HotDocs 2008 #7: Asses and Art

I’m not sure if it’s because we’re on day seven of a ten-day festival and people are just getting tired and cranky but, man, are some folks getting a little asshatty. Rude. Obnoxious. There have been a few random moments of self-indulgent, rather discourteous behavior – like the guy sitting one seat over who refused to turn off his cell phone and thus had its tiny, b*r*i*g*h*t glowing blue screen shining like a beacon in the dark while he text messaged – but in the past couple of days this sort of thing seems to have multiplied. And it’s almost always at the Cumberland!

The other day, two rather burly men wanted to get into the row I was in. I was sitting at the end of the row and, because my brain is now wired to shoot me out of my seat to let people pass the instant it seems like someone wants in, I immediately got up and let them pass. A few seats over sat an older fellow who wasn’t quite as speedy. Rather than wait for him to move his feet or get up (for those unfamiliar with the Cumberland, there’s zero leg room and no way for someone to pass without seat occupants standing), the first of the two burly guys just shoved right through, literally climbing over the seated man and banging his knees in the process. The seated man was noticably peeved and told the “climber” to just hang on for a second, but no. Climber kept climbing. Seated man was very angry. Second burly guy, thank goodness, waited for room before he moved. “Your friend is a jerk!” said seated man as burly guy #2 passed.

Then today, there was a huge asshat of an older woman – with a loud, nasal voice and a serious case of entitlement. There are a pair of seats in the Cumberland’s HotDocs theatre that are reserved for people with mobility issues and their companions. They’re great seats, but the point is that they’re positioned so that someone with mobility issues has room for his/her wheelchair or crutches or what have you...and can still sit beside his/her friends. I got to the theatre fairly early for the screening, so it was almost empty. I noticed a man sitting in one of these special seats and, next to him on the floor (and in front of the second seat), lay his adorable golden-retriever service dog. Sleeping. The man had a hearing aid and the dog had one of those seeing-eye-dog harnesses, so it was clearly not his “pet.” (If it was, they wouldn’t have let it inside in the first place.) I sat down in the row in front of him.

So, the theatre starts to fill up. A lot. Seats are at a premium. All of a sudden, the loud, nasal voice of the asshat woman pierces through the din, annoyed.

“Is your dog gonna sit there?”

No reply.

More annoyed, “EXCUUUUSE ME? Is your dog gonna take up this seat or can you move it??”

At this point I turned around to see who was being such an asshat. The woman began making her way into the seat, not waiting for a reply and not waiting for the dog to move. The man, who was clearly willing to accommodate her if she had just waited a second or two, began to pull his canine companion out of her way. As he did so, and much to my delight, he said “PLEASE?” as a way of reminding her that perhaps a tiny bit of manners might be in order. She didn’t get it. She sat down with a big sigh and a harumph as if this was the most she’d ever been inconvenienced at a movie EVER.

Then, less than a minute later, she stood up, walked away and grumbled, “Your dog can have the seat because I can’t see from here.” (Or something to that effect, I can’t remember her exact words.) WTF? How clueless ARE some people??? Asshat.

Anyway, the film – my only screening for today – was The Art Star and the Sudanese Twins (6/8), a portrait of Italian installation artist Vanessa Beecroft and her involvement with a small Sudanese community as she attempts to adopt twin babies after bonding with them during a visit. But what starts as a seemingly altruistic gesture slowly morphs into a strangely ill-advised mission whereby Beecroft, who’s at times infuriatingly single-minded to those around her, forges ahead despite an array of red flags and obstacles and the fact that the two babies she wishes to “save” actually have a father and extended family in their village. Director Pietra Brettkelly said her initial intent was to make a documentary about the business (i.e., $$$) of international adoptions but that this profile of a fiercely, perhaps foolishly, determined artist emerged in the process. Apparently, Beecroft (who’s portrayed as a control freak) isn’t entirely thrilled with the finished product, but respects Brettkelly enough to understand that it’s her film...which was labeled “controversial” by the programmer giving the intro, but which didn’t feel as provocative as I thought it would be.

HotDocs 2008 Bonus: Trailers!

Look what I just found!

HotDocs has its own YouTube page where you can view a whole whack of trailers for some of the films being featured this year!

To save you a little time, and to keep things relevant, here are the direct links to some of the films I’ve discussed over the past few days:

* 20 Seconds of Joy

* Second Skin

* Beautiful Losers

* Kids + Money

* The English Surgeon

...and the documentary causing all the fuss...

*Beyond Our Ken

HotDocs 2008 #6: Unexpected Delights and Duds

A funny thing can happen when you go to a lot of film festivals, especially if you do so over many years: you sometimes get to “discover” new filmmakers and then watch their work progress from project to project.

My first film of the day was a short called Beginning Filmmaking (7/8), an adorable year-in-the-life look at four-year-old Ella Rosenblatt, whose father, Jay (a documentary filmmaker), buys her a camcorder for her fourth birthday with the goal of introducing her to his passion. He teaches her the basics – “Ella? What is composition?” – and then she’s free to record...whatever. The result is hilarious, sweet and also surprisingly insightful. The scene where she describes an idea for a film, where she’s watching people on TV watching TV and so on to infinity, is particularly neat.

But here’s the thing: the whole time I was watching I thought, “I know I know this guy.” He’d said in his introduction before the screening that this was his fourth short starring Ella, and I thought for sure I’d seen him (and her) before. But I couldn’t place the where or when. Turns out, I saw his first film with his daughter -- I Used to Be a Filmmaker -- at the Worldwide Short Film Festival in 2003 (!), and saw Rosenblatt’s Ella-free Anita Bryant doc, I Just Wanted to Be Somebody at HOtDocs last year. Who knew?!

Hopefully, progress as a filmmaker will happen for the young director of the day’s second film. Celia Maysles, daughter of David Maysles and niece of Albert Maysles (the renowned co-directors of films such as The Salesman and Grey Gardens), has decided to adopt the family trade, but unfortunately her work wasn’t that impressive. Wild Blue Yonder (4/8) follows Celia as she attempts to learn about her late father (who died in 1987 when she was only seven years old) and his life. But, while the idea is a great one, the execution was disappointing. I didn’t know any more about her dad at the end than I did at the beginning. At the start of the film, Celia is given access to a storage room filled with her father’s things, and she opens an old cardboard box containing a random collection of notes, audio tapes and whatnot...and that’s sort of the structure her film takes. A sloppy mish-mash of images and interviews and archival footage, edited together without rhyme or reason or any clear narrative/direction. There’s also the issue of rights to her late father’s final project – called “Blue Yonder” – for which she goes toe-to-toe with her estranged Uncle Albert. He doesn’t come off well in the film, seeming to be overly entitled and more than a little curmudgeonly as he refuses to give her footage...but, after seeing the resulting film, I have to say I think he made the right call.

Up next was Second Skin (7/8), a look at hardcore gamers obsessed with MMORPGs. What is an MMORPG, you ask? A Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game, like EverQuest or World of Warcraft. Profiling a number of gamers – who spend upwards of ten hours a day online playing their game of choice – over the course of a year, the documentary reveals the real-life faces behind the heroic characters these folks adopt in the game realm. While it doesn’t do much to dispel the stereotypical image of a video game addict, and certainly reinforces the theory that too much of anything is a bad idea, Second Skin does a nice job of illustrating the sense of kinship, community and love that keeps these gamers hooked. It’s a funny film, and a very telling one, as well.

I was going to call it a day after that, but wound up sticking around the Bader for one more movie...and I’m so glad I did. I didn’t really have any interest in seeing The English Surgeon (7/8), but wow. It was excellent. On paper, it sounded dry and potentially depressing: a British neurosurgeon goes to the Ukraine to perform surgery under less-than-ideal conditions and reflects on the lives he’s lost on the operating table. But onscreen, it was a captivating and extremely moving (yes, I cried, sue me!) story of a dedicated physician going above and beyond the call of duty in a bid to do whatever he can, however seemingly “insignificant” in the grand scheme of the archaic Ukranian medical system, to help people in need. Wearing Harry Potter specs and looking a lot like actor Ian Holm, Dr. Henry Marsh waives his fees and treats all manner of poor patients. Heartbreaking – witness the number of times he’s forced to tell people their brain tumors are inoperable – and heartwarming (just try not to fall in love with epileptic patient Marian), I adored this movie from start to finish. Be warned, though: there’s some rather graphic brain-surgery footage, so if you’re squeamish...um, look away.

As a footnote, while we’re on the subject of brains: how much is everyone hating the lame-ass Scotiabank Scene Card ads running before each film? I mean, one commercial for a sponsor is fine, but must we have TWO different (but equally awful) commercials for the SAME sponsor...especially when the Scotiabank Scene Card branding is EVERYWHERE at the fest??? We get it. They’re a sponsor. Enough, already.

HotDocs 2008 #5: BASE-heads and Race in Bed

Well, traffic at this blog has certainly picked up considerably in the past 24 hours.

It looks like yesterday’s account of the weirdness at Beyond Our Ken has attracted some attention. And we at the ‘Pie welcome input, so feel free to leave your comments when you visit.

Unfortunately, today’s proceedings were decidedly low-key and uneventful.

Both screenings this afternoon were double bills. First up was the short doc 52 Percent (6/8), which was a sort of quiet portrait of an 11-year-old ballerina trying to get into a prestigious ballet academy in St. Petersburg, Russia. The title refers to the ideal ratio of leg length to body length...and the subject of the film is, sadly, 0.4% short of this number. It was a nicely melodic little movie...but the biggest laughs in the whole thing come from the girl’s inquisitive cat, who stalks the camera and peers directly into the lens, obscuring an entire shot. Adorable.

That film was paired with a comparatively wild and wonderful mid-length sports documentary called 20 Seconds of Joy (7/8), which profiles 30-year-old BASE jumper Karina Hollekin over several years as she chases the rush in what is easily one of the world’s most dangerous sports. [For those not in the know, BASE (Building, Antenna, Span, Earth) jumping involves climbing to a very, very high place (a mountain, a bridge, a skyscraper) and then jumping off, armed with nothing more than a small parachute in a knapsack.] As a (seemingly hyper-caffeinated) American jumper explains in the film, the life expectancy of a BASE jumper is about six years...because they either get scared and stop, get injured and are forced to stop, or die. This same fellow, who was hugely entertaining and passionate, also explains that if you’re not prepared to die AND watch your friends die, this ain’t your bag. (No kidding. Yikes.) Stunning cinematography, perfect pacing and a compelling subject made this a terrific afternoon thrill ride. One tragically ironic footnote: the film is dedicated to the memory of its cameraman, a BASE jumper who died BASE jumping after the film’s completion.

But what made this screening even better was the Q&A afterwards. Director Jens Hoffmann (who I’ve seen almost every day at various screenings) was in attendance with one of his producers, and they took a couple of questions from the audience. Then, at some random moment, he said something like, “We should let Karina answer for herself...” and then he INTRODUCED HER. She was there! Talk about burying the lead! I wasn’t sure why she hadn’t been mentioned before the screening or before the Q&A, because I’m sure a number of the people who left as soon as the credits rolled likely would have stayed had they known she was in attendance. Alas. But I was there, and I stayed, and so I got to hear what she had to say about her passions and the accident (featured in the film) that could have killed her.

The day’s second double bill got underway with Conversation (6/8), an inventive little gem that features a split screen, with one person on camera (in a tight, head shot) on each side. Then, one by one, several dozen people each comment on their first impressions of the people on the other side of the split screen, based solely on what they look like. Presumably, this process involved each subject viewing a photo of another and having their comments filmed. It’s difficult to describe the structure clearly, but suffice it to say it was an interesting experiment in first impressions. Can you, for example, tell that someone is nice or trustworthy or a teacher or a criminal based on one look?

The latter half of the double bill was...I dunno...kind of disappointing, yet I can’t quite pinpoint why. My gut tells me it had to do with the filmmaker himself, who kind of came off as obnoxious. The doc was The Glow of White Women (4/8) by Yunus Vally, an Indian South African who sort of recounts his life, apartheid, his heritage and his relationships as they all relate to the ideal of white women in that country at those times. More specifically, how a good deal of it related to his own sexual exploits. I was never really sure what the point of his film was – was it a political film? a historical one? an autobiography? all of the above? none of the above? – and that clouded my impressions, I think. There were some neat graphic-design elements in the film, and the archival footage from the 1970s and earlier was fascinating, but ultimately it left me feeling underwhelmed and kind of annoyed.

And that was it for today. I was pooped and opted to come home to a proper dinner and bedtime before 1:30am. *yawn*

HotDocs 2008 #4: The Cult

Wow.

Today was, by far, my most fascinating day at a film festival EVER. There was...An Incident. More on that later...

First on the docket today was Head Wind (6/8), a mid-length (65 minutes) but good film about illegal satellite dishes in Iran, and the country’s censorship of all manner of entertainment the government deems inappropriate. From remote rural regions to more urban locales like Tehran, satellite dishes – and the programming they import – are everywhere...until the police move in to confiscate them. The doc features numerous individuals trafficking in these illegal dishes and/or other prohibited media (e.g., pirated DVDs of Western films), as well as the lengths to which they must go to keep everything on the down-low (e.g., only putting their dishes out at night, and taking them back inside during the day). There’s a beautiful sequence where two men, using archaic machinery, mold a dish out of a giant disk of metal, but the most interesting character was a dwarf who’s like a one-man Blockbuster Video. He’s not interesting for his size or occupation, though, but because he had six fingers on each hand!!!! It’s not actually mentioned in the film, but each time he was on camera I counted: six fingers per hand!

Speaking of weird anomalies...

My second film of the day was Beyond Our Ken (7/8), a remarkable film which goes inside Kenja, an Australian cult accused of, among other things, sexual and emotional abuse of its members. With unprecedented access to Kenja’s founders – charismatic 80something Ken Dyers and his much younger wife, Jan – and members of the organization, filmmakers Melissa MacLean and Luke Walker expose a seemingly benign group (founded in 1982) who, on the surface, seem to be nothing more than a self-improvement movement. But, faster than you can say “Xenu made me do it!”, the darker machinations of Kenja’s operations bubble to the surface. I was completely engrossed in this movie, and its ending (plus its final 10 minutes or so) literally made my jaw drop open. The whole thing was riveting.

But this is also where The Incident occurred.

It started before the screening even began. While waiting outside, I noticed a couple of women working the ticketholders line and very cheerfully handing out these thick, glossy booklets that, in their chipper words, "give the other side of the story." Read: they were Kenja members distributing Kenja propaganda. (They actually flew to Toronto from Australia just to follow the filmmakers from screening to screening. That, in and of itself, seemed to prove the film’s thesis.) People will take anything that's handed towards them, so the women unloaded literature to just about everybody. I declined because they totally weirded me out.

While they continued working, I chatted with the woman standing beside me in line. We talked about cults, and how unusual it was to have these women here, and I said, "I wonder if they'll also have people `planted' in the audience..."

I theorized that, if Kenja was that invested in having their opinions on the film heard at HotDocs, it would be very likely that they’d have members purchase tickets to the screenings and then somehow disrupt the proceedings.

And they did!

After the film (which was at the Bader), both directors made their way onstage for the Q&A, and I noticed a couple of very large men (obviously security) materialize at the rear of the theatre. This has never happened at any movie I have ever seen at this venue at any festival, ever. They were visibly scanning the crowd, and the assorted headset-wearing staffers seemed to be scurrying about, consulting with these big guys and pointing up at the balcony. I knew something was up, but I didn’t know what.

The always adept Myrocia Watamaniuk was moderating the Q&A and opened the floor to questions. A woman right in the front row, right in the middle of the row, stood up (red flag!), turned halfway towards the audience (red flag! red flag!), said (in her Australian accent) "I am a member of Kenja..." and launched into this rather impassioned monologue/question about footage she felt was purposely left out. The filmmakers, who clearly anticipated the group's presence, tried to answer, but she just kept going...and going...and going. She started accusing them of “interrogating” Ken, and not being honest about what they shot, and all sorts of things. Security started to move towards the front, very slowly. I started to get a little antsy in my seat. What was going to happen? Would this escalate? How many more Kenja members might be in the crowd??

Then someone in the balcony, also with an Australian accent and a member of Kenja, started shouting something, supporting the woman up front. This exchange went on for a good five minutes while the filmmakers tried to rein in the Q&A. People in the audience started to get restless, and *I* started to worry about the safety of the folks onstage. I mean, the filmmakers expose quite a bit of Kenja's ugly underbelly, and there’s zero security screening when people come into a theatre, so I didn't know to what extent its members might want or be able to "silence" them. I hoped everyone was wearing Kevlar, just to be safe.

Thankfully, it all ended peacefully enough, with one of the directors actually telling security to let the members stay. He even gave the woman up front the mic so she could tell everybody about a lecture being given on Thursday (in Toronto) about their “organization.” A few other audience members (not affiliated with Kenja) managed to get in some questions, and then it was over.

The whole thing was super-creepy and freaky and unsettling. But holy crap, was it ever exciting! Thanks, Kenja members, for inadvertently reinforcing the entire premise of the film!

Last up was another double bill. First was the short doc The Unbearable Whiteness of Being (4/8), which was a promising but ultimately hollow look at a brother and sister peddling a skin-lightening cream to South Asians in England. All the film did was feature the pair at some sort of trade show, looking for a distributor, while a few random individuals discuss why lighter skin is viewed as more favorable in some South Asian cultures. That’s it. Nothing about the actual cream or its claims or the siblings or anything. I was disappointed.

That was followed with Be Like Others (6/8), which examines sex-change operations for gay men and women in Iran...a country where sex-change operations are actually sanctioned by the government, but where homosexuality is punishable by death. The logic is that same-sex love goes against Islam, but “correcting” a *physical* mistake is totally okay. It was a very strange thing to observe: general acceptance of transsexualism, but overt homophobia, all under one umbrella. Interviews with MTF transsexuals, pre- and post-op, along with the two key doctors performing hundreds of these surgeries, make up the bulk of the film (and some are quite sad), but the most memorable presence is Vida, the kick-assiest transsexual ever to grace a movie screen. She was amazing!

HotDocs 2008 #3: Well, They Can't All Be Winners...

I only had two films today, but they were strangely similar. The first doc was itself not a winner, and the second one was about a couple who, by and large, aren’t winners.

Victoire Terminus (3/8) was being plugged as a film about female boxers in the Congo trying to put together a tournament while political unrest rages in their country. Ummmmm...I guess that’s what it was about? I really don’t know. I mean, yes, there were female boxers in the movie, and they boxed...and there was footage of rally after rally leading up to an election...but, honestly, had I not read the program notes beforehand I would have had no clue what the point of the film actually was. None of the women are ever interviewed directly, just observed. Instead, one of their (male) coaches gets face time. There were no title cards or any onscreen text to outline what was happening or who the women are, so I couldn’t identify any of them by name after watching them for nearly 90 very-long minutes. It didn’t help that one of the filmmakers stood onstage beforehand for a five-minute preamble explaining the background of what we were about to watch. Unless he plans on doing this for every single screening of this film, I suspect I won’t be the only one left scratching her head as the closing credits roll.

I was similarly unsure of the intent behind my second film of the day, Song Sung Blue (5/8), which profiles a Milwaukee couple – Lightning and Thunder (Mike and Claire Sardina) – who perform as a Neil Diamond/Patsy Cline tribute act. This was the film that my friend warned me about yesterday, and I have to say that I kind of reacted to it in the same way she had: it felt a little exploitative of a rather depressing situation. I actually felt bad for Mike and Claire, instead of inspired by their drive. This movie is sort of the anti-Anvil. Where that film celebrated the determination and pure passion of a group of middle-aged dreamers who never give up, this film seemed to showcase the (rather serious and unpleasant) downside of being blinded by your own dream-chasing. What sounds like it might be a campy romp is, instead, a rather sobering glimpse at a dysfunctional family, who barely make ends meet, compromise their health and endure one setback after another...all the while desperately pursuing one more minute in the ever-fading “spotlight.” In the Q&A after the film, director Greg Kohs said he made the movie to “help” the family. But, as I sat there watching it and hearing the audience laugh at situations onscreen that were probably not meant to be at all funny, I had to wonder if he succeeded or if Song Sung Blue will wind up eliciting pity for its subjects rather than praise.

In better news, there won’t be a transit strike (at least, not yet) in the city tomorrow, so I can continue to see films! On deck for tomorrow, cults and sex-change operations...

HotDocs 2008 #2: Lovers & Losers

Before I begin today’s recap, a little leftover housekeeping from yesterday...

First, in my discussion of Anvil! The Story of Anvil, I completely forgot to mention that the entire band actually attended the screening – along with an audience packed with metalheads – and came onstage after the film to field questions from the crowd...who gave the guys a standing ovation. (It really is fascinating to watch the demographic of the audiences change from film to film.)

Secondly, I wanted to clarify that I am not saying I’m a big weeping mess when I say that some of these films make me cry. I realized last night that I should probably distinguish between what happens to me when I watch a moving or particularly beautiful movie/scene/moment in public (i.e., my eyes tear up a lot, sniffles kick in, maybe a stray tear drifts down my cheek) and what Oprah describes as the “ugly cry” (i.e., sobbing and heaving and gasping breaths). When I’m out at a movie, I prefer to stifle my emotions as much as possible...so the “crying” is done internally more than externally. Just so’s you know.

Oh, and one more thing: whyyy must people smoke in line? I think I’ve mentioned this in every fest-related diary I’ve ever written for the ‘Pie...but, seriously, why? Step out of line if you must have a cigarette. We’re all standing shoulder to shoulder, and the rest of us don’t need to smoke right along with you. Many thanks.

Okay, moving on...day two!

Now, when I say the words “prison beauty pageant,” what sort of images spring to mind? I’d be willing to bet whatever you just conjured up in your imagination bears no resemblance to what was featured in my first film of the day, La Corona (The Crown) (6/8), which was the first half of a double-bill screening. Shot at a women’s prison in Colombia, the film showcases the annual beauty pageant that pits cellblock against cellblock. But lest you think the catwalk is packed with beefy butch women in crew cuts and muscle Ts, the inmates competing are stunningly beautiful. Yes, they’ve been convicted of murder or armed robbery or what have you, but...wow. Directors Amanda Micheli and Isabel Vega do a nice job of profiling the key competitors, and the proceedings have a decidedly upbeat vibe, but it did feel like it went on about four scenes too long – that it didn’t end at its natural conclusion. Instead, a coda involving one woman’s release seems unnecessarily added on, especially since updates on the post-pageant status of her rivals is never addressed. Just a very minor sticking point for me, though.

Part two of the double bill was Searching for Sandeep (6/8), a kind of cross-continental lesbian love story about Poppy and Sandeep, two gay women who meet online, fall in love and try to overcome the physical and cultural differences that separate them. Poppy is an out, gay, white woman in Australia; Sandeep is a closeted, gay, Indian woman, who still lives with her parents and sisters in England. What follows is a tumultuous, and often frustrating, tale of a long-distance relationship peppered with tender moments, honest revelations and Sandeep’s wonderfully sharp and entertaining quartet of younger sisters, who seem like they fell right out of a Gurinder Chadha film.

I followed these two with Nursery University (7/8), which would make for an excellent companion film to yesterday’s Kids + Money...only this time it’s the parents with the money and a preschool system in Manhattan more than eager to take it off their hands. The ratio of children to available preschool slots in NYC is staggering, making it (seemingly) virtually impossible to get your kid into your preschool of choice. The rationale for this insanity – where a year’s “tuition” can run you around $20,000 – is explained by one parent, who outlines the “feeder school” system, where the right preschool gets you into the right kindergarten, which gets you into the right middle school, which gets you into the right high school, which gets you into an Ivy League college and the best. life. ever. The lengths the parents go to are simultaneously hilarious and shocking, and I hope co-directors Marc H. Simon and Matthew Makar are prepared to make a mint off the thousands of desperate New Yorkers who will no doubt snatch up every copy of the DVD of this film in the hopes of getting an inside edge.

Last up was Beautiful Losers (6/8), a film profiling a group of 10 young visual artists, who all came together in NYC in the early 1990s. United by their passion for making art, their do-it-yourself anywhere and with anything initiative, and their collective position on the fringes of the art world – having come from backgrounds of graffiti art, skateboarding and punk rock – they blazed a trail and influenced all manner of popular art thereafter, from advertising to filmmaking. Among those artists featured in the film (for anyone keeping score) are Mike Mills, Harmony Korine, Margaret Kilgallen and Jo Jackson. Their work is exactly the kind of stuff I love – wild, colorful, cartoonish (some) and BIG – and the doc was, as my film-going friend put it after the screening, a really interesting look at a largely unknown chapter in art history. (This same friend has warned me that one of my picks for tomorrow, Song Sung Blue, is depressing...so I’m bringing Kleenex, just in case.)

HotDocs 2008 #1: The Fest Has Begun!

This year, I managed to sneak in a few pre-fest press screenings. So, before I get to my actual first day of film-going, some very quick reviews of:

The Last Continent (4/8) is a Canadian documentary about a research crew on a schooner in the Antarctic, who head down for more than a year – where they’ll be stuck once winter comes – to document the effects of climate change on the planet’s last area of unspoiled land. Unfortunately, director Jean Lemire (who also heads the research crew) doesn’t completely deliver on any of the three key things the film should feature: stuff about the crew (who are they? why have they agreed to take part?), stuff about life on a schooner (what’s it like? where do they sleep? where do they shower? what are the effects of such close quarters for so long?), and stuff about the research (what do they do? what kinds of info are they gathering?). There’s plenty of pretty cinematography, an overwhelming score that borders on over-the-top, and some self-indulgent voiceover storytelling...but not a whole lot of documentation of what sounds like it was probably an amazing experience.

The Forgotten Woman (7/8) is an incredibly powerful and hugely moving (read: Vickie cried for almost the entire film) look at the treatment of widows in India – specifically, their exile to a life of overt poverty in the temple city of Vrindavan, their loss of family and property, and the fact that even in present day, some 40 million widows appear to be living in the past. It is heartbreaking, to say the least. Directed by Dilip Mehta, brother of filmmaker Deepa, the film makes for an excellent companion piece to her similarly themed Water. It’s filled with compelling interviews and gut-wrenching imagery (one of the most memorable is a shot of a man on a run-down street, feeding a stack of what appears to be naan to some dogs, while a penniless grandmother sits – with all her possessions in bags – a couple of feet away, hiding her face) that sheds light on a part of modern history that appears to be going largely unnoticed.

Likely to be one of the hot-ticket films is Errol Morris’ latest Standard Operating Procedure (7/8), which trains its lens on the allegations of torture at the Abu Ghraib prison – specifically, those incidents captured on film and widely seen by millions and millions of people. Remember little Lynndie England? She’s interviewed here, along with a number of other military personnel who were either directly or tangentially involved in those notorious pictures. Simultaneously shocking and not really surprising, the exposé recreates events and uses video footage of what transpired to tell the soldiers’ stories...some of which are infuriating, and others (England’s in particular) kind of creepy. What was truly remarkable to me was that the women featured in the film seem to have aged decades apiece since the photos were taken...when, in reality, it’s only been four years.

Anyway...onwards to day one!

The weather outside is a tad on the warm side, and I was a tiny bit worried I’d be crispy by the time my first film of the day let in. Yes, I wore sunscreen, but standing in line with no ounce of shade in sight (still too early for the trees to have leaves) can make even an SPF 30 seem like baby oil.

Never in a million years did I ever expect that a documentary about a heavy metal band would be touching, sweet or so moving that it would make me cry...but Anvil! The Story of Anvil (7/8) was all those things. The film looks at the titular metal band, who hail from Toronto and who enjoyed a short-lived tour in the rock spotlight in the early 1980s, as they continue to seek another shot at glory. Together for some 30-odd years, the guys have gone from teenagers and twentysomething rock gods to middle-aged husbands, fathers and working Joes who still perform, albeit to much, much smaller crowds. Director Sacha Gervasi – a Brit who was a fan of, and roadie for, the band as a teenager – told the audience that the film was a labour of love for all involved, and it shows. Amid the blazing fret work, thundering drums, banshee vocals, infighting, disappointments, triumphs and strange encounters in Eastern European bars...this film is all heart, all the time. And more than a little bit inspirational.

I followed that with a double-bill of short(ish) docs: Kids + Money (6/8) and Emoticons (5/8). Kids... was sort of like watching an episode of MTV’s My Super Sweet 16, that grotesque show where horrifyingly wealthy teenagers behave like complete bratty asshats (brasshats?) as they indulge in ridiculous amounts of excess. Well, imagine those self-involved teens sitting down for interviews in which they expound on the importance of having the right clothes, the right “look” and why fat kids aren’t cool. That should give you some idea of what delights are to be found in this film. It was simultaneously fascinating and repellent. I wonder how these kids’ parents felt watching the wisdom that spilled forth from their offspring? By contrast, Emoticons profiles a number of somewhat socially cast-out teenage girls in the Netherlands, who have found solace and friendship online. Often moving, but slightly lacking in cohesiveness overall (i.e., I wasn’t sure what we, the audience, were meant to glean from the doc), director Heddy Honigmann captures some great moments of candid honesty from the girls and reminds viewers that bullying and online gaming isn’t just something common to awkward teenage boys. (Note: yeah, I got all teary at this film, too.)

So, my lofty goal of not crying too much at HotDocs 2008 has already evaporated – or, perhaps, precipitated – right before my eyes on day one. Oh, but good news: Myrocia Watamaniuk is back! She intro-ed the second set of films with her usual aplomb. Hooray!

Writers' Strike Unfortunately Ignores Reality (TV, that is)

Last year there was a group of writers in Hollywood that went on strike, but alas it was a group that was misunderstood, and whose message faded from the media after initial interest in supermodel-supporters wearing tight T-shirts. The show was America's Next Top Model, and one of the strikers was one of our very own Friends of the Pie, Daniel. Daniel wrote an article for the LA Times which I think is well worth reading, for some perspective about not just the politics between the writers and the studios, but amongst the writers themselves.

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-oe-blau20nov20,0,94249.story?coll=la-opinion-rightrail

THE FORGOTTEN WRITERS' STRIKE OF '06

Networks now have reality shows to fall back on; it wouldn't be that way had the WGA better handled the "America's Next Top Model" strike.

By Daniel J. Blau
November 20, 2007

AS THE WGA STRIKE stretches into its third week, I am reminded of the last big labor scuffle the Writer's Guild of America presided over. Not the 1988 strike that lasted five months and ended largely in failure. No, I mean the ill-fated 2006 strike by the writers of "America's Next Top Model."

As early as 2004, the WGA was looking at ways to get writers working in the exploding genre of reality TV under their union umbrella before the big 2007 negotiations began. The guild named a new director of organizing, David Young, in 2004, and in 2005, it elected a new president, Patric Verrone, whose whole platform revolved around adding to ranks of the guild. Their intentions were more strategic than altruistic: Without reality programs to fall back on, the TV networks would be hit harder and faster by any strike. It would have been a fine strategy, had it worked.

A small WGA group called the Reality Organizing Committee debated strategies. On one point they all agreed: You couldn't organize reality TV writers one show at a time. The writers would have to demand guild representation en masse at all the networks.

Those of us actually working in reality TV, however, knew little of these plans. Back then, I was one of the 12 story editors on the CW's "America's Next Top Model," where none of us got medical benefits, let alone residuals. Still, I was far more concerned with doing my job well and making ends meet on my entry-level salary than making waves.

But after nearly two years of meetings, the WGA's reality committee was still far from a cohesive plan, so the guild leadership settled on a more expedient strategy: They would choose one popular show to be the poster child for the plight of reality TV writers. They chose "America's Next Top Model."

In the early summer of 2006, only one of the "Top Model" writers was involved in the union campaign. The rest of us were, at best, tangentially aware of its existence. Until, that is, the afternoon of June 21. That was the date of our first official meeting with WGA organizers. Over lunch at a Tex-Mex restaurant in Santa Monica, they spelled out the manifold benefits of guild representation: health insurance, pension contributions and credits for our work. The industry was ready for reality story editors to enter the WGA, they said. Les Moonves -- head of CBS, which owned the new CW network -- had been "put on notice." There was no talk of losing our jobs. We believed the guild's ambiguous promise, "you'll come out of this better than you went in."

Why only "Top Model?" one co-worker asked. Why not all reality shows? "'Big Brother' is ready to go out," they told us. "So is 'The Amazing Race.' But you need to start the ball rolling." We would be the vanguard. Our fellow reality scribes would take to the street inspired by our courage, they said. They bought us lunch.

Over the next month, we asked as many questions as we could: Why couldn't we wear red T-shirts or "Working without a WGA contract" buttons to the office? Couldn't we start by insisting that the company pay us overtime? Why couldn't we let our petition to unionize work its way through the National Labor Relations Board, the government bureaucracy that decides who gets to form a collective bargaining unit? We were told, in no uncertain terms: Stick to the plan. In 2006, as it was this year, the WGA leadership was clamoring for a strike.

The night before the strike began, after a long, tense meeting at the guild offices, we were taken into a conference room where the Reality Organizing Committee gave us a standing ovation for our bravery. The moment played out as great theater, but it was as meaningless as it was absurd. In fact, most of the committee members were hearing about the "Top Model" strike for the first time, as it effectively ended their deliberative, years-long efforts. More odd, it was the first time most of the "Top Model" writers had ever heard of the Reality Organizing Committee.

The next morning, July 20, in front of our production offices in West Los Angeles, I read our statement to about 100 supporters and the news crews, officially launching our strike. We hoisted our WGA strike signs and never entered those offices again. In the weeks to come, our supporters would dwindle, then disappear.

The last week of September, we all received letters notifying us that our jobs had been eliminated, the entire story department abolished. The guild had vanished from our cause, and the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, which represents the video editors, swooped in to unionize the show, freezing the WGA out of "Top Model" for good.

There were 12 of us, not 12,000. And so the strike against "America's Next Top Model" has become a footnote in the long struggle for writers to assert power in an industry that seeks to keep us powerless.

I want the WGA to prevail in the current standoff, and I believe the writers deserve everything they are asking for. But if the negotiations starting next Monday yield nothing, I fear that the strike may drag on for months, and the writers may come to understand the importance of the Forgotten Strike a year and a half too late.

The WGA has made a critical error in underestimating the importance of reality TV. Take out sports and news, and about a quarter of shows on network prime time this fall are "unscripted," which is to say, their writers are not members of the WGA. If this strike drags into 2008, the networks are sure to plug their schedules with hours more of such cheap, easy-to-produce programs with words like "Dancing" and "Next Top" in the title.

No one from the WGA was communicating that to the full guild in the summer of '06, leaving some members horrified that the WGA was ready to let lowly reality types into their club, and the rest unaware that the "Top Model" strike was going on at all. And then when it failed, there was no Plan B.

Had the WGA fulfilled Young's initial promise to procure guild status for all writers working on reality, animation and nonfiction shows, the networks would shortly have nothing new on the air at all. As it stands, the WGA has pushed its members to walk out on their own jobs, and it has left the networks with powerful leverage -- the ability to keep making new TV content.

On Oct. 23 of this year, with talks stalled between the WGA and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, Variety published an article summed up by this headline: "WGA gives up on nonscripted effort." Organizing reality TV writers was one of the contract demands that the WGA was willing to toss aside to reach a deal before the Nov. 1 strike deadline, the article reported.

The next day, an e-mail with the expected rebuttal arrived from the WGA president. The guild's reality TV efforts were as strong as ever, he said. But as far as I could tell, the only error in the Variety article was that it hadn't been published a year earlier.

Daniel J. Blau is an L.A.-based writer and producer whose recent work can be seen in the Advocate and the website Television Without Pity.

SLGFF #7 - Before I forget...

So, another Festival of the Gays has come and gone. Things I enjoyed: The awesome Jane Lynch evening, the delightful Nina's Heavenly Delights, the glory that was Olivia Newton-John on the big screen in the Xanadu Sing-Along, the nice range of international films, and especially the Gay TV Dinner events at the Central Cinema. Heck, sitting down, drinking beer and eating while watching TV... wouldn't we all be doing that at 5:30 anyways? What an excellent idea to dig up 1970s gay-themed episodes from popular TV shows and give us food and drink! Loved this!

Things I could do without: The sub-par films that only make it into the festival because the genre is smaller, therefore there's less to choose from (when there are crappy gay films, they tend to be really crap-o-rific, and this has always been a problem -- which is no fault of the programmers); the loss of bigger screens in the second weekend (all the screenings at the small Broadway Performance Hall the second week were packed); and the Opening Night party at the big, open Naval building felt a lot like the Senior Prom I never went to.

But I really wanted to be sure that I mentioned that I thought the festival's official trailers were some of the best ever. When you see multiple movies at any fest, you tend to get tired very quickly of the trailers, but these made me laugh every time. They were directed by David Quantic, and you can see them all here. The "tres jolie, Coco, tres jolie" made me chortle every time, and I loved Camile Schwartzbaum (Simetra Jones) the enthusiastic host of every session. Nothing like a fist-in-the-air freeze-frame hurrah after TOP GUN: THE MUSICAL to make me laugh!




[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF # 6 - Spicy delights and an Itty Bitty Closing Night

Just when I'm about to give up on seeing a movie that I really and truly enjoy (no, Xanadu doesn't count), I finally lucked out on seeing the charming Nina's Heavenly Delights (7/8). Admittedly, this is a movie that could have gone very very wrong: A family dramedy, the film takes place among the Indian immigrants that have settled in Glasgow, Scotland. Nina (Shelley Conn), the prodigal daughter, has returned (albeit late) for the funeral of her beloved father who ran a famous Indian restaurant in town. Alas, everyone is still annoyed at Nina for fleeing town on her wedding day three years ago and moving to London with no explanation. Among the piles of family and friends are Lisa (Laura Fraser), whom Nina mistakes for her brother's girlfriend. Apparently Nina's dad lost half the restaurant in a bet to Lisa's dad, and yada yada, all people involved -- except Nina! -- wants to sell to Raj (Art Malik, who cleverly runs the restaurant "The Jewel in the Crown"... don't think I didn't get the reference!). Raj is the competition and already seems to have designs on Nina's newly widowed mom! But wait! Dad had already made the finals for the Best of the West curry competition... and it just may be Nina's chance to save the farm! I mean the restaurant! Actress Veena Sood (who plays Nina's mom) introduced the film has having "a little bit of girl-porn and a LOT of food porn!" And how! Food lovers will LOVE this film, with it's mouth-watering extensive scenes of chopping, stirring, frying, and sizzling. Mmm... you can practically taste the curry wafting from the screen. As the title character, Shelley Conn is appealing and gorgeous, and there is a nice tension and chemistry between Nina and her, er, "cooking" partner Lisa. If it weren't all about spicy food, I would compare the movie more to a pile of delicious frosted donuts. Nice to look at, and a sweet snack going down. It just makes you feel good, and is very very cute.

This time I said, "That's it! I won't ruin my evening by risking another film!" And I went home. But got some food on the way. :)

Finally, Closing Night, in the glorious packed Cinerama theater, was the unfortunately, awfully-titled Itty Bitty Titty Committee (5/8). No matter how many times I say it or read or or hear it, I still hate the title... A LOT. Anyways, the title deterred no one, and the theater was full of hipster young women with L-Word haircuts and fashionable Castro hats, plus all the men who wouldn't dare skip the final party. No guests were to be seen, which is too bad because though the film doesn't really have anything to do with Seattle, the film was bloated with an Olympia-rific soundtrack (Bikini Kill, Sleater-Kinney, Le Tigre, heck, even Heavens to Betsy!). I had to blink my eyes and wonder if this was 1992, or 1995, or even as late as 1997... but no, the radical chicks on the film were definitely using the internets -- but were curiously causing mayhem to a soundtrack from a different era... dare I say a different generation? Yes, that would be, um, my era. Riot Grrrl was quite a ripple in the musical pond, but did it really start and end in the same town? Is that it? (Discuss.)
Anyways, the film is about meek young Anna (Melonie Diaz, Raising Victor Vargas, aka the best film that no on saw but me). After a day at work at a breast augmentation clinic, Anna crosses paths with sexy Sadie (Nicole Vicius), who is spray-painting the windows of Anna's workplace. A bit of flirting later, Anna has joined Sadie's radical feminist tribe C(I)A (Clits In Action). Made up of artists, rejects, and outspoken feminists, these group of women (well, one "guy" named Aggie, who "was born with a clit"), go around vandalizing stores and such in the name of women's rights -- fight the man, and all that. Among the peripheral characters are Daniella Sea (proving that, hot as she is, is not really the strongest actress), Jenny Shimizu (ditto), and Guinevere Turner (again). Often, very often actually, IBTC played like a music video... in fact, much of the movie WAS a music video, set to the tune of the Riot Grrls o' Olympia, whilst the characters ran amok in grainy video montages, giggling, spray painting, vandalizing, and such. Despite the iffy thespian skills of many of the supporting cast (hey! you're a lesbian and/or my pal! be in my movie!), luckily the leads of Anna and Sadie could act, and carried the film nicely. Anna's good-girl-to-angry-girl transformation was a bit eyeball-rolling, but haven't we all been there? Anyways, the audience ate it up. One of the side characters was criticized as being a "nine-to-fiver"... and I have to admit I related more to her. I suppose though this film seems very after-the-fact to me, in message and music, it will find an enthusiastic audience.

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF #5 - Thank goodness for Jane Lynch!

The house was packed Friday night for An Evening with Jane Lynch, and the audience was jovial and super-excited to see the woman who has been a comedic scene-stealer for years. The introductory film-clip montage of course opened with her screamingly funny "fuck buddy" line from The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and went on to highlight roles as varied as A Mighty Wind to The Fugitive to The L-Word to her breakthrough as a "butch dog trainer" (Christopher Guest's only instruction for the character) in Best in Show. She and moderator Jenny Stewart of PlanetOut were both chomping gum when they took their cushy chairs on stage, and it was emphasized over and over that the evening was for the audience. And a friendly evening it was! Alternating from being questioned by Stewart, to taking direct questions from the audience, Lynch proved (unsurprisingly) to be a very funny storyteller, and had the whole audience charmed. The interview culminated with a spirited game of "Who would you sleep with?"(aka who would you do)... some of the more interesting answers: Suzanne Pleshette over Mary Tyler Moore (two actresses that Jane crushed on as a kid), and George Clooney over Brad Pitt (mainly because she wanted to be reincarnated AS Brad Pitt). My opinion of her is unchanged: Jane Lynch is friendly, wickedly funny, and all sorts of awesome!

I decided to hang out for the next show at the theater, since I was in a good mood and hoped for another winner. Alas, I should have called it a night. The next screening was completely packed with men, despite the film 2 Minutes Later (3/8) being promoted as a hot ticket for guys AND gals. The lead actress Jessica Graham was in attendance, and it was announced she had just won a Best Actress award at another recent fest. Alas, she was the best thing about the film, which had the audience inappropriately giggling in the first scene where a hot photographer named Kyle fights off an attacker at a remote gas station, and then gets shot (and supposedly killed) while running off into the woods. Peter Stickles, playing the attacker, was probably the only "name" person in the film, simply for being in the movie Shortbus (he was the peeping Tom). Alas, his resume didn't help, as he was pretty stinky. Two private eyes, Michael (conveniently Kyle's long-lost twin) and Abigail (Jessica Graham) try to solve the mystery of the photographer's disappearance, and in the meantime encounter lots and lots of naked men and their bits and pieces. Oh, and Abigail gets to make out with a couple of women in bathrooms. Graham was much more enjoyable and spunky than the film deserved, especially being burdened with her co-star Michael Molina (as Kyle/Michael) who had the personality of cardboard. I fled before the Q&A.

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF #4 - Mental catapults and Lovelorn rent-boys

I know I'm not the only one that oft finds themselves sitting in a movie theater simmering with hateful feelings towards mankind (aka the people in my immediate vicinity). At my Thursday night screening of No Regret, I found myself in a room full of almost all gay men, and, well, me. I should have first been suspicious of this guy when I asked if I could take the empty seat on the aisle right next to him. He barely uncurled his body away from his companion, coolly turned to look at me, then simply turned backed to his pal and kept dishing. Fine. I sat down in front of him. Alas, he and his man were the type to comment throughout the whole film their own little cute isms, gasps, and catty comments. "MMMmmm-hmmmm... yum" (whenever a good-looking young man was on screen), "What is he DOING?" (whenever they didn't understand something), "Ohmygaaaawwwwwdddd..." (muttered under their breath, but not really, whenever something shocking happened). Not to mention the poorly stifled giggles and conversations that had nothing to do with the film. Mentally, I was concocting a catapult. You know, one of the really big ones, like the one that flung a piano in Northern Exposure, or the one crafted to hurl the Trojan Rabbit in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Except my catapult would have these two bitches, and all of their bitchy scenester friends, strapped together, ready to be flung miles away as soon as I severed the rope with my big flaming torch. Why did they bother seeing the movie? Go straight to the bar. I simmered pissily through the film.

As for the film, the gay South Korean love story No Regret (Huhwihaji anha) (5/8), I think I may have appreciated it more sans the catty audience. The story of a very pretty rent-boy named Su-min who is pursued by his ex-boss's son Jae-min was an interesting story of obsession and loneliness. Su-min is a sweet orphan boy who is kicked out of the orphanage when he comes of age, then after getting laid off at a factory, finds he can use his good looks to earn money at a male-only host bar where the young men turn tricks in the back room for cash. He is appalled to service the factory boss's son, then can't understand why that same young man grows obsessive with romantic interest. Of course, the good son Jae-min is expected to get married, and is certainly not supposed to be gay, so it is obvious to both that rent-boy-boyfriend Su-min may not fit into the picture. I was actually enjoying the film (despite my neighbors) until it completely derailed in the bizarre final act, and closed with a moment between the two leads that had the audience bust out into (warranted) fits of giggles. Too bad, as it was an intriguing story until then.

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF #3 - Trans trauma and TV drama

I was slightly intrigued to go to see Monday night's "International Centerpiece" The Witnesses, but opted out of Emmanuelle Beart's ducky lips and instead decided to check out Another Woman (Un Autre Femme) (6/8). Apparently made in 2002, this film pre-dated the award-winning Transamerica by a couple years. In Another Woman, Nathalie Mann (appearing in the opening credits as the gender-free N. Mann) plays Léa, a nervous woman who is a bit of an overachiever at her newish job in Geneva. Léa gets an offer to really prove herself to the big boss by scoring a sought-after business trip to Paris to land a particularly big contract. But Léa freaks out, initially refusing the opportunity. Turns out that Léa not only has a secret past in Paris, but she also has a family... that is an ex-wife and children.

Her family hasn't seen their husband and father Nicolas in ten years, so Léa makes the choice to re-enter her family's life. Anne (the excellent Micky Sébastian) freaks out when she finds out that this mysterious woman Léa, who has made friends with her daughter, is actually her ex-husband. She goes through the range of emotions from disbelief, to anger and betrayal, to hesitantly recognizing the person beneath the skin whom she fell in love with, to somewhat uneasy acceptance. Others, like Anne's longtime boyfriend Pierre, don't react as well. Nathalie Mann is very good as Léa/Nico, and her encounter with a male co-worker who fancies her is particularly well played-out. He simply wants an affair with his beautiful co-worker, while she freaks out over the fear that he may find out her previous identity. Many of the reactions portrayed are very realistic and complex. Though the film seems to drag on a bit, and ends with a closing shot that is both cutesy and eyeball-rolling, Another Woman is certainly a worthy addition to the small-but-growing list of sympathetic transsexual-themed films.

After taking a night off, I decided to check out one of the "Gay TV Dinner" events at Central Cinema (which my pals and I like to call Cinnamon Grill... but that is a whole 'nother story). This is a small neighborhood theater with some cushy seats sidled up to tables, where you can eat and drink while enjoying anything from a classic to a new release film. For the fest, there are three special presentations where 70s gay-themed TV shows are shown, with a set menu to enjoy. Wednesday's theme was "Predatory Lesbians and Teen Tales" featuring the 1974 “Flowers of Evil” episode of Police Woman, and a 1976 episode of Family, starring, among others teenage Kristy MacNichol as the tomboy daughter Buddy. Police Woman oozed with cheese... the plot involved a passel of lesbians running a killer nursing home where all the patients were drugged and eventually killed. Classic moments included one of the deranged lesbians getting a full-on, head-snapping bitch-slap from her dominant girlfriend in order to make her shut up, and the lip-quivering mastermind (who "looked like she should drive a diesel truck") whisper something apparently so crass and unspeakable to one of the police officers, that we can only be tantalized wondering what sort of horrible language the lesbians know. At one point, gorgeous Angie Dickenson looks wistfully off into the distance and says, "I had a college roommate once...", which invoked hoots from the audience.

Family, however, was more serious minded, involving son Willie's best friend Zeke getting arrested at a gay bar, and basically getting outed to everyone because of it. Willie's response is harsh, while Willie's parents are more sympathetic to the neighborhood kid they've all known for years. Mom basically gives Willie a talking-to, letting him know that he is being a complete ass by pushing his best friend away. It was actually really well done, despite some dated costuming choices, and made me a little teary-eyed at points. I've heard Family is out on DVD... I'd kind of like to check out more episodes.

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF #2 - Inspiring doc trumps soft-focus girl-love

Maybe it was because just last week I sat through hours and hours of Ken Burns' epic WWII documentary The War. The best thing about that very good series were the testimonials by veterans and civilians, reminiscing about both the good and the bad of World War II. The simple yet moving documentary Tell (6/8) (as in "Don't ask, don't tell.") plays like a missing chapter of that mega series.

Interviewing military veterans from conflicts ranging from World War II to the current war in Iraq, the film spans generations of gay, lesbian, and even transgendered folks who have served the military with honor. Some were kicked out for admitting that they're gay, others stayed quite until they were honorably discharged or were able to retire. They range from soldiers and sailors, to linguistic experts, to reconnaissance pilots, to one of the highest-ranked officers of the Coast Guard, an Admiral who literally went to the personal ads to hire a female escort to bring with him to functions. I'm not surprised that there are gays in the military, I'm just surprised at literally how many there are. More than one of the interviewees point out that these closeted folks often prove to be the best soldiers, simply because they are out there to prove they CAN be. What the film lacks in visual interest (it is almost entirely a series of talking-head interviews), it makes up for with the stories shared. This screening was preaching to the converted, but I think Tell should be seen by all those in Congress that are waffling about repealing this ridiculous law. The military should be literally taking all volunteers they can get right now.

Unfortunately, I decided to follow-up with The Chinese Botanist's Daughters (Les filles du botaniste) (4/8). As there are so few lesbian movies to buzz about, this movie has apparently gotten some word-of-mouth on the festival circuit (which we all know means nothing--see Loving Annabelle). The film itself is undeniably gorgeous. The cinematography is mind-bogglingly beautiful, with China's lush green foliage, craggy cliffy mountains, and deep gray water serving as much of the backdrop, plus the actresses involved are both very attractive and alluring. But the story of an orphan girl Min Li (Mylène Jampanoï) sent to be an assistant to a master botanist (Ling Dong Fu) only to fall in love with his beautiful daughter An (Xiao Ran Li) comes across as shallow and boringly soft-porny. Heck, when Min Li stumbles upon An lying in luxurious sleep across steaming leaves in a misty greenhouse, her bare skin luscious and glistening with sweat... well, I just about had to suppress a giggle. An abandoned greenhouse serves as a tropical Eden-like Den of Love, and, with its clear walls, is just made for someone to stumble across the undercover lovers (which of course is how it all comes to an end). There was sniffling in the theaters at the end, and my friend T turned, stone-faced, to check my reaction at the conclusion. Without smiling, I pointed to my face and said, "Dry."

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]

SLGFF #1 - Or as we like to call it, The Festival of the Gays!

'Tis that time of year again, when The Gays emerge from their bars, nightclubs, and knitting circles, and head into the movie theater for the promise of *perhaps* catching a good gay-themed film at the Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival. Having seen a lot of these films, they tend to be hit or miss (and when they miss, whoo-boy, they tend to be exceptionally stinky... the type of movie where if it were straight, it wouldn't even be touched by festivals with a 10-foot pole). But when there is something good out there... something perhaps so good that it is good as a movie-movie, rather than just a gay movie, well, everyone can rejoice. So, without further ado, we delved into Opening Night of the 2007 Festival of the Gays...

The Opening Night film looked promising. The Walker (3/8) has a stellar cast, ranging from Kristin Scott Thomas, to Lili Tomlin, to Lauren Bacall, to Ned Beatty, to, well, Woody Harrelson in the title role. A "walker," in the world of Washington, DC, is a man who escorts big-shot politician's wives to phancy-pants events when her man is not available. Woody plays Carter Page III, a foppish man with cheesy 80s moustache and nice wig that he keeps in a jar by the door. His Virginia drawl is so thick that it sounds like his mouth is full of molasses, and I know that I wasn't the only one who couldn't understand a word he was saying for the first 20 minutes. Regardless, he is a walker who charms his lady-friends like Lily, Lauren, and Kristin--so much so that they meet weekly to play poker and dish political gossip. That is until Kristin finds her lover (who is NOT her husband) dead in his home, and Carter decides to cover for her, unwittingly finding himself in the middle of an investigation. The concept of the film is interesting... it takes place in the modern Bush administration, and points out that a homosexual man is the most convenient fall-guy to destroy in a scandal, but at the same time it goes nowhere with this, except to imply that all of Carter's old girlfriends drop him like a hot potato as soon as his name is unfairly tainted. Woody's weird accent aside, the movie is a contrast of exceptionally good acting (by Scott Thomas) and welcome screen company (like Tomlin and Bacall), with bafflingly poor side plots, like Carter's relationship with his edgy artist lover, played by hottie German actor Moritz Bleibtreu (Run Lola Run). There is no compelling reason to explain why these two are together, and there is absolutely no chemistry between the actors. Plot-wise, the film kind of muddles along, and is strangely dull when it should have been scandalous. Overall, the vibe at the party following the film is that people thought The Walker to be one big MEH.


I have the theory that foreign films are often inherently better than American ones, so I next decided to see Vivere (6/8), the latest film by German director Angelina Maccarone (who directed the very good Unveiled previously). Francesca (Esther Zimmering) is a weary young woman who is basically supporting her Italian father and teenage sister Antoinetta (Kim Schnitzer), taking the place of a mother who abandoned them years before. It is Christmas Eve, and Antoinetta runs away from home, off to Rotterdam to be with her rocker boyfriend. It is up to Francesca to literally drop everything and take off in her cab for a three hour drive to find her little sister. On the way, Francesca comes across a car accident and picks up the victim, a 60-ish woman who we find out is named Gerlinde (Hannelore Elsner), who has her own sorrows and lost love to be slowly revealed. With nowhere else to go, Gerlinde stays in the cab all the way to Rotterdam, and soon the three characters' overlapping perspectives are revealed, one at a time. At first, after half an hour or so, when the story suddenly seemed to come to a head, and then flipped backwards to start at the beginning with Gerlinde, I thought the leap of narration was a bit of a jolt. But it all slowly started to come together, and it was an interesting twist (especially when two characters interpret the same moment slightly differently). Yes, it is an old trick, going all the way to Rashomon, but it worked. The three actresses were very good, especially Esther Zimmering as Francesca, who was so hungry for affection and attention, that her attempt to seduce Gerlinde is both sweet and heartbreaking. All three female roles were well-written and complex, which is always a delight in any film.


Finally, my first Saturday night of the fest was topped off by the Xanadu Sing-Along. It is hard to rate Xanadu (4/8 for the film, 7/8 for the Sing-Along). It is by no means a good movie, but now that I've seen it a couple times recently, I appreciate its cheesiness, bad acting, and dull-to-delightful plotline. And you have to love Gene Kelly's adorable earnestness in a role that would literally destroy his big-screen career. Plus, I just had to see it on a big screen. Everyone knew that when I watched it at home recently, for the first time in years, I was agog at how HOT Olivia Newton-John was in the closing climactic "Xanadu" medley. When she comes out prancing awkwardly in high heels, wearing her parachute-pants-glitzy-disco-diva one piece... WOW. Her hair is crimped and fluffy; her smile open, inviting, and flirty; her lips glossy. Her skin is so dewey and California-golden that you just want to lick her oft-exposed shoulder. Or whatever. Needless to say, a fun time was had by all, and big points go out to my pal ShehryBobbins, who dressed up fantastically as 40s-crooner-Olivia and was robbed... ROBBED in the costume contest! Drat to the winner! Rollerskates and a big Dolly Parton wig do NOT an ONJ make! Cheers also go to the woman in line who dressed as one of the muses (she was also robbed in the awards, coming in third!). We didn't realize how perfectly right-on her costume was until the opening credits when she not only stood in front of the theater audience, under the movie screen, reenacting her likeness coming to life and bursting out of the mural, but she pranced, muse-like, up and down the aisles for the entire song. Hoorah!

[2007 Seattle Lesbian & Gay Film Festival]