2011
Unrated
76 minutes

****

Not many people have the drive and conviction to see their childhood dreams realized. If it were commonplace, you wouldn’t be reading this review because I would be too busy being an astronaut/actress/veterinarian to write it. Kevin Clash is one man who was able to turn his childhood dream of being a puppeteer on Sesame Street into a reality. Constance Marks’ documentary, “Being Elmo: A Puppeteer’s Journey,” is as fun and charming as the iconic red monster himself.

Since he was a little boy growing up in Baltimore, Kevin Clash knew he wanted to be a puppeteer. Like many children who faithfully watched “Captain Kangaroo,” “Sesame Street” and “The Muppet Show,” Clash longed to dive into the magical world he saw on TV. Only Clash didn’t just want to hang out with Muppets. He wanted to create and operate them. He scrutinized the images on the screen, trying to figure out how the puppets were made and brought to life. When he was 10 years old, he made his first puppet out of the lining of his father’s coat. The Clash family was not well to do, but the puppet was so good that Clash’s dad wasn’t mad. He just said, “Next time, ask.”

Clash started putting on shows around the neighborhood and soon landed a job on a local children’s show. It wasn’t until his mother cold-called head Muppet designer Kermit Love that Clash set out on the path to becoming the man behind one of the most beloved characters in the history of children’s television.

At this point, I may have lost some of you. But I promise that this feel-good movie really will make you feel good. For one thing, who doesn’t love the Muppets? Anyone born after 1970 will surely have connected with at least one of Jim Henson’s creations. There were so many characters and personalities, represented in the Muppet world and even the grouchiest among them were still lovable. One of the coolest things about Marks’ film is that it’s not just the story of Clash and Elmo. It’s also a first-hand account of what it was like to be part of the Jim Henson Company from its infancy. It’s remarkable how much of Clash’s journey took place on camera from his audition for Captain Kangaroo to behind-the-scenes work on his first Henson film (“Labyrinth”) and his eventual rise to lead puppeteer on “Sesame Street.” At his first visit to Kermit’s workshop when he was a teenager, Clash finally learns the Jim Henson stitch that had eluded him for so long. You can actually see him light up on camera as his years-long curiosity is sated. “Being Elmo” is a rare opportunity to watch what is essentially an entire career in fast motion.

The staggering talent on screen may also entertain you. Sure, he’s been practicing puppeteering since he was a child, but the fluidity with which Clash brings Elmo and other puppets alive is completely mind-blowing. We see a little bit of how he works when he teaches puppeteering to the cast of the French “Sesame Street.” He can turn any flapping-mouthed Muppet into a nuanced character with the slightest hand motion. He explains that you must always keep the puppet alive even when they aren’t speaking. It sounds so simple, but when you watch him work, you can see that it takes tremendous skill to pull it off.

If Muppet love or puppet mastery doesn’t hook you, then maybe Elmo himself will do it. When Clash first got a hold of the puppet, Elmo was a gravelly-voiced simpleton. Most people could take him or leave him, including the original puppeteer. Clash gave Elmo a complete overhaul by creating the hook behind the character. In his own words, “Elmo is love.” He modeled the character after his own sweet, loving, unconditionally supportive parents and made him enthusiastic, fun loving and all about the hugs. In one indicative scene, a terminally ill child has chosen to spend one of her last days with Elmo. If that doesn’t make your eyes well up then you need to take a nap inside a Tauntaun because you are ice cold.

It’s unusual for an artist with that amount of innate talent to lead a drama-free life. But apart from one divorce and some difficulty finding time for his own daughter, Clash is a totally normal guy. Better than normal since he spends the majority of his time on the road bringing Elmo to the people who love and need him. Near the end of the film, Clash speaks to a young aspiring puppeteer on the phone and decides to repay the universe by offering him a tour. The precocious little boy on the other end of the line is Clash’s career doppelganger. He absorbs every tidbit that Clash gives him and shows off his own homemade puppets. Unless something goes horribly wrong, this kid will be the next Kevin Clash. You couldn’t have scripted it any better.

It took six years for Constance Marks to assemble “Being Elmo” and her diligence shows on screen. But in many ways, the story sells itself. Clash’s tale proves that you don’t have to overcome extreme adversity to have all your dreams come true. Though, as Clash notes, Elmo is so much bigger than him. “Kids need Elmo” he says, “ and Elmo needs kids.” Elmo is practically a modern-day Jesus (without all that messy crucifixion stuff). He makes people happy because he offers them unconditional love. Who can argue with a sentiment like that? Assholes. That’s who. But even if you are an asshole, Elmo loves you anyway.

Originally posted on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

June 14, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2011 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated 
88 minutes

1/2 star

At my SIFF screening of “Detention” the director (Joseph Kahn, “Torque”) introduced the film by arrogantly addressing the critics in the audience. “Don’t try to take notes,” he cautioned, “because you’re going to hurt yourself.” Insulting the intelligence of the people who will spread the word about your film before they’ve even seen it is not a wise move. Especially when the warning is completely unwarranted.

“Detention” is also not so much a film as it is a list of things. Most of these things aren’t even that awesome. Patrick Swayze, I’ll give them. But good riddance to the Backstreet Boys, Marcy Playground and 90s catch phrases like, “all that and a bag of chips.” These things do not deserve a renaissance. When the “plot” does advance, it doesn’t go anywhere even remotely original. There’s teenage suicide (don’t do it), body-swapping, mean girls, Saturday detention monitored by a bitter principal (Dane Cook), and a jock with the DNA of a fly to name a few. I guess if we’re not remaking individual movies, we’re assembling a hideous patchwork quilt of multiple ones.

The so-called characters also feel mighty familiar. Our main protagonist is Riley (Shanley Caswell), an awkward, intellectual loser girl who is really only unattractive because of her dark hair, frumpy clothes and perpetual frown. Her best friend is Clapton (Josh Hutcherson), a music-obsessed hipster who is oblivious to Riley’s affections. Clapton is dating Ione (Spencer Locke), an attractive, popular blonde who thinks that 1992 was the coolest year in history. The peripheral characters are equally familiar archetypes. I realize that they’re supposed to be but that doesn’t make it any less trite. It speaks volumes that Dane Cook isn’t the most irritating thing about this movie.

Much like the mouthy teens in the film, “Detention” thinks it’s a lot cleverer than it actually is. It’s just exhausting to watch a movie that winks at the audience with every frame. We get it, dude. Your movie is a parody of everything including itself. Actually, Kahn doesn’t even let us figure that out. At one point, a teen snarks that another is just “a loser making mid-90s pop references.” Wiiiink.

“Detention” is not complicated. Convoluted, yes. But anyone with a GED and a rudimentary knowledge of pop culture could follow the so-called twists. Especially since “Detention” breaks the all-time record for exposition. It’s not enough to have every character projectile vomit their back-story with the relentless velocity of a Gilmore Girl. Visual footnotes in the form of lists, charts, and labels regularly fly in and out of frame, over-explaining the things the characters don’t have time to say. Apparently, Kahn and co-writer, Mark Palermo, didn’t think their audience could figure out who the characters are for themselves. (At this pace, you might miss a title or two. But you wouldn’t be missing them.) Why he thought this film would be too clever for journalists is a mystery. I think it’s more likely that he wanted to preemptively respond to the inevitable scathing reviews.

Perhaps this film is an accurate depiction of today’s over-saturated teens, but that still doesn’t mean I have to like it. And before you accuse me of being an out-of-touch oldster who hates everything new, let me tell you that I loved “Kaboom!” and “Bellflower.” So I know what a great movie about pop-culture obsessed young people looks like. It doesn’t look a thing like “Detention.” It’s not that I can’t keep up, Joseph Kahn. It’s that I don’t WANT to.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

June 9, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2011 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
93 minutes

****

Working the night shift in a truck stop diner is a lot like working on a space station. No one plans to do it forever, but as the years fly by escape seems more and more impossible. There’s nothing outside your door but darkness and desolation. Also, you’re pretty unlikely to meet anyone new. If you do, it’s a life-altering event. In “The Off Hours,” writer/director Megan Griffiths paints a powerfully vivid picture of day-to-day life in a small industrial town that is disrupted by the arrival of a handsome stranger.

Francine (Amy Seimetz) is a young-old waitress who carries out her nocturnal coffee-slinging mission, completely disconnected from the rest of the world. Her co-workers are equally detached, having resigned themselves to an unremarkable existence. In fact, everyone in Francine’s life seems in no hurry to improve his or her situation. That is, until Oliver (Ross Partridge) walks through the door. He’s a banker-turned-trucker on a new route that frequently brings him through town during Francine’s shift. He’s kind and soulful and seems to be just what Francine needs to reignite her snuffed life. Through he’s receptive to her flirting, he makes no secret of his status as a family man. She is appropriately discouraged by this revelation, but is nonetheless unable to stop herself from falling for him. He’s the opposite of everyone else in her life and he could sweep her off her feet if he weren’t already off the market.

Minor plots concern Francine’s colleagues. The other waitress, Jelena, is less-than-thrilled about her side job as a call girl. Stu, the diner’s owner, is a divorced, alcoholic father to a teenage girl who fails to deal with personal issues as impending tragedy looms. Francine also has a complicated relationship with Corey (Scoot McNairy), her roommate and foster brother who harbors more than fraternal feelings for her. Director Lynn Shelton gives a commanding performance in a small role as Stu’s long-suffering ex.

The performances are uniformly excellent, but Amy Seimetz pops in the lead role. She imbues Francine with a great deal of depth, quickly shattering the first impression of a simple small-town beauty. Her expressions speak volumes without going into detail about her past. She can’t stop herself from flirting with Oliver but she clearly knows that acting on her feelings is ill advised. He invigorates her and it’s not just because he’s a new boning prospect. She’s not incomplete without a man. It’s just that sometimes it takes someone new to remind you of your potential. Francine is rare bird in cinema: a complete female character with complex desires.

“The Off Hours” is a great film, but be warned. It’s is a character-driven piece, meaning it’s pretty light on the action. There are numerous shots of people staring meaningfully off into the middle distance. It’s got (literally) gritty realism. Everybody is really sad and nobody gets what he or she wants. In other words, you really have to be in the mood for it.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com. 

June 6, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2011 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
91 minutes

*

“Burke and Hare” has all the ingredients for a delicious film: Legendary director John Landis (“American Werewolf in London”, “Animal House”), Simon Pegg (“Spaced”, “Shaun of the Dead”), Gollum, other notable “Spaced” alums, murder most foul and Tim motherfucking Curry. Perhaps everyone involved is past their sell-by date because the resulting film is completely unpalatable.

The so-called black comedy tells the semi-factual tale of two dimwitted Irish con men who take a job fetching cadavers for an anatomy professor (Tom Wilkinson) in 19th century Edinburgh. Their employer is racing against another doctor in an attempt to create a complete, anatomically correct map of the human body for His Majesty the King. Because of the profitability and immediacy of the work, Burke (Pegg) and Hare (Andy Serkis) quickly decide to stop messing about in graveyards and start making their own fresh cadavers…with wacky results!

I’m concerned about Simon Pegg. There was a time when he was considered the Tyler Durden of pop culture nerds. He quoted like we wanted to quote. He fought zombies like we wanted to fight zombies. But while Edgar Wright, his Project Nerdom partner in crime, kept his integrity intact, Pegg became the British Kevin James. His transformation began somewhere around “Run, Fatboy, Run”, metastasized with “How to Lose Friends and Alienate People” and has been fully realized with “Burke and Hare.” If Dickensian ghosts were to have visited Simon Pegg on the set of “Hot Fuzz,” the Future Ghost would have shown him this movie. Though, to be fair, Pegg is not the only one to blame.

“Burke and Hare” is a ridiculous mess. The “jokes” are juvenile. Prat falls abound. People empty chamber pots onto the heads of other people. There is a metric ton of humping, a spit take and slapstick galore. It insults in the intelligence of its audience with erroneous allusions to MacBeth. It dips into genre parody territory with modern gags like a discerning doorman at the pub and a crime boss in a pimp vest. Characters take credit for prematurely inventing modern-timey things. It’s “British Movie” minus a Wayans brother.

The actors also seem to have checked their souls at the door. Every performance is as fish-limbed and dead-eyed as the next. The women in the film (Isla Fisher as Burke’s theatrical love-interest and Jessica Hynes as Hare’s shrewish wife) are only there for eye candy and scapegoating respectively. I thought that all British people were born with the ability to switch effortlessly from accent to accent but Pegg’s Scottishy-Irish brogue is almost as confusing as whatever it is Isla Fisher is doing (and Home Girl is from Scotland).

If you’re going to make a movie in which your protagonists are actually killing innocent people, you better make them as lovable as a bag of kittens. Barring that, some over-the-top viscera could make up the difference. But “Burke and Hare” fails at every turn. It’s a romantic comedy without jokes or romance. It’s a horror film without the horror. In short, it’s stupid as hell and frankly, I’m embarrassed for everyone involved.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct). 

June 4, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2011 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
155 minutes

****

It was so crazy that it had to work. In 1924, Douglas Fairbanks could never have imagined that his exorbitantly budgeted passion project would one day be improved by a surfer D.J., some sound effects and the music of an electronic classical/rock fusion band. In fact, trying to explain any one of those elements to a pre-talkie film star would be like playing Jimi Hendrix at a 1950’s sock hop. Combined with the comically broad acting of the silent era, a primordial stew of special effects and a little innocuous racial stereotyping, Shadoe Stevens’ re-imagining of “The Thief of Bagdad” is an instant dorm room classic.

If you’re among those who know what people really smoke out of a “water pipe,” you are probably also familiar with the uncanny appropriateness of playing Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” over a muted “Wizard of Oz.” Like many people of my generation who had a fridge full of beer and too much time on our hands, my college roommate and I loved to test this concept with other combinations. (For the record, the best results were The Beastie Boys with the “Scooby Doo” cartoon and Muse with “Mothra.”) Legendary radio D.J., Shadoe Stevens has taken this party trick one step further with “The Thief of Bagdad,” a film that is very close to his heart. In the 1970s, he set out on a thirty-year mission to find a soundtrack that “would do justice to the astonishing visuals” of this technically groundbreaking film. He finally found a perfect fit in the experimental strains of the Electric Light Orchestra. This unexpectedly harmonious marriage of sound and picture astonished even E.L.O.s Jeff Lynne who gave the project his seal of approval.

With an introduction by a pepper-bearded Orson Welles, “Thief” is trippy right out of the gate. Welles sits in near-profile in front of a red backdrop. He praises the film’s art direction and Douglas Fairbank’s performance, addressing the audience with the unnerving casualness of a drunken uncle. And with that, we’re transported to a 1920s Hollywood interpretation of a lively Arab berg.

Douglas Fairbanks plays the titular thief, a man with fuzzy morals who spends his days parkouring all over the city and stealing everything that he can get his hands on. He and his flamboyant accomplice plot to rob the palace, just as the princess begins accepting suitor applications. The thief seizes this opportunity to gain access to the palace, assuming the airtight identity of “Prince Ahmed, Prince of the Isles, of the Seas and of the Seven Palaces.” Meanwhile, an evil Mongolian (is there any other kind?) prince plots to conquer the city. The story only gets more convoluted from there, introducing tons of giant monsters, magical objects within magical objects and a quest to find the finest jewel in order to win the princess’ hand in marriage.

Until now, the only silent films I’d seen were the broad comedies of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. So I was quite taken aback to discover that their performances weren’t considered broad. That was just acting. Actors had to convey everything with just a few lines per scene. Lines that no one even heard them say. It was perfectly natural to express hunger by circling a hand in front of your tummy or to scratch your palms to indicate a desire to steal something. How could one identify the bad guy if they didn’t slink around and literally shift their eyes? As the princess, Julianne Johnston is a master of hand-to-forehead acting.

The facts surrounding the production of “The Thief of Bagdad” are almost as remarkable as the film itself. Douglas Fairbanks was the world’s first movie star, known for swashbuckling roles in films like “The Three Musketeers” and “Robin Hood.” For him, “Thief” was a dream realized. He starred, produced, co-wrote and financed the film. He also did his own stunts, including riding free-style on a “magic carpet” constructed of sheet metal, cables and cranes.

Speaking of scenery, you can see every penny of the (then exorbitant) $2 million budget on screen. There are lavish palaces and halls, bustling bazaars populated by hundreds of extras and giant beasts galore (my favorite is a killer chimpanzee in a diaper). They must have spent thousands on large, empty clay pots as the streets are littered with them. Characters hide in them constantly. They figure heavily into elaborate chase scenes. The Thief’s cohort even carries around a clay pot disguise to remain unassuming whilst standing guard. In movie Bagdad, there is nothing more commonplace than a large clay pot.

One of the most lavish expenses is also one of the film’s funniest moments. They follow up a threat to boil someone in oil with a shot of an immense, extravagantly adorned chalice. A man stands on a ladder next to the chalice, stirring the boiling oil. He pauses to wave and gesture to the oil, thus corroborating the threat. There’s at least a couple hundred dollars right there. In an age in which films are often guilty of telling more than showing, it’s weird to think that the pioneers of the medium had the opposite problem.

Stevens recently showed the film to an audience at the Seattle International Film Festival. He is shopping the film around to garner interest for the project before he finalizes it with a full film restoration and colorization. In case you’re wondering, you don’t have to be stoned to enjoy this one. Of course, it couldn’t hurt…

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct). 

May 31, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

2011 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
114 minutes

***

Just hearing the name “Bono” can send me into a fist-shaking rage. So you can imagine how hopeful I was when I first heard the title, “Killing Bono.” Despite having plenty of guns, drugs and danger, the film isn’t really all that dark. It’s only slightly more black a comedy than the most angst-ridden number in “High School Musical.” Still, it’s an enjoyable film, even if the title doesn’t pay off in quite the way I’d hoped.

In 1976 Dublin, a tiny, ambitious lad named Paul Hewson holds a band audition in an equally tiny garage. Paul wants Ivan McCormick to be part of the lineup, but, for some reason, he first runs it by Ivan’s brother, Neil. Neil has already figured Ivan into his own plans for stardom and turns down the offer on Ivan’s behalf. How could he know that Paul Hewson would become Bono and the band, then called The Hype, would become U2? As Neil and Ivan watch U2 become an Irish national treasure, the brothers struggle in obscurity, always overshadowed by the accomplishments of their former schoolmates. All the while, Ivan is completely clueless to the fact that his brother prevented him from joining one of the biggest bands in the world.

For my money, the music of the McCormick Brothers/Shook Up is far superior to that of U2. It’s interesting, edgy and peppered with hints of Joy Division and the Ramones. When they’re on stage, the brothers are legitimately having a blast. They rock out without a hint of self-consciousness. They are desperate for fame but it’s not as much about the money as it is being able to do what they love for a living. In contrast, U2 are in a constant state of posturing and boy-howdy are they serious. Bono has taken to martyrdom like a duck to water.

Sadly, this isn’t the story of Bono’s rise to super-douchedom. It’s about a man who is profoundly skilled at cocking things up. At times, Neil’s story turns suspiciously farcical for one that’s “based on true events.” Shook Up’s first scheduled gig is usurped by a Pope visitation. Their second gig is a dud as well, taking place at an illegal strip club. To add injury to insult, Neil decides join forces with the club’s gangster owner and digs them a £10,000 hole. Later, Neil books their big London debut gig for the same day as Live Aid. Eventually, the band earns a modicum of success, but they remain in U2’s shadow, the comparison perpetuated by an evil journalist with whom Neil used to work. Many of these tales smack of Irish embellishment. There is no way the real Neil McCormick was that incompetent or unlucky. Right? For his sake, I hope not because the Neil of the film is an annoying, bloody-minded little bastard. Even though I see where he’s coming from, he deserves far more beatings than he actually gets.

Martin McCann plays Bono a bit too modest but I’ll be damned if he isn’t the spitting image of the man. When he offers to help Neil and Ivan get noticed, he does it in such a condescending way that I almost understand why Neil turns him down. ALMOST. Neil wants success on his own terms, but his terms are pretty damned unreasonable, especially when his choices also affect his brother.

Peter Serafinowicz (“Spaced,” “Shaun of the Dead,” the voice of Darth Maul) is hilarious as usual, playing a shady record exec. Also noteworthy is the performance by Pete Postlethwaite, a man known for playing badass Irish motherfuckers. It’s his last role and he goes out on a high note. He’s completely lovable as Neil and Ivan’s campy landlord and he doesn’t kill even one person.

Despite having made “the worst decision of [his brother’s] life”, Neil does have a valid beef with U2. It’s a pretty goofy move to just, one day, change your name to Bono (or, for that matter, The Edge). Their rise to power was hard and fast while better bands struggled for years. They should have remained “The Hype” because it describes them perfectly. I get why they’re popular. They write catchy songs. But Bono isn’t exactly a wordsmith. He writes Rhyming Dictionary Arena rock. Not to mention the fact that their front man wouldn’t put a penny in a Unicef box if there weren’t cameras present to capture it. Granted, that Bono has yet to emerge in the context of the film. Movie Bono is just a super nice guy who wants to use his fame to help a brotha out. But he hasn’t got time for people who don’t appreciate him because he has plenty of people who treat him like royalty. Like I said, I completely understand why Neil is driven literally mad with jealousy.

Ivan, on the other hand, is the warm little center of the story. It’s worth sticking around just to make sure things turn out OK for him and that his brother hasn’t literally ruin his life. Ivan’s likeability is due, in no small part, to the charisma of actor Robert Sheehan. At the ripe old age of 23, Sheehan is already a master of physical comedy. Through the years, the brothers don a series of silly outfits in their attempt to nail down their look and sound. It’s not easy to look dignified when you’re dressed like Adam Ant, but Sheehan’s earnestness sells it. Sheehan brings the laughs even as he’s acting out the worst day of his character’s life. Ben Barnes isn’t terrible as Neil, but in contrast to Sheehan, there are times when his performance appears to have all the nuance of a bit player on “That’s So Raven.” Robert Sheehan is the true Irish national treasure and he must be preserved at all costs.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct). 

May 29, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: 1 Comment

2011
Unrated
90 minutes

**

“LOVE” is the latest addition to the Lonely Cosmonaut genre. Listen, I love stories about space as much as the next guy who also likes space stories. But I’m starting to suspect that we’ve already said everything we need to say about the subject. Space is vast, mysterious, beautiful, terrible and lonely as hell. This is both common knowledge and well-worn cinematic territory. Until we learn some new information about space, we don’t really need to keep harping on the old themes. While it is a beautiful and moderately engaging film, it also feels superfluous.

Director William Eubank goes where others have boldly gone before with the tale of Captain Lee Miller, an astronaut stranded in his tin can prison after losing contact with Earth. Miller must battle the insanity of isolation and impending life support failure. To pass the time, he creates elaborate fantasy worlds and loses himself in the diary of a Civil War soldier that just happened to be lying around the space station. Eubank, clearly inspired by “2001” and “Solaris,” lets both the fantasy and reality play out in an epic fashion.

Most of us have never left the planet. Nonetheless, the daily routine of life on a space station is well established in our minds. “LOVE” is filled with such familiar images. Miller paces up and down the cold, tubular hallways. He sits in front of panels covered in lit buttons. He peers longingly through a tiny porthole at the Earth below. He runs on a treadmill. He eats nutritious, unappetizing approximations of food. He watches the last video communication he has from his brother on a loop. Eubank attempts to supplement the hackneyed images with Civil War battle scenes and other fantasy sequences from inside Miller’s mind. Some were more interesting than others and I often found myself eagerly anticipating the return to reality.

Among Miller’s hallucinations are interview segments with average folks espousing their perspective on life and love. This is where the thematic flaws really poke through, transforming the narrative from subtle meditation to philosophical sledgehammer. Among the age-old head-scratchers explored: If a man lives alone in space is he really alive? And can anyone truly live without the hu-mon emotion called love? This sort of fortune cookie wisdom along with a complete lack of humor injects the film with an air of high school poetry class.

The biggest marketing draw for the film is the soundtrack by Angels & Airwaves. Though this is the first I’ve heard of it, it’s my understanding that some have been “eagerly anticipating” this prog rock side project by Blink 182’s Tom DeLonge. It’s Brian Eno for the Hot Topic set and that’s cool enough, I suppose. But I wouldn’t say it’s particularly integral to the story. I can imagine the film without it. In fact, I’ve already sort of forgotten what it sounds like. The soundtrack would have been just as successful were it comprised of the thematically relevant work of Bowie, Elton and Peter Shilling.

A noteworthy feature of “LOVE” is that Eubank and his brothers spent four years building the sets out of household junk in their parents’ driveway. Wayne Coyne accomplished a similar feat for the Flaming Lips film, “Christmas on Mars.” It’s incredible how space-worthy garbage can look. No matter what the result, you have to give props to someone who devotes that much of their life to one film. It would have been nice if he’d allocated a little more of that time to streamlining the plot.

Visually, the end result is quite impressive. This film is absolutely a feast for the eyes. In my book, however, looks aren’t enough to win the whole pageant. If MacBeth were here, he might say that “LOVE” is “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Personally, I think that’s a little harsh.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

May 26, 2011
Categories: Filmpinions, Seattle . Tags: filmthreat, SIFF . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment