Film Threat Review: Game of Werewolves

2012
Unrated
98 minutes

***

There are three types of comedic horror films: The films that are unintentionally funny, the genre parodies and the traditional horror films that happen to contain some jokes. “Game of Werewolves” is in the third category, and it’s a category that could use some new blood. Harkening back to Peter Jackson’s early horror period, Juan Martinez Moreno’s film pits an unsuccessful writer, his incompetent editor and a bumbling childhood pal against his cursed childhood town and the werewolf that stalks it. Moreno’s script is derivative at times and a bit of a sausage fest, but our protagonists are amusing enough in their ineptitude and the practical effects are a sight for sore eyes in this CGI-laden world.

An illustrated back-story brings us up to speed on the century-old curse that plagues the tiny town of Arga. When we meet Tomas (Gorka Otxoa), he is on his way back to his hometown to accept an award for being a Local Boy Made Good. Never mind the fact that he’s only sold two copies of his first novel. He accepts their gift of his expired aunt’s creepy old mansion so that he can concentrate on writing his follow-up failure in peace. Little does he know, the townspeople have brought him there as a key fixture in their one-and-only shot to break the curse and keep a second curse from taking effect. (Man, you do NOT want to fuck with gypsies.) Also on the wrong side of the townspeople is Tomas’ former best friend, Calisto (Carlos Areces). Calisto is a portly slacker who carries around a lot of baggage about his perceived abandonment by Tomas. Tomas’ editor, Mario (Secun de la Rosa), soon joins them and the shenanigans commence.

There are some familiar elements at play. Calisto is basically Nick Frost’s “Shaun of the Dead” character with a moustache. The werewolf suits are very old school (rubber hands, red eyes and a furry butt), and the transformation scene is straight out of “American Werewolf in London.” I wouldn’t necessarily label these parallels as negatives. Maybe it doesn’t look “real,” but what does a real werewolf look like, anyway? We all know computers can do amazing things, but I like thinking about the time it took someone to put on the makeup or set up an effect. That’s what impresses me more than someone pushing buttons. Yes, I realize how crotchety that makes me sound.

There are things that don’t work so well. Early on, there is a long scene which has Tomas engaged in a one-sided conversation with his dog for the very transparent sake of exposition. If Tomas grew up in Arga, and the curse has been around for 100 years, why has he never heard anything about a werewolf before now? You’d think a writer would be more observant. Then again, it’s implied that he’s not a very good writer. Sometimes, Tomas, Mario and Calisto are unbelievably stupid for the sake of a joke. Does Calisto really not know the difference between a candle and a stick of dynamite? Does Mario really not grasp the importance of opposable thumbs? These jokes are a little too far-fetched to play.

Yet there are also moments of ingeniousness. About 60% of the gags feel fresh which is enough to keep you engaged. The action is ceaseless for much of the film with explosions, gunfire and mauling a-plenty. Late in the story, Mareno introduces a very charismatic police officer character that deserves a film of his own. “Game of Werewolves” may not be an instant classic, but it will tickle you for a while and perhaps inspire someone to do it better.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

Film Threat Review: Ira Finkelstein’s Christmas

2012 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
90 minutes

**

“Ira Finkelstein’s Christmas” is an independently produced film, but it certainly doesn’t seem like one. It has all the brightly lit, dopey scored, schmaltzy scripted, hammy-acted qualities of a made-for-basic cable family special. But Seattle-based writer/director/producer Sue Corcoran of Von Piglet Productions apparently figured out that religious-themed horror comedies (“Gory Gory Hallelujah”) were nowhere near as marketable as religious-themed family films. And you thought we were just about Mumblecore in the Emerald City.

I actually feel a little weird even reviewing this film, as it is so not for me. I do have a kid, but she’s too young for something like this. Besides, I am raising her in an amoral urban community, so her first Christmas film experience will be a double feature of “Emmett Otter’s Jug Band Christmas” and “Gremlins.” But for those suburban parents who park their kids in front of Hannah Montana and iCarly (or whatever), this will be right up their alley. Maybe they can all enjoy it together after they get back from dinner at the Outback Steakhouse. They can pop some Jiffy Pop and put on their matching Snuggies before settling in for the next 90 minutes. After that, it’s straight to bed (for everyone!). This hypothetical family will deem this movie “cute” and “touching” and maybe even “adorbs.” It will make them feel warm and fuzzy and accepting of all organized religions. I’m not trying to be snarky here. I’m honestly attempting to imagine the target audience for “Ira Finkelstein” because I’M NOT IT.

Let’s pretend that my favorite Christmas movie isn’t “Scrooged.” In that case, Elijah Nelson sparkles as Ira, the little Jewish boy who just wants to have a magical Christmas because being one of the Chosen People is just so dull. Sure, they get eight presents, but they don’t get a tree or garland made from stale popcorn or earworm carols sung ad nauseum. For years, Ira has been trying to convince his parents to let him celebrate Christmas. He almost gets his wish, as they prepare for a holiday ski trip. But then his party planner mother (Angela DiMarco) and small-time director father (David DeLuise) simultaneously stumble upon a potentially career-boosting gig, working respectively for and with a high-maintenance minor television star. They make the decision to send Ira to Florida to spend the holiday with his paternal grandparents. Ira is much less distressed over their neglectful parenting than he is their cancelled vacation. As his parents hurry him onto the airplane, all he’s thinking about is that elusive white Chrismukkah.

During his connection in Chicago, Ira meets another little boy with dashed Christmas wishes. Mikey (Justin Howell) would rather spend the holiday with his single mother, but she believes she has his best interest in mind by sending him to stay with his cousins in Christmastown, WA (a fictional town loosely based on the real Bavarian-themed Leavenworth, WA, where they also filmed). Mikey doesn’t think a Christmas in Florida sounds so bad. Luckily, Ira’s grandparents haven’t seen him (not even a photograph?!) in years. Likewise, Mikey’s cousins have only a fuzzy memory of his appearance. (Can you guess where this is going? Is the Pope a senile old man?)

Naturally, Ira gets a wild hair and decides that he and Mikey should switch places. Despite a lack of physical resemblance and Ira’s severe near-sightedness, the ruse is as simple as trading hats and “unaccompanied minor” badges. Airport handlers (and estranged relatives) sure are morons.

Both kids also have cell phones of their own, so they are able to keep up the charade when their parents call to check in. Despite minor slip-ups for both parties (Ira doesn’t know Mikey’s parents are divorced, Mikey doesn’t know anything about being Jewish and is much more athletic than Ira), no one is the wiser. But Ira soon learns that Christmastown might not be the winter wonderland he was expecting. And Mikey starts to get used to having adults smother him with attention. Will Ira have his Christmas (and the pageant he suddenly decides they should put on) before the whistle is blown? Will those bullies, pilfered straight from “A Christmas Story,” learn how their dickishness affects other people and stop being dicks? Will the holiday spirit melt the heart of Mikey’s goth cousin? Will any of the adults ever pull their heads out of their asses and realize that their children are more important than whatever stupid adult bullshit they have put first?

Yes. Of course they will. It’s a family movie about the holidays. It will have a happy ending and there will be lots of singing and smiling at each other across rooms and people will learn all sorts of lessons. You bet your jingle-belled ass that someone will say “God bless us everyone.” Also, Elliot Gould, as Ira’s grandpa, is the Jewiest Jew that ever Jewed and that chick from “Northern Exposure” (Cynthia Geary) frowns a lot. There is an audience for this film. It’s probably a huge audience. But I bet there isn’t a lot of crossover with Film Threat readers.

Note: My two-star rating reflects my enjoyment of the film. I’m fairly certain that someone in the target audience would give it three to four stars. Additionally, bah humbug.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

Film Threat Review: Grassroots

2012
Rated R
100 minutes

****

There’s a scene in Cameron Crowe’s film “Singles” in which Campbell Scott pitches to Mayor Tom Skerritt the Supertrain: a high speed commuter train which he believes would solve Seattle’s horrendous traffic problems. The Mayor smiles and nods throughout the impassioned speech. But when Scott is done, Skerritt shuts him down in four words. He’d made up his mind before Scott even opened his mouth. This scene perfectly sums up Seattle’s perpetual transportation issue. There are always people pushing to build one effective public transportation system, but our car-happy government is resistant to it, instead focusing on the roads, which only become more congested. Though they did approve a billion-dollar novelty streetcar to Paul Allen so that we now have not one, but TWO extremely slow trains, neither of which travels more than 2 miles.

Stephen Gyllenhaal’s new film, “Grassroots,” is based on the “mostly true” story of music-critic-turned-politician Grant Cogswell (Joel David Moore), whose passion for making the touristy Seattle Monorail a viable commuter option led to a bid for City Council in 2001. “Singles” was released in 1992. In 2012, Seattle STILL hasn’t resolved the issue. That’s twenty years of congestion (both governmental and vehicular). If you lived here, you wouldn’t be home by now.

If you’re already bored to tears reading about transportation in Seattle, you might want to skip “Grassroots.” That’s mostly what it’s about. On the other hand, if you have even a passing interest in political activism, you just may get something out of it anyway.

An antagonistic idealist, Cogswell is tired of seeing his beloved cityscape marred by gridlock. So he enlists his friend, Phil Campbell (Jason Biggs), a freshly unemployed journalist, to be his campaign manager. They assemble a peaceable collective of rag-tag youths and embark on an uphill battle to unseat the deep-seated incumbent who stands in the way of their vision of a traffic-free Seattle.

Based on the book “Zioncheck for President,” written by the real Phil Campbell, “Grassroots” is very much a Seattle film. It’s difficult to imagine this story happening in any other city (except maybe Portlandia). Gyllenhaal (who also co-wrote the script) and cinematographer Sean Porter do an excellent job setting the scene. In fact, the authenticity is almost surreal for a local such as myself (especially since I voted for Cogswell in that very election). Though I found the name-dropping of local businesses and culture a little distracting, it was quite a treat it is to see a Seattle-set film that was actually shot on location. There have been several films shot here as of late, but this is not in keeping with tradition. It would certainly soften the impact for Grant Cogswell to gush about his passion for the Emerald City, whilst gesturing toward Vancouver B.C.

Cogswell’s idealism is contagious. But because of his foul-mouthed abrasiveness, his campaign gets off to a rocky start. He mostly speaks with his outdoor voice, spouting fervent, but not always articulate, speeches. He is, in every way, a foil to his opponent. The incumbent, Richard McIver (Cedric the Entertainer) isn’t a bad guy, but he is a career politician who knows how to work the system to get what he wants. Cogswell is not a politician and the system isn’t working for him, so he sees his campaign as a moral imperative. Politics tends to be very loosely related to actually accomplishing any significant structural change. Grassroots campaigns like Cogswell’s attract people for whom politics is more ideology than paycheck. It’s an indispensable form of checks and balances.

Just when Cogswell’s campaign starts to gather momentum, 9/11 happens and it is temporarily derailed. Gyllenhaal crafts the most accurate and honest cinematic depiction I’ve ever seen of the emotional fallout after helplessly watching those buildings crumble and burn. Seattle is 3000 miles away from Ground Zero, yet our world seemed to come to a halt as everyone tried to process those images and figure out how to carry on. Inevitably, things became divisive, but during those early days, everyone was on the same page. Reportedly one of the bigger moments of artistic license, the movie version of Grant Cogswell decides that what he must do to counteract the destruction is to build that monorail. He delivers this message in a rousing speech to a bunch of stunned canvassers who are suitably inspired. Even if that specific scene never really occurred, elements of his speech still ring exceedingly true.

Not so relevant, however, is a fabricated subplot in which the campaign negatively affects Campbell’s relationship with his live-in girlfriend (Lauren Ambrose). It’s an awkward, unnecessary attempt to insert someone with boobs into the narrative (besides the miniscule part Cobie Smulders has as a monorail activist). Fortunately, it doesn’t detract too much from the more significant themes of passion, perseverance, and community.

Amidst all this seriousness is still a fair amount of comedy. Surprisingly, Jason Biggs is the straight man for much of it. Several jokes have an “in” quality, especially ones involving the weekly hipster rag with which Campbell and Cogswell (along with much of Seattle) have undulating relationships. Nonetheless, a character as idiosyncratic as Cogswell can’t help but produce a couple of laughs from the population at large. People of a certain age will also get a hearty chuckle out of the pre-Smartphone tribulations depicted.

Though “Grassroots” is, first and foremost, a film for the campaign’s contemporaries, it’s also a call-to-action to modern youth everywhere to get involved in local politics. When things aren’t really going our way, it’s easy to forget that every vote really does count.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SIFF Review: Joshua Tree, 1950 – A Portrait of James Dean

2012 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
93 minutes

**

The shorter a star’s career, the less the world learns about them. The less the world learns about a star, the more brilliant and mysterious they seem. We’ll never know what James Dean could have been as an actor. “Joshua Tree, 1951: A Portrait of James Dean” wants us to believe that he could have been one of the greatest in the history of the business, had his craft been allowed to flourish. Unfortunately, Matthew Mishory’s reverent film inadvertently does the man a disservice. The black and white cinematography, by Michael Marius Pessah, is breathtaking, making a Hollywood mogul’s clothing-optional pool party seem every bit as picturesque as the titular dessert. But the pseudo-intellectual dialog combined with James Preston’s stiff acting are so distracting, one comes away with the impression that James Dean was actually worth little more than a pretty face and a roll in the hay.

Writer/director, Matthew Mishory liberally utilizes what they call “artistic license” to profile the actor on the cusp of fame. The loosey-goosey plot follows in a non-linear fashion as Dean navigates the seedy side of the casting couch, has intense candle-lit conversations with his less-than-platonic male roommate and takes method-acting classes. He also embarks on a road trip to the dessert with an aspiring actress and his aforementioned roommate all while having no-strings-attached trysts with whomever asks. These events lead up to Dean’s exodus to Broadway. We never see a successful version of him. If people like Channing Tatum and Megan Fox didn’t exist, this film would make his eventual star status incredulous.

There’s a reason Mishory used the word “portrait” instead of “bio-pic.” He’s made an art house film with an overwhelming emphasis on the word “art” This gives the story a lot of leeway. It’s much harder to criticize art than it is traditional film because the very nature of the format is open to interpretation. Of course, art criticism is not impossible. Lovers of French New Wave cinema and the films of Guy Maddin will enjoy the disjointed, visual poetry format. Others will find it challenging if not annoyingly self-important.

The references to Rimbaud and Hemingway are meant to make the audience see Dean as a great thinker himself. But all of his conversations sound more like pretentious quote-offs, the likes of which you might find at any liberal arts college dormitory at 2am. No one is really making a connection in these conversations. They are merely trying to out-do each other. Perhaps this is what passed for deep thought in 1951 Hollywood (and possibly even today), but it is not fooling anyone who actually studied these authors. At one point, Dean utilizes the phrase “Catch 22” ten years before Joseph Heller coined it in his novel. Obviously, this reflects more poorly on Mishory’s screenwriting than it does on his quasi-fictional character. But it certainly doesn’t help the case that Dean was an intellectual.

The film’s strength is in its visuals. Mishory decorated his film with beautiful, often naked people. There are numerous graphic love scenes involving Dean’s many male and female lovers, which arrive just in time to keep you from getting too bored. Naked butts look terrific on black and white film. There’s an argument to be made for watching with the sound off and the remote in hand. Its beauty is marred whenever it opens its mouth. Bad ADR in points further detracts.

I also have to give Mishory credit for capturing a time and place. The indoor sets are tight and scarce, leaving little opportunity to question the authenticity of the era. And there are few things more timeless than a desert. All you need is an era-appropriate car and cigarette-smoking young actor with a wrinkly forehead to believe that you are with James Dean in 1951. It’s too bad about that script.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SIFF REVIEW: GAYBY

2012 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
89 minutes

****
Does every set of male/female BFFs have a pact of some sort? It certainly seems so. In “Gayby,” the pact is between Jenn and Matt who, in college, agreed that they would breed together if they haven’t found the men of their respective dreams by the time Jenn’s biological clock starts winding down. Loosely based on a real (but unfulfilled) pact he made with a college friend, writer/director Jonathan Lisecki extended his acclaimed short film into a feature-length story. The result is a film that is consistently fun and silly, but never over-the-top and, despite some Hollywood moments, feels quite genuine.

After listening to her sister lament her international adoption troubles, Jenn, a thirty-something hot yoga instructor, decides that she doesn’t have time to keep picking through the New York dating pool. She needs fertile sperm and she needs it now. So she calls upon her best friend, Matt (Matthew Wilkas), to make good on their deal.

Matt is having trouble getting back into dating after a bad breakup. His despair is exacerbated by the fact that his ex works for the very comic publishing company to whom Matt wants to pitch his own book. Worse yet, the ex’s job enables him to keep making “business related” visits to Matt’s comic shop, leaving Matt perpetually on edge. Matt is slightly resistant to the idea, but he tells Jenn he’s game, if only to keep his mind focused on creation instead of destruction. They will raise the baby together and their search for romantic partners will thus be detached from their desire to have a family.

But there’s one caveat. Jenn would like to conceive “the old fashioned way.” This is the one plot point that felt a little forced to me. Jenn never really gives a valid reason for why she wants it this way. I can understand the aversion to the expense and invasiveness of involving doctors. But squeezing a turkey baster full of baby batter into her nether regions is one of the least horrifying things that will happen to her on the road to motherhood. It’s fast, clean and couldn’t be cheaper. Nonetheless, their arrangement provides the comedy gold that comes from a gay man and a straight woman attempting to do what most certainly does not come naturally.

When the first time is not a charm, they realize they are going to need some help. For this, they turn to a number of sources including their friend Nelson. Lisecki himself plays Nelson, a resourceful sort who peppers his advice with the witticisms of a modern-day Oscar Wilde. Jenn seeks help from a naturopath in the form of horny goat weed, which in addition to making her more fertile, also boosts her energy level to eleven and, perhaps unsurprisingly, makes her very horny. Hilarity ensues.

Lisecki is keenly aware of his lead actress’ talents and how to showcase them. Jennifer Harris fully utilizes her role with the physical comedy and eccentric presence of a young Carol Kane. She is most impressive when engaged in vocationally enhanced sex and trying to find ways to expend all her excess energy. Some of Jenn’s antics are so bizarre that they can only be innate to the actress playing her. I hope to see Jennifer Harris again soon (and not relegated to some “best friend” role either).

The supporting cast is chock full of talent and every character gets at least one good line. Lisecki has a real flair for zingers. He gives more than a few to Jenn’s “work best friend,” played with effortless charm by Jack Fervor. Matt and Jenn may have trouble conceiving, but they are lush in the awesome friend department. Refreshingly, none of the deterrents they encounter involve narrow-mindedness of any sort. Their world may be devoid of Mr. Rights, but it is full of judgment-free people, whose arguments hardly ever get more serious than debating Johnny Storm’s sexuality.

Fantastic though it might sound, the plot of “Gayby” is still firmly planted in the real world. Jenn isn’t secretly in love with Matt. But she does love him and he loves her. With archaic laws still in place and adoption an elusive option for even straight couples, Matt and Jenn’s decision is really not all that crazy. Divorce rates suggest that a nuclear family is not necessarily the best scenario for everyone. Jenn and Matt, along with the rest of their social circle, were already a loving family. Why not create a child out of that love? What every kid needs, much more than a married, heterosexual set of parents, is someone to love them and support them unconditionally. Mitt Romney might not agree but, like it or not, this is the new normal. And it seems to be working out just fine.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SIFF Review: Extraterrestrial

2012 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
90 minutes

***

Whenever an alien species invades Earth, there are people who rise up and band together, showing their true quality in the epic fight for survival. And then there are the other guys. Nacho Vigalondo’s (“Timecrimes”) latest film is about the people without a heroic bone in their body and what they get up to during the downtime between the shit and the fan. It’s a bold and original idea, but it seems to promise a little more than it delivers.

Julio (Julian Villagran) and Julia (Michelle Jenner) awake in her apartment, having blackened out the events that put them in bed together. As Julia shoves Julio toward the door, they happen to notice an enormous spacecraft hovering over their unexpectedly deserted city. Something big went down while they were sobering up and they are the last to know. Cell phones are out of commission and the news broadcast urges everyone to remain in their homes. This is the first time sci-fi audiences have ever met the people who followed that advice. Julia’s stalker neighbor, Angel (“The Last Circus” star Carlos Areces, making a career out of creepy, lovelorn characters) also stays behind, most likely to live out his last-man-on-Earth fantasy with Julia. He’s none too pleased to find that Julio has gotten in the way of this.

The only other character in the film is Julia’s boyfriend, Carlos (Raul Cimas) who has traveled some great distance, risking his own safety, to get to her. Carlos is an expat from a traditional sci-fi action film. He’s so obsessed with the idea of saving the day that he is completely oblivious to the love affair that is blossoming between his girlfriend and another man right under his nose. Angel is eager to spill the beans, but Carlos runs off to be a hero before that can happen. Besides, he doesn’t really seem like he would even care that much. He’s far more concerned with events occurring in the world outside.

The only trouble with “Extraterrestrial” is that you don’t really understand what kind of movie it is until it’s over. The frequent jokes and antics clue you in to the satire, but the title implies more (or at least some) participation from otherworldly beings. Instead, we spend the entire time in a “Three’s Company” episode without even a peep from Mork.

Nearly everything in “Extraterrestrial” takes place in Julia and Carlos’ apartment. In another movie, this would create a claustrophobic tone. But because of the tomfoolery between Julio, Julia and Angel, it actually ends up bringing the whole thing into sitcom territory, complete with a wacky neighbor. Angel is increasingly incensed by the goings on between Julio and Julia and makes it his mission to destroy them. He is a cartoon character who is mortally offended when they undervalue a gift of poached peaches. The actors occasionally seem like they want to shift to a more serious tone, particularly when Carlos reveals that the aliens are rumored to walk among them in human form, but their characters’ primary motivations prevent it. They are far too invested in their little love triangle, which, ironically, doesn’t really involve Julia’s boyfriend.

Julio and Julia are perfect for each other. They are so self-absorbed that they can’t really be bothered with the giant spaceship hovering above their city. Angel shares their dubious priorities. These people would die wordlessly in any other alien invasion movie.

“Extraterrestrial” is the story of alien weapon fodder. They’ll sit and wait for what’s to come because they have no other choice. But while they’re awaiting instructions from their new overlords, they might as well engage in some romantic shenanigans.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).

SIFF Review: Paul Williams Still Alive

2012 SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL SELECTION!
Unrated
84 minutes

**

If you think about it, “Paul Williams Still Alive” is a somewhat insulting title for a documentary about the diminutive, floppy haired jack of all entertainment trades who served as director Stephen Kessler’s childhood idol. In his new film, Kessler never misses a chance to call Williams a has-been, even while he professes his own undying devotion. This is probably the real reason Kessler didn’t have any friends when he was growing up. That may sound like a cheap shot, but Kessler is the one who invites the audience into his personal life. There are few things more narcissistic than making a documentary about you, which is probably why Stephen Kessler tried to make it seem like his film is actually about Paul Williams. A more accurate title would have been “Stephen Kessler: Please Notice Me”.

It’s possible that Kessler feels a little guilty about this. He leaves in several instances of Williams scolding him for attempting to insinuate drama and discontent where there is none. It’s true that the composer behind some of the most beautiful songs ever written (including several Carpenter’s songs and “The Rainbow Connection”) disappeared for a while to battle drug and alcohol addiction. But he left all that behind almost twenty years ago and has since found an inner peace on the road, playing to small but enthusiastic crowds as he travels all around the world with his wife.

Kessler tries the best he can to drum up Behind the Music-style melodrama, but Williams is having none of it. Kessler has no idea how to gently coax an honest moment out of his subject, opting for a passive-aggressive approach that is clearly messing with Williams’ harmony. So Kessler instead turns the camera on himself, making it the story of how a Paul Williams super fan came to fulfill his childhood dream of professionally pestering his hero. If you go into the film with zero knowledge of the documentarian or subject, you will know more about the filmmaker within the first fifteen minutes than you will about the person you tuned in to see.

To be fair, it is Williams who suggests that Kessler officially join the narrative, but I kind of think it’s because he wanted a break from interviews full of leading questions. Eventually, Williams seems to warm to Kessler, as they bond over a taste for squid and the nervous giddiness of traveling through terrorist-ridden Philippine jungles where Americans aren’t super popular. That’s more of a testament to Williams’ magnanimous personality than it is to misconceived first impressions.

I have to give the editor credit. He seems to sense when Kessler overstays his welcome and distracts with footage from Williams’ heyday. These clips are the real reason to watch the film. He’s had guest spots on a million TV shows (hyperbole) and has been working pretty steadily, even throughout his wet years.

This is a man who was on Johnny Carson fifty times (not hyperbole) and acted in several films including the “Smokey and the Bandit” series and “Battle for the Planet of the Apes.” He also wrote some incredible soundtracks including Brian De Palma’s ahead-of-it’s-time camp classic “Phantom of the Paradise” and the goddamned “Muppet Movie.” Most notably, he was a hit-maker for Three Dog Night, Elvis, Bowie, Sinatra and Barbara Streisand, with whom he also shares an Academy Award for “Evergreen.”

With flamboyant clothes, mop top hair and elfin features, he had a very unusual look, even by seventies standards. With no Channing Tatumness to fall back on, he achieved success with pure talent and charisma. Not many people can say that. A man this accomplished is certainly worthy of cinematic celebration. I hope that someday, a filmmaker comes along who can give that to him.

Originally published on FilmThreat.com (now defunct).