| xx |
|
FILM
- March 20, 2002
| 5 |
days
of film |
|
in
east lansing
|
|
Five
seems to be a theme for this year’s East Lansing Film Festival.
Not only is this year the festival’s fifth birthday, but
a day has been added to it, making it five days long.
Don’t worry, though, the offerings don’t stop at five
films. Try 90.
The festival opens tonight with Jeff Daniels’ movie “Super
Sucker.” The film starts at 7:30 p.m. and is in a new venue:
the Hannah Community Center’s performing arts theater. The
rest of the festival will be in Wells Hall on MSU’s campus.
I put together a panel of film reviewers:
|
•
Blake French, a 17-year-old from Mason who writes occasional
film reviews for City Pulse.
• Allan Ross, one of our staff members (and an MSU
student) who writes occasional feature stories and wonderful,
weekly video reviews.
• Molly Marco, a Video To Go staff member and MSU student.
• Greg Mercer, a recent Lansing transplant who wanted
to be a part of the festival coverage.
• Lawrence Cosentino, a law student who graces our
pages with stories about classical music and jazz and anything
else we throw his way. (He developed his own rating system,
while other reviewers stuck to the 1-5 system.)
|
We
didn’t review all 90 films; we’re not that crazy. But
here’s what we thought about what we saw.
However, the festival isn’t only about likes and dislikes.
It’s about intellectual stimulation. It’s about opening
the mind to new ideas, new influences and new thought. It’s
about meeting new people and experiencing new cultures. And it’s
about sitting back for one movie (or 20) and letting go.
See you at the festival.
|
|
—
Elaine Yaw
|
“La
Tropical,” 4 p.m. Saturday, Fellini theater
As sweltering and raw as Cuba itself, “La Tropical” is a sexy,
dizzying and ultimately bittersweet look at Havana’s most famous
dancehall. Shot in black-and-white by Pulitzer Prize-winner and former
Detroit Free Press photojournalist David Turnley, “La Tropical”
is a feature-length documentary that tangos in and out of the lives
of eight individuals resigned to a life of near poverty and who are
in one way or another bound to the sweet weekly beats of the Salon Rosado
at La Tropical.
Frolic with the scantily clad grandma who’s been dolling herself
up for a half-century and still (brazenly) flirts with band members.
Sweat along at a day practice session as Cuba’s answer to the Dave
Matthews Band pulls out all the stops. Grab a partner and grind to the
provocative music of Los Van Van, Grammy Award-winners and living legends
at the open-air club.
 |
“Cuba
is movement,” says a stunning 24-year old cabaret dancer, one of
the film’s main characters. “Cuba is dance.” Men from
around the world swoon as she prances seductively in full cabaret regalia,
perhaps not realizing that her earnings go toward raising her 8-year
old daughter. Having long ago forsaken such notions as true love and
financial bliss, she dances each week to support her daughter and also,
we suspect, for love of la musica.
“La Tropical” hits its emotional crescendo at a birthday party
for a 10-year-old girl who has multiple sclerosis. She’s wearing
her best party dress, her sisters have helped her put on makeup and
her entire family has turned out to celebrate. Heartbreakingly, her
mother confides that with better doctors her daughter would not have
had to suffer with such a disability. Think that keeps music out of
the festivities? Clara que no! In fact, when the birthday girl breaks
into a flawless rendition of her favorite pop song, her dad has to leave
the room to keep from crying and you realize that for some of these
people, music is almost all they have.
Sentimental but not sappy, “La Tropical” benefits from its
combination of infectious songs and gritty material. It follows on the
heels of “Wrapped Words,” the Cuban Art Co-op exhibit that
just ended its run at the Kresge Art Museum.
Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
“Innocence,”
7:30 p.m. Thursday, Hitchcock theater
Paul Cox’s intimate romantic drama “Innocence” is a gentle,
sensitive, heart-warming movie, yet at the same time it’s blunt
and aggressive. It’s not every day a movie has the guts to feature
steamy sex scenes between old people — and I don’t mean older
people; I mean old. And the same old folks tell jokes so dirty, they
put “American Pie” humor to shame.
This film is not obscene or pornographic. It’s actually nothing
like most Hollywood romances where sex leads to intimacy. In this production,
intimacy leads to lovemaking. And these sex scenes are not exploitative
or gratuitous, they simply capture the highlights of timeless, passionate
love.
The film tells the story of two people who were lovers in Belgium as
young adults, separate, and miraculously discover each other living
in Australia some 40 years later. Claire (Julia Blake) and Andreas (Charles
“Bud” Tingwell) meet for lunch and realize their passion still
rings true. They end up in the same bed again. When Claire breaks the
news to her habitual husband (Terry Norris), the situation really heats
up.
 |
What makes
the film feel so genuine is how it reveals the plot through the characters’
daily lives. Their lives are based on routines, obligations and simple
activities. Thus, we connect with the characters because they’re
real. Cox knows emotional condition well and understands how hard it
is for a person to change a part of his or her life after a lifetime
of habit. He also allows his characters to take on their own complex
forms, each facing a different fear and owning different feelings.
Cox doesn’t clutter his film with snarling bad guys. Claire’s
husband isn’t depicted as evil or monstrous. Eventually he acknowledges
a lifetime of mistakes and tries to change. The only villain in the
movie is time itself. Since Andreas and Claire know they cannot conquer
that problem, they simply make use of the time they share together.
Both Tingwell and Blake exhibit a sweet tenderness and vulnerability
through their characters. Terry Norris keeps his stubborn, self-reliant
character under control, and the actors who play the couple during their
younger years form a perfect display of youth’s immature obsession
with love.
“Innocence” will touch people in different ways. Older couples
will leave the theater holding hands in tenderness and care. This movie
will strike younger couples as a song of hope, joy and inspiration.
Disregarding age, if you’re like me, you will leave the theater
with the sense that something important and transcending has taken place.
Rating: 4 and a half out of 5
“Plaster Caster,” 9 p.m. Friday, Hitchcock theater
Van Gogh nailed a canvas to a hay-wagon in his zeal to paint a wind-whipped
landscape. Proust wrote hundreds of pages of prose in pursuit of a single
memory. Cynthia Plaster Caster captures an even more elusive and prized
phenomenon than her artistic predecessors. For some 30 years, she has
been creating life molds of the erect (or, sometimes unavoidably, semi-erect)
penises of rock stars.
Cynthia makes it clear that she is not a “size queen.” Her generous,
appreciative spirit is only one of many things that makes this film a
celebration of diversity the likes of which have never been seen on the
MSU campus. As the film follows her through two castings (one substantially
more successful than the other), the inexorable logic of her quest uplifts
the soul as much as it titillates the other stuff.
 |
Because “Plaster
Caster’s” salt-of-the-earth heroine only grows in our estimation
as the film goes on, any grist for post-modern irony has to be shaved
off the backs of the run-of-the-mill freaks who surround her. Aging rock
stars like Eric Burdon are seen first in blurry, hairy ’60s snapshots,
then as sagging, eyebrow-penciled wrecks reminiscing about their groupie
years.
A procession of preening young rockers, draggy hangers-on, pretentious
gallery types and callow publicists underscore the point that C.P.C. is
by far the most fulfilled, together and focused person in her circle (with
the possible exception of her attorney). She is that rare, heaven-anointed
artist who never doubts her path for a second, and even gets to achieve
her dream of a New York gallery show. The final, wildly successful casting
session, shown in bravely orgasmic detail, is the best argument made for
art in a movie since Charlton Heston saw his Sistine ceiling materialize
in the clouds in “The Agony and the Ecstasy.” Oh, hell —
it’s better.
Note: Cynthia Plaster Caster and the Demolition Doll Rods are scheduled
to appear at the screening of the film.
Rating: Definitely a Hendrix; you’ll just have to see the
film to comprehend how good a rating that is.
“Strange Fruit,” 7 p.m. Friday, Fellini theater
In 1939, Billie
Holiday recorded a stark and horrifying daguerreotype of a Southern lynching
titled “Strange Fruit.” The recording stood out like a lacerating
whip amid the escapist moon-and-June pop music of the time. Many radio
stations refused to play it for years, yet incredibly, it reached No.
16 on the pop charts within three months after its release. This documentary
presents a multi-dimensional portrait of the origin and social roots of
one of Tin Pan Alley’s most remarkable products — an enduring
anthem of Southern black outrage, incongruously written by an East Coast
Jew named Abel Meeropol.
“Hybrid,” 6:30 p.m. Saturday, Bresson theater
Did you know that when you take a big bite of hot, buttery corn on the
cob, you are actually filling your mouth with ripened ovaries? I’ll
never bite into another corncob the same way.
Back in the 1930s, a man named Beeghly — grandfather of director
Monteith McCollum — was obsessively fascinated with cross-pollination
of corn. He made vital discoveries in the field of corn hybridization,
crossbreeding different seed types to produce higher quality crops. The
marketplace loved him, but his fellow farmers did not. And his children,
interviewed in the film, say they barely knew him as they were growing
up. He was always too preoccupied with his precious crops.
 |
This movie acknowledges Beeghly as the 1928 Iowa State Champion Hog Caller
and shows a series of 1950s commercials he made to promote his seed corn.
But most of the film depicts a different Beeghly, an eccentric widower
who remarried at the age of 92, and still seems to get along with corn
better than with people. He retired from commercial farming in 1974. Beeghly
turned 100 during the filming of “Hybrid.”
The film drags, but
it does have its moments. McCollum makes good use of time-lapse photography
and stop-motion animation, and a violin-heavy soundtrack feels appropriate
given the film’s dual atmosphere. But the movie doesn’t show
us why we should concern ourselves with the torrid sexual activities of
corncobs.
Rating: 1 and a half out of 5
“Unfinished
Symphony,” 9 p.m. Friday, Fellini theater
“Unfinished Symphony” is one of those rare documentaries
that forces every viewer to rethink Vietnam. Hollywood has made
many movies about the war, but it’s different for a big-budget
war flick to depict soldiers abusing drugs than it is listening
to a soldier explain why he used the drugs. This film gets under
our skin because it breathes intimacy into the issues.
Also, the film doesn’t sprinkle the atrocities of war with
a deep, passionate love story or try to make sense out of the disturbing
actions. As a documentary, it doesn’t hesitate giving us the
cold, hard facts — no matter how troubling. “Unfinished
Symphony” examines facts of war so sick and unsettling that
no Hollywood filmmaker would attempt to portray on screen.
It focuses mainly on a war protest that occurred on Memorial Day
weekend 1971. The demonstration — conducted by recently returned
veterans — educated people and the press as to what they had
seen and what they had heard. The protest influenced many people
and rushed a final resolution. This movie also shows how much of
the conflict was prolonged by the two sides misunderstanding each
other.
Henryk Gorecki’s Symphony No. 3: The Symphony of Sorrowful
Songs, ties the structure together. Like the actual symphony, this
movie contains three separate movements, each devoted to historical
events behind the protest, the march and the aftermath. Directors
Bester Cram and Mike Majors have found an interesting way to weave
the problems in Vietnam with the conflicts emerging among the American
people.
Rating: 4 and a half out of 5
“Dear Fidel, Marita’s Story,” 1:30 p.m. Saturday,
Bresson theater
The fun of “Dear Fidel: Marita’s Story” comes mainly
from scanning the inscrutably charming face of its protagonist for
some clue as to whether her life really unfolded the way she claims
it did. Her pulpy story of a brief love affair with Fidel Castro
and subsequent involvement with the FBI and CIA (not to mention
the Mafia) is one mighty long plug of tobacco, but she wraps it
so tightly it just has to be smoked all the way down. When Marita
recalls cooing things like “my bearded Cuban” to her favorite
dictator, or pores lovingly through an old trunk of faithfully-preserved
memorabilia, the odd combination of Castro and romance tickles the
short hairs that wave over your heart.
Rating: Four-fifths of a cigar.
“Jails,
Hospitals and Hip-Hop,” 4 p.m. Saturday, Capra theater
Danny Hoch’s uncanny ability to transform himself into a multitude
of characters makes “Jails, Hospitals, and Hip-Hop” a
good choice to see for any aspiring actor. While a few of the portrayals
are similar and some work better than others (the alcoholic prison
guard and disabled son of a cocaine addict were my two favorites),
all are acted with an amazing energy and an utmost respect for the
subject matter at hand.
|
Essentially
a one-man show, Hoch originally penned his collection of isolated,
urban vignettes for the stage. This version, however, consists primarily
of staged scenes featuring Hoch and other fellow actors shot on
location in typical movie fashion. Hoch (who also co-directed) simultaneously
edits this footage, though, with two solo shows of the same material
performed live before an off-Broadway audience and a jail filled
with inmates. While the final celluloid product is visually stimulating
and very “MTV”, the fancy camera tricks really don’t
add much other than cosmetics.
Ultimately, this is a refreshingly innovative piece of movie-making.
Sadly, though, Hollywood does not always reward such innovation,
and I will be surprised if this film enjoys much success outside
the festival circuit. So, catch it on the big screen while you can…
even if you don’t like jails, hospitals or hip-hop.
Rating: 3 out of 5
“Ralph Bunche: An American Odyssey,” noon Sunday, Hitchcock
theater
This is a classically proportioned documentary with a towering theme
and the good sense to stand back and let it scrape the sky. A largely
forgotten figure in 20th-century American history, Ralph Bunche
was a brilliant African-American scholar and diplomat who negotiated
the shoals of domestic racism and international diplomacy with superhuman
skill and grace. This fascinating film by William Greaves follows
Bunche’s path from fiery intellectual to high-level United
Nations peacekeeper in the can-do post-World War II period, a long-ago
time when anything seemed possible if you were smart enough, worked
hard enough and smoked enough cigarettes.
A fearless international troubleshooter, Bunche was involved over
the years in many United Nations initiatives, some more quixotic
than others. His stunning early successes mediating the Israeli-Arab
conflict are particularly heartbreaking to modern audiences who
know that the problem will be just as intractable 50 years later.
Bunche faces physical danger, separation from his family and knots
of stubborn Arabs and Jews with tireless vigor and imagination,
achieving a rare breakthrough at one point by threatening to smash
commemorative plates over the negotiators’ heads.
The film’s breathtakingly grand sweep offers a side view of
some 50-odd years of world history, experienced through generous
film clips and magisterial readings from Bunche’s own writings.
Every phase of the film tears into a meaty question of modern history,
moving from Bunche’s early years as a firebrand thinker on
race issues, through a welter of postwar diplomatic crises (particularly
post-war decolonialization in Africa), then back into a frying pan
of McCarthyism and civil rights crises at home.
Along with a master seminar on statesmanship, “Ralph Bunche”
offers a quiet lesson in unobtrusive documentary style. Its battleship-tight
rhythm and feel makes it the perfect vector for its noble subject,
perfecting a blissful illusion that the trembling petals and tinkly
pianos of dozens of ‘90s PBS documentaries were only a yogurt-and-Yanni-induced
dream.
Rating: Five seats on the United Nations Security Council
out of five.
|
|
|
xx |
