The House Next Door

Archive: April, 2009

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Burning Down the House: The Story of CBGB

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Burning Down the House: The Story of CBGB

"Fuck this place," bellows a beer-spraying singer at the last Sunday matinee of hardcore bands at CBGB, a rare burst of rock 'n roll anomie in Burning Down the House, a largely sentimental documentary of the final months of the Valhalla of New York punk clubs and the failed attempts to save it. Often dissed in its last decade for running on nostalgia for its glory days ("Playing Tonight: Nobody Good," per a skeptical cartoon), the venue found itself in a struggle for a new lease in 2005 with its landlord, a homeless advocacy organization headquartered next to it on the Bowery, whose nonprofit status made for a dicey PR dilemma. Director Mandy Stein recaps the club's '70s spawning of the Talking Heads, Ramones, Blondie, and Television with brief vintage clips, along with tour de force footage of transsexual provocateur Jayne County performing "Toilet Love." (Most of the archival performances, presumably cursed with poor or absent sound, are accompanied by studio recordings.) CB's sphinx-like founder Hilly Kristal, a former Radio City Music Hall choral singer and bluegrass picker who opened his dive in 1973 and serendipitously served as godfather to a musical uprising, found himself in an increasingly hopeless endgame despite the return of alumni playing benefit concerts and a strange flirtation with moving the bar to "the shittiest street in Las Vegas." There's no suspense about the outcome (scenes of the bar, fixtures, and infamously appalling bathroom being dismantled are intercut throughout), but Stein, whose parents either managed or signed some of the club's touchstone acts, does best when capturing the melancholy of the former patrons and musicians, aged between forty- and sixtysomething, who saw CBGB's demise as the Viking funeral for their youth. Framed with scavenger hunting in the stripped bar by Jim Jarmusch and Luc Sante, who uncover guitar picks and 1979 graffiti, and climaxing with Patti Smith's finale on the last night, Burning Down the House honors the passing of the Blitzkrieg Bop's home base and says of Madoff-era Manhattan, "Fuck this place."




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TMI Trumbo: Johnny Got His Gun

The too-much-information age is a strange thing indeed. Take for instance Shout! Factory's long-awaited DVD release of Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun, which takes place mostly inside the mind of wounded WWI vet Joe Bonham, a deaf/dumb/blind quadruple amputee. Smoothly and effortlessly the film weaves back and forth in time, from the present, B&W hospital setting (seen from third-person POV) to Joe's colorful memories of the past to the trapped soldier's vivid fantasy world. Adapted from the legendary screenwriter's own award-winning book, Trumbo's sole directorial effort was a film I'd never gotten around to seeing, so I was pretty thrilled when I noticed that the DVD contained a slew of bonus features. In addition to Robert Fischer's 2006 doc Dalton Trumbo: Rebel In Hollywood, there's a 2009 interview with star Timothy Bottoms, and the music video for Metallica's "One" (a metal homage of sorts to Johnny). As if that weren't enough, there's also behind-the-scenes peeks with Bottoms and DP Jules Brenner providing commentary, the 1940 radio adaptation of Johnny (the book) starring James Cagney, a 1971 feature article from "American Cinematographer," the original theatrical trailer and, oh yeah, a replica of the original poster! It's like an all-in-one, film junkie overdose kit.

Which would be great, save for one giant spoiler, which I could have avoided had I not been so geeky that I watched the extras first. Continue Reading »




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Links for the Day (April 28th, 2009)

1. Kenneth Lonergan's Margaret: Post-production in a Courtroom. The Los Angeles Times looks at what happens when rampant perfectionism, final cut and disgruntled moneymen collide.

["A number of producers and editors—including Rudin, Pollack and Martin Scorsese's legendary editor, Thelma Schoonmaker—have tried but failed to help Lonergan complete his movie, court documents and interviews show. With his financing from Gilbert and Fox Searchlight cut off, Lonergan borrowed more than $1 millio from actor and close friend Matthew Broderick (who has a small part in Margaret") in an attempt to complete the editing of the movie, according to a person close to the production. (A Broderick spokesman said the loan was a private matter and disputed the dollar amount but did not provide another figure.)"] Continue Reading »




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: The Fish Child

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: The Fish Child

With a plot recalling the fevered fictions of Jim Thompson, late Polanski, and Isabel Allende, The Fish Child banks on the sizzle of its pair of young female stars and their enactment of class and erotic tensions to flavor its Sapphic noir melodrama. Blond and saucer-eyed teen Lala (Ines Efron), a daughter of Buenos Aires privilege, trysts and dreams with her raven-haired Paraguayan maid Ailin (Mariela Vitale), who is conveniently just 20, and inconveniently having a backstairs affair with Lala's dad (Pep Munne), a creepy, sybaritic judge. Flashing backward from Lala's bus journey to her lover's village after Dad turns up dead, the film's opening third is writer-director Lucia Puenzo's most accomplished and surprising stretch, stitching an impressionistic weave of past passions and present dread, along with establishing the party-filled, pop-fueled demimonde of upper-class Argentines. Puenzo, adapting her own novel, augments the melodrama with focused, tightly-framed observations of her anti-heroines, who steal paintings and jewelry from Lala's family to fund their goal of settling down in a lake house near the rural home of "la Guavi" (as the aristocrats call their domestic). Sensuous Vitale lounges on a bed, face to the camera, and the mattress shakes for awhile before we see her employer mounting her from behind; Efron, hitting strong, introverted counter-notes, chops her hair off in a dazed bathtub scene, a tableau of abandonment and possible madness. Puenzo's cool, grainy gaze and Efron's desperate gamine keep Fish Child from floating into risibility until one of the girls lands in prison for the other's crime, and the ensuing gunplay and lurid paternal horrorscape make for a wheezing finish. Puenzo earns cred for the bold stroke of having the mythological aquatic boy of the title swim into Lala's consciousness midway, but the kid's ultimate significance is the stuff of telenovela formula.




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Outrage

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Outrage

Outrage launches its purported exposé of closeted politicians who push anti-gay agendas with the familiar audio excerpts of Senator Larry Craig, caught with his pants down and foot tapping in an airport-toilet entrapment in 2007, unconvincingly protesting his hetero credentials (the punchline about his "wide stance" curiously missing). Kirby Dick's muckraking rundown consists mostly of Republican lawmakers, many exposed by crusading blogger Mike Rogers, whose same-sex proclivities are described by hookups both anonymous in silhouette and reported secondhand by gay lobbyists, activists, and journalists. Former New York mayor Ed Koch, a decidedly illiberal Democrat who was contemptibly laissez faire during the emergence of AIDS in his city, and current Florida governor Charlie Crist, whose recent marriage is portrayed a sham to shore up his 2012 presidential prospects, are among those whose gay affairs are plausibly traced. But filmmaker Dick falls short of his previous, nuanced work in Sick and Derrida, merely cataloguing a "community" political scorecard and losing focus by including a solitary pickup anecdote concerning a Fox News anchor. Isn't this case just good old-fashioned dishing and nothing else? Yet more egregiously, former New Jersey governor Jim McGreevey gets to coast through recounting his "journey" to becoming an out "gay American" without any mention of how fabulous a diversion it was from his more routine peccadilloes and scandals, and the hiring of his lover to a sinecure in his administration. (Further demonstrating liberal inattention to Democratic malfeasance, George W. Bush is appropriately vilified for endorsing a marriage "protection" amendment to the Constitution, but Bill Clinton's signing of the Defense of Marriage Act isn't cited.) One can at least partly embrace the concept that outing pols who torpedo gay rights is defensible and still find Dick's film too frequently a would-be sensationalistic bit of tut-tutting for queer Dems and their politically-connected friends, who here proudly credit gay staffers with making contemporary Washington run. There's a damnable accusation.




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: In the Loop

In the Loop

Television-to-film crossovers usually land on the silver screen as more bloated, drawn-out versions of their boob-tube counterparts. But Armando Iannucci's debut feature In The Loop carries on the staggering comedic traditions of its source material, his critically embraced BBC series The Thick of It, hardly ever missing a step—a nonstop riot of fumbling, ego-fueled, lunatic politicians making wrongheaded decisions left and right, cutting off each other heads in the process.

An English government official (Tom Hollander) unwittingly stands behind a potential U.S.-led war with the Middle East on live British radio, and is then confronted by a verbally aggressive, expletive-spewing communications chief (Peter Capaldi) who demands the clumsy politician and his new advisor (Chris Addison) fly to Washington to make amends with the U.S. State Department for his well-broadcast slip-up. But the State Department has made other plans for the Brit, as the Assistant Secretary of Diplomacy (Mimi Kennedy) and her expedient intern (Anna Chlumsky) hope to use the visiting diplomat as a pawn in their anti-war movement. Soon, a peace-loving Pentagon General (James Gandolfini) becomes involved, momentarily negating the intolerable, steely, war-happy State Department head (David Rasche) from pushing forward his Future Planning Committee agenda (also known as the "secret" War Committee). Continue Reading »




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Breaking Bad Mondays: Season 2, Ep. 8, "Better Call Saul"

By Todd VanDerWerff

"Better Call Saul" is the kind of episode that made me get interested in television in the first place. It's not perfect, by any means, but it would be nauseatingly hilarious in one shot and then cut to another that would load on the unbearable tension. In so many ways, it's a minor encapsulation of so many of the show's major themes (from the idea that you can't be just a little bit of a criminal to the thought that resisting temptation is so very, very hard), but it's also a surprisingly fast-paced episode of the notoriously slow-moving series. The episode even manages to make famed comedian Bob Odenkirk seem like a part of its universe with a character who is both the sort of joke-y character he plays well and a necessary piece of the puzzle of Walter White's (Bryan Cranston) burgeoning criminal empire. Season two has been building to this. Hell, the SHOW has been building to this. We're at a precipice, and the RV is pointed downhill. We just passed the point of no return. Continue Reading »




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Links for the Day (April 27, 2009)

1. The Limits of Control. Glenn Kenny takes on the latest from Jim Jarmusch at his blog.

["The Limits of Control takes its title from a phrase of William S. Burroughs, and given the habits of 'Lone Man,' the unnamed operative portrayed by DeBankolé, one might also presume that the film will reveal the limits of his own self-control. Here is a man who is meticulous in every respect. Sitting in a swank airport lounge, taking instructions from Alex Descas' 'Creole' and his 'French' translator Jean Francois Severine, he sits with exemplary posture, palms on the tops of his thighs, and betrays no emotion or beffudlement when Creole begins mixing philosophical aphorisms with his directives. Lone Man does not order double espressos, but rather two espressos in two cups. He can get insistent on this point. The various coded messages he receives, on small slips of paper folded into match boxes bearing the logo 'Le Boxeur,' he memorizes in a matter of seconds. He then crumples the paper and swallows it. When confronted with a gorgeous young woman in his hotel room—'Nude,' she is called, for she is that, throughout the entire picture, except when she's wearing a see-through plastic raincoat—he rejects her advances. 'No sex?' asks the woman (incarnated by Paz de la Huerta), who by all accounts would be entirely irresistible to any other heterosexual male. 'Not while I'm working,' Lone Man says."] Continue Reading »




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: The Lost Son of Havana

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: The Lost Son of Havana

"Years is easy to say, but those are days and nights," offers an anguished Luis Tiant, famed major-league pitcher of the 1960s and '70s, returning to his boyhood streets and playing fields after a 46-year absence in The Lost Son of Havana, an autumnal portrait of a hero haunted by loss and regret. Leaving home for a three-month ball-playing stint in America at age 20 in 1961, right after the Bay of Pigs, Tiant found himself trapped by the severance of diplomatic relations, and was urged in a letter from his father—himself a former star hurler of the Cuban, Mexican, and American Negro Leagues—not to return, but to seek his professional destiny in the States. After breaking in as an All-Star flamethrower with the Cleveland Indians, Luisito came back from a freakish shoulder fracture by reinventing himself as a crafty artisan—featuring a funky windup where his head turned to centerfield, then bobbed skyward—for the Red Sox, prompting hordes of Bostonians to ritually chant his name. In a storybook climax to his family's baseball journey, Tiant's elderly parents were permitted by Castro to join their son in 1975, where they witnessed his stirring performance in the World Series.

From his sobbing embrace by elderly aunts he hadn't seen in a half-century to somber musings that "it all could have been different," El Tiante's narrative is a ready-made tearjerker, and director Jonathan Hock not only wrings them out of the poignant reunion tale, but the nearly simultaneous deaths of both of Tiant's parents the year after their unlikely furlough from Cuba ("They killed me," mourns the son). Still, the man's cigar-chomping bonhomie that so well served his mainland media profile remains magnetic, and he's authentically bemused by his "lost" status in 21st-century Havana, as when baseball aficionados in mid-debate, prompted to name the greatest native pitcher, toss out the names El Duque and Jose Contreras. As for the politics of exile, the documentary doesn't delve into ideology or advocacy beyond capturing the undertow of the poverty in his Cuban Tiant family that gnaws at their celebrated prince. "We are barely scraping by," a cousin declares frankly to Luis just before he departs the island once again, and when he peels off some U.S. bills to meet her discreet but unadorned plea, it's both the only thing he can do and, in his own mind, not nearly enough.




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Rudo y Cursi

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Rudo y Cursi

Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna, the Mexican Matt & Ben—never more toxic than when paired on screen—reunite in Rudo y Cursi to denigrate rubes from Jalisco as slow-witted provincial brothers and banana plantation workers whose unlikely rise to soccer stardom supplies the purported comedy. García Bernal's "Cursi" (corny) is a gullible romantic who wants to run off to Texas on a quest for a singing career; Luna's "Rudo" (tough) is a husband, father, farm foreman, and fuck-up with twin passions for gambling and bullying Cursi. After a fútbol scout (Guillermo Francella) watches them play a local game on a dirt pitch, Cursi serendipitously makes a decisive kick to best his more talented goalkeeping sibling (in a groaningly obvious setup for the third act), and is whisked off to Mexico City and the pros. When Rudo follows, first-time feature director Carlos Cuarón (co-writer of brother Alfonso's obnoxious Y Tu Mamá También, the leads' launching pad) turns the farce into a gag-starved Dumb and Dumber, with Luna, sprouting facial foliage worse than his Milk mustache, falling into debt with gangsters from his gaming losses and coke habit, and García Bernal donning Tejano cowboy duds for a music video cover of Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me" (like nearly everything on view, not as funny as it sounds). The overaged brats flail about slapstickily, undergoing shower-room pubic shavings and cock-whippings, returning home as celebrities for their sister's wedding to a drug lord, and trading "asshole" and "faggot" jibes in the absence of a También–style make-out scene that would bring some agreeably incestuous adventurousness into the picture. As Rudo and Cursi are correctly labeled old for soccer prospects, these bucolic 30-year-old ninnies are even more tiresome than the randy little shits the stars played in their breakthrough vehicle. As Cursi boinks his TV hostess girlfriend on a kitchen countertop, a mock-portentous narration by the scout announces, "Loving a woman is like loving a ball—she requires guidance and control." The younger Cuarón should've applied either virtue to this bungled rehash of sports comedy clichés and sophomoric star power.




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Anticipation (Jean-Luc Godard, 1967)

By Ed Howard

[This review of a largely unknown and unavailable Jean-Luc Godard short is presented here as a plea that The Criterion Collection should include this film as an extra on one of their forthcoming Godard DVDs. It would be a very timely and appropriate inclusion for any of the Godard films that Criterion currently plans to release. If you're interested in seeing this film, write to them and tell them about it.]

Anticipation was Jean-Luc Godard's contribution to the multi-director anthology film The Oldest Profession, a collection of shorts on the theme of prostitution, with contributions by Claude Autant-Lara, Philippe de Broca and other minor French filmmakers of the time. Needless to say, Godard's segment stands out. He filmed his contribution in late 1966, not long after finishing 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, with which it shares some commonalities in theme and style. But the film Anticipation resembles more than anything else is Alphaville, Godard's futuristic take on a society that has forgotten about love. In this short, the space traveler John Demetrius (Jacques Charrier) takes a break from his interstellar journey on Earth, where the solicitous planetary government—a Soviet-American alliance, confirming that this is the distant future—provides prostitutes for all travelers who request them.

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To read the rest of the article at Only the Cinema, click here.




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Garapa

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Garapa

An exposé of severe poverty with every trace of glamour carefully removed, José Padilha's documentary Garapa finds the Elite Squad auteur training his camera on the poorest of the poor: the struggling families of Brazil's rural villages and urban favelas. Opening and closing with an explanatory text that situates the action in the context of a world hunger epidemic, the film otherwise avoids unnecessary exposition as well as the flash of the director's Golden Bear winner, instead simply watching its three subject families performing their daily tasks—much of which has to do with the acquisition and consumption of food—as they unfold through sometimes excruciatingly extended takes.

Only occasionally interrupting this observational mode to directly interrogate the subjects (and in one case provide them with pain medication), Padilha lets their quotidian lives dictate the content of the film. Endless shots of naked children cavorting (one of the subject families has 11), close-ups of flies buzzing around scabies-infested skin, the constant mixing of the titular concoction (a sugar water capable of warding off hunger, but providing nothing in the way of nutrition) all captured in excessively grainy black and white, this is the damning evidence of the cycle of poverty that forms the putrid core of Padilha's film. The circumstances of the three families follow more or less the same pattern: the inability of the father to find work, often compounded by an alcohol problem, an ignorance about birth control methods, severe malnutrition in the kids and a reliance on the aid of others—the church, government programs, a generous individual benefactor—to avoid complete starvation.

Emerging through Padilha's interviews with his subjects as well as through a particularly revealing sequence where one of the subjects takes her children to a health clinic (among the horrendous details that emerge here, the family is forced to defecate in plastic bags because they don't own a toilet), this background information provides a bare minimum of context that helps situate the film's observational core. For the rest, Padilha simply watches, and after the endless repetition of the same fruitless actions what emerges is not simply the horror or the futility of poverty, but the terrible banality of the daily existence it gives rise to. The contradictory evidence of flashy entertainments like City of God or Slumdog Millionaire notwithstanding, this last observation seems about right.




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Beatrice Arthur (May 13th, 1922—April 25th, 2009)

Godspeed, Dorothy Petrillo Zbornak Hollingsworth. After the break, some choice Bea moments. Share your thoughts, remembrances and links in the comments section. Continue Reading »




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Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Still Walking

Tribeca Film Festival 2009: Still Walking

Still Walking is a family drama that gets the family dynamic exactly right, a film that understands the ways in which unspoken resentments tend to accumulate and unresolved conflicts later harden into regrets. Unfolding over the course of a single day, the picture brings together three generations of a middle-class Japanese family under the grandparents' roof to pay tribute to their long deceased eldest son on the anniversary of his death. As in any domestic drama, everyone's got his issues and in the hothouse environment of the patriarchal household in which nearly the entire movie takes place, most of them come to light. The grandfather, a doctor forced to give up his practice when his eyesight started to fail, locks himself in his study, refusing to speak with his surviving son and emerging only at mealtimes. That son, an out-of-work art restorer, shows up with his new wife, a widow, and her young child, a domestic arrangement that, along with his perceived inability to live up to the example of his dead brother, puts him at some odds with his parents, even as he points out that his family situation is hardly anomalous in contemporary Japan. Meanwhile, his sister is planning on moving her own family into the house, an arrangement with which her mother is having some difficulty coming to terms.

But while these familial resentments and anxieties may come to the surface, they're never brought to a point of crisis. Directing his own brilliantly measured screenplay, Hirokazu Kore-eda frames his characters in long, fixed takes, turning a coolly observational eye on the assembled party as they deflect rather than confront potential sources of conflict or submerge their accumulated regrets in the performance of domestic ritual: cooking, eating, bathing. But if the film's restrained aesthetic and refusal of expected closure leads to a certain dryness in the presentation, then Kore-eda smartly portions out a few generous flourishes—like a perfectly lovely sequence in which an orange butterfly, taken by the grandmother to be the embodiment of her dead son, flutters around before landing on the picture of the deceased, and the film's epilogue, signaled by an ellipsis of shattering abruptness, which is unusually wise about the ways in which, for all our deepest regrets, life continues heedlessly on.




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Ride with The Devil: Il Divo

[Il Divo is now playing at Landmark's Sunshine Cinema and Lincoln Plaza Cinemas in Manhattan. Click venue names for screening information. Also see here for House contributor Kenji Fujishima's WSJ interview with Il Divo director Paolo Sorrentino.]

Il Divo, Paolo Sorrentino's 2008 Cannes Jury Prize-winning study of Italy's "Life Senator" Giulio Andreotti (who shares his titular nickname with Julius Caesar) is an art-house crowd popcorn flick. Dense with Byzantine political information—blink and you'll miss a crucial subtitle—the film should have been a miniseries, but nevertheless is steeped in the country's populist operatic tradition, and moves with the speed (not to mention slo-mo action sequences) of a Luc Besson film. And like that high-flying Frenchman's movies, Il Divo has the feeling of being completely choreographed. It's a ballet on steroids, downright militaristic in its precision. Between the lush production design and sweeping camerawork, the overwhelming opera score alternating with roaring rock and roll (and even a silly tune from 80s pop-tart Trio), you forget you're watching the story of a leader whose ruthless administration makes Bush & Co. look like Mother Teresa and the Missionaries of Charity. (Though all those Bush conspiracy theories do find their counterpart in Italy's "strategy of tension," which holds that the government causes chaos to create fear and maintain power—in this case for decades. In lieu of Skull and Bones there's the secret society of the P2 lodge, of which Silvio Berlusconi, naturally, was a member.) Continue Reading »




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