Okay, since it got a lot of press in the trades today, here’s a quick recap of what’s new for Tarantino’s upcoming feature, courtesy of Variety and Hollywood Reporter:

As you’ve heard, Brad Pitt’s officially on now, and he’s playing a soldier from Tennessee who’s the leader of the film’s gang of Jewish American soldiers.   Nastassja Kinski (Paris, Texas) is in talks to play a German movie star in the film, BJ Novak (The Office) is still in talks to play one of Pitt’s soldiers alongside Eli Roth who’s playing Sgt. Donnie Donowitz, and Simon Pegg is in talks to be a British Lieutenant in the film.   Tim Roth is officially out now in regards to a major role, thanks to his obligations to the upcoming work on the TV Series “Lie To Me“.   Lawrence Bender is producing despite the old bad blood between him and Tarantino, and he’s currently scouting locations in Berlin.

According to the Hollywood Reporter, Pitt’s role in the film is one of Tarantino’s typically loquacious hardass characters, like if Jules Winnfield from Pulp Fiction was really into killing Nazis.   However, Variety is saying a lot of the film’s dialogue is going to be in French and German with subtitles, so that ought to temper some of the Tarantino action geeks’ adulations with a little forced on-screen reading.

So there, if you weren’t caught up before you are now.   Cool?   Cool.

Los Angeles has more than earned a reputation as a destroyer of worlds, swallowing up naive little sweethearts with their dreams packed into their suitcases only to vomit up their bones months, weeks or even days later into the hot desert air to bleach in the sun. There’s no point in sugar coating the harsh reality of Tinsel Townâ„ ¢; the city’s reputation as a make-it or break-it arena is so well established that any film attempting to depict what is essentially one of the oldest stories in the book should take care to be exceedingly original, lest it get lost in the shuffle of the 10,000 other similar tales of urban hell. Garden Party follows a classic group of ambitious youngsters and their attempts at becoming musicians / dancers / employed members of society and does its best to illustrate the price of dreaming and the moral compromises that typically accompany the desperate legion of the LA populace. However, for all its suggestions of hard worn victories and moral decay, the characters of this film tend to come out strangely intact from their mistakes and the entire setup is missing the healthy dose of grit, sleaze and sweat that anyone spending time in the actual city is familiar with. Instead we’re offered Bret Easton Ellis-lite, fear and loathing replaced with slight fatigue and a general unwillingness to get a day job.

The characters here are realistic enough; Sammy wants to find a career in music, April is running from an unpleasant situation back home, Nathan has left the corn-fed fields of Nebraska so he can dance for a living. They arrive, many of them with no particular plans to speak of, and struggle to establish the old standbys of shelter, opportunity, and peers to commiserate with, the last one ranking fairly high on the list. We’re offered a movie world where characters, despite being afflicted by the classic isolation of a metropolis, are still more than willing to be totally candid with anyone of interest who crosses their path, be it potential room-mates, bosses or even strangers at bars. However, for new arrivals supposedly entrenched in LA career warfare, most of them have little to worry about. April stays rent-free in a giant Silverlake apartment for the immediate future, while Nathan’s job grants him his own house, car, and a gargantuan supply of marijuana, courtesy of his boss Sally who just wants him on call 24/7. Everyone gets a lucky break from time to time, but I’m not sure how relatable some of these situations will be to anyone actively spending their time in a roached-infested studio somewhere in the Valley. Garden Party goes on to create an intricate web of chance encounters and developing relations, eventually linking all of its main characters as they use each other in various ways to find a way to the top. However, no one ever seems to be terribly distressed most of the time; Sammy is more than content to hang out smoking weed waiting for the timely arrival of an interested music producer (a comedic highlight of the film), Sally confronts her shady past with a smile and an affable kidnapping, and so on. No one is pushed to their comfort limits here, they simply jump on their own as soon as an even remotely uncomfortable situation arrives. Search the classifieds for a day job, apply for a credit card, or find a cheaper city to escape to? Nah, April’s posing nude her first week in town.

In the end, it’s hard to gauge the target audience for Garden Party as a whole . Its promised depiction of youth selling out their souls seems promising enough, but it gets a little lost in the delivery. LA hipsters who didn’t take a bus directly to a spacious loft and a job offered to them randomly in a coffee shop may shy away from the plot’s events, along with the film’s overly enthusiastic soundtrack (20 song credits in an 89 minute movie, how much of the budget was spent on song licensing?). The MTV crowd might appreciate the film as a cautionary tale of the dangers that lie ahead, but even then there are moments that ring false all across the board. Take for example Nathan’s eventual dancing ambition revelation, where he finally ends up at a club in a prime situation to show off what he loves most. Instead of a glimpse into the one thing that supposedly makes him happy, we are detoured into an inexplicable West Side Story-style dance-off followed by a too-obvious demonization of horny gay males in LA, who are perhaps less willing to pull people into bathrooms minutes upon meeting them for non-consensual sex than the movie might lead you to believe. Garden Party makes a good effort, some of the performances really stand out (3:10 To Yuma‘s Vinessa Shaw particularly), and it definitely attempts to offer a renewed voice for those struggling in the trenches. However, a number of moments within don’t quite hit their mark, and instead we get a perspective of real world struggle through the eyes of some who probably have less to complain about than anyone reading this review. Everyone has a story to tell, but how many offered are really worth the time?

[rating: 2.5/5]

So the LA Film Fest is over, and it’s time to say a few words. The consensus seems to be that this year’s festival definitely had a smaller crowd than before, maybe due to some economic woes that keep people from spending 12 dollars a ticket every day for two weeks, not to mention paying for some of those ungodly 100 dollar ticket opening and closing night galas. The concept of only being able to see Wanted or Hellboy 2 by paying a huge amount of money so you can get into what is the equivalent of a cocktail party is absurd, and the LA Film Fest’s general lack of organization didn’t help much either. Between its multiple color level clearance passes and its volunteers and theater managers constantly giving people the wrong information, it was pretty chaotic at times. I saw a man removed from the line I was in at one point for wearing a green clearance pass when apparently he needed a “lime” pass, I shit you not. I myself waited in line for a half an hour once for the X-Files Panel only to be told that this “special event” required both a press pass and a physical ticket, meaning it was already too late to obtain my needed ticket to enter. That particular bump allowed me to see Prince of Broadway, my favorite of the festival, but its still pretty ridiculous. Either you allow press access to your fest or you don’t, why hamper everyone’s time and energy with ridiculous levels of access and specifications. Frankly, putting up with some of these lines would’ve been hell for any non-prepaid pass regular festival goer who just wanted to show up and pay to see a movie.

The setup for people paying for full access was kind of underwhelming too. The Target Red Room, the officially sponsored lounge for people to catch up on their writing, or enjoy a little refreshment from the insidious heat outside was pretty so-so, with people around me complaining that it was a lot better last year. I didn’t really care until at one point it was closed for a private party for three hours when I just wanted to update a post on here. Again, if you’re not going to have stuff like this, then that’s fine, but if you are, then don’t half-ass it and confuse everyone further by just dumping everything into one venue. The LA Film Fest is supposedly trying to establish itself as being able to compete with the big gun festivals, but I’m not sure it impressed anyone this year with either its organizational skills or its wannabe sexy festival perks.

However, the films are always what’s important here, and at the very least the festival had a pretty good line up. Despite the kind of bizarre choices for opening and closing films, sandwiched between the two blockbuster bookends were many powerful little independent gems. I really only saw one film I really didn’t like, most were impressive for any number of reasons. Prince of Broadway went on to win Best Narrative Feature at the festival, which is well deserved for such a unique take on a familiar cinematic setup. Here again are my top five from the fest:

1. Prince of Broadway
2. Encounters At The End Of The World
3. Ballast
4. Baghead
5. Choke

…although Man on Wire and American Son both deserve nods as well. There were a lot of similar trends in the film-making this year, with stripped down aesthetics, attention to characters, documentary-style camera shooting, and so on. Anyone following all the reviews may have noticed a some similar descriptions in the details, and this is very much the case. Boy A and American Son are pretty much shot in identical styles at times, so by the end of the festival I was beginning to wonder if I would be running out of things to say. As much as I enjoyed seeing it this year, I hope we get a little more diversity in the future. Hopefully next year at the fest will find much better organization with the same excellent decisions for what will be shown.

P.S. The promo for the LA Film Fest that played before every show slowly grew into the most grating single minute of personal endurance of the festival. With films that screened short films before the features, we got to watch it twice. LAFF, trust me, once per screening is PLENTY.

Fourth of July weekend is a good a time as any for an appraisal of the dilemmas facing an “issue” film in our current political climate. Any project tackling a side of the Iraq War is often shielded behind larger partisan lines, be it anti-war, pro-soldier, or straight ahead documentation of the facts in an attempt to impress the grisly fact upon the public. The works most easily left in the dust of the politics and rhetoric are the personal tales, the little stories that lack the grandiose swagger of larger statement films but strive simply to portray intimately what is innately a human ordeal. Neil Abramson’s American Son follows 96 hours in the life of Mike, a teenager from Bakersfield, California who has signed up with the Marines and is almost certain to to ship out for Iraq. He’s home for Thanksgiving, in his old neighborhood locales where no one knows what he’s about to face, his impending deployment the dirty little secret hanging silently over Mike’s head. He’s surrounded by the faces of those he’s about to leave behind, and the ghosts of those whose derailed ambitions he’s trying to avoid in the first place with his decision. Then he meets Christina, a new face in all this old scenery and her arrival is both a surprise and a worry to him, a pretty girl from around the block who might just offer the last chance at good feelings he’s got left.

Many may wonder about the credibility of a film with Nick Cannon (Drumline) as the dramatic lead, but thankfully these concerns are put to rest shortly into the film. Here, Cannon’s performance is strictly measured, balancing Mike’s inner turmoil with his attempts to reconnect with the old ghosts around town. His single mom and dead-beat stepfather, his estranged and drug-addicted brother, his high school buddy Jake; they form a larger picture of the way some things never change back home. Mike’s interactions with Christina are awkward at first, but as they get comfortable with one another a surprising shift takes place and they both become deeply likeable courtesy of the struggles they’re facing together. Credit Abramson’s subtle storytelling, low on melodrama, high on simple observation. We don’t need much to make us feel for these kids, because they’re so obviously the same ones getting caught in the real world crossfire every day. Nick Cannon is surprisingly focused, Melonie Diaz is sweet and sure footed as Christina, and the rest takes care of itself. While Mike tries to reconnect with his old friends, the weight of his future starts adding up, and it’s not long before Mike is left with less and less to say to them. Christina’s grandmother requests a visit from Mike to a Marine vet not much older than himself, played by Jay Hernandez, and its very clear that there is no going back to the old way of life. All the mental and physical wounds are out in the open as the vet bounces manically from emotion to emotion at the sight of another like himself, switching between black humor and tears at a moments notice. Rounding out the relatively young leads are the old vets to back them up, with parts by Tom Sizemore, Chi McBride, and April Grace keeping things balanced..

This is a project that could have reached its inevitable climax in a number of ways, few so honest as the one presented. Could Mike desert his obligations, run back to his old life, maybe start a new one with Christina? There are many fantasies available for Mike to choose from, but ultimately only one way out of town; the same bus that drove him in. The climax of this film is based in the hurtful truths of real life, that things do not always work out, that sometimes a boy becomes a man when he realizes the only sure path before him. We grieve for his situation, and kudos to this film’s director for not betraying our trust that Mike’s journey will be one without an easy answer, or even a romanticized one. Unassuming and often surprisingly moving, American Son is a quiet conversation about the true costs of war, and those uneasy moments alone where the toughest decisions of our lives are made.

[rating: 4/5]

Here to bring a little entertainment to your pre-Fourth of July festivities, here is a small sampling of some quality shorts that screened at the LA Film Fest which you can either watch for free or get your filthy little paws on relatively cheaply.

CHONTO – DIRECTED BY CARSON MEL
As the film is described online, “In 1977 Bobby Bird adopted a chimpanzee in an attempt to fill the hole in his soul. It did not work out for him.” Unfolding beneath the hypnotizing ramble of burnout musician Bobby Bird’s narrative is a darkly funny short created out of a mix of animation and real photographed backgrounds. Check out the trailer (yes, a 14 minute short has a trailer, and yes it deserves one):

CHONTO!!

If you like what you see, you can buy that baby on iTunes for 1.99. Totally worth it.

CARLIN – DIRECTED BY BRENT GREEN
Shot in stop-motion in Brent Green’s childhood farmhouse, Carlin is a lyrical, song-like performance about his Aunt Carlin’s diabetes and her desire to die. Using taxidermied chickens, full sized wooden puppets, and any other objects laying around, Green creates another surreal visual poem in his signature style. You can watch it for free on youtube, but it sort of begs for a theater viewing, where its fuzzy style isn’t quite so hampered by the low-res of the internet:

CARLIN.

But it’s not available on iTunes, so don’t cry to me if its too low-fi for you.

DENNIS – DIRECTED BY MADS MATTHIESEN
Shot in Denmark, Dennis is the story of a hulking, yet shy, bodybuilder who lives with his aging mother
and desires the company of a woman not related to him. Against his controlling mother’s wishes, he reaches out to a woman, and his night out is both heart-breaking and hilarious. But guess, what, I can’t find the short anywhere online, so maybe this sample clip will appease you?

DENNIS?

I LOVE SARAH JANE – DIRECTED BY SPENCER SUSSER
I’ll leave you with a crowd-pleaser, the apocalyptic love story / zombie film, I Love Sarah Jane. Wait, I know how this sounds. It’s not a rehash. In fact, I’m sorry I told you it was a zombie film, it’s kind of besides the point. It’s restrained, and well shot, and sort of touching. Do the right thing, buy it on iTunes for 1.99, and you won’t be sorry. But don’t take my word for it, check out the trailer!

I LOVE SARAH JANE…

Sorry for all the links today, the youtube embedding is giving me hell. Enjoy!

“The past does not equal the future” a character notes in Boy A, but it seems the past doesn’t have to repeat itself for it to still wreak its proper damages. Here is a story with the potential to be many things, but first and foremost about Jack, the boy of the film’s title who chooses a name for himself in the opening scene. Warm and giddily enthusiastic about everything in his surroundings, Jack in his current state is a far cry from his previous life as Erick, charged with the co-murder of a child as a boy himself and hidden away until his release as an adult. Moving forward with the help of his handler Terry, Jack gets set up with a job, a home and a new life, an attempt to wipe the slate clean on a early, troubled start in what is portrayed as a less than perfect environment for a child. However, as Jack’s confidence grows and he takes one trembling step after another into the light of day, the old ghosts are never far behind and redemption has a steeper price to be paid than he might have imagined.

The film takes on an observatory role for much of its running time, unraveling the secrets of Jack’s past as he builds on his current situation. He takes his first night out with friends as a free adult and experiences drugs, dancing and the possibilities of social interaction in one fell swoop. He meets a girl, Michelle, and the normal anxieties of asking a girl out are compounded by a hundred when there’s a dark secret to be hid. However, success is ultimately his, and for a long while the film finds its pacing in the rhythm of Jack’s growing life. He gets closer to Michelle, and his first sexual interactions are horribly awkward yet innately sweet. His handler Terry appears pleased with his progress, and sometimes we cut away to Terry trying to interact with his own estranged son, and the irony of guiding Jack to a new life while barely relating to his own flesh and blood. Sometimes we cut back to the past, catching only the smallest glimpses of the events that led up to Jack’s dark moment in history, the little subtleties of violence as an emotional outlet, and how he and his friend worked their way up to the unthinkable. It is very late in the film when we get the incident that brings all the hard work down, a single act of good charity from Jack that pushes his past into the open and unravels his carefully rebuilt surroundings even faster than it seemed possible.

Boy A has its best moments when it lingers on its subjects, such as a scene in the dance club where Jack moves through the crowds and the blur of the lights and the strangers around him. It serves the film’s themes of rediscovery and building hope to not be forced through these moments, and beautiful moments they admittedly are. The cinematography is gorgeous, successfully capturing much of the film in the aesthetic of a memory, full of warm glows and back-lit faces. However, when it comes down to business, the film’s climax is left wanting, untethered by the same free form spirit of the rest of the narrative and without the strength to cap things off in a meaningful way. The expectation of Jack’s life coming apart is present from the start, so when nothing much comes of it that has not already been anticipated, it’s somewhat anti-climatic. Further disappointing are the interactions of Jack’s so called friends, who abandon him immediately along with his girlfriend, apparently shocked into an attitude of complete distancing as soon as it even remotely becomes clear that Jack is not who he says he is. It is important to note that at least the performances are solid here, with great turns by both Peter Mullan as Terry and relatively newcomer Andrew Garfield playing Jack as a lost boy to whom everything in the world is a revelation unto itself. His endearing portrayal is key to being able to like a character with such dark roots. It’s good that the dramatic turns here stack up, because by the film’s end, it’s more or less all we have. No point particularly impressed upon us, other than a very pretty setup to the end, and the obvious note that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

[rating: 3/5]

A majority of films set in the south of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama tend to extol the culture that abounds there as a centerpiece to their stories. Be it colorful, warm characters or the heavy presence of blues, gospel or soul music, more often than not we are swept up in the lively backdrop of celebratory spirit. What a surprise then to find Lance Hammer’s Ballast almost completely bereft of music, save for a single song playing within one of the scenes. Here we are presented with perhaps a tonally-perfect film, not gambling on an audience’s love of familiar territories, but through the cold, silent landscapes of the Mississippi Delta in winter. Yet, it will be familiar to any who have truly lived in these moments, from the long expanse of the highways between neighbors’ homes, to the quiet, still mornings spent alone under a slate gray sky. As powerful as its settings are, Ballast’s strengths go beyond its well-maintained environments to the many broken hearts that inhabit them.

Following a young boy named James in the aftermath of his father’s death, we witness the accoutrements of his youth; a cold and broken landscape full of derelicts. Observe his uncle, Lawrence, twin brother to the deceased, sitting alone in the house he shares with the body, silently moving through the past in his mind until a neighbor discovers him. Lawrence’s only action to is shoot himself in the chest upon his discovery, and when he is eventually returned home from the hospital, he is only a piece of lung less than he was before. James takes the gun in his uncle’s absence and begins to rob him on a near daily basis, Lawrence giving in to this act of emotional violence as his only interaction with the world. Then there is James’ mother Marlee, long separated from her ex-husband and the apparent cause of his suicidal woe, having threatened to keep him away from an already distant son. These are the three lives which intersect and collide and sometimes tend to each others wounds, inflicting new pain upon what is existent and struggling for any sense of stability in the absence of purpose.

Lance Hammer, returning to Mississippi again after 2002′s Issaquena, is incredibly precise in his direction here, the performances hitting every mark. Shot at an emotional arm’s-length from its characters, never manipulating the audience with emotional crests of music or pandering to a desire for a more traditional story pace, Ballast is twice as powerful for its restraint. As Marlee and Lawrence attempt to repair the bonds that pushed brother against wife, James floats through the film as a revelation unto himself. His young life perhaps has the most to lose of any, and those in charge of his future fight for that potential every inch of the way. The lives here are represented with such unflinching honesty that it is often difficult to watch, be it verbal attacks or the reckless physical violence of some supporting characters. The film’s only minor stumble, a slightly predictable decision from one of its characters towards its climax is quickly swept up in the sure-footed and legitimately beautiful last scenes. Ballast is a true vote for understatement in a film, doing so much more with less than any of the bombastic summer films that are filling the screens right now. As the lives it depicts unfold onscreen, the power of character is king and here it captivates in every aching moment.

[rating: 4.5/5]

If we’ve heard it once, we’ve heard it a thousand times; a young pair of Japanese girls head off for a relaxing spa weekend in the woods, get into a fight over boys, become pursued by an angry mob of homicidal local residents along with a revenge-crazed harajuku girl wielding enormous pairs of scissors, and begin to unlock the secret behind the region’s legacy of blood rites and human sacrifice. Wait, what? X-Cross (pronounced Criss-Cross) aka Ekusu Kurosu: Makyà ´ Densetsu aka XX starts off promisingly enough, with at least the threat of seeing something weird enough to qualify as original. Rewinding from the two girls, Aiko and Shiyori, arriving on their getaway weekend, we jump back to the fate of the last girl who made her way to the quaint getaway resort. Tied to an enormous cross beam (one of the film’s many, many references to its title), we witness firsthand the village’s longstanding tradition of female ritual amputation. It doesn’t take long for mild intrigue to become replaced with brazen anarchy, however, something XX has in droves.

Transitioning quickly from traditional suspense to action-horror, XX has the aesthetics of a survival-style video game. Enhancing random shots with visual tweaks and color manipulation, the film’s spastic narrative leaps back and forth through time and through the parallel action of Aiko and Shiyori’s respective stories. A mysterious stranger who knows a little too much about the village joins their ranks (dumping a truckload of story exposition at the audience’s feet in one bloated scene), along with Shiyori’s ex-boyfriend, who is the origin of the character’s disagreements. This interpersonal drama is more or less abandoned every time one of the film’s adversaries shows up, such as the previously mentioned Harajuku girl, primly dressed and blood-thirsty, pursuing Aiko for some past carelessness with her own ex-boyfriend. These encounters enhance the film’s video game feel, like watching a series of boss fights without the thrill of playing it for yourself. Imagine Resident Evil 2‘s dual plot lines combined with some of Silent Hill‘s locales (a giant sword-sized pair of scissors even pay homage to SH2′s Pyramid Head), and you’ve more or less got it. For non-gamers, there are plenty of camp moments that while spirited, still feel a bit too familiar. A fight between two characters using a chainsaw and the ubiquitous scissor blades calls back to Texas Chainsaw Pt. 2 and Dennis Hopper’s cult classic saw-play within. It’s hard to how much, if any, of the film’s references are on purpose, or just the result of too many film makers having previously tread this ground before.

Director Kenta Fukasaku’s previous credits include Battle Royale II and Yo-Yo Girl Cop, both of which embodied some of this film’s anarchic volume. Undeniably funny at times, and near inspired at others, the film ends up tripping over its own narrative style, as Juon-ish chapter divisions and perhaps one too many POV shifts pile up along with the film’s many plot twists to spit out a potentially bewildered audience at the foot of its blood-soaked climax. Furthermore, directors like Takashi Miike have been doing this kind of over-the-top, visual based mayhem for much longer and with much more success. As fun as X-Cross is at its best moments, it’s nothing compared to even imperfect works like Ichi The Killer or the opening sequence of Miike’sDead or Alive. Fukasaku is worshipping at the feet of the masters, and while he manages to make his attempt his own, the effort is still left wanting. X-Cross may be worth a look on an evening that includes both alcohol and others to enjoy it with, but that might be its limits. Gleefully schizophrenic, XX doesn’t always grasp that lunacy is not a substitute for the proper care with story, and no amount of camp charm can save a bored audience from itself.

[rating: 2.5/5]

Based on cult author Chuck Palahniuk’s 2001 novel, Choke has been a long time coming. A literal 7 year process for actor-turned-writer/director Clark Gregg in getting the film made, added to huge fan expectations for an author whose work has not been adapted to the screen in 9 years, the project has a lot to live up to from the get-go. Now add to that the inherent difficulty of successfully transitioning Choke’s difficult subject matter without losing any of its edge or spirit, a work tackling everything from sexual addiction to Jesus Christ. So, needless to say my expectations were tempered, my hopes for the film riding squarely on an unproven director’s vision. It’s a relief to be able to say that Gregg has done the spirit of the novel justice and that Choke’s adaptation is pretty much as audacious, intelligently subversive and daring as its source material.

Following the struggling 12 step program of medical school dropout Victor Mancini, Choke follows Victor’s attempts to pay for his aging mother’s medical bills while fighting his issues with addiction. It doesn’t help that Victor is mentally undressing everyone around him, be it at the hospital, his job at a Colonial Reenactment Village, or at the many, many restaurants where he finds his second form of income. Victor Mancini is a professional choker, heading off to pricey restaurants around town to offer diners the chance to be a hero for a night by rescuing him from suffocating on whatever bit of food he’s just sucked into his airway. They reward him with cards and letters full of money, eager to stretch that hero moment just a little longer. To say that this is just the beginning of the places the film travels is an understatement, from Victor’s equally addicted friend Denny who counts each day of sobriety by bringing home a large rock on the bus, to Dr. Paige Marshall who tends Victor’s mother and has a less than orthodox plan of treatment to save her, and so on. The performances here are so vital to the film’s success, and Sam Rockwell leads the charge, reliably infusing Victor with the proper humanity and allowing him to rise above the sum of his disparate parts. Brad Henke contributes solidly, his onscreen relationship with Rockwell particularly fun, and Kelly MacDonald offers a measured vulnerability to her role that’s sexier than anything else in this film.

Clark Gregg, who you may recognize from a recent role in Iron Man, clearly has respect for what’s at stake here. While sometimes flirting with self-satisfaction about the material he does offer restraint when necessary and hones in on Rockwell’s emotional cues at just the right times. The flashback scenes with Anjelica Houston are great, but not quite as integrated as they could be, although they do accent the film’s dream-like narrative flow. It’s the age old question of adaptations, how close to the source is too close? Gregg has followed Palahniuk’s advice of doing his own thing while still getting in the moments that are demanded the most. The ending is a little abrupt, due in some part, like other moments in the film, to the issues of low budget film-making. However, the film is generally as imperfect as its characters, and at the end of the day it succeeds as the sum of its parts. I’m glad my doubts were unfounded and I encourage you, as a mature adult capable of handling adult content, to explore for yourself. There is much within that is certainly not appropriate for the wrong audiences (if the words “hilarious” and “staged rape” grouped in the same sentence horrify you, be forewarned), but there is a sweet sentimentality at its core, and unwilling savior Victor Mancini’s slow road to honesty and forgiveness is more tender than its premise might suggest.

[rating: 4/5]

Thank goodness for the La Film Fest and its general lack of organization. I was originally trying to get into the X-Files Sneak Peak panel but three line changes, two conflicting reports and a half an hour wait later, I still wasn’t getting in due to the requirement of a physical ticket along with my credentials (because sometimes a press pass just isn’t good enough for a thrall of screaming Chris Carter fans). So I strolled away and on a whim popped into the Regent theater mere moments before the world premiere of Prince of Broadway. In the typical random sway of film festival discoveries, I found my favorite film of the festival so far.

Prince of Broadway takes us to the streets; the cold, loud, tough streets of New York City. Walking its ranks are the hustlers, the young black males making their money by calling out to tourists on the street who are looking to buy the best of Nike, Prada and Gucci…or at least a quality reproduction. Lucky is one of these men, a guy with a life of comfortable mediocrity, selling knock off goods by day, smoking weed and enjoying the company of his girlfriend at night. She pleads for him to use the 2,000 grand he’s saved up to start college in the fall, but a hustler is always planning for the next big chance to get rich. Lucky works for Levon, the Armenian store owner who owns the shop with the secret door in the back where tourists are swiftly guided to check out the goods. The men have an easy working relation and friendship, although while Lucky goes off to his meager apartment at the end of the day, Levon has a nice place in Queens with his young wife. It’s a reliable situation until things shift dramatically with the return of Linda, a girl Lucky was seeing a little while back. At least a year and a half back, actually, since she arrives with a baby in her arms about that old, drops him in Lucky’s arms and announces that it’s now his turn to take care of the son he didn’t know he had. She splits town for two weeks, and Lucky suddenly finds his comfortable situation on the verge of a total meltdown.

Prince of Broadway is another film shot documentary-style for its low budget effectiveness, but here is a film where the process truly shines. The lives of these characters have so many hidden intricacies to explore that the shooting style for once doesn’t feel like its overpowering the on-screen action. Considerable praise for this feat goes to the talent involved, with the two leads former non-actors themselves, and the film’s dialogue developed through a series of improvisations. The work here is nothing short of inspired, and the film’s director Sean Baker manages to capture the most amazing moments from his cast, even from the film’s littlest star, Aiden Noesi, who emotes with more perfect timing than any child I’ve ever seen.

As Lucky and his new ward find themselves stuck together, the relationships established at the film’s start rapidly expand. Lucky and his girlfriend find a considerable obstacle to their relationship, Lucky finds that street hustling with customers loses its ease with a toddler hanging around his ankles, Levan encounters his own intimacy problems with his wife, and so on. The film shines in its subtlety; for such a funny film it is constantly catching its audience off guard with tender moments. The emasculation of Lucky by a child whose name he doesn’t even know is certainly funny, but watching him take the steps and responsibilities on to becoming a man are heartfelt. He learns the little lessons of fatherhood pushing a stroller through the snow and cleaning a baby’s “art project” made with its own doo-doo, and it all feels fresh. The basic fish out of water concept of the film has been done before but never with such grace and such a unique set of characters. “Life sucks with you,” Lucky tells his supposed son early on, but he rises to the task despite the slew of further problems the film throws his way and the journey is a joy to experience. From issues of urban male pride to the lack of young fathers taking care of their own, there is plenty to explore thematically, but even on the surface Prince of Broadway is genuine heartfelt entertainment.

[rating: 5/5]

In Joshua Safdie’s debut feature, The Pleasure of Being Robbed, we are offered a confusing world of discarded moments under the supposition of a missing larger picture. In it, Eleanor, a young and vaguely directionless 20-something, ambles her way through the big city as a minor force of thoughtless menace. Outwitting the apparently very stupid citizens of New York, she moves amongst them, stealing what are at times inexplicable objects from strangers’ possessions such as huge wads of money left unattended or most beguiling, a bag of random living animals intended for a child. The kind of person who buys a litter of kittens, throws them in a travel bag with a large dog and zips them up together is cause for concern alone, but the animals soon leave the picture once in Eleanor’s care, either an illustration for her general apathy or the filmmaker’s own deficiency in following up on things. That these moments are never given clarity, or even given the courtesy of some lingering attention at any point in the film is only the beginning of the problem.

Screening at the LA Film Festival with a short film before it, the thoroughly pointless “The New Yorkist”, TPOBR stars its own screenwriter (that term used very, very loosely here) and even its own director for a large slow-moving section of the film. If there is more of an argument for film makers to stay out of their own movies, I’m not sure I know of it. Here Safdie’s character and Eleanor steal a car and drive Safdie home to Boston (despite him having apparently riden to New York via bicycle). The two go on what I can only describe as akin to being on a road trip with two unappealing strangers you just met and listening to them engage in awkward stilted dialogue the entire way. Film makers, if you are not actors you must resist, DO NOT put yourself in your movies. It lends this film even more of an amateurish feel than it was already laboring beneath.

After the trip some more fairly random things happen, including the film’s singular highlight: an out of place dream sequence at the zoo involving a hilariously fake but endearing polar bear and Eleanor enjoying a moment together in the water before a random madman throws a penguin into their midst. As interesting as that was, it only highlighted the inactivity of the film and its meager 78 minutes. Yes, 78 minutes, 20 of which are largely shot from the back seat of a car during small talk between characters. TPOBR represents the laziest efforts of the recent “mumblecore” movement; whereas a film like Baghead uses its low key setup to extract the best of its onscreen talent, Robbed takes the opportunity to navel-gaze and meander and avoid a point while having the audacity to suppose that this dream-like filler is enough. Its very premise is flawed, championing a world of misguided hipsters so desperate for a genuine experience that even being robbed is an acceptable replacement. That premise fails because the world is full of moments and experiences far greater than the ones presented here, and the theft of 78 minutes of an audience’s time is not satisfying to anyone.

[rating: 1/5]

A rag-tag team of foreigners comes together to pull off a gig in New York, the job to end all jobs. The Frenchman, the Australian, the ‘Inside Man’, this team of would-be experts carefully plan the details and then set them in motion, outsmarting the law and staying one step ahead of terrible danger at all costs. If the plot of the documentary Man On Wire sounds like the setup of a classic heist film, it’s certainly not unintentional. The difference being that the leader of this group of would-be criminals was 24 year old Philippe Petit, a well-known street performer and tight-rope walker from Paris, France and the gig itself was the most outrageous stunt of his life: a 45 minute wire performance between New York’s newly constructed World Trade Center Towers in 1974.

Bringing together the old team of planners to tell the story, Man On Wire presents the inspired tale of a man tasked to follow his will into unknown territory and risk his life because it existed to be risked. We hear from everyone in the recounting; from Petit’s girfriend at the time, fearful for the apparent madness of her beau, to his gang of charismatic every-men sneaking past guards at the Towers to lug the equipment necessary up 104 flights of stairs. Petit himself is a natural story-teller and the film’s clever and often hilarious recreations and re-stagings coupled with the characters’ honest retellings make for a well-paced, exciting trip through the heist. Jumping back and forth between the actual attempt and the many stages of planning and infiltration necessary to gather information, the doc never drags, as much to the credit of its storytellers as the piece of history itself.

Visually inventive with a story that actually deserves to be told, Man On Wire is a real triumph of spirit. By the time Petit finally steps out onto the wire between the two towers, the film’s romantic spirit has won its audience over and the results are exhilarating and surprisingly moving. The film’s score is excellent and supports the on-screen adventures with just the right levels of emotional accompaniment. Channeling the feel of Warner Herzog’s characters who are drawn inexplicably to accomplish the impossible, Philippe Petit and his friends manage just that and the film is a must see for anyone longing for a little humor and inspiration from the events of actual human accomplishment.

[rating: 4/5]

The realities of crime and corruption in Rio de Janiero are not completely new to audiences, thanks to work like 2002′s City of God and its Showtime TV spin-off City of Men. The plight of the slums gets dragged into the daylight again with Elite Squad, a film set in contemporary Rio where the only thing worse than the drug lords guarding their turf are the crooked cops who run their own gamuts alongside them. When there’s no clean police force left to do what has to be done, in comes the elite crew, otherwise known as BEPO (aka Special Police Operation Battalion). Under the command of their leader, Captain Nascimento, BEPO is the absolute last stop in the war against crime, and they’re not afraid to fight fire with fire. From questioning suspects with gruesome beatings and leaving gang members to be killed by their own, to a particularly horrifying interrogation technique referred to as ‘bagging’, BEPO makes it known that they’re dressed in black, not blue, for a reason. However, being the best defense against the worst of the city doesn’t come cheap.

It seems the Captain is suffering from a nervous breakdown, and he wants out. The events of Elite Squad unfold as Captain Nascimento searches for a replacement tough enough and merciless enough to fill his role so he can abandon his public role and return intact to his pregnant wife and the impending birth of their child. Easier said than done, when an upcoming visit from the Pope to the slums demands that BEPO be at the absolute top of their game, amid the very worst that the drug trade has to offer. Apparently all based on actual events of the real world BEPO, Elite Squad is violent beyond words, with every gunshot threatening to rattle the audience directly out of their seats. It approaches the edge of exploitation, and I likely would’ve remained in that frame of thought had I not known that the world it offers its audience is already in existence. Odd that a film like The Strangers can be marketed falsely as “Based on Actual Events” to help sell it, yet something as raw as Elite Squad gets no mention of its reality in its marketing. Brutal and unrelenting, the film squirms at practically nothing as Nascimento makes human sacrifices of his chosen replacements by assuring that the one who holds his title will be broken of any and all illusions about hope or happy endings.

Elite Squad is very popular in its native Brazil, with over 12 million illegal downloads of the film before it ever screened in a theater. With its popularity comes the controversy behind its decision to glorify the police brutality seen via Nascimento’s POV, and the sleek packaging of the film doesn’t argue much against it. In the wrong hands, this is a film that becomes almost irresponsible in its depiction of violent enforcement of the law as heroic, yet the skill of the film-making is undeniable. The film’s director Josà © Padilha is well known for his previous documentary Bus 174, which detailed the hostage situation aboard a city bus by an armed man. Then as now, Padilha takes up a position with a character of highly questionable decision making, and does his best merely to follow the path that man chooses for himself. His work here is bold and unflinching, and my recommendation of it comes with the disclaimer that I hope it’s received with the proper level of horror towards its truthful content, and not just as another summer shoot ‘em up with subtitles.

[rating: 4/5]

Werner Herzog’s documentaries are always a little offbeat, with his signature voice and pattern of questioning guiding the films to unexpected destinations. Who else would open a film funded by the National Science Foundation with the question that if ants can keep plant lice as slaves, why can’t a monkey tame and ride a goat off into the proverbial evolutionary sunset? Things don’t get a whole lot less weird as ‘Encounters At The End of the World’ goes on, but that’s definitely not a bad thing. Officially directing now on all seven continents, Herzog brings us to Antarctica this time and more specifically to the McMurdo research base and its occupants.

Likening McMurdo to “an ugly mining town”, Herzog immediately recoils from its personal charms on hand from the modern world (yoga studio?) and uses the base instead as a hub to connect to the various groups at work in the beauty and desolation of the antarctic. Be they animal researchers, ocean photographers, volcanologists; the picture becomes clear that most of those who make their home in the most isolated places on earth have at least a few stories to tell. Herzog gives fair time to all, mingling in their lives and work with his child-like sense of wonder and offbeat inquiries, which pay off more often than the audience might expect. A line of questions about homosexual trends in penguins is amusing (Herzog seems to take pride in upending the adoration of docs like March of the Penguins), but his followup on the presence of the possibility of “deranged” behavior in them is immediately rewarded, offering a segment on one little bird marching off to its death in the wrong direction, driven by some phantom force to head towards the unknown.

That drive is the heart of this documentary, which while full of mesmerizing footage of Antarctica’s ethereal beauty always ties back to the interior landscape of mankind’s restless spirit, a longtime Herzog theme. From the first explorers of the continent like Scott and Shakleton, to the brilliant minds who have found the rest of the world wanting (a linguist notes the irony of his presence on a continent without language), Herzog presents a last stand of sorts against the rush and perhaps impending demise of the modern world. Signs of that demise are here too, the effects of global warming and nature’s own tendency to destroy, ever present. ‘Encounters’ is more sincere than Herzog’s recent ‘Grizzly Man’, perhaps because rather than what is ultimately a case study of one severely damaged individual, it finds its center this time in many lives and many stories tied to one ideal, that of freedom and ultimately escape. Herzog presents it to us with humor and curiosity and the entire affair is stirring and gorgeous. It represents the thoughts of where our will to explore has taken us, and ultimately what we’ll leave behind.

[rating: 4.5/5]

15 years before New Orleans started the Mardi Gras celebrations that it would eventually become famous for, another city had begun its own form of southern festival traditions. Based around a series of mystic societies with secret memberships, the events that take place in Mobile, Alabama each year at Mardi Gras are held with the highest form of respect in the town. Every year a festival king and queen of Mardi Gras are crowned for the city and then it happens again, one set of crowns for the white community’s approval, and one set of crowns for the black community. Even 300 years from their start, some traditions, be they parade floats or segregation, refuse to fade away.

Margaret Brown’s sophomore documentary feature “The Order of Myths” (named for one of Mobile’s most prominent secret pageant societies) is a straight-forward look not just at the events surrounding one year’s festivities in the city, but about life in the city as a whole. We see the city’s conflicted heart of people both working towards and trying to pull away from the status-quo of life there. Mobile has a black mayor, yet in the background of every event at the all white MCA event committees Brown makes sure to linger on the black butlers serving drinks and preparing food. The only black performers in the white parades are the traditional roles of dancers and musicians. Yet, when the focus switches to the black court of the MAMGA, it becomes clear that the black community is in no particular hurry to lose their own set of standards and handed down traditions by combining with the white pageants. It’s a delicate balance between old damages and new horizons in the city, and Brown’s film offers a cross section of both sides of the racial division evenly.

Shot in a mostly cinema-verite style, Brown only reveals a personal connection in the matter at the film’s end, with her family’s own link to the pageant’s history and her own grandmother a former pageant queen. While balancing some delicate subject matter with the appropriate humor (a running joke about the town’s obsession with Moon Pies is particularly funny), Brown relies on personal accounts from residents which turn out to be forward thinking at times, and hopelessly clueless and self-incriminating at others, at least compared to today’s explosively PC standards. There still seems to be hope for a meeting of cultures resting in a new generation of young people, for them to come together from both sides and “break bread”. The film does seem manipulative at times in its imagery and implications; it follows up one resident’s description of the town’s pride in its trees with a segment on the town’s history of lynching, and it is almost impossible at times to see the masked members of the white MCA courts and not immediately be reminded of the KKK. However, Brown has stated that she had no agenda going into the filming of festival life, and discovered the racial through-line during the filming of her 370 hours of footage. The result is a mostly effective look at the state of the affairs in Alabama, and its success lies with the honesty of its subjects and a respect for where they’ve been, good or bad.

[rating: 3.5/5]

‘Baghead’ gets a little meta right from the start; after our formal introduction to it by our festival announcer and the film’s directors last night, the movie itself began with the same scene. The difference being the film screened at the beginning of “Baghead’ is a little black and white art film called ‘We Are Naked’. Viewing it are a group of four struggling actor friends, Matt, Chad, Michelle and Catherine. 3 of them see this bloated piece of pretension for what it is, but Matt, the group’s inspired leader, sees a chance for something more for themselves right there in the grainy flickering footage of a man pulling his pants down. Within a matter of hours, the group is heading off to Big Bear, California to put together a film of their own, one they hope will finally separate them from the endless sea of extras filling the backgrounds of every film they work on. Things start to go downhill as the group’s sexual dynamics cause some serious tension between them, and that’s well before the appearance of a mysterious figure in the woods with a bag over his face and his intentions unknown.

‘Baghead’ is the second film from Jay and Mark Duplas, who got their start with some very low budget short films at Sundance (redefining cheap at a budget of 3 dollars for the first short), along with their first feature ‘The Puffy Chair’. Baghead sees a return to their quasi-documentary, Casavettes-ish aesthetic as the film follows its characters in a no-frills filming style that not only keeps the attention focused on the performances, it offers a pared-down alternative to the overly-flashy sheen of most recent horror films. Here we have a film where the filmmakers have lit everything from 360 degrees for the freedom to shoot their actors interacting unhindered by set issues, a film where the villain’s look must have cost someone a whole 39 cents, a film with one hand in the slasher genre that dares to not offer its viewer one iota of the usual gore and guts and yet still managed to scare the shit out of its audience last night on a couple of occasions more than anything I’ve screened in recent memory.

The film’s strength rides on the Duplas Brothers’ intent to create characters you can care about, without that being the usual lip service. The care in orchestrating the groups’ fears, desires and personalities is so well maintained, that the fact that we are expecting the eventual arrival of the titular character almost becomes moot for awhile. When it does come, it’s that much stronger for what’s been laid out before. We have become comfortable with these people, so that we are no longer anticipating violence upon them. They’re not the disposable teens of so many b-movies, ready fodder for an audience’s blood lust. All the more shocking then when Baghead finally makes his move, and shatters our comfort with all the real world dread of watching something horrible happen to someone you care about. ‘Baghead’ may not find an audience with the current fans of heavy blood-flow films like Saw or its ilk, but those who appreciate a return to the days of good old fashioned, genuine creepiness will appreciate not only the way in which the film’s scares are orchestrated but perhaps the fact that the film makers cared enough to not abandon their characters on the kill room floor like so many others, but instead opted to give them the dignity of real people to the very last frame.

[rating: 4/5]

Global warming continues to try to kill everyone here with ridiculous heat, but so far so good on the festival lineup. Reviews for yesterday’s screenings will be up soon, while I tackle 3 more films today, along with the X-Files sneak peek panel for the upcoming movie. Would I rather see the actual film rather than some random clips? Yes, of course, which is why if it looks like its going to be a total bust, I’ll just try to catch something else. Only time will tell, stay tuned faithful readers.

Highly Theoretical Upcoming Review Schedule 6/22

Sunday: Man On Wire
The Pleasure Of Being Robbed
Thing With No Name
X-Files : I Want To Believe Sneak Peek Panel (pending)

Monday: Frozen River
Choke

Previously on WAMG:
Well, it’s about that time: summer is officially here, and last night as the druids of England were celebrating the solstice at Stonehenge, I was paying my own tribute to the onset of the season. That’s right, the LA Film Fest has begun its 14th incarnation and I’ll be navigating the vague sense of underwhelmed confusion that is the festival this year. Nestled within the heart of Westwood Village in LA, right off the bat things are off to a slightly sour note, as anyone who has ever had to go to Westwood for anything, ever, will tell you that trying to park there is like trying to find a nice place to sit down in the middle of a wildebeest stampede. Now add to that the frantic delirium of world premieres like Wanted and Hellboy II and you’re almost guaranteed to want to abandon your car in front of whatever building you’re headed into ala ‘Fear and Loathing’ and just call it even.

That said, here in the sultry heat that envelops the sights and sounds there ARE some things to be excited about. This year the fest boasts over ’175 narrative features, documentaries, shorts, and music videos.’ I’ll be doing my best to chase down as many reviews as I can, with what I hope will be a mix of things you’ve been looking forward to, things that aren’t necessarily on anybody’s radar, and hell, maybe even some short films. The possibilities are high, the free drinks for press supposedly endless, the movies ready and awaiting your approval. Let’s do this thing.

Friday: Baghead
Saturday: The Order of Myths
Encounters At The End Of The World
Elite Squad

Say what you will about the man’s movies, one thing that has been gradually growing out of check since M. Night Shayamalan’s first film is the director’s inflated sense of self. From the way he describes his own work to his gratuitous cameos in his films, Night has been walking on thin ice for awhile. Now comes this newest example of narcissistic hyperbole from an interview with CNN about his latest, “The Happening”:

CNN: So a lot of people are going to see this and say, “Is this an environment movie?” Are you sending an Al Gore-like message out here, or is it just a thriller?

Shyamalan: No. 1, it’s a B movie. This is the best B movie you will ever see, that’s it. That’s what this is. If there’s other things that stick to your ribs as you walk out, that’s great, but it’s supposed to be, you know, zombies eating flesh.

That’s right, M. Night has just confirmed that in his mind this

is superior to little things you might remember like

The Blob

Deathrace 2000

Escape From New York / Escape From LA

Phantasm

and so on and so on. Maybe M. Night needs a trip to his local video store to remember the difference between the true classics and his own films. Because characters in movies have been getting killed by scarier things than trees for a long time now, and furthermore

KRITES NEVER NEEDED A TWIST!

Here we are in the midst of the summer blockbuster season, and its time to reflect on how are you choosing to spend your movie experience. Perhaps you’re giving M. Night Shyamalan yet another chance to impress you with his new found “R” rating coupled with a throwback sci-fi menace that will leave you longing for Donald Sutherland’s point and scream at the end of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”. Or perhaps you’re watching Hulk Version 2.0 smash things twice as efficiently with 60 percent less character growth and 98 percent more references to upcoming Marvel movies. Speaking of which, when exactly did early product branding (AVENGERS MOVIE OUT 2011) somehow get repackaged as fan-friendly referencing (Look, Captain America just waved at the Hulk!!)? If DC follows Marvel’s lead and I get a “Dark Knight” post-credit stinger of Superman and Green Lantern eating a sandwich, I’m going to scream.

But I digress, the point is this: amidst all the splendor of the studio tent-pole films raking in the cash, there has been one casualty, that of young Speed Racer. While Indiana Jones whips his ass out of retirement for the 300 million mark, Speed Racer has failed at the box office in every country its been released in, with only Japan left as a potential success (which would be fitting, given the show’s origins). Maybe by now you’ve heard the talk of your peers telling you that Speed Racer is too long, aimed at audiences with the attention span of hummingbirds, outlandishly cartoonish or just plain bad. Well, it stands to reason that these people are not your friends, nay, they are the voice of the predictable movie-going audience. I say is easy to be lazy and give Speed Racer a pass for all the wrong reasons. Back when the movie first came out WAMG‘s Travis gave the film a positive review, and I’m here on my knees in the dirt to back him up with 5 final reasons why you should give the obvious choices a rest this weekend and throw Speed Racer a little charity on its way out the door:

5. It’s an honest-to-blog visual experience. (ironic hateful Juno reference accomplished)

Sure, you’ve been worn down by the CGI blitzkrieg the last few years, and rightfully so. You’ve seen more hastily thrown together backgrounds than anyone should have to bear, and this summer alone you’ve been personally forced through (admittedly good) CGI men in robot suits, aliens recreating the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and most recently the Hulk punching a naked monster with no dick around for an hour and 54 minutes. But guess what? Speed Racer looks as good as Iron Man, and it’s a completely fabricated world. It is easier to fall into Speed Racer’s bubblegum LSD-trip of a planet than any of the multiple worlds that George Lucas tried to sell you in the last two episodes. Furthermore, it’s an original stylistic experience. Remember when Sin City came out and everyone was oohing and aahing over the film’s true to comic book visuals? Funny how that film gets credit for cutting and pasting a look directly out of a comic book onto the screen, but Speed Racer which creates a visual palette from scratch is the one struggling to survive. Frank Miller’s ego apparently likes the Sin City look so much he’s dumping it directly onto Will Eisner’s creation in the upcoming The Spirit, but apparently everyone’s ready to swallow a second helping of mediocrity instead of taking any risks.

4. You won’t feel the length.

At 2 hours and 15 minutes, Speed Racer has some viewers crying foul. The studios wanted to cut it down, so why didn’t they? Oh, probably because all the test screenings had no problem with the running time (I think Variety mentioned 95 percent positive feedback), and thus the studios had no choice. Guess what? You’ll have no problem with it either, because that visual style I was just championing in reason number 5 will keep your attention the whole way through. And its not a matter of attention span issues at all, Speed Racer is just savvy enough to create a fluid experience, with flashbacks, conversations and visuals moving in and out of one another to create a hyper-kinetic narrative. I can guarantee you won’t see a movie like this one again this summer (or for the foreseeable future, thanks box-office!).

3. It doesn’t shit on any of your childhood memories.

I know between George Lucas rerouting the Star Wars tracks directly into his bank account and Hollywood’s unending remakes of everything you ever loved you’re probably feeling a bit like an abused spouse on Cops, ready for that next slap across the face (upcoming Star Wars: Clone Wars anyone?) and feeling confused and uncertain when it doesn’t happen. Speed Racer doesn’t want to hurt you, it wants to take you to the amusement park and buy you cotton candy and maybe kiss you on the ferris wheel if it feels right. It stays true to the original series, right down to the characters, story and environment. Furthermore, it ENHANCES all the old elements and turns it into a fun cartoon-like experience without cheapening the themes along the way. Speaking of themes…

2. It has a point.

It’s a little guy versus big corporation story. Think Rocky meets Wacky Racers meets Deathrace 2000 meets an acid trip. But it has a message, and it will make you feel good. If you take your kids to this movie, the film’s themes of family will probably make you feel closer. Sure, your kids will hear the word “shit” and see a little kid flip someone the bird, but DAMMIT that’s a small price to pay for a film in which the number one message is the importance of responsibility to the ones you love. What is the Hulk going to teach your kids? That when they get angry they’re allowed to smash everything in your home because some people just can’t help themselves?

1. It’s got heart.
Speed Racer has a lot of flash and fun but it’s also genuine and if point number 1 sounds like point number 2, so be it. It’s got spirit in all the right places. The ending is a triumph on all counts.

So, do yourself a favor. If you’ve been one of those folks who has told themselves “I am never going to see Speed Racer” while you shovel popcorn into your mouth during everything else this summer throws at you, why don’t you listen to Travis and me and a handful of others who say “take a chance”. Do what I did and initially get pissed that “Guy Maddin’s My Winnipeg” and the new Werner Herzog documentary aren’t out in the city where you live yet (NY > LA apparently) and then find Speed Racer at the last theater it’s playing at in your town and go have some fun with your kids, or your guy/girl, or the ushers at the theater or whoever. There’s worse ways to bring a piece of your childhood to life again than Speed Racer, The Little $120,000,000 Engine That Could.

*Sigh* It seems like only yesterday she was shooting taser darts at Batman and Scarecrow and anything else that moved too quickly in her direction with that “can do” attitude of hers. Go get ‘em, tiger.