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Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 8

The strange and sad case of Samuel Byck was the subject of the 2004 film The Assassination of Richard Nixon (two asses, get it?) and the source of last week's quiz. Not many people championed the film (Filmbrain did), and its success was rather short lived, which is a shame for it was easily one of Sean Penn's greatest performances, and one of the strongest American directorial debuts in years. As for the connection to Oliver Stone's Nixon, well....... For this week's quiz we say farewell to Nixonian Washington and hello to Ms. Jessica Lange. But it what film can you find a cheesecake photo such as this, and what possible connection could it have to a film about a would-be assassin? Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Shohei Imamura, 1926-2006

"I am interested in the relationship between the lower part of the human body and the lower part of the social structure." — Shohei Imamura After a quiet and relaxing three-day weekend, I awoke this morning to read the sad news that filmmaker Shohei Imamura had died at the age of 79. In films like Pigs and Battleships, The Insect Woman, The Pornographers, and Intentions of Murder, Imamura explored the underbelly of Japanese society with an almost anthropological and documentary-like approach. Later films concentrated on tradition and myth, and their demise at the hands of both Western- and modernization. Out of this period came his most famous film, the Palme d'Or winning Ballad of Narayama. As great as Ballad of Narayama is, I've always felt that his true masterpiece is The Profound Desire of the Gods (aka Kuragejima - Legends from a Southern Island). This epic portrait of the near-primitive and incestuous lives of the inhabitants of one of Japan's Southern Islands is Imamura's most powerful and disturbing work, and easily one of the ten greatest (and most unforgettable) films of all time. For over forty years, Imamura offered glimpses into a Japan rarely seen in cinema, and he did so with an unparalleled humanism that can be felt in every frame. His death is a great loss to global cinema. One of my favorite Imamura quotes comes from an interview in Positif: "I show true things using fictional techniques but maintaining truthfulness — that's where my approach differs from Ozu. He wanted to make film more aesthetic. I want to make it more real. He aspired toward a cinematic nirvana. When I was his assistant, I was very opposed to him, but now, whilst still not liking his films, I'm much more tolerant. As for me, I'd like to destroy this premise that cinema is fiction." (Issue 291)

Being Takeshi Kitano

"For those who are about to watch Takeshis', please stop all your cerebral activities and 'feel' and 'experience' the movie. And after you have done that, I would appreciate if you would watch it again before you start analyzing it." -- Kitano Takeshi [Paris, 31. August, 2005] There's a scene in Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale where a group of terrified schoolchildren are about to learn why they have been brought to a deserted island against their will. In walks Takeshi Kitano, which leads to even greater panic and nervous cries of "Kitano!" Are the kids simply shocked by the appearance of a former teacher, or is it a result of finding themselves at the mercy of Takeshi Kitano (or one of his characters)? It's an amusing little in-joke that is explored in greater detail in Kitano's latest film, Takeshis', which finds the director confronting the blur between his on-screen and real life personas. The apostrophe in the title is appropriately placed, for there have been (and continue to be) multiple Takeshis -- from Beat Takeshi, the name he goes by for his comedic television and other acting work, to Takeshi Kitano, the filmmaker, poet, painter, novelist, video game designer, and film critic -- Takeshis' can be seen as belonging to all of them. Yet even after two viewings (as the director requested) it's still hard to say if the film is truly his 8 1/2, or merely another Secret Life of Walter Mitty-esque fantasy, much like his 1995 comedy Getting Any?. If you've never seen a Kitano film, it's unadvisable to begin here, for much of the material in Takeshis' directly references his previous films. From cast members he's worked with in the past (even Zomahoun makes an appearance), to situations, character types, themes, and even locales, there's quite a bit that will make little sense without a frame of reference -- but then again, even to a Kitano completeist, there's plenty that leaves you scratching your head in bewilderment. There are two Kitanos in Takeshis' -- there's Beat Takeshi, the actor, clad in expensive European suit, with arrogance to match. He gambles with yakuza members, barks at his staff, and chides a fellow actor (Kitano regular Susumu Terajima) for not being formal enough when addressing him. Then there's Kitano, a quiet, humble, towheaded (think Zatoichi) aspiring actor who works in a convenience store. Like a twisted Wizard of Oz, all of the characters in Beat's "real" world appear in Kitano's, albeit in different roles. Though unlike Dorothy's Technicolor fantasy, it's never clear if we are witnessing two parallel worlds, or if one is nothing more than the daydream/nightmare of the other. The director's trademark jump cuts are put to heavy use here, where they are often used as brief flash-forwards to identical moments in the other Takeshi's existence.

Frustrated with his inability to find work as an actor (one casting director rejects him because he "dyed his hair blonde, like Kitano"), the meek doppelganger slowly evolves into a hard-boiled Kitano character, thanks to a series of coincidences and circumstances you'd expect to find in....well, a Takeshi Kitano film. The film's absurdity level rises in parallel with Kitano's transformation, and there are several moments of true comedic genius. Much of the humor comes in twos -- from the dual ramen chefs who yell at customers in (almost) unison, to the pair of sumos who pop up everywhere (often in drag), to the couple who are permanent fixtures in Kitano's hallway, and who do nothing but mock him and create silly variations of classic Hollywood actors' names -- all extremely appropriate, given the schizophrenic nature of the film itself. Takeshi has referred to Takeshis' as both a suicide and a funeral. Claiming he is through with violent gangster films, he gives the genre a grand farewell with a handful of over-the-top bullet ballets, where characters continually shoot each other with no effect. It's a grand bit of self-parody, but is it sincere? Can this truly be an end to the stylized violence that he does so well? Only time will tell. Like Dolls, Takeshis' relies more on elliptical structures than straightforward narrative, though here he cranks the self-reflexivity up a notch. In fact, one might have to view Takeshis' as an exorcism, or cathartic exercise, to explain the occasional lapses into self-indulgence. There are sequences that, while interesting, feel as if their significance lies with the director alone -- including a giant caterpillar, several lengthy tap-dancing numbers (à la Zatoichi), and a song by famed female impersonator Miwa Akihiro (Black Lizard). Some have claimed that Takeshi made the film more for himself than for his audience, and it's an argument worth considering. There are elements of self-criticism and self-doubt throughout the film, including recurring clown imagery, something Takeshi fears he resembles. Perhaps he needed to indulge in a look back in order to move forward. Watching Takeshis' is like being presented with a challenging yet thrilling puzzle, and the director's suggestion to feel rather than think is sage advice indeed. And though the film is immensely entertaining (and stands up well to repeated viewings), it seems premature, almost by design, to call it a success. Is Takeshis' truly the death knell it purports to be, and will Kitano successfully be able to re-invent himself, or is it all just a bit of fun? We'll have to wait until his next film to find out for sure.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 7

With the President's approval rating on an ever-increasing downward slide, I thought it would be a fitting tribute to use a screen capture from a film about the man whose record Bush might just beat -- Mr. 29% himself, Nixon. Though not one of Oliver Stone's more popular films, I've always considered it one of his most interesting, and a rather fair portrait, given the director's politics. At around three and a half hours (the DVD version runs an additional twenty minutes longer than the theatrical release), it's never boring, and there isn't a piece of Tricky Dick's career that's left unexplored. The connection I had in mind to Good Night, and Good Luck was the archival footage of Senator Joe McCarthy, but as several of you pointed out, there was also similar footage of Eisenhower and Robert Kennedy in both films. For this week's quiz -- not a whole lot to go on -- a reel-to-reel tape player, and a copy of the book that pretty much begat the self-help movement. Name the film, and, for a bonus point, its connection to Nixon. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Lost Horizon Found

Inspired by a wonderful birthday tribute to Burt Bacharach over at That Little Round Headed Boy, I decided to seek out a copy of the 1973 musical remake of Lost Horizon — that notorious box-office bomb that was hated by critics and audiences alike — but whose soundtrack contains some of Burt's most complex, yet memorable tunes. I was determined to write a strong defense of a film that has very few supporters — a film that prompted Pauline Kael to begin her review with, "To lambaste a Ross Hunter production is like flogging a sponge", and which Roger Ebert declared has "the worst single piece of choreography you've ever seen in your life. The dancers march about and twirl their scarves as if Leni Reifenstahl's Triumph of the Will had somehow been gotten pregnant by Busby Berkeley." Ouch. Unfortunately, time has not been kind to Lost Horizon, and watching it after all these years confirmed that I had been clinging to innocent childhood impressions, for only now have I realized that Shangri-La is a utopia that only a conservative white male could love. In the winter of 1973, decked out in a brown wash-n-wear polyester suit (and paisley shirt), I attended the gala NYC premiere of Lost Horizon with my father. Though the klieg lights and red carpet might be little more than the embellished memories of an eight year-old, I distinctly remember tugging at my father's hand, terrified that we were about to see something called Walking Tall, which was currently playing at the theater. (Come on, Joe Don Baker is scary!) It wasn't until the lights dimmed and the film began (with its majestic opening shot of the Himalayas) that I felt safe and sure that I was not about to see an angry guy with a piece of wood. A remake of the 1937 Frank Capra classic (based on James Hilton's novel), Charles Jarrott's Lost Horizon is a fairly-faithful adaptation of the original, though with the added attraction of song and dance. (ACT UP founder Larry Kramer penned the screenplay.) The film opens with our five lead characters barely making a safe escape from an unidentified war zone. Leading the group is diplomat Richard Conway (Peter Finch), an instantly likeable take-charge kind of guy. With him are his uptight younger brother George (Michael York, who looks smashing in a white turtleneck), a pill-popping suicidal Newsweek photojournalist (Sally Kellerman), a crabby engineer (George Kennedy), and a third-rate comic (dancing funnyman Bobby Van). After crash landing in the snowy Himalayas, they are rescued and brought to a hidden valley in the mountains — Shangri-La — where it's always sunny and warm, and whose citizens live long, healthy lives in quiet moderation. The inhabitants of Shangri-La don't seem to do much. There's no commerce, so no need for money. They work the land, though aren't sophisticated enough to figure out irrigation or damn building. There's virtually no signs of indigenous culture, and everything that exists was brought in by porters over the years. Citizens don't argue or fight — if two men want the same woman, the one who loves her less should step aside for the other man. (The woman's thoughts on the matter are irrelevant.) The ruling class live in hilltop palaces, and though they appear monastic, don't seem to be actively engaged in the spiritual life. The entire place is ruled over by The High Lama (a very old Charles Boyer), a nearly two-hundred year-old Belgian who spends his days in a dark room and speaks of times to come, where the meek shall truly inherit the earth. Day to day affairs are handled by Chang (Sir John Gielgud, with taped eyelids), who is full of advice for our five strandees, some of whom wish to leave Shangri-La, while the others could care less about returning to civilization. There's an overwhelming sense of chasteness to the whole place, and sex seems for purposes of procreation only, as evinced by the song Living Together, Growing Together, which could easily become the anthem for the anti-gay-marriage-pro-Christian-family right. (It's interesting to note that Kellerman's character was a depressed prostitute in the original. Why she's been changed to a depressed photojournalist is a mystery.) This is a very dull Shangri-La — where neither education nor arts are emphasized, and people are simply....nice. (What Bush & pals must envision for an ideal America.)

Of course, at eight years-old I picked up on none of this. I was entranced by Shangri-La, and all I wanted was to be one of the children in Liv Ullmann's class, singing The World is a Circle, swinging my arms, and rolling down a grassy hill. I left the theater that night convinced that I had seen the greatest film ever made, and for months to follow I must have listened to the soundtrack over 500 times. I never missed a televised showing of it, and though the magic had worn off by the last time I saw the film (in 1980), I still had a soft spot for it — even if those late night televison broadcasts chopped the film up into ten-minute blocks, sandwiched between ads for C.A.R.E. and Beautiful Mt. Airy Lodge (Your Host With the Most in The Poconos). Seeing the film again after all these years, the first thing I noticed was the bizarre casting choices. It's one of the few musicals where most of the cast members can neither sing nor dance. With the exception of Bobby Van, Sally Kellerman, and James Shigeta, all other actors are dubbed by playback singers. The choreography by Hermes Pan (two gods in one!) is jaw-droppingly awful, with stilted, lumbering movements that make everybody look incredibly uncomfortable. Bobby Van does do have a few moments to shine, though he was well past his prime in '73. There's virtually no chemistry between any of three couples that form -- Liv Ullmann and Peter Finch are too wrapped up in self-doubt (expressed via musical internal monologues) and an overwhelming sense of "what am I doing in this film?" to express any outward emotion. Michael York and Olivia Hussey make for an attractive young couple, but there's not even a hint of romantic or erotic charge between them. And nobody, nobody should ever have to make out with doughy-guy George Kennedy. Sally Kellerman is truly a brave actress for doing so. As a musical, it breaks with form in that it is almost a full hour before the first song is heard. (Jacques Rivette would do the same thing years later with Haut/Bas/Fragile.) But what a first song it is — Share the Joy, a sitar, brass, and strings affair that reveals Burt's classical training (under Darius Milhaud). The weak link in the songs is Hal David, whose overly simple, often-expository lyrics are nothing like his wonderful pop collaborations with Bacharach. The aforementioned choreography does nothing to help the musical numbers, which at times play out like a pan-Asian Sound of Music. Still, with songs this good, it's easy to forgive the shortcomings. Watching Sally Kellerman and Olivia Hussey sing and dance their way through a library (The Things I Will Not Miss) still puts a smile on my face. It's hardly surprising that Lost Horizon was a flop in the tumultuous early 70s. Between the Vietnam War, the oil crisis, Watergate, and rising tensions in the Middle East, it's hardly surprising that audiences had little use for a musical utopian fantasy. The pacifist philosophy of Hilton's novel — a mixture of Buddhist and Christian values — is noble, but its emphasis on moderation and isolation is a bit antiquated. But even though my feelings about the film are a far cry from what they were twenty-five years ago, I still find it to be an immensely enjoyable, charming, and entertaining piece of kitsch, and one that I'll return to, if just for the songs. Though there's no official DVD release of Lost Horizon, a good quality bootleg DVD sourced from the Pioneer Laserdisc is readily available from a popular Internet auction site for about $10.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 6

Seems like last week's quiz was easier that I imagined -- an avalanche of submissions, with only two incorrect guesses. George Clooney's Good Night, and Good Luck was the biopic of 2005, but it unfortunately failed to make as big a splash as Cash or Capote did. The connection I had in mind to Eros was of course Robert Downey Jr., who appeared in both films, but the Steven Soderbergh connection that most of you came up with was equally acceptable. As we enter the second half of the round, the quizzes and connections will (in theory) begin to grow increasingly more difficult. Though there's no question as to the identity of the Brit pictured below, figuring out which one of his sixty-five films it comes from, and what it could possibly have in common with Good Night, and Good Luck, might be somewhat of a challenge. Submit your answers to this address. Good night, and good luck!

He Said / She Said

By all outward appearances, 2005's Rules of Dating comes across as yet another in a long line of quirky but amusing Korean rom-coms. From the playfully cute poster, to the film's opening shot of an attractive couple sitting on a park bench beneath the lush splendor of autumnal trees (a de facto standard in contemporary Korean romances), all signs indicate that we are about to see "this year's My Sassy Girl". That is, until we hear the opening line, where the man turns towards the woman, looks into her eyes and asks, "Are you wet?" The sexual candor of the opening moments sets the stage for a film that can hardly be considered rom-com, or even rom-dram. Rules of Dating is something entirely different — an occasionally humorous but somewhat provocative essay on sexual politics and gender inequality in contemporary South Korea that still manages to be romantic, but in an uncomfortable way. It's Hong Sang-soo by way of Nora Ephron, with a touch of David Mamet thrown in for good measure. [NB: Rules of Dating is a difficult film to discuss without giving away some plot details, so be warned that some spoilers follow.] Kang Hye-jung (the female lead in Oldboy) plays Hong, a twenty-seven year-old student teacher who begins working for Yoo-rim (Park Hae-il, Jealousy is My Middle Name), an English teacher at an inner-city high school. (That she is older than Yoo-rim already casts her in a suspicious light, and she is asked to account for her post-collegiate years.) Immediately smitten by her, it's not long before Yoo-rim is pressuring her to go out drinking after work, even though she is engaged to be married, and he is in the sixth year of a relationship. Yoo-rim's emotional maturity is on par with the pubescent boys he teaches, and his machismo swagger and phony bravado is undermined by an irritating boyish charm. After several bottles of soju, Yoo-rim suggests the two of them enter into a sexual relationship — no love, no emotion, just screwing. What begins as blatant sexual harassment ultimately ends as date rape, and it is from here that the film begins to tread on very thin ice as it follows the complicated relationship that ensues between Yoo-rim and Hong. It's a contentious premise, but unlike the misogynistic fantasies of Kim Ki-duk, director Han Jae-rim uses their story to offer a critique of societal double standards when it comes to affaires de coeur. In the game of he said/she said, it is the man who invariably emerges as the victor, as we learn when we hear of Hong's past relationship with an older, married man — a scandalous affair in which she was accused of being a psychotic stalker — a false charge that left her both ostracized and traumatized. That her lover's story (told for reasons of self-preservation) was accepted without question seems indicative of the problem of disparity between the sexes in modern day Korea. For though things are changing (rapidly, some might say), South Korean women are still feeling the effects of a Confucian patriarchy that stems all the way back to the 14th century. Yoo-rim's discovery of Hong's past has a (somewhat) profound effect on him, though by this point it's too late. The parallels between Hong's past and present are dangerously obvious, but can she do anything to prevent a repeat of the scorn and humiliation she suffered? It's here that the film turns into Mamet-lite — think Oleanna, but far more superficial. It's a grand third act that is unfortunately marred by an improbable (but crowd-pleasing) epilogue that lessens the impact of the social critique. Personal reaction to the film will no doubt be influenced by where you stand on sexual politics — is Hong calculating and vindictive, or are her actions more than justified?  With its awkward relationships and flawed male characters, Rules of Dating is the first Korean film I've come across that appears to have been influenced by Hong Sang-soo. Yet unlike Hong's minimalistic, astute portraits, director Han Jae-rim tells his story within a traditional  narrative framework, utilizing conventions of the romantic comedy/melodrama. His characters lack the naturalism of Hong's — Yoo-rim feels like a scripted character. The shaky, hand-held camerawork seems a tad overdone, but the use of jump-cuts within scenes (ranging from mere seconds to several minutes) is an effective device that is more functional than stylistic. The film's real strength lies in its two lead actors. Park Hae-il makes a wonderful slimeball, and fans of Jealousy is My Middle Name will be amazed at the transformation. Kang Hye-jung, no longer the doe-eyed youngster she was in Oldboy, is remarkable as Hong, whose emotional range in the film couldn't be any wider. Like Moon So-ri, she has the ability to reveal so much yet at the same time keep just enough hidden. (She will next be seen in a lead role in Pen-Ek Ratanaruang's upcoming Invisible Waves, playing against Tadanobu Asano.) Rules of Dating, while flawed, is still an impressive debut feature that came out in a year full of disappointments. Controversial, but not exceedingly so, it's an unromantic romance that isn't afraid to take an honest look at the darker side of sex and relationships, including date rape, sexual harassment, stalking, and invasion of privacy. Neither feminist diatribe nor myopic male fantasy, it's situated somewhere in the middle. Though it will no doubt be offensive to some, it clearly doesn't take sides, and provides no easy answers to the difficult questions it raises.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 5

While creating last week's quiz, I was certain that the undeniably Wong Kar-wai-ish shot of Gong Li would result in many guesses of 2046, yet only a few fell into that trap. Most were able to recognize Ms. Li from The Hand, Wong's entry in the disappointing Eros omnibus from 2004. Consisting of three erotically themed segments (directed by Wong, Antonioni, and Soderbergh), it was a film with great potential that just....fizzled. Though there were many acceptable connections between Eros and Happy Together (Wong, Christopher Doyle, Chen Chang, etc.), nobody picked up on the Caetano Veloso link, whose music is heard in both films. With three directors and an international cast to choose from, there were many possibilities of films to link to for this week's quiz. As we're still in the first half of the round, I'll keep it relatively simple. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Tribeca Report 3 - Asia

As mentioned in my first Tribeca post, East Asia was severely under-represented at this year's festival. Not a single Korean feature to be found, and only one from Japan. Could the festival programmers truly not find any worthwhile films, or was there nobody on the selection committee who specialized in Asian films? Surely Sa-Kwa (with Moon So-ri), Git, or even the Pan-Asian musical Perhaps Love would have made a nice addition to the festival (especially if that meant one less unimaginative American indie). Still, the few East Asian films I did catch were interesting, with one of them (Hanging Garden) turning out to be a highlight of the festival. Toshiaki Toyoda's Hanging Garden, which takes a sharply critical and occasionally comic look at the dysfunction of a contemporary Japanese family, recalls such similarly themed films as Yoshimitsu Morita's The Family Game, Sogo Ishii's The Crazy Family, and even Takashi Miike's Visitor Q. Though the dynamic is familiar (salaryman father, housewife mother, and two teenaged children), it's clear from the opening moments, when daughter Mana (Anne Suzuki) asks her parents where she was conceived, that the Kyobashi family is anything but conventional. The family live by the rule that there are no secrets between them, and that no topic is taboo for discussion. And though they do openly speak of matters that most Japanese families would consider anathema, they are of course all involved in activities they would rather keep hidden. The father is conducting multiple extramarital affairs, most of which take place at the Wild Monkeys love hotel, where daughter Mana also happens to be exploring her newfound sexuality. Young Ko is a typical otaku, who divides his time between his computer and feeble attempts at sleeping with his beautiful tutor Mina, clearly a surrogate for his sister. At the family's core is Eriko, the perfect housewife who hides a lifetime of pent-up emotions and psychological damage behind a permanent, but eerie, smile. Though normally known for its rich culture and tradition, the Japan of Hanging Garden appears as rootless as the titular plants. The film is set entirely in an edge city, complete with sterile hi-rises, Starbucks, and shopping malls offering the latest western products; where the dominant item on the landscape is an enormous ferris wheel. In fact, the aforementioned love hotel is the closest we get to a cultural artifact. Toyoda never allows the humor to overpower the story, nor does he expect the drama to be taken too seriously, and the shifts in tone are as smooth as the pendular camera movements employed at key moments in the film. Hanging Garden isn't a masterpiece, but unlike other films that have put the modern Japanese family under the microscope, it avoids absurdist situations and/or overly black humor in its attempt at social criticism. It's even genuinely touching at times — that is, when it's not making you feel extremely uncomfortable.

What Ying Liang's lower-than-low budget Taking Father Home (Bei Ya Zi De Nan Hai) lacks in style and technical sophistication is more than made up for in its subject matter and content, for it shows us a side of China that is rarely, if ever, seen on film. Opening with a thank-you to the cast and crew (all of whom worked without pay), the film begins in a tiny village in the Sichuan province whose population is about to be forcibly relocated due to the construction of an industrial park. Against his mother's wishes, seventeen year-old Xu Yun sets off to the city (Zi Gong) to find his father who abandoned them six years earlier. Without a single Yuan in his pocket, but with two white ducks strapped to his back, Xu Yun sets off on his quest. Along the way he will meet thieves, thugs, and other individuals corrupted by the new quasi-capitalist society. Shot without government approval (or even knowledge), director Liang pulls no punches in lamenting the end of traditional communal village life, and explicitly criticizing the harsh, corrupt, self-centered necessity of survival in the city — where the serenity of nature has been replaced by seemingly endless confrontation. Propaganda is clearly still a powerful tool, for the film is full of optimistic but blatantly false radio reports of economic growth and prosperity — all while city occupants are being forced to flee due to an impending flood. The China of Taking Father Home is one that values progress over humanity — where the human toll of a free market economy is of little concern. Xu Yun can almost be viewed as an allegorical figure of the contrast between old world and new — though his time in the city is brief, he leaves it a far different person than he was when he arrived. Though the film's technical limitations are noticeable (inexpensive camera, poor sound design), and the acting is stilted, Liang's ability to create an emotionally powerful story is impressive, even if it relies a bit too much on unlikely coincidences. Liang does tend to let shots linger on longer than necessary, but this might have been less noticeable had it been shot on film instead of video. Taking Father Home was one of the better debut features at the Tribeca Film Festival, and a perfect example of what can be accomplished for under $5,000.

Sort of an Indonesian Big Love, Nia Dinata's Love For Share was a huge crowd-pleaser at the TFF. A feminist triptych of tales about women involved in polygamous relationships in modern-day Indonesia that takes a surprisingly light approach to the rather heavy subject of women and their role in the Muslim religion. The three stories (which are linked via chance encounters) address the effect of polygamy on the wives, and each is told exclusively from their perspective. In the first, and most serious of the three, a middle-aged gynecologist learns after many years of marriage that her husband has a second wife. Torn between her pride and devotion to her religion, she soon learns to accept the situation, though she is determined to strengthen the relationship between her husband and their teenaged son, who has little interest in either the Muslim religion or polygamy. In the second story, Siti, a young village girl, is brought to Jakarta as the third wife in a family that is already too large for their tiny flat. Lack of space and lack of privacy naturally draw the women close together, and soon Siti realizes her love is directed not towards her husband, but to one of the other wives. The final chapter stars model-turned-actress Dominique as Ming, a young waitress who is having an affair with her married boss. As Catholics, polygamy isn't an option, so Ming must decide if she wants to waste her youth on this man, or pursue a career in film. The film grows progressively lighter throughout, and by the time we get to Ming's story, we are bordering on Rom-Com territory. It's all quite charming, but there's a sense of reluctance — as if the director feared she would alienate a foreign audience if she scraped a bit deeper beneath the surface. Dinata is a talented director, with a style reminiscent of early Wong Kar-wai, though more straightforward in her narrative approach. Love For Share is a fine film, and one that deserves to find an international audience — I'm just hoping her future projects will be a bit more sublime.

Tribeca Report 2 - The Misses

With a lineup of nearly two hundred films (almost double from last year's festival), it goes without saying that not all will be excellent. However, it seems (based on both personal experience and conversations with nearly everybody I've run into) that the disappointments outweigh the gems by a surprising ratio. Many of the films I saw were simply average -- films like Wah-Wah, Crime Novel, Pittsburgh, and Alone With Her -- all were entertaining, and not entirely lacking in interest, but at the same time almost instantly forgotten. In other words, not the kind of films I'd expect to discover at a festival. Yet perhaps it's wrong of me to expect a lineup akin to the New York, Berlin, or Rotterdam festivals. This raises an additional question -- does NYC truly need a festival of this size? During the two weeks of the TFF, there was also the opportunity to see a dozen Naruse films, Melville's Army of Shadows, an impressive African Film Festival, an Altman retrospective, and not to mention the releases of The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, Three Times, and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. Were two hundred additional films really necessary?

At half the size, the festival would still be large enough to be classified a "big" event, and would have forced the selection committee to pare down the selections -- some of which, quite frankly, didn't belong in an international film festival. One such film was Metro, part of the NY, NY Narrative Feature competition. Directed by Adolfo Doring (cinematographer on Capturing the Friedmans, and director of a pair of Hootie & The Blowfish videos), Metro takes place in a New York City awash in orange-hued sunsets, where attractive young women do little but talk on the phone and pursue careers as models, actresses, filmmakers, photographers, etc. There's not a single male character to be found in the film, which, while an interesting concept, leaves us with little more than 105 minutes of male fantasy that tries very hard to be anything but. (The film's gaze couldn't be any more masculine if it tried.) The women in Doring's world hail from all over the globe -- there's Tina, a whiney, rail-thin supermodel from the Midwest who has been forced into her career by her family. Anke is a cloyingly naive German woman who speaks of life in East Germany, even though she would have been approximately seven when the Wall fell. Chikako, from Japan, lounges around all day listening to garage rock and masturbating to pictures of Tina (such character development!), while Amber hangs out in Japanese supermarkets and photographs the cool food packages. Finally there's Lila and Tia, who are working on a documentary film about women and television. Doring's characters talk much, but say little, as evinced by the dozen or so one-sided telephone conversations that take place every few minutes. Serving as neither expository device, nor a means of furthering character development, they consist mostly of, "Hi....Really?....No!....You're kidding!.....When?....", ad infinitum. It's clear that Doring wasn't interested in creating a traditional narrative, but he makes the mistake of equating under-written characters with naturalism. Unfortunately, there's nothing that distinguishes one character from another, other than their career goal, and perhaps Lila's occasional tough New Yorker stance. They talk alike, act alike, and drift like waifs through the city in an almost somnambulistic state. Metro may represent Doring's idealized world of women, but even as fantasy, it's pretty lifeless.

Unlike Metro, Todd Robinson's Lonely Hearts isn't a small, self-made indie, but rather a big budget period piece with bankable stars. However, unlike Doring, Robinson takes no chances as a director, and the end result is a formulaic, cookie-cutter policier that offers not even a hint of imagination. That there's already been some "Oscar contender" buzz around the festival shows how out of touch I am with mainstream Hollywood tastes. Lonely Hearts is a re-working of the true story of the Lonely Hearts Killers -- Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez, who, posing as brother and sister, robbed and killed, wealthy widows who had fallen under the seductive spell of Fernandez. Their story has been told in three films -- The Honeymoon Killers (1970, the best of the bunch), Lonely Hearts (1991), and the Mexican film Deep Crimson (1996). Whereas the other films were told from the killers POV, Robinson splits the story between the killers and the two Long Island detectives who pursued them around the country, Elmer C. Robinson (John Travolta) and Charles Hildebrandt (James Gandolfini). With a screenplay that reads like a Robert McKee wet dream, the sordid story of Beck and Fernandez has been transformed into a syrupy drama about a detective (Travolta) coping with his wife's suicide and ever-increasing emotional distance from his teenaged son. (The director happens to be the grandson of detective Robinson, thus adding a level of personal involvement in the drama.) Fans of true-crime stories will no doubt find the casting of Salma Hayek as Martha Beck somewhat odd. The real-life Beck was a rather unattractive 200 pound woman, which made the dynamic of her relationship with Fernandez (played here by Jared Leto) that much more interesting. That Beck has been transformed into a curvaceous, lusty Mexican beauty in form fitting dresses doesn't exactly leave us wondering why Fernandez is so drawn to her. But as a famous producer once declared, audiences don't want to pay money to see ugly people. The beautification of Martha Beck is only one of the film's many problems. Robinson does a poor job of directing his actors, and they are often left reciting his third-rate dialog ("Hell's coming home for Christmas") with a burning sense of urgency that is entirely unnecessary. As a fellow critic observed, Travolta spends the entire film looking as if he has a bad case of acid reflux. Gandolfini doesn't fare much better, and his character portrayal is little more than Tony Soprano as a 40s gumshoe. But what ultimately makes Lonely Hearts so enervating is its use of the Fernandez-Beck story as mere backdrop to the larger, saccharine domestic drama, which teaches us that there's nothing like capital punishment to heal the rift between father and son.