway seen driving a Corvette (in the 23rd century!) using stick (!!!) and seemingly deliberately trying to kill himself, while Spock is the picked-on über-nerd his fan base will strongly identify with (constantly catching logical flak because his mother -- played by Winona Ryder, well hello there stranger! -- is human). Jump forward ten years or so (because apparently nothing else of interest happened between 11 and 21 years for these two), where Kirk is being a snothead at the local bar (trying to hit on Uhura, whom he doesn’t yet know) and Spock is turning down a spot in the Vulcan Science Academy. Both are persuaded to head for Starfleet training (this is where Kirk meets McCoy), and then we jump again another three years and now Kirk and McCoy (and everyone else who are completely unaged from three years earlier -- tell me, did you look exactly the same at 21 as you did at 25?) are pals (a bonding we don’t get to see), Uhura is still unattainable and the Kobeyashi Maru test referenced in Star Trek II is brought to life. This is one of the most purely entertaining bits of the film, at least for a diehard Wrath of Khan guy like me.

Suddenly there's a problem on Vulcan, so we all have to get on the Enterprise and go zooming off, because apparently Starfleet doesn't have anyone else but a ship full of green cadets and Captain Pike (very different from the TV version, older for a start and more of a father figure to Kirk -- in the TV series they'd never met until Spock's court martial -- damn that alternate timeline!).

Herein we get to the nub of what’s wrong with this movie, and it’s surprisingly not the huge chunks of missing backstory, the implausible physics or the hackneyed time-travel thing: the problem with this film is that it's just a series of (very, very well-done and enjoyable) set-pieces that don’t hang together at all. The car sequence is well-done (though silly), the bar fight is well-done, the brief pre-ship Starfleet sequence is well-done (and funny), and many of the ongoing set-pieces (the parachuting to the mining platform, the Delta Vega sequence, the climax and so on) all click beautifully as individual scenes, but often don't connect together or serve the story very much, even after the plot settles down and becomes linear in the storytelling.

The film's addiction to action sequences also gets in the way of deeper understanding. In particular, the scene on Delta Vega (Kirk has been marooned there by Spock -- they don't get on well at first, which is a brilliant idea) could have been a perfect opportunity to slow the film down for a bit, chew over all that’s been revealed so far and -- particularly once Old Spock shows up -- act as a intermission/prelude to the non-stop eye-candy orgy that’s coming. But no, they have to make it an action sequence. A particularly ridiculous one too, I might add (think Star Wars ep V meets Jurassic Park). If this was the moment where they were paying homage to the original’s sometimes campy moments and dodgy special effects, then they got it spot on. Otherwise, it’s pretty embarrassing.

So by an amazing coincidence (MAGIC!!), young Kirk happens to stumble across Old Spock, who (we discover in the one-and-only moment of true stop-everything-here's-some-plot-exposition goodness) finally came out of the wormhole 25 years after the Narada, was duly captured by Nero, and deposited on this planet so he could watch helplessly as Nero -- in revenge, remember -- destroys the planet of Vulcan and its six billion inhabitants (and this does in fact happen -- a lesser film would have made this the whole focus of the movie). Somehow (MAGIC!), Spock inherently understands that all this has altered the timeline, that “his” past has now never happened and that this young Kirk in front of him is a somewhat different version of his (now long-dead) friend. You'd think that would get a reaction, but this is Spock we’re talking about (Spock is, however, the only one who calls him “Jim”). Leonard Nimoy returns with the same casual elegance as he always had (and some nice “aging” makeup!), but I wish he had enough of his youthful vigour to squeeze out more -- ahem -- “logical” explanations of what’s going on.

Having just been responsible (indirectly?) for screwing up the universe’s entire timeline, Old Spock quickly sets about deliberately messing with the future (!!!) by letting Kirk in on what’s going to happen and by manipulating him to influence events in a particular direction. This strikes me as very UN-Spock, but hey he’s 200+ years old now, who’s to say. Let it go.

Old Spock and Kirk journey to the conveniently-nearby Starbase Outpost, where they meet Scotty. Spock again manipulates the future by revealing to Scotty the secret of “teleporting to or from a moving target,” the very thing young Engineer Scott was famous for inventing (in the “original” timeline) -- normally I’d assign another (!!!!) to this, but I’m almost out of exclamation points and besides, they did something like this before in Star Trek IV, so that makes it ... um, okay? Let it go.

Kirk and Scotty (but not Old Spock) beam back onto the Enterprise into one of the handful of purely-comical scenes which is very amusing but also shows up a serious design flaw (more about that later) and we’re back in the thick of the ongoing attempt to stop Nero, who (having succeeded completely with his evil plan for revenge -- I think that’s a sci-fi first isn’t it?) has decided to now destroy all the Federation planets (bwa ha ha!), and is still in need of stopping.

Kirk, on the direct advice of Old Spock, tricks Spock into giving up the captaincy of the Enterprise (Pike is being held hostage, forgot to mention that sorry) and assumes command. Spock, having moments ago been ready to (literally) kill Kirk, does a 180 and offers to help, and with newcomer (and whimsically funny) Scotty given -- completely insensibly -- carte blanche over the engines (was there no chief engineer before?), we’re off to something of a predictable confrontation and (rather hollow, really) victory over Nero.

This review is already longer than the screenplay of the movie its reviewing, but I have one more brickbat to give out:

Brickbat #3 -- Design consistency? What’s that?

One of the reasons I hated the last Trek TV series (“Enterprise”) so very much was that even though that show was set 50 years before the original “Star Trek” TV show, everything was (of course) newer and cooler. This is because designers (apparently) hate doing actual retro, as in homework, as in thinking about what the 1960s set of the Enterprise would look like if it were actually 50 years earlier. They did this again (perhaps accidentally, I will grant) in “The Next Generation,” where the Enterprise of 70 years post-TOS is a cornucopia of beige and touchscreens which while definitely more modern than the old show, nonetheless painted a vision of the 23rd century where taste is as rare as unsynthesized Earl Grey tea.

The “new” set for the bridge of the young Enterprise is of course nothing like any of the sets that have come before it, a glitteringly clean white-and-blue affair (and a nightmare to keep clean!). Very nice, but if I'm supposed to believe that this bridge came at least a decade or two before the bridge seen in TOS, then Houston, we have a problem.

Adding to that is of course (and again) the inability of the visual team to make the exterior of the original Enterprise or other ships look more primitive than they did in the 60s or even in the movies of the 80s. I guess most people don’t care and maybe I shouldn’t either, but I grew up watching historical recreations on the BBC and “period detail” was of paramount importance then, and that feeling transferred to me and applies even to relative periods of the future. In other words, a story set in X-50 years should look more primitive and cheap than a story set in X, even if X was made first and X-50 was made later.

It's too much to ask from Hollywood, apparently ...

Worse still -- and really unforgivable as this is within the same very high-budget film -- once you leave the bridge and living quarters of the Enterprise, the rest of the ship's interior looks for all the world like a sewage plant. The “clean white everything” look apparently costs big bucks, because Engineering is as full of bare pipes, stark lighting and minimal tech as the back room of your local Costco. It’s one thing for Engineering to have a different aesthetic than the Bridge (though they’ve usually shared a common sensibility), but this engine room looks like it’s from an entirely different movie! And don’t even get me started about the “Yoyodyne” design of the Romulan ship’s interior, right down to the random puddles of murky water!

Oh, and while we’re ranting, will someone please explain why almost every threat to earth in all the Star Trek movies have to take place within view of Starfleet Academy in San Francisco? When Nero decides to blow up the Earth -- which for some reason (MAGIC!) requires drilling a hole to the core to put the Red Matter in, you couldn't just explode the Red Matter on or above the surface -- he just happens to choose the exact same spot where the whales were released in Star Trek IV? Right next door to Starfleet?? Really???

Most incredibly of all, the film seems to end triumphantly -- the crew is complete, everyone’s pals, Earth is saved, Nero is destroyed, etc. -- but in fact if you think about it, the film ends horribly. No attempt is (or will be) made to restore the timeline back to where it “should” be (and remember, Old Spock has plenty of knowledge and experience on how to do this!), the planet Vulcan remains destroyed (but Romulus will now be spared -- I think -- because now everyone knows the future fate of that planet), which means the crew failed their first mission!

Spock’s race (six billion people!) and planet is all but wiped out (Old Spock leaves to start a colony with the few remaining survivors), and the past we (the audience) all know and love is gone. Nero’s revenge is complete and untouched, and though the future is now more “wide open” than it was because the “original” continuity has been wiped, we won’t see these “new” versions of the characters grow into the ones we remember.

I might add on a personal note that even all this time after 9/11, watching someone deliberately set off a (kind of bomb) that kills indiscriminately and leaves only a smoldering ruin behind was a little hard to watch. The imploding Vulcan was just a little too much like the collapsing towers for my taste. Effects are getting too real, I guess ...

None of this, even with all the extensive nitpicking I’ve done, takes away from the overall effect of the movie: good, funny (and the funny is much appreciated), well-executed space opera that gives us plenty of big-screen, expensive-looking thrills and laughs that will entertain and amaze you, especially if you don’t think about it too hard. So, “boldly” go see it, and let me know what you think; I’d be very interested to hear.

ADDENDUM: Just thought of this yesterday -- at the end of the movie, we are left with two Spocks, both of whom are known to the Federation (and thus living proof that time travel works) and one of whom has extensive knowledge on how to manipulate time and history. But the Federation are just going to let Old Spock go off and start a Vulcan colony? Oh I don’t think so ...

Early Review of Star Trek ...

... by The Onion.


Trekkies Bash New Star Trek Film As 'Fun, Watchable'

The COWs of Spring

The April edition of Chas’ Crusty Old Wave is now available via the website or iTunes. It’s a very early episode from 1992 BC -- Before Clinton -- and predates the modern Internet, DVDs and The X-Files. It was a whole different world back then.

We also are pleased to announce that we now have a fan page on Facebook which we hope you’ll join.

With a little luck we may have a “special episode” available for you in May ... stay tuned for more on that ...

A Small Digression

We don’t normally cover short films on this blog, and are even less inclined to cover or promote web-only films, but for this one -- Responsible Relationships and You: Facebook Manners -- we’ll gladly make an exception.

First of all, as a parody this short is note-perfect. Not since the days of Night Flight on the USA Network in those bygone early days of cable has their been such a beautifully realised parody of the generic 50s-era “educational” film. Second, enough readers are on Facebook or at least know about it for the concept to carry beyond the confines of the web. Finally, it’s cleverly retro-futurist “steampunk” design recalls both Brazil and the 1939 World’s Fair with equal aplomb, and rich reward for those willing to freeze-frame and read the text flashed on-screen. I predict “Timmy Gordon is uh oh” to join other Net-centric catch-phrases like “I KISS YOU!!” and “All Your Base” in short order. Remember, you read it here first!

The best way to experience this mini-masterpiece is to visit YouTube and enjoy it in its full HD glory, but I give you a bite-sized version here in HD to whet your appetite:

Stone of Destiny (2009)

96 Min.
Writer/Director: Charles Martin Smith
Stars: Charlie Cox, Billy Boyd, Robert Carlyle

Here’s a story you don’t see all that often: a true account of a daring raid for national pride and glory that’s set after WWII. Charles Martin Smith (best known for his role in “American Graffiti” but like his co-star Ron Howard more of a writer/director these days) has fashioned a stylish-looking, involving tale of Scotland’s most famous heist (or as they might say “liberation”), the repatriation of the “Stone of Destiny,” a rock with historical ties going back at least seven centuries (and, legend has it, back to Old Testament biblical times -- this is the stone which Jacob is thought to have used as a headrest).

“People of Scottish ancestry” is probably not an identifiable target market in demographic terms, but in fact such people are all over the world, and most will walk with a little more swagger in their step after viewing this, particularly if it’s marketed properly. On Christmas Day in 1950, a motley (and yes, rag-tag) group of nationalistic college students led by one Ian Hamilton executed the greatest “student prank” of all time: breaking into Westminster Abbey in London and making off with the “Stone of Scone,” a huge (and heavy) sandstone rock that had been used to crown Scottish monarchs since around 847AD, and was stolen from Scotland by Edward I in 1296. He built a special coronation chair that incorporated the Stone in its base so that all future monarchs would also (by tradition) be crowned Kings of Scotland as well as England.

The movie is based on Ian Hamilton’s memoirs and seems to stick pretty closely to what really happened (or as close as movies with any sense of dramatic tension get, anyway), which is refreshing. As with most true tales, there’s a bit of unresolved business (because life isn’t really all that neat and tidy), some cowardice to go with the bravery, some seemingly-ridiculous or implausible moments (but they did happen!), and more “running about for nothing” than you find in neatly-scripted fictions. I was surprised at how funny much of the heist and its planning was, but hindsight helps such things ring true. As the instigator of a few “adventures” in my own life, I could relate to the missteps and foibles of the plan and its executors, and the youthful fervor of Ian Hamilton (played by Charlie Cox, who is English but does a good job with the Scots accent).

Genuine Scottish nationalists might bristle at the “gloss” Smith has given the film (loving landscape shots, shorthanded Scottish character types), feeling it a bit superficial -- particularly in its lack of any criticism of the English -- but particularly for adult moviegoers, “Stone of Destiny” has the right mix of action and detail, nostalgia and laughs. The reaction to the gang’s bold move back in Scotland is particularly well-handled and will likely bring a lump to many a patron’s throat.

Looking back on one’s youth is often a risky business, but though the stunt may have ended up coming for naught (the Stone was quickly recovered and sent back to Westminster, though it is currently “on loan” to Scotland until the next UK coronation), Smith’s affectionate look back at a great slice of modern Scottish history should give audiences young and old a wee grin on their faces.

This review originally appeared on Film Threat.

March Episode Now Available!

Just in the nick of time, the March episode of Chas’ Crusty Old Wave is available for download either via the website or directly from iTunes. This episode features a focus on Elvis Costello’s “Brutal Youth” album, some rants against the then-new teen curfew in downtown Orlando, and best of all, Liz Langley's hi-larious Horror-scopes.

Not to mention a ton of good old-fashioned alterna-rock back when the term meant something.

Those of you who check it out via iTunes, could you take a moment and rate/comment on the podcast? It will help get the word out. Thanks!

Back on iTunes!

After a short fubar-esque delay caused by a bug in iWeb 09, I'm pleased to report that Chas' Crusty Old Wave - The Podcast! is now available again on iTunes. Subscribers should finally be getting February's episode (#63).

If you are not already a listener, and think you would enjoy a rather smart-alecky tour of the best in obscure New Wave Music as only college radio can provide, you can easily subscribe through iTunes by clicking here, or if you do not have iTunes (what?!) you can always visit the website directly here.

Enjoy!

The Islands Project (2008)

Running Time: 102 Min.

Canada 2008

Director/Writer/Star: Michael Stadtländer

One of the world’s top chefs decides to take a unique summer vacation  -- driving from Ontario to the obscure islands of British Columbia in a biodiesel bus-cum-mobile-kitchen, preparing exquisite outdoor dinners using local ingredients, local themes and local farmers. He calls it “The Islands Project.”

From the start, we can see that chef Michael Stadtländer is a happy -- but quirky -- guy. He lives on Eigensinn Farm where he grows almost all of the ingredients (from livestock to plants) that will go into his occasional, but $300-or-so-per-person, eight-course plein-air dinners for select gourmands. The farm has earned a rep as one of the top dining spots in the entire world thanks to this approach, but Stadtländer (who also wrote and directed this documentary) seems happiest when he is able to share this experience beyond the farm. Once “The Liberator” (his hippie kitchen-on-wheels) arrives in Canada’s west coast, he wastes no time finding and visiting farms and farmer’s markets scattered across Vancouver, Quadra and Cortes Islands, meeting artists and farmers, picking berries, discovering new foods and local delicacies, and consulting with locals (and the occasional celebrity-chef pal) to get ideas for his haute cuisine dinners, which are usually outdoors and always use unusual themes (a “table” made of stacked deadwood, plates made out of wooden starfish, or a dinner on a floating platform in the middle of a lake) that present challenges to him and his assistants.

The meals are, of course, extraordinary, creative and delicious-sounding, and are run not unlike a field military exercise. Stadtländer commands totally, directing not just the cooking but the furniture (helping make it if need be!), lighting, atmosphere and decor as required. The only rules for the variety of fare at these meals is that it must be ecological, sustainable and edible. If the film has a flaw, it’s that there isn’t enough footage of the dinner conversations themselves, or reactions to specific dishes. Also omitted is almost any mention of any “failed experiments” or unexpected surprises. The chef prefers to teach us all (including the locals) what might be called “food respect”; how to cook these incredibly fresh, home-grown items and how best to enjoy them within their natural setting, the outdoors.

Oddly enough, the highlight of the film are actually cutaway interviews Stadtländer does with farmers, fellow chefs and the occasional oddball. At the beginning of the film, we see him buying a disused console TV (one of those big honking 70s jobs), whereupon he hollows it out leaving just the front face, creating his own “TV show” on the road. These funny bits keep the mood light and break up the “go to an island, gather foods, prepare them, wow the natives” cycle of the dinners.

The final dinner takes place on an uninhabited island, so the entire “set” for the dinner must be constructed from found elements, a perfect complement to the dinner of found ingredients and visiting guests. This “vacation” looks like a hell of a lot of work to us, but Stadtländer seems content when it’s all done and time to go back to his farm. If you’re a “foodie,” you will enjoy this (even vegetarians, though there are scenes of meat being made if you catch my drift); if you’re an environmentalist you will love this; if you are both, this movie is one prolonged orgasm of sheer sensual pleasure.

This review originally appeared on Film Threat.

Crusty Post!

Those of you who are subscribed to my podcast -- Chas’ Crusty Old Wave -- via iTunes will have to wait a bit for the February episode to show up.

Apple made some changes in how iWeb interacts with the iTunes store, so while all the old episodes are still available, the new one (#63 from 30-Oct-92) is not yet there. They are aware of the problem, and presumably will take a break from working on iOwnEverything to fix it in due course.

Those who do not subscribe via iTunes, the new episode is up on the web site. Enjoy.

Squeezebox! (2008)

Running time: 92 Min.

Directors: Zach Shaffer, Steve Saporito

Stars: Michael Schmidt, Mistress Formika, Debbie Harry, Rudy Giuliani

There was this really great party, it went on every Friday for seven years throughout the 90s, it was very rock-n-roll and very ambi-sexual (with an accent on the sexual), and if you missed it you really missed out.

That’s the premise (strongly supported by the evidence) behind Squeezebox!, a gay event held at an otherwise unassuming bar in a overlooked corner of downtown Manhattan back when Mayor Guiliani was more concerned with shaming graffiti artists and cleaning up Times Square than fixing the really big problems NYC had at the time. Every Friday night for seven years in the middle of the 90s, a mini-revolution was brewing -- gay performers (in drag or not) who actually sang (not lip-synched) punk, New Wave and plain ol’ rock-and-roll songs to an audience of hip people of various persuasions who weren’t bothered by misfits and united through their love of really good times. Led by promoter Michael Schmidt and hosted/championed by drag queen Mistress Formika and transsexual punk legend Jayne County, Don Hill’s bar was transformed into a pure, sexy, loud, in-your-face Republican nightmare, like a real live Rocky Horror Picture Show happening in your own basement.

Thanks to hours and hours of videotape from the club’s heyday and interviews with patrons, celebrities and employees, the energy, excitement and love poured into Squeezebox is messily recaptured. It’s not just men in dresses singing “I Wanna Be Your Dog,” it’s people, given permission to be totally free and totally themselves, living those songs. This is where the Toilet Boys and Hedwig and the Angry Inch were born; this was where high fashion designers came to be schooled on what really looked good; this was a club where “normal” was one of the few things never allowed in.

The performances are generally very good, the interviews are usually hilarious and candid, and the filmmakers do a particularly good job at setting the context for this rebellion against the Guiliani adminstration of the 90s (with a surprising amount of help from Guiliani himself, being quite the douchebag we all found out he was later). By the time I got the Duelling (Tallulah) Bankheads performing A Flock of Seagulls’ “Telecommunication,” I was wishing for a time machine so I could be amongst the squalor and decay of the kool kids too.

There are few flecks of flaws amongst the gold of this documentary: the curious omission of any mention of an earlier gay bar that had attempted the same idea, and an overlong rehashing of the Stonewall Rebellion (the target audience for this film is more than passing familiar with this, guys), but don’t let these nitpicks stop you from having a raucous, raunchy, occasionally gross but always delightful time in the now-immortalized world of Squeezebox!. With this movie, you really can do the Time Warp again.

It’s just a jump to the left ...

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

Before Tomorrow (2008)

Running Time: 93 Min.

Directors: Marie-Hélène Cousineau, Madeline Piujuq Ivalu

Stars: Madeline Ivalu, Paul-Dylan Ivalu

As the tall man behind the desk at the BBC might say, “and now for something completely different.” Before Tomorrow is not the sort of film you routinely run across, even amongst the cognoscenti of the film-fest circuit. It’s an all-Inuit (“Eskimo” in American) cast, shot in Nunavut, using native language (subtitled in English or French) and a full-on tragedy (which is distressingly rare these days). It’s a historical slice of life that even most Canadians rarely get to see, never mind the rest of the world, yet the tale is told more with emotion than words, and the language barrier melts away like the snow in spring.

The story is set in 1840, when the Inuit were still extremely limited in their contact with the white settlers further south. Their world was incredibly small, from a tiny village off to nearby islands to hunt. The small society works well thanks to the values of shared work and reward; everyone, even the kids, have jobs to do. We join the tribe in summer, at the end of a hunt. They are in a celebratory mood, having recently acquired some needles and cups from white traders they encountered (in exchange for allowing the women to sleep with them) as well as having abundant food for the winter. They decide to dry their catches on a remote island, away from predatory animals. Ningiuq, an old woman in the village, volunteers for the duty, which means being alone for several months. Her dying friend Kutuguk wishes to come along as a last request, knowing she will die there, and her young grandson Maniq also insists on going, hoping to learn from his beloved grandmother more of the skills to become a man, as well as to look out for the two women.

Shortly after their isolation begins, Kutuguk dies, foretelling the tragedies to come. The months pass and Maniq is learning much, but Ningiuq cannot help but wonder on their seriously overdue reunion with the tribe. As the first snows threaten, she decides to make the trip back herself, and discovers a horrible scene: the entire village has been wiped out by disease, brought to them by the white traders. Ningiuq and her grandson are alone in their world. From there, the story turns to the struggle to survive, overcoming the adversity of winter and Ningiuq’s struggle with her own dark thoughts. She can protect the boy for now, but what future is there for them without the support of their community?

When she senses her own death approaching, she knows she must act boldly to save them in a world where help is never coming. She calls out to her (long dead) husband to guide her in an impossible situation.

The slow pace of the film, reflective of the speed of life in that era, may bore the more cynical in the audience, but if you can get into their world and their mindset, every movement, every facial expression, every story Ningiuq relates to her grandson takes on deep meaning. The acting is so effortlessly authentic, in perfect harmony with the remote locations and passing seasons, that putting yourself in their mukluks is easy if you wish it. If you’ve ever wondered on the survival of people in such remote and inhospitable locations as these, Before Tomorrow brings their struggle to life and reveals the strength in such a fragile society. It’s a remarkable bit of First Nations filmmaking that should be seen far more widely in the world than the mostly-Canadian distribution it will get.

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

Hotel Gramercy Park (2008)

Running Time: 80 Min.

USA 2008

Director: James Westby

Stars: Ian Schrager, Debbie Harry, Paris Hilton, Julian Schnabel

Hotel Gramercy Park is about the passing of one era and the starting of another in the life of a lesser-known New York institution. Death-and-rebirth is a common theme in films, but less so in documentaries, and with this one’s fixation mostly on the “death” part, it delivers as a historical document of the last vestiges of a particular time and place, and the “passing parade” that carries on after we’ve moved along.

Like the city itself, the hotel (built in 1925 and managed by generations of the same family from 1958 to today) started off grand, kept it up for a long time and slowly rested on its laurels until, truth be told, it was only a satire of its former self. Home to the only private park (!) in the city and favored by rock stars and other celebrities for decades (complete with the requisite introduction of drugs into the culture of the hotel), the place slowly fell apart under the benign neglect of its owners, long-term tenants and celebrity visitors, who as you might expect are all a bunch of wonderfully colourful Noo Yoik-type characters.

We pick up the story of the hotel at the tail end of it’s “first life.” The family who owns it (and lived there, recognising only much later what a mistake it was to raise a family in a hotel) is forced to sell due to tax issues arising from the drift of management and the death of the Weissberg patriarch. Former Studio 54 owner Ian Schrager swoops in and plans a major makeover, disgruntling the long-term tenants (who don’t have to leave, and some refuse to), worrying the neighbors and forcing the remaining Weissbergs to (at least temporarily) give up the only home they’ve ever known. Director Douglas Keeve spends the first half mostly documenting the fascinating but tragedy-filled history of the Weissbergs, the hotel and some its more famous moments through the eyes of the youngest members of the now-forlorn clan, before changing focus to the inadvertently comedic tenants and the renovation. Finally gaining Schrager’s full cooperation in the last act, his delicate balancing act of trying to appease the old guard while reinventing the place finally takes front-and-center in the film.

What emerges is a metaphor for New York City itself, and a lot of what makes it special; the constant reinvention conflicting with the stubborn, uniquely American war-generation brand of moxie you thought only existed in old movies. Two 90-plus twin sisters sipping martinis in the hotel bar bemoaning the new generation and mourning the way of life they knew, a songwriter who’s been holed up in the hotel for 30 years writes “Everything I Need is in Manhattan” (which is damn catchy!) as his world is literally torn apart around him, Karl Lagerfeld looking back wistfully but facing the future – it’s an obituary to a generation of New Yorkers that are giving way to a new breed. The main disappointment is that the film ends just as the “next chapter” is beginning -- opening day of the “new” Gramercy Park (the makeover has generally met with critical and traveller raves since then).

The footage comes from various sources and as such it’s of variable quality, but capturing these un-self-conscious characters in a period of transition reveals a lot about them, the city, the hotel and, ultimately, the audience. Even thousands of miles away from New York, through Hotel Gramercy Park we get a glimpse at just what makes NYC so special; it’s our own stories, but writ larger.

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

Delta Rising (2007)

Running Time: 79 Min.
Directors: Michael Afendakis, Laura Bernieri
Stars: Morgan Freeman, Willie Nelson, James Johnson

There are almost as many “birth of the blues” documentaries as Holocaust movies. By now, I’m beginning to suspect that each and every black man in Mississippi has been interviewed at least once on this topic. That said, “Delta Rising” takes a reasonably fresh approach to this overworked subgenre by making the film as much about the town where it all began (Clarksdale) as the music legends that were born in and around there.

Morgan Freeman (yes, that Morgan Freeman) lives in Clarksdale and owns a club, one of around 10 in this itty-bitty town, which apart from the commercialism of the blues venues doesn’t look much different than the last time Muddy Waters played it. This helps the film’s explanation of how the blues got started here; crushing poverty (working cotton plantations was the main industry until the mid-1950s) and local ingenuity allowed talented performers to escape the hot sun of field work and make a relatively better living in the “juke joints” in the small “circuit” of nearby Mississippi towns. Quite a number of the town’s sons made it to New Orleans, to Memphis and to recording studios, making the blues into a national art form, but you can feel the ghosts of this town and understand better where the blues comes from because the place is still so stuck back in time.

Given the interesting subject matter, colorful local characters, big-name interviews (Willie Nelson, Freeman and Charlie Musselwhite among others), little-seen archival footage (Pinetop Perkins, Ike Turner, John Lee Hooker, Sonny Boy Williamson and many more) and copious live performance footage, you want to like the movie and expect it would come together far better than it does.

The biggest problem is that the interviews are simply terrible. Poorly shot, with horrible sound, most look like the subject was thrown into a photobooth and interviewed with a VHS camcorder. The only time this works to anyone’s advantage is the amusingly intoxicated harmonica whiz James Montgomery, who starts by saying “I don’t normally give drunken interviews ...”

The editing is also rather slapshot, breaking “grammar” a few times and sometimes jumping without clear explanation. The filmmakers also overindulge in the amount of local performance footage, “tour stories” and -- mainly -- Morgan Freeman. It’s great that he agreed to help out this little indie doc, it’s understandable that he dominates the club scene because he’s a big celebrity, but he’s not the star of this particular story, and thus shouldn’t get the bulk of the screen time. More time spent with James “Super Chikan” Johnson (yes, “Chikan”), Squirrel Nut Zippers refugee Chris Cotton, incredible talent Ruby Wilson (what a voice!), and “King Biscuit Time” host Sonny Payne would have painted a better picture of the history and development of the blues in Clarksdale.

If you love the blues, you will appreciate this documentary’s strengths and overlook most of the flaws. If you love documentaries, the technical fubars and missed opportunities will start annoying you before five minutes has passed -- but grit your teeth and bear it, because the history and the music make it all worthwhile. What’s a blues movie without a little suffering, anyway?

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

The Auteur (2008)

Running time: 80 Min.
USA 2008
Director/Writer: James Westby
Stars: Melik Malkasian, John Breen

Comedy and porn can actually work very well together, provided that the emphasis is on the comedy. Writer/Director James Westby has re-worked a short film he did in 2002 into a full-length feature, and The Auteur has been reborn as a sublime satire on sex and cinema, a Spinal Tap-esque documentary, a love letter to Portland no anthology movie could ever match, and comedy gold for (the adults in) the whole family.

This “mockumentary” finds its subject, the fiercely Italian artisan smut-meister Arturo Domingo, watching his career begin its death spiral. In Portland to appear at a screening of his popular “early” works, Domingo (Melik Malkasian) endures battering reviews of his new stuff, fans demanding he return to his previous style (and partner-in-poon Frank E. Normous) and a personal life still in shambles after the love of his life left him because of his hot-tempered jealousy on the set of his most ambitious work, Full Metal Jackoff.

He is determined to continue tilting at his artistic windmills alone, however, which results in art-house-cum-skin-flick satires like Five Easy Nieces and Children of a Lesser Wad (groaners -- and boners -- are all over the place in this movie!), but Domingo just can’t reconnect with his muse. As fate would have it, however, Portland is ground zero for the people and attitude adjustments he must bring together to heal his soul and restore his mojo.

The story goes off on occasional tangents that could have been more tightly edited (an all-night hippie-freak-out adventure and a side-trip to a Cyrano-esque sub-plot need to zip along a lot more than they do), but the distractions add flavour, and their indulgence is more than offset by the glue holding the picture together, Malkasian’s masterful performance -- which starts off Belushi-esque but quickly rises to effortless perfection. The supporting cast are all excellent, particularly John Breen as the quintessential middle-aged stud, but as in Westby’s last feature (FilmGeek), Malkasian commands the screen just as his alter-ego commands the set. Even scores of nude people and Ron Jeremy’s cameo cannot move the spotlight off Arturo Domingo.

The laughs are frequent, the story unfolds as it should, the location is lovingly adorned with a mostly-Portland-bands soundtrack, and the flashbacks in particular are works of genius (Malkasian gained 40 pounds to play the “current” Domingo, making his “younger years” look startingly convincing) seamlessly blended in. The supporting characters are funny and memorable, the fans are charming and the naughty bits are ... well, adorable. As for the climax -- well, let’s just leave that one lying there, shall we? Suffice to say it was climaximum!

The Auteur is hands-down the funniest “nudie” movie since Orgazmo, a Fellini-and-Waters-make-Stardust Memories romp that is nothing short of skin-sational.

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

Inside Hana’s Suitcase (2009)

Running Time: 90 Min.
Ontario, Canada 2009
Director: Larry Weinstein
Writer: Thomas Wallner, based on the book by Karen Levine

Once in a great while, a film comes along that is so moving and soul-stirring, so emotionally powerful, so filled with the magic of what makes cinema a living art, that you want to run from the theatre, grab the first stranger you meet by the lapels and yell at them like a deranged Christopher Lloyd “MARTY! You have to come and see this movie with me right now!”

This is one of those movies.

Inside Hana’s Suitcase -- based on the CBC radio documentary, then book, then stage play -- is about the Holocaust, and yes you will tear up if not outright sob at some point. Yet it is neither Schindler’s List nor The Diary of Anne Frank, neither relentlessly educational nor depressingly triumphant, and a film that charts its own way in a manner that is both historical and modern. For example, how many Holocaust movies have much of their action set in Japan?

Hana Brady, a Czechoslovakian Jew living in a small village, was 13 when she died in Auschwitz, but her suitcase found its way to a Holocaust Resource Center in Toyko, a place where engaging children to learn the lessons of the past is much harder than it is in the West (the Japanese, as a culture, do not like to dwell on the war years and their role in them). A group of curious students and their teacher, Fumiko Ishioka, research the life of Hana and her family, and through them (and children of various nationalities who serve as narrators, an extremely clever idea) we learn a great deal about the family as identifiable, real people. Weinstein’s visual storytelling and the children’s narration cross the 70-year divide and unite the generations superbly.

Eventually Ishioka discovers that Hana’s brother George survived the war and now lives in Canada. He and some of Hana’s surviving friends and relations take up the story, filling in the heartbreaking details of the slow loss of their entire family and the isolation from their friends. George Brady draws considerable strength from the interest of the Japanese children, and opens up his scrapbooks and his heart to them to complete Hana’s remarkable story. By this time, Hana is both a real person and a metaphor for the many less-sung who died at those camps.

The filmmaking achieves stunningly high quality on a very modest budget ($1.4M), seamlessly blending expertly-directed recreations, special effects, beautiful model photography, family photos, stirring music and small but judiciously-applied amounts of stock footage from WWII to augment the remarkable interviews and visits to the locations where it all took place. The performances of the re-creators and the attention to period detail adds a vividly visual dimension rarely achieved in historical documentaries, most of which are content to rely mainly on oral history and panned photographs.

Inside Hana’s Suitcase travels the world (literally as well as metaphorically) and achieves its aim of imprinting her tragic story and the horrors of war and hatred in our memories. This is -- truly -- a film you will never forget.

This article originally appeared on Film Threat .

Toronto Stories (2008)

Running Time: 89 Min.
Ontario, Canada 2008
Directors/Writers: Sook-Yin Lee, Sudz Sutherland, David Weaver, Aaron Woodley

The Victoria Film Festival’s program book description for Toronto Stories ends with this line: Even Toronto-haters are going to have a hard time getting their knives out for this one.

Wanna bet?

I don’t hate Toronto; I’ve never been there. But considering that this anthology film (four stories very loosely linked, yes just like Paris J’taime, New York Stories et al) is intended as a “love letter” to Canada’s largest city, it didn’t exactly inspire me to come visit. Toronto looks great from afar, as the many location shots will attest; but up close it seems a lot like New York in the 80s, when even Woody Allen was having a hard time loving it.

We start with the film-schoolish setup, a lost (African?) boy with no papers or parents who shows up at Pearson Airport. He escapes the clutches of the authorities (again and again and again) and begins a trek that takes him to random places. He doesn’t speak, yet everyone who encounters him befriends him just long enough to launch their own segment, whereupon he is gone like the feeble plot device he is. This makes it incredibly hard to care about him when his “backstory” is finally fleshed out in the movie’s denouement, the final short “Lost Boys.”

The first piece is called “Shoelaces” and starts promisingly, exploring the relationship of two pre-teens who have a strong friendship, dark secrets and perhaps a budding romance. A promising and atmospheric adventure involving a “monster” who lives in the sewers of Cabbagetown is prematurely terminated for no clear reason (time’s up?), leaving us emotionally unsatisfied despite the strong cinematography and good performances of the child actors.

From there we move into “The Brazillian,” helmed by riot grrl and Canadian media darling Sook-Yin Lee (Shortbus) who also stars as a befuddled woman trying (and failing) to coax some romance out of a zombie of a man who appears to have Asberger’s Syndrome. Though the piece is funny and Lee gives an authentic performance, we are again left (this time physically) unsatisfied. Lee’s character encounters the African boy at the library, tries to get him help and then just ... forgets about him mere moments later.

Sudz Sutherland’s “Windows,” my favorite short, again features a very interesting storyline: an ex-con who’s gone straight and has what he needs in life (a fun job and a pregnant wife) until he runs into a former jailmate, and a slip of the tongue breaks all hell loose, endangering everyone. This one has action, drama, tension and violence, along with several good laughs. Sutherland could have done with a bigger budget, but it’s still a stylish attention grabber.

“Lost Boys” by David Weaver (Century Hotel) tries to wrap up the linking story by dragging the mute kid into the rough world of Toronto’s homeless, where his only angel is a man almost too busy wrestling with his own demons to help. Gil Bellows’ “wittiest, smartest homeless guy ever” portrayal is often in danger of suspending our disbelief, rescued by his frequent returns to a more convincing dark side and internal struggle to break free. It’s these moments that provide the most compelling performance among the four films. When we finally turn to the poor kid -- who hasn’t said a word so far -- to wrap things up, they miraculously find a translator and he gives us ... well nothing really. The big “reveal” is a complete wet blanket -- which, along with the constant presence of crime, police and/or homeless people in every single segment, adds to the general dissatisfaction and despair that seem to snake through this pretty metropolis like the sewers. Aren’t there any happy, well-adjusted people in Toronto?

Toronto Stories isn’t going to be adopted by the tourism board, with its apparent message that it’s not the city that’s the problem, but (apparently) Torontonians. I can’t help but wonder if the filmmakers intended this anthology to be a truthful mirror, or a warning to others.

(this article originally appeared on Film Threat )

Jump! (2007)

Running time: 87 Min.

USA

Director/Writer: Helen Hood Scheer

From 2002’s Spellbound, a documentary that followed eight kids from around the US as they worked their way to the ultimate sudden-death playoff of the National Spelling Bee, through 2004’s Word Wars (Scrabble’s dry-witted champions), 2006’s Air Guitar Nation (extreme!) and 2007’s The King of Kong (Donkey Kong players in a life-or-death struggle with perspective), there has been a spate of documentaries profiling oddball and non-traditional “sports,” all of whom dream of becoming an Olympic event someday. The latest is Jump!, showing off the skill, heart and sweat that goes into being the best jump-ropers on the planet.

Director Scheer has caught this world at just the right point in its development: with a history to look back on and real championships (national and world) to look forward to, but before it goes all mainstream and sell-out. Kids of all races, places and economic backgrounds work out relentlessly to perfect not just jumping in place, but bringing dance and gymnastic moves often seen in other sports like tumbling and ice skating into a frenetic routine that requires you leave the ground several times per second. Though the competition is intense and emotional for the youngsters, they’re all still friendly and curious about other teams, other countries and other styles, and interact with their competition quite freely.

The tension builds as we follow five US teams through the regionals, nationals and finally the world competition in Toronto. There’s moments of breathtaking physicality and more moments of heartstopping tension -- you’re sure one of these kids is going to spontaneously combust from the sheer intensity of their jumping. We learn a little about the kids, including the pain and stress they deal with (coupled with strong devotion and seemingly boundless joy), the coaches (who are considered family), the “stars” (complete with their egos, but they do in fact “bring it”) and the up-and-comers. This is not a movie edited to only show off only the highlights or to glamourize the sport -- we see the stumbles, the blank-outs, the pressure and failures, but the film is tempered throughout with genuine humour and a refreshing lack of pretentiousness or precociousness.

After watching this documentary you’ll be digging around in your closet for your old jump-rope as soon as you get home. Jump! is heartwarming, all-American fun.

(this article originally appeared in Film Threat )

Otto, or Up With Dead People (2008)

Running time: 95 Min.
Canada/Germany
Director/Writer: Bruce La Bruce

Imagine a young John Waters, only with no sense of urgency, more militantly queer, and tone-deaf to the subtleties of satire. There you have Bruce La Bruce, writer/director of Otto, or Up With Dead People. You would think a “gay zombie political porno movie” would be a lot of laughs, or at least creepily arousing (if you’re into that sort of thing). Wrong on both counts.

In interviews, La Bruce has explained his thinking behind this angst-ridden opus, which runs along the lines of “homosexuals are outsiders, zombies are outsiders, thus ‘gay zombie.’” Somebody explain to this guy that 2 + 2 doesn’t equal more two, it equals four, as in “four times too long.”

The story (such as there is) runs like this: Otto the gay zombie may or may not even be a zombie, nobody’s really sure, but he shambles around and eats road kill like one. He falls into the clutches of a Grand Guignol-type director named Medea Yarn and her posse, who has been struggling to make the aforementioned “political gay zombie porno movie” Up With Dead People (her “magnum corpus”) and decides Otto is perfect for it. So we get a lot of arty “film within a film” cliches and a sound mix that sounds like road construction going on outside a disco. Eventually Otto abandons Medea’s film (at its climax, no less) to go find his former boyfriend, who still isn’t interested. Otto decides to leave town, leaving a lot of blood and pointlessness behind.

There are some good points: Jey Crisfar as Otto does a great job as the disaffected youth, the characters in general are intriguing enough, Medea’s ridiculously hammy Ayn Rand-meets-Greta-Garbo speeches occasionally provide a good laugh, and there’s a few smatterings of physical comedy that are cute and/or successful. The nude bodies are generally attractive (at least, at first) and, as the fellow who introduced the film put it in his disclaimer to the audience, “there’s some hardcore gay necrophiliac sex, but it’s done tastefully.”

La Bruce probably intended Otto to be a reaction to the misogynistic, homophobic horror movies we normally get, and that’s certainly a noble idea: the problem is that he fails to provide us with either a good zombie movie, a good pro-gay/pro-feminist political movie or a good porno movie (even a non-zombie orgy at the end fails to interest). The film just lurches from one unfocused concept to the next, ultimately going nowhere in a unsteady shamble, just like the film’s namesake.

(this article originally appeared in Film Threat )

The 15th Annual Victoria Film Festival - Introduction

Victoria is the historic “Little Britain” capital of the province of British Columbia, even though it’s actually located on an island off the coast – so close to the United States that Washington’s Olympic Mountains loom large across its southern skyline. Yet America has less of an influence here than the Commonwealth – the member countries of what once was the British Empire. When you notice that the Curling championship being held up-island is getting as much press as the Super Bowl, you know you really are in a different country.

Victoria lies in the shadow of the States and the metropolises (metropoli?) of the Pacific Northwest, but refuses to be defined by them; likewise, their film festival doggedly ignores its larger and more “important” cousins to the south and east – Portland, Seattle, Whistler and of course Vancouver, all of whom get more films, bigger films, more guests, more press.

Like the queen it is named for, Victoria is cowed by no-one, and its festival reflects that sort of quiet pride. For the last 15 years, the Victoria Film Festival has carried on regardless, and has evolved (under the leadership of longtime director Kathy Kay) into a popular but unpretentious champion for Canadian cinema, indie filmmakers from around the world, and “small” films looking for a big boost.

The fest is spread across four cinemas (and one lounge-cum-screening-room) in both downtown Victoria and the nearby suburb of Langford, and utilizes a host of alternative spots (the usual mix of pubs and restaurants, open stages and auditoriums) for non-screening events, mostly centred on conversations with filmmakers, support industry and officials about the state of play in local and indie cinema.

This year, the organizers added a series of adventurous oddball videos shown in oddball places – the tops of roofs, back alleys in Chinatown, inside parked cars, on the back wall of a tattoo parlour – to get patrons out of their comfort zones and focused on the shared ambience as an essential part of the magic of the movies – something you don’t get from a Blu-Ray player and a 52” plasma no matter how nice the surround sound is.

Some 160 films of various lengths will be screened between the opening gala (which features One Week, Michael McGowan’s rite-of-passage feature about a dying young man who commits a kind of life-affirming suicide by riding from Toronto to Tofino instead of getting treatment) and the final flick, the appropriately-named South Korean horrorshow Epitaph. In between are a heck of a lot of documentaries, English (and a few French, Chinese and other language) features, a smattering of shorts and a great huge helping of Canadian celluloid.

The VFF sees the promotion of indie and mainstream Canadian content as not just an obligation, but a passion: up until Juno made a splash, many markets (particularly the US) were stubbornly indifferent to the stories of the Great White North. Like the Northwest Passage, that ice has thawed a bit and the locals are scrambling to take advantage.

The festival is strongly supported by the local population, and attracts more than its fair share of filmmakers, drawn mostly by the less-competitive atmosphere and relaxed but appreciative audiences. This is a fest that likes works-in-progress, indulges in over-running interviews, remembers you from last year, isn’t afraid of a bit of outrage, and generally offers a supportive reception to those just getting started or far from perfect. As a result, the Victoria Film Festival often gets “scoops,” premieres and sneak-peeks that rival it’s better-funded brethren back east.

The caffeinated obstacle courses of the larger fests is replaced with a spot of tea and a comfy chair beside the fire in Victoria’s vision of a meaty but mild blend of business and pleasure; a cinematic Shepard’s Pie.

(this article originally appeared on Film Threat)