Review: Black Book

WWII Just Got a Whole Lot Sexier

Who doesn't love a movie about the Holocaust? I'm sure that's why Paul Verhoeven, the illustrious Dutch director behind Total Recall, Robocop, Starship Troopers and, most importantly, Showgirls, decided to throw his hat into the Third Reich Ring. And I'm glad he did. Black Book while not as powerful and gripping as Roman Polanski's The Pianist or as universally heart-wrenching as Schindler's List, is still not too shabby.

Black Book is the story of Rachel Stein, Jewish woman living in Holland who's attempt to escape German occupation with her family is thwarted by an ambush. She is the only survivor. Left with nothing, she joins the Dutch resistance movement. During an infiltration operation, she falls in (meaning bed, of course) with a German captain. They begin a complicated affair of deceit, espionage and split loyalties. It's also an affair in the traditional sense (i.e. boobies…it's Verhoeven, remember?).

Lest you think me critical of Verhoeven's work, let me clarify. I LOVE this director. His catalog is among my favorites. But you have to admit that while he's known for his biting political and social satires, he usually delivers them with a side of extreme, cartoonish violence and loads of naked, horny ladies. So it's surprising to learn that he's capable of such restraint. Black Book takes its subject seriously and with great reverence for the victims of WWII. It's suspenseful and sad and there are only a handful of scenes that smack of Verhoeven lechery. One could even argue that a Jewish girl trying to hide her identity amongst the German wolves WOULD need to bleach her carpet to match the curtains, much like the protagonist of Europa, Europa must uncircumcise himself in an understandably memorable scene. In fact, all of the casual nudity and sexuality that usually comes off as a little smutty in Verhoeven's American offerings, actually may just be…European.

-Lady Cyanide

Check out Black Book, available for rent right now on ReelTime.com. The rental period ends soon so do it! Do it now! Nothing like a good Holocaust film to get you through the winter…

X-Posted from the the Reel.

Film Threat Review: Salim Baba

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

2008 SUNDANCE SHORT FILM COMPETITION!

Un-rated
15 minutes
Two and a half stars

 

“Salim Baba” tells the story of a 55-year-old Indian man who, following in his father’s footsteps, makes a living piecing together film scraps and playing them on a hand-cranked projector in a portable booth for the neighborhood children. And that’s…well, that’s the whole story. It’s kind of neat, but ultimately forgettable.

Salim talks about taking over the business from his father. He explains to the camera how the projector works in an excruciatingly lengthy segment that would be interesting to a fraction of filmgoers. The most interesting part is when Salim talks about collecting the film scraps from movie houses and, essentially, creating his own stories from them. There are many shots of him pushing his cart and many shots of children’s smiling faces. Don’t get me wrong, I like smiling children. But we get it. His films make poor kids happy which is why it’s tragic that he doesn’t know how much longer he can afford to run the business. We understood that at minute 5.

I’m not heartless. Really. And I’m not blaming Salim. He is truly an interesting character but his story, or at least this aspect of his story, could have been told in half the time. Salim says that he edits his film scraps in order to make a condensed, less boring version of the story. The filmmakers should have heeded the advice of their protagonist.

Film Threat Review: In Prison My Whole Life

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct). 

2008 SUNDANCE WORLD DOCUMENTARY COMPETITION FEATURE FILM!
Un-rated, 90 minutes
Three and a half stars

“Free Mumia.” Whether or not you know what it means, chances are you’ve heard or seen the slogan somewhere, be it on a concrete wall or in the lyrics to a Rage Against the Machine song. The Mumia in question is an African American man who was arrested for killing a police officer on December 9th, 1981. That was also the same day that William Francome was born. If you’ve never heard of William Francome, that’s hardly surprising. He’s just a guy who was born on the same day that Mumia’s life as he knew it ended. This coincidence of dates is part of what drives Francome’s interest in Mumia’s alleged wrongful arrest and conviction and what ultimately becomes the film “In Prison My Whole Life.” While that connection is, indeed a symbolic one, focusing on it so obstinately plays a part in leading the film astray.

Prior to his arrest, Mumia Abu-Jamal was a political journalist with ties to the Black Panthers. These affiliations, along with extreme examples of racist conspiracy in his hometown of Philadelphia, definitely cast more than just a shadow of a doubt on whether or not he was wrongfully sentenced to death row. In fact, Mumia claims that not only was he defending his brother from a brutal assault by the officer, but that he never even pulled the fatal trigger. The film presents an abundance of evidence suggesting both judicial conspiracy and a fourth man on the scene. By the film’s conclusion, any liberal-voting citizen is going to be convinced of Mumia’s innocence. Unfortunately, it’s effectively preaching to the choir.

William Francome is a twenty-something, politically charged student whose life has been profoundly affected by the Mumia case. He is also precisely the sort of person whom a Mike Huckabee or George Bush Jr., or your average conservative judge would dismiss as a bleeding heart. The same goes for the testimonies of artists like Mos Def and Snoop Dogg. Us card-carrying members of Amnesty International know that the system is broken. We know that racism is alive and well in the United States. We are the people who will watch this movie and shake our heads and maybe send some money to the NAACP. But the people whose minds need to be awakened will dismiss it as liberal propaganda and William Francome as naïve. I don’t know what, if anything, can be done about that. Technically, the film is mostly well done. It does get off topic from time to time (with the aforementioned interviews with musicians) and becomes redundant at other points. Still, it’s something you need to see if you don’t know anything about Mumia or if, somehow, you missed the notion that bigotry is rampant on the police force. Sadly, however, it’s not the sorely-needed red pill for right-wingers. I don’t know if such a thing is possible.

Film Threat Review: A Raisin in the Sun

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

2007, Un-rated, 131 minutes
Three stars

First of all, a TV movie at Sundance? What the hell, ABC? I know that these days the festival is about as far from indie as one can get without actually being a Cineplex, but a TV MOVIE? Second, just because a person is a successful musician (with the notable exception of Mos Def) does not an actor make. Barring that, “A Raisin in the Sun” isn’t bad… for a TV MOVIE.

Based on the 1959 stage play by Lorraine Hansberry, “A Raisin in the Sun” tells the story of a poor African American family struggling to make ends meet in the South Side of Chicago. When the Lena Younger, the family’s widowed matriarch (played by Clair Huxtable herself, Phylicia Rashad) learns that she will be receiving a $10,000 insurance check from her husband’s estate, emotions come to a head. Lena’s son, Walter Lee (P. Diddy), wants to “invest” the money in a hair-brained business opportunity. Lena’s daughter, Beneatha, has hopes of being put through medical school. Walter Lee’s wife, Ruth, doesn’t feel any entitlement to the money, but she certainly feels the pangs of poverty. The youngest, er, Younger, Walter Lee and Ruth’s son Travis, would just like to stop sleeping on the couch.

Lena is faced with a tough decision about how to allocate the money whilst both honoring the memory of her late husband and keeping her surviving family happy. This complicated task is made more so when she controversially purchases a 3-bedroom house in a “white neighborhood”, the residents of whom send a nebbish John Stamos over to try and buy them out.

The film is shot with a hand-held camera and mostly close-ups. I assume that this was done to give more of a documentary-feel. However, dialog, unchanged from the stage script, feels like stage dialog. And there is very little restraint in the performances to change that. The performances also bring up some questions about intent for the characters. For instance, I don’t know if Walter Lee Younger is meant to come off as a whiney, immature, ungrateful cad, but P. Diddy certainly plays him as such. It’s hard for me to believe that a strong character like Lena have allowed such disrespect to breed in her home.

Contrarily it seems to be implied that the idealistic, atheistic aspiring doctor, Beneatha Younger’s outlook on life stems from inexperience and naiveté: an implication with which I took personal issue. However, this may have more to do with the tone of the text than with Sanaa Lathan’s performance.

The biggest element keeping “A Raisin in the Sun” from transcending the cheese of TV Movie Land was the stunt casting. Sean Combs may be an actor, but we all know it’s P. Diddy saying those lines. It may have been 13 years since Uncle Jesse asked people to “have mercy”, but unfortunately, a nebbish hairdo does not free John Stamos from that stigma. Phylicia Rashad may be the only actor who is able to lose herself in her role. Even then, I was mostly thinking “Damn. Clair Huxtable is a good crier”.

The opening monologue from the unmistakable timber of Morgan Freeman does lend the film a little credibility, as does the powerful dialog and a good number of the performances by lesser known TV personalities. However, there are no bones about it: “A Raisin in the Sun” is a made-for-TV-movie, which means that no matter how many inspired speeches about family and rising up from the ashes of oppression there are, there’s still a good chance that Mary Catherine Gallagher will someday be reciting those very lines before falling backwards into some chairs and exposing her underpants.

Superstar.

Omitting Important Details

Why didn't anyone tell me that Phillip Seymour Hoffman got naked in Before the Devil Knows You're Dead. Even though I may be in the minority on wanting to see such things, I would have thought it would have come up among those who recommended the movie to me.

This film has just been moved to the top of my Must-See List.

Another Sacred Childhood Memory Pooped On

My beloved Clash of the Titans, a film which I not only watched daily as a child, but continue to immensely enjoy in my adult life (just this WEEK, in fact) is, naturally, being effing REMADE. Who's behind this travesty? The man who directed Blade and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (the latter being the flop which Sean Connery signed on with after turning down the role of GANDALF in a little fantasy trilogy called THE LORD OF THE RINGS).

For fun, I will hypothetically cast this film to give it maximum, wound-salting potential.

In the role of my dreamy, fuzzy-chested, dim-but-powerful Perseus (a.k.a. Harry Hamlin):

In the Burgess Meredith side-kick role:

Playing the lovely but equally dim and fairly helpless Andromeda:

Playing the hot, misunderstood Calibus:

The Gods:

The Stygian Witches:

And, of course, instead of Ray Harryhausen's genius stop-motion effects, we will have crappy C.G. versions of Pegasus, Bubo, Medusa (voiced by Angelina Jolie?) and the Kraken.

Who do YOU think they will cast?

Wherein I Interview the Dreamy Zac Efron

Steve Zahn who? I recently got a chance to do a phone interview with teen dream Zac Efron.

Go forth and make it viral!

Grindhouse Sucks

You heard me.

I regretted not getting a chance to see it in the theatres, but after watching both movies this weekend, I am actually quite relieved. I never would have been able to handle those two movies back to back. I probably would have walked out of Death Proof.

Planet Terror was alright from a gore standpoint, but the aging effects were too cutesy and quickly became irritating. They distracted from the gore which would have otherwise been the strongest aspect of the film. The stunt casting was also very distracting. If you are going for a traditional Grindhouse look, you simply cannot have Bruce Willis in a supporting role and have it work. It was less about sending up the Grindhouse genre and more about “Look how cute we are and how many famous people we are friends with.” Also, Quentin Tarentino and Eli Roth are NOT actors. They are horrible. They're not even attractive. They are wanky movie geeks and it shows in their “delivery”.

Death Proof was practically ALL dialog with only 20 or-so minutes of cool car chases and gore. Furthermore, Quentin Tarentino's idea of the female voice makes Joe Esterhaus sound like Gloria Steinem. All I could do was picture Tarentino typing with one hand and holding his dick with the other. After sitting through the first 45 minutes, which is all just listening to assholes talk and girls dancing (plus more Roth and Tarentino “acting”), we couldn't stand to watch all the “character development” with the second group of girls, so we hit the fast forward button to the good stuff. The good stuff was not good enough. Even vintage cars and girls fighting was not enough to redeem Death Proof. I still wanted to take a crowbar to Tarentino's face for making me witness his Hollywood Circle Jerk.

That's all Grindhouse is. One big circle jerk. I need to go take a scalding shower.

Film Threat Review: Escape From the Fire

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct)

2007, Un-rated, 13 minutes
One and a half stars

Oh crap. Is this really a low-budget indie short about the Holocaust? It is? Ugh.

Escape from the Fire begins with a little boy (Jordan Goldberg) running through the woods. He’s got curly hair and he’s wearing a Star of David band on his beige uniform sleeve so right away you know you’re in for a Farrelly-esque laugh-riot. The little boy seeks refuge in a house where he finds a little girl (Allison Sparrow). The two of them hide from Nazis and other bad men and everybody learns an important lesson about, you know, genocide and stuff.

Perhaps director Joel Dunn assumed that if he made a movie about cute little children hiding from Nazis, there was no way anyone could criticize it. Well, I’m not going to let him get off that easily. For a 13-minute movie, the little boy sure does a lot of running. He runs through the woods. He runs around the house. He runs through more woods. The good thing about a movie in which there isn’t really any dialog (there’s some un-subtitled German and lots of gesturing) is that you can fast forward through it without missing anything. Yes, the Holocaust was a horrible tragedy. But that doesn’t mean that we needed another movie about it. Especially if it doesn’t have anything new to say on the subject that we didn’t already learn from Anne Frank.

In short, “Escape from the Fire” is nothing special. But that little boy is pretty cute.

Film Threat Review: Johnny Berlin

Originally posted on Film Threat (now defunct) 

2007, Un-rated, 56 minutes
Three and a half stars

 

It makes perfect sense that Dominic DeJoseph would want to document the man called Johnny Berlin. We’ve all encountered eccentrics like Berlin at the bus stop or in a near-empty bar. They have interesting stories and opinions but, as you have unwittingly become their intimate live audience, you are at their mercy, and it’s difficult to sneak away to use the bathroom or just read the book you brought, should things get uncomfortable. A documentary gives you an intimate look into the life of one of these guys with a nice, protective fourth wall to ease the tension. Unfortunately, “Johnny Berlin” is just a little bit too slice-of-life. The story lacks flow and is never really tied together.

“Johnny Berlin” follows the titular train porter (a cross between a maid and a bellboy) as he carries out his tour of duty aboard a refurbished 1930s luxury train traveling up and down the West coast. He makes it clear from the start, however, that while he takes pride in his work (such as gingerly hand-brushing the pubes from a dirty bed for the next guest) this isn’t a career for him. He is a lost soul in a dying industry. Though nothing much happens to Johnny, during the 56 minutes we meet him, nor during his lifetime, he is filled with dreams; rock and roll dreams, dreams of writing the great American novel, dreams of meeting the right girl. It sounds romantic enough, but looking at the middle-aged man telling you these things, one is left with the distinct notion that most, if not all of these dreams will remain elusive.

Working on a luxury train must be a lot like working on a submarine. The quarters are close and claustrophobic, lonely and dark with no ventilation. Johnny is clearly disturbed by it because he frequently mentions the excessive dander floating in the air with no means of escape. He must relate a bit to the dander as he himself floats aimlessly, trapped in his life with no recourse. He is dissatisfied with the workaday world, even though his day job is unusual. He has artistic designs but is he eccentric or just loony? His novel pitches are curious enough. The one he wants to write in Cambodia is about a world-weary protagonist who decides to trek around the world…by rolling on the ground. But would the end results be brilliant (a la “A Confederacy of Dunces”) or utterly un-publishable.

While the subject of “Berlin” is documentary gold, director DeJoseph doesn’t seem to know what to do with him. We are plunged into the world of this tragic character without the text introduction or narration. We don’t know if he ever made it to Cambodia. Our time with Johnny simply begins and ends. For that reason, watching “Johnny Berlin” is a lot like getting stuck next to the chatty weirdo on the bus, but without the pesky fear that he may pull out a knife and stab you at any moment. He’s a fascinating character, but the short time you spend with him is quite enough. Maybe even just a little bit too much.