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SXSW: FRESNO

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Fresno
benefits greatly from the duel casting of Judy Greer and Natasha Lyonne as scrubby, flawed sisters who drag each other down a spiral of bad decisions. At the helm, Jamie Babbit makes her own series of bad decisions, often unable to get out of the way of a problematic script from Karey Dornetto and some off-putting and downright absurd character decisions throughout. It certainly has its moments of nigh inspired hilarity but the blistery chemistry between Greer and Lyonne can only do so much.

Fresno tells the story of two sisters who have just recently started working together in a not-so-idyllic position as hotel maids. Fresh out of sex rehab, Shannon (Greer) bears a chip on her shoulder and a hunger in her pants. She’s acerbic, mean-spirited and even cruel and Greer plays the eye-rolling indifference with an inbred intelligence. Even when her character is making disastrously immoral choices, Greer’s humorously numbed performance keeps us from completing hating the character, despicable though she may be.

On the other side of the fence is Lyonne’s Martha, the more responsible of the two and a hard-working, if easily influenced, ingenue who’s just been dumped by her gym instructor girlfriend. Martha either doesn’t notice that another gym instructor (Aubrey Plaza) has eyes for her or she doesn’t care but either way she wallows in the shoals of heartbreak and that makes her particularly susceptible to Shannon’s bad influence. 

When a horned-up and ready to rumble Shannon decides to bang a sketchy guest and ends up caught by Martha, she claims that he raped her. Next, she ends up accidentally killing him when pushing him and his wobbly, confused dong. Despite all signs that they should immediately report the incident to the police, Shannon convinces Martha to help cover up the “manslaughter” lest she end up in the slammer. Because all registered sex offenders go straight to jail when they’re involved in an accidental death? Immeasurable moral quandaries raised here aside, Fresno plays the scene for laughs when it might benefit it to tread lightly around such potentially controversial and dangerous territory. Especially if the writing is going to be so thin.

The rest of the film revolves around the girls’ efforts to dispose of the body as they carry him conspicuously to and fro in a motel laundry bin. Some of the situations they get themselves into are genuinely funny – a literal bag of dicks, a bemusing Fred Armisen/Allison Tolman cameo, pretty much anything Greer says and does – but it skates around most of the real dramatic issues that it red flags to return to later.

It’s worth mentioning that the film is directed by a woman, written by a woman, stars two women and the conversation rarely traverses the likes of men so it passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors. Having said that, the product itself – if taken as a sort of blind taste test for cinema – should not be celebrated for its admirable gender composure alone, lest we provide handicaps that would ultimatley benefit no one. It’s a nice try but one that lingers too much in the kiddy pool.

Babbit has mostly played the home box office game, lending herself out to direct television shows from Malcolm in the Middle to Gilmore Girls to The United States of Tara to Girls. Babbit jump-started her career in 1999 with queer satire But I’m a Cheerleader, which (ironically enough) marked the first real lead role for Natasha Lyonne. It – like Fresno – also featured Lyonne as a lesbian. Unforuntuately, what works on television doesn’t necessarily work in a movie and we see Babbit’s tendency to make affairs episodic and even hollow. The absurdity of any given situation often lacks reasonable followthrough and this seems in large part due to Babbit’s familiarity with a sitcom medium that champions quick laughs and surface level depth.

The product as a whole is reasonably entertaining during its run time, and certainly has its fair share of chuckles thanks to its pissy leading ladies, but is mostly unmemorable in the grand scheme of things.

C

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SXSW Review: THE FRONTIER


To watch The Frontier is to take a drivers seat in the Delorean and dial the settings to 1971. It has a distinctively “homage” feeling to it – as if it were a previously unreleased Hitchcock movie, filmed a short peck after The Birds. Unlike The Guest or Cold in July, The Frontier doesn’t play with old movie tropes so much as it practices a brand of straight-forward imitation, aping the style of Vietnam-era genre films, much like Ti West has done with The House of the Devil. The result is as if A Simple Plans met Pyscho in a back-alley, early-70s country thriller. It’s not quite horror, not quite a western but Oren Shai‘s pulpy throwback is stylized beyond reproach, even if rather laid back narratively.

The Frontier is a motel in the middle of nowhere. This remote and rundown last resort of lodging plays a seminal role in Shai’s film and much like the Bate’s Motel, its crumbling facade, dinky rooms and hardly tidy cafe are the focal points of the action. Housing a small stable of overtly suspicious characters, The Frontier is a melting pot of people past their prime trying to make moves of fame and fortune.

Amongst that suspicious crew, Luanne (Kelly Lynch) runs the place, having semi-inherited it after her 15 minutes went tits up years back and she’s has been stuck here ever since. Shady business partner and all around scumbag Lee (Jim Beaver) is a kind of suspicious, take-it-or-leave-it type. He’s gruff and handsy in all the wrong ways and his all work and no play attitude makes him a dull boy on the verge of snapping. Jamie Harris plays a faux-debonair English playboy passing through with crassly ritzy wife Gloria (Izabella Miko) and the pair provide a fair measure of the film’s desert dry comedy. But the show belongs to Jocelin Donahue‘s Laine who arrives at the motel running from an incident that left her literally red-handed and with a ring of bruises decorating her neck. The pitying Luanne – who has seen her fair share of battered beaus – offers her a gig behind the cafe’s counter but Laine is hesitant. After overhearing a plot to thieve two million dollars though, she agrees to stay but clearly not for the reason she’s letting on.

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Shot on Super 16mm to really highlight the dated aesthetic that Shai is looking for, The Frontier taps into the golden age of movies and not only in terms of its production design and costumes but in terms of its performances and screenplay. Harris in particular is delightfully hammy and Donahue herself could have been one of Hitchcock’s gals had she been around 50 odd years ago. And while it’s a simple joy to tap into a bygone era, one might find themselves underwhelmed by the story’s depth – or lack there of.

Written by Shai and co-writer Webb Wilcoxen, The Frontier can be a touch white bread-y in terms of its minimalism and narrative economy. There is a heist aspect to the film which is mostly underwhelming and bare bones. And though the aftermath of the film’s lynch pin event proves catastrophic, Shai and Wilcoxen could have invested more time into ironing out the subtle roles within the group. For a gang comprised of such archetypical Hollywood bits, there is little effort to make sense of how the group performs their criminal feat. Rather the tension is placed on how they do not gel with one another, mounting uneasy relationships that are quick to sour.

In some ways, this adds to the austere nature of Shai’s reverent tribute but it may prove a distraction for those used to more narrative twists and turns in their genre films. If there’s one thing that cannot be taken from The Frontier, it’s Shai’s manifest commitment to style. From the blustering deserts, their blood red sunsets, smoky shoot-outs and Laine’s distinctively dated and distinguishably awesome bangs, The Frontier seeps cool. Those looking for a stylish, sleek homage to way-back-then, The Frontier is your one stop shop.

B-

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SXSW Review: ADULT BEGINNERS

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The comic combination of Nick Kroll, Rose Bryne and Bobby Carnavale is enough to sell this wry but formulaic family-member-moves-home farce wholesale. Ironic that Bryne and Carnavale just co-starred side-by-side in Paul Feig’s underwhelming Melissa McCarthy vehicle Spy as arms dealing peers and they here play another side to partners in crime as a husband and wife duo who must make room for Kroll when a failed business investment forces him out of the big city.

Kroll earned notoriety playing the supernaturally dickish Rodney Ruxin on FX’s hit The League before launching his own sketch comedy The Kroll Show. With the later on its final season (it only got four) and the former taking a huge dive in ratings this past season, Kroll has extended his acidic humor to the world of film and if Adult Beginners is any indication, he might have found a new home. Going into the feature, I worried that Kroll’s resume suggested an inability to play sincerity onscreen but Adult Beginners rights any lingering concerns about that. There’s even a potent scene where the Rux drops tear. An honorary Shiva trophy unto him.  

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Having dumped all his resources into wearable tech that his Chinese producers botched entirely, Kroll’s Jake drops out of the buzzy environs of the inner city and feels compelled to retreat to the suburbs to escape VM death threats and sky-high city loft rent rates. At his childhood home lives sister Justine (Bryne), her husband Danny (Carnavale) and their appropriately difficult 3-year old son. Though Jake wants to sulk and sleep through a few months of respite from high-stakes business, Justine and Danny agree to house him, but only if he’ll play babysitter. Playground accidents and the difficulty of getting personal pooping time challenges Jake but ultimately teaches him an invaluable lesson about family and commitment.  

Yes, this sounds like a half dozen comedy/drama concepts we’ve seen before but Adult Beginners doesn’t attempt to distinguish itself by narrative uniqueness. Rather, it thrives on the strength and complexity of its adult characters and their complicated relationships. The comedy executed is smart and biting and Kroll employs his sharp-toothed, droopy eyed shtick whenever he can.

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Bobby Moynihan appears in the middle of the film as a washed-up quite-not-former-friend of Jake to illicit what is easily the most chuckle-heavy scene of the film. His shameless line of questioning and oblivious nature towards what is and is not appropriate makes him supporting comedy gold. Conversely, Kroll’s League co-star Jason Mantzoukas fails to muster a laugh as a “manny” (male nanny) with a dad rock side project.

Though Jake and Justine begin their new relationship on estranged footing, director Ross Katz is never estranged from the strengths of  Adult Beginners – a cast that can operate equally well in dramatic and comedic situations, a smart script from Kroll and genuine moments of emotional and intellectual progress.

As Jake is advised in a business meeting, there are two highways in life and the fast road to success is one you have to travel alone. In the past, Jake has always chosen the door to career advancement and dollar bills, ignoring the people who make life actually worthwhile. As Jake and Justine content with the ups and downs of their strained though improving relationship, Adult Beginners turns into a kind of rom-com between siblings. 60 years of rom-com history have told us that things always end up peachy but Adult Beginners is one of the rare few that actually earns its peachy flavor.

B

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SXSW Review: 7 CHINESE BROTHERS

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The old “I could watch so-and-so read a phone book” adage speaks to an ability to turn the banal into something unexpected and has been liberally applied to the works of anyone from Bill Murray to Daniel Day Lewis. In a similar but distinctly different vein, there’s something mundanely alluring about planting Jason Schwartzman in a room and allowing him to made snide riffs on each and every thing. The Rushmore-starrer possesses uncommon command over his ability to make you feel lesser, even if he’s day drunk, mostly unemployed and in the middle of getting punched in the face and Bob Byington capitalizes insanely on his ability to do such.

7 Chinese Brothers – the title is taken directly from the REM song of the same name – relinquishes a fully-charged, fully-snarky Schwartzman upon an Austin, Texas that is none too welcoming of his indifferent ways and has very little to offer him in terms of escapism. Like a stationary Kerouac, Schwartzman’s Larry finds solace at the bottom of a plastic handle of booze, spending his time off of some lousy job or another to loiter in the gas station parking lot or pester his grandma (Olympia Dukakis) for a financial leg up.

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Larry can be described in part by his inherent opposition to dashing but periodically deceitful best friend/his grandmother’s caretaker Norwood (TV on the Radio singer Tunde Adebimpe.) Sure, they both pop the odd stool softener to judge its effects when paired with an ale but while Larry ducks and weaves any semblance of actual responsibility, Norwood approaches the bar. At the saloon, Norwood lands the hot girl leaving wingman Larry to pick up the none too interesting scraps. His affection for Larry’s grams comes from a place of genuine empathy rather than the performed attentiveness of a potential inheritee. Even though Larry tries to scare her off by letting slip that Norwood has a prosthetic leg (he doesn’t), Lupe (Eleanore Pienta) – Larry’s new boss at the oil change station and love interest – has eyes for his Norwood, that great bastion of lower-middle-class hard work.

The film plays fast and lose with Schwartzman’s lippy mannerisms and there’s not a scene that he enters and doesn’t exit victorious. From braying at passerby veterinarians (“You don’t throw hats at cars”) to waxing on the French language with real-life dog Arrow, he is a low-pitched firecracker, taking everyone and everything down a notch under his breathe.  But that doesn’t mean that he is a hostile or even unlikeable figure. 7 Chinese Brothers‘ Schwartzman is a pithy, blue-collar beatnik in the wrong place and the wrong time and even though a persnickety little shit, he’s far from the overbearingly bitter and caustic Schwartzman of Alex Ross’ Listen Up Phillip.

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Director and writer Bob Byington must have had the Schwartz in mind for the role as each and every lick of his script seems designed for the preternaturally salty comic performer. Equally, Schwartzman is tasked with handling the subtle dramatics of 7 Chinese Brothers, ensuring that the whole spiel isn’t tipped into a clinical cynic show. He does so effortlessly.

For its constant employment of intelligent, off-the-cuff comedy and gentle ability to massage in a genuine message of city-slacking and “real life” reproach, 7 Chinese Brothers is a product of snappy smarts and comic girth. Schwartzman performs at the top of his game for a role custom fit for him and any fan of the acerbic funny man should consider this required viewing.

B+

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SXSW Review: THE LOOK OF SILENCE

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In psychology class, you learn about the concept of diffusion of responsibility, a sociopathic event that explains that when more people are present or complicit in an unfavorable event, the less personally responsible that group will feel for its outcome. The public murder of Kitty Genovese – in which a woman was stabbed to death in NYC but not one neighbor alerted the police – is a tragic true-to-life example of this but no piece of fiction or nonfiction has better captured the ghastly phenomenon than Joshua Oppenheimer‘s The Look of Silence. Read More

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Talking With Ross Partridge of LAMB

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One of the most interesting, complex films of SXSW 2015 to date is Ross Partridge‘s Lamb. With the film, Partridge subverts our psychological expectations, flipping a difficult concept on its head and bleeding it for all its unsettling, deep dramatic worth. From our review:

Not one to worry about getting too literal with their metaphors, Partridge frames the eponymous Lamb as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A predator preying upon the trust of an 11-year old, Lamb’s intentions are shape-shifting and piercingly hazy. On the one hand, Lamb seems like a man of good intent and could just be seizing the opportunity to shape the maturing innocence of a neglected child. In his own words, he just wants to show her something beautiful. On the other hand, ew. That sentence alone is enough to conjure up all the yucky sentiments of 45-on-11-year old action. We instinctually associate any relationship between a middle-aged male and a twig-framed girl with a very particular (read: vile) expectation. When he reaches out to brush hair out of her face, you cringe. Even if the gesture itself might be innocent. In Lamb‘s purgatory of good sense and bad taste, we never know exactly we should feel but that rarely stops us from feeling a whole damn lot. (Full review here)

I had the chance to sit down with Ross and really dive into the tender meat of Lamb. Though I would caution you to seek out the film and consume all its juiciness for yourself before diving too deep down our rabbit hole, this is still a fitting avenue to familiarize yourself with the man and his work.

 

 

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There’s so much going on here – it’s so complex. The material is so delicate, and so fragile, that the slightest miscalculation in performance or directorial choice would have really made this house of crumble.

RP: Yeah, for sure.

How do you approach the tone, in each and every scene? How did you make it out of this balancing act?

RP: I think, early on we knew the challenges of it. I knew that I had to be patient, and I had to allow myself the truth of each scene, and not worry about appeasing. Not try to think about what’s entertaining,. It wasn’t going to try and be, certainly, seducing in any way. Really, my whole goal with it was to not get in the way of the story from the beginning. I read this book, and I adapted it, and I was like, “If I can just not put an imprint on it in a way where you can feel my involvement,” which is obviously so big, as a director and a writer and an actor. But I just wanted to tell the story as simply, and as quietly, as possible so that people can feel it on their own. I wanted to make it as intimate as possible. Tone wise, it was just a process. I was always trying to think about other characters, and my character, as subtly as possible. To take my performance levels down and not try and push anything.

It’s funny that you say that you want to get out of the way of the material, because in a sense, that is the approach, but on the other hand, without the finesse that you bring to the directorial chair, this whole thing just falls apart. Because you directed it, you wrote it, you starred in it, how much of a mindfuck is taking on all of these roles on this one project, especially on a project that is, as I said, as fragile and delicate as this is?

RP: I sometimes don’t know but I think that’s the key. There’s very few experiences you have as an actor, and as a director, or just being in this business in any rung, that is blind faith. And you read something, you read a piece of material where, for the first time in my life, when I read this, I had no fear. At all. I contemplated how it would land with people but my desire to want to do this, and take this risk, were so strong. That had never happened to me. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t make decisions very quickly, except for on this, when I was directing. It all became very clear, and it was very certain all the time. So I think sometimes you just have to give up to that. In life, sometimes there’s things you give up to. There’s an instinct that you’re supposed to be doing exactly what you’re doing, right in this moment. I just kind of held on to it, to try and make it and to try and keep clear of that.

So both yourself and Oona are just phenomenal in the film, and so much of the movie rides on these performances. She blew me away!

RP: Can we talk about her forever?

Can we?

RP: For real.

I know that she won a Tony, and she was nominated for a Grammy at 10 years old. Is that basically where you found her?

RP: Yeah. The casting director was never like, “You have to meet this person; she won a Tony and was nominated for a Grammy.” The casting director – Alison Esher – she’s from New York, she’s known me for years. We have a great relationship. In the pursuit of casting this, we knew that if we didn’t have the right Tommy, we would never do it.

Oh, totally! It falls apart.

RP: So it’s like, “Okay, let’s start the process.” Alison, early on, said it wouldn’t be that difficult. “What do you mean, it’s not that difficult.” You hear about people searching for years. She said, ‘It’s not going to be that hard. There’s only about five girls who actually, probably can do this role. And you’ll know.” I think that makes me feel better – I’m not sure. We saw a lot of girls, and there were a few that I walked into the room, and I met Oona, and as soon as I walked in, she had these little glasses on, she was kind of in her own little world. She was like, “Hi, how are you?” Just was non-phased about everything. I just looked at her, and she was this young girl who was so much an individual, and confident in who she is, and was so unique an individual at 11-years old. It’s infectious.

So, at some point did you kind of sit her down and go, “Look, this is a really delicate role, and we’re playing with some really culturally touchy issues”? Was that a conversation you had with her parents, or with her, and how did that go?

RP: I felt like I was going to have to have that conversation, and that was a worry of mine, but it never happened, in the sense that it didn’t have to happen. Oona, we don’t give enough credit to kids, and how intelligent they can be. She got this right away. She totally got this. And there were other families who, the parents of other kids, who understood the compassion and the empathy we were trying to go after. I thought I was going to have to do the sales job, and really talk to them about why I was doing this, and what my intentions were. Oona’s mother had read the script, she was in Chicago – one of her other daughters was working on a movie – and Oona wasn’t going to audition because she was so busy. She was in school – she could have done after-school stuff. She could have cared less. Her mom read the script, and called her husband, and said, “You have to get Oona to this audition. She has to play this part.” I met them as we were considering – we sat and had lunch. We talked about everything other than that, because they were like, “We get this. And she gets this. We would be so thrilled to have her on this, and she gets exactly what it’s about. She really wants to do this.” The irony is that we cast her, and two days later, she got a call from Harvey Weinstein, who basically offered her the lead in Anton Fuqua’s movie ‘Southpaw’ that’s coming out with Jake Gyllenhaal. And there was actually a moment where our schedule… where we thought we might lose her. But Oona’s like, “I’m doing both movies. I’m not not doing them.”..The performance is just phenomenal. As I mentioned in my review, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her pick up a Supporting Actress nomination, even though she’s very much a lead here.

RP: Anything that comes her way, I think, is well deserved. We were constantly.impressed. On day two, we shot the end of the movie – the last scene in the movie, which is such an emotionally charged end. Her second take, even the boom operator was crying. We were all crying. You could hear people being emotional and we were like, “This is something so rare to see.”

On day two?

RP: On day two. From that moment, everyone was just so supportive, and knew there was something special in this girl, in this performance, and in this story. It was a real collective effort. Everyone from my producers Nell Eslen, who really took charge of this whole thing. Jenn, and Taylor Williams, who has the balls to fund a movie like this. I can’t give enough credit to someone like him, who says, “You know what? I see this. I want to be a part of something like this. It’s different. It’s unique. How many opportunities do you get to do that?”

We’re giving a lot of credit to Oona, as we should, but her performance really pivots on yours. And you are just so perfectly disorienting in the role. There’s just scene after scene where I’m literally just standing on the edge of my seat, biting my nails, like, “Oh God, he’s reaching out to touch her. Don’t do anything weird! Please don’t do anything weird.” You play that so perfectly. There’s just this fine line that you’re riding and threading the needle so carefully. For you, from a performance perspective, is this something you could define as a pinnacle in your career?

RP: I don’t really have any control over that. I know it was a huge opportunity when I read it. I was like, “Wow, this is such a complex character.” The main reason I wanted to play it so badly was not, “Oh, this is going to be an amazing career thing.” It’s just that I knew that in order to tell this story, the intimacy the actor would have to have with girl would be so monumental. I don’t think I could have translated that while working with another actor, while having the energy, and the dichotomy between that. I had to make sure it was right and that’s just one more step in making sure that those two actors actually get along, and that I have the trust between them. It was like instead of having a straight line, it would have been a triangle. And, ultimately, when playing the character, all the other stuff, the fine line and the tension that were there, I had to trust that all of that stuff would take care of itself, and that I always had to come at the character from a place of love. And that every action and everything that he did and said was really genuine, and for the best intentions, and for the best reasons. Sometimes that’s the way human beings are – I think they come from a place of goodness. The nurturing gets caught in the way of that.

And you don’t know where to direct that love in many circumstances. I think one of the many interesting dichotomies of the film is just what audiences bring to the film, our abject biases, right? You see a young girl and a forty-five year old guy traveling cross country, alarms are going off all over the place. In most every case, as they rightfully should. For how culturally unacceptable this relationship is, there is a thing of beauty and grace to it. Talk about what that is.

RP: I obviously agree with you. I think there is. We can go to movies all the time, and we can make moral judgements on less things, or we don’t make moral judgements on other things. People spend fifteen dollars and watch people mindlessly kill one another. And then all of a sudden, this becomes a huge thing. THAT becomes entertainment to us. Nobody questions that anymore, at all. And so, I find it ironic when people are so pissed and up in arms about this. It’s like, these are human emotions, and people are frail and people make mistakes. And yet, where does our empathy lie, and how far will we go? And how will we actually cure the ills of our past or the ills of our future, if we can’t find a little more empathy in the world, and try and really understand, instead of immediately judging. To watch people just kill each other, I don’t go to those movies because I just get nothing out of them. That’s where we are, as a society. That’s become okay but a relationship that’s built on complexity, and you can’t really define what it is, that is less easy to see. People want to say, “He’s a monster,” or “He’s disgusting.” It’s not there. People want it to be. It’s like a Rorscach test.

And that’s where this movie thrives. It’s these expectations… you saddle up to them, you look over the edge, but you never cross that precipice, and that’s what makes it so fascinating and so interesting.

RP: Yeah. People have mostly agreed. We were testing it all along. It’s exciting that people are seeing the movie the way you’ve seen in. The story within is actually far more satiating than the confines of our own judgements, at this point. People are excited to be questioned, and they’re excited to feel something they can’t idenitfy. That becomes a new experience. Hopefully, it’s worthwhile.

And that, again, is another reason why this film is such a breath of fresh air. It takes you in these directions that you don’t anticipate and that comes down to the source material. I haven’t read the book, but I plan to – I’m so intrigued, and I’m so compelled to read it now. Can you talk about it. I read in the press notes that you were immediately like, “This has to be turned into a movie.” But what was that thought process and the process of it becoming a film and also some challenges that you didn’t anticipate?

RP: Right. Well, when I read the book, I immediately knew that I wanted to make the film. The rights weren’t available – a very well-known actor had the rights before me, and he was trying to develop it before me.

Really? Can you say who?

RP: He’s one of my favorites. I love him as an actor, too. Kyle Chandler had the movie rights. I think it’s okay to say. He was so busy, and he and his wife were going to team up on how to do this thing, but his schedule got crazy. He and the author are still friends, and it was a real honor to have him there. I just wanted to make it, and the challenges of it were the poetry of it. The language of David Lamb is what I wanted to hold on to as much as possible, because I felt that the heightened language he spoke in was so reminiscent of his heightened belief in who he can become. Somebody other than himself, somebody completely otherworldly, because he’s so stuck in this banal world of bleakness. He wants to believe in something better and more beautiful. Keeping that language was going to be tricky. I said this before; the first two-thirds of the movie made sense to me, in the book, but the ending, the climax of this film is a very psychological climax. It’s not action based, it’s more of an emotional peak. So, how do I make that as intriguing as possible? Ultimately, it was a feeling of relief, obviously. That would be climactic enough, keeping the tension and the stress of trying to figure this out. And then, finally, we start releasing. We give it in a way that offers some hope, in a very strange way. All the things that you want to think this person is, he doesn’t turn out to be. You don’t get that feeling, “Oh, I knew he’s going to do this.” Actually, you get just the opposite. You have to question everything about this character, because he’s just the opposite.

It’s funny that you mention the third act, and this idea of release, because, for me, I felt like until the very last frame of the movie, I didn’t let out a breath of air. Because you’re still so much on edge, even until that very final moment! Even then, fade to black, and you just have to process it. It was a film that I sat there for 10 minutes afterwards, dissecting in my head how I felt about it. That’s an unfortunately rare experience in this industry – where you actually have to think after a movie.

RP: There’s a moment in the credits, where’s there an extended period of black, before the first credits come up. The credit is the directing credit. It wasn’t like I wanted to keep it in black the whole time, but I felt like I didn’t want to put names on the screen right away. I felt like people would really be effected, hopefully, and wanted to give it as much time as we possibly could, where they could just be a little bit neutral for a little while, listening to this beautiful song by Angel Olson, a spectactual song. It was almost like, if you could just sneak the credits in, on the side, people are not going to be in the frame of mind to just start reading credits.

Also, going off the end of it, one thing I couldn’t stop think about was, what are the implifications and the ramifications of the events in this film? I just wonder where is she five years down the line? Where is he, ten years down the line? Is this something that crossed your mind?

RP: Oh, of course. Actually, the last day of rehearsal with Oona, we rehearsed together for about a week in New York – my last question to her, before we actually would have seen each other later in Wyoming, was, “I just want to know what you think.” The characters dropped off in the end, and you say goodbye. Where do you go? And she literally, without a beat, said, “I go home, and I tell my parents that I ran away for a while. And then I go into my room. I probably take a shower. And then I go about my life.” And I’m like, “Do you tell anybody what happened?” And she says, “No. Because he gave me something that I think is going to be a gift. It’s going to help me.” So that was the hope. To hear it from an 11-year old girl, at the time that we’re making the movie, that that’s how she assessed it, I was like, “If an 11 year old can understand this so clearly, then hopefully everyone else can.”

Then there’s hope for the rest of the world.

RP: You would think. My character, I believe, this is the one opportunity to make a lasting imprint on something, on somebody, before his demise. I’m not so hopeful for Lamb, I’m not so hopeful for his outcome. I know that there’s a moment in it, for him, like he always does – that’s he’s so conflicted about it, like he’s this awful person or beast, but yet, he’ll smile, once or twice, in memory of what she gave him, and what he gave her, and maybe that might make some sort of difference in his life, if it continues, at all.

That’s one of the things that’s interesting about Lamb as a character, is his acute awareness of who their situation could be interpreted, and you see that played out in so many moments, particularly in the moment when the girlfriend…

RP: Lydia.

Yes, arrives in a cab. And you’re like, “Oh no! This is going to be a disaster!” And it kind of is a disaster. That’s another thing where I’m like, “What happens there? What does she do with that information?” But I think, for him, there is a semblance of a spiritual rejuvenation, in his ability to give his love away, in a very pure, almost non-reciprocating way. He’s not doing it to gain something, necessarily.

RP: I don’t think he’s capable of gaining. I think that he wishes he was capable of gaining love he could have received; from his dad; from his mother, who split…

From his wife…

RP: From his wife. From his younger brother. Here’s a guy who’s just so damaged. It’s just too painful when someone says to him, “I want to love you. I want to care for you.” He doesn’t think that he deserves it and he’s probably very angry, and he doesn’t understand how he’s capable of being loved. And if people put that on him, he doesn’t respect them. “Why would they want to do that?” That’s not the right thing. It’s really sad.  There’s a part of the movie, that’s always one of my favorite parts, when he’s out with Tommie, and he’s talking with her while his girlfriend is there, and he says, “Do you promise me that you will always call me Gary?” Which is not his name, which is the person he would do anything to be, to be anybody other than who he is. That’s really hard – it’s heartbreaking.

I guess, kind of in conclusion here, where are you headed to next? Are you planning on directing another feature?

RP: Yeah. We just literally finished, so I’m planning on doing another feature, sooner rather than later.

Behind the camera?

RP: Behind the camera. The next one, I’m not sure I’ll be acting in. I don’t feel the necessity to be acting in all of the movies. And, in fact, one of my favorite experiences on this shoot was when I just got to direct, with Scoot and Mary and Lindsay Pulsipher and other people who are in scenes. That will be, definitely, the trajectory – to find another great piece of material, whether I write something or not. We’ll be touring this around for some time, I’m sure.

Where are you headed to next?

RP: We’re not sure. We have a few festivals that are reaching out, and we’re just kind of still just here at the premiere stage. We’re hoping to get it in as many places as possible.

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SXSW Review: TURBO KID

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This is the future. Bicycles remain the only mode of transport and they scream down rubble road decorated with human skulls, past junk yards littered with bits and bobs of discarded robots and towards the odd outskirts ripe for plundering. The land is overrun with masked miscreants of a steam-punk Road Warrior meets Jason Voorhees variety picking through the remains of a scrapyard Earth. The leader of the bicycled clan, a nefarious crime boss known as Zeus (Michael Ironside), has concocted a way to transform humans into water – now the world’s most precious resource. This is 1997.

Everyone in Turbo Kid looks like the ’80s puked on them. From the cheap rubber suits to a barrel of throwback practical effects, Turbo Kid aims to be the product of a past generation. “We always wanted Turbo Kid to be like some lost crazy kids movie from an alternate 1980s that’s somehow has just been rediscovered,” says directing team Anouk Whissell, François Simard & Yoann-Karl Whissell (a.k.a. The RKSS Collective). They note that their film was inspired by the landscapes of The Road Warrior, the splatter-happy gore of Braindead, the cheeky cheese of Cherry 2000 and the costumery and, uh, bikes of BMX Bandits and their affinity for such palpably dated material couldn’t have been translated to the screen in brighter streaks. A blu-ray release would be injustice. Turbo Kid was made for VHS.

In this decadently dated film, a young mop of brown curls known only as “The Kid”, played by Munro Chambers, is a loner forced to live a life of restless solitude in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. He kicks in in his underground scrap-metal hovel, dividing his time between hunting for a new water source and making trips to the trading post to barter the odd ROTC for a ration of increasingly tainted agua. When his path – oft drawn on maps with crayon – crosses with an eccentric and impossibly bright-eyed lass called Apple (Laurence Laboeuf), the Kid must embark on a hero’s quest to save what is left from the scourge of the one-eyed Zeus.

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From A to Z, Turbo Kid aims to capitalize on a deep-rooted nostalgia for a bygone era. RKSS attempt to corner the “so bad, it’s good” market and make the sci-fi equivalent of fantasy’s The Princess Bride. The characters are little more than cheesy riffs, chewing scenery to the point of choking on it while the plot is hardly designed in such a way that it warrants being repeated. But like The Princess Bride before it, Turbo Kid zips from one campy chortle to the next, leaving little time for you to pick at all its many seams. And like its production design that showcases sharp primary colors standing out against drab backdrops, Turbo Kid stands out from the field when it’s willing to turn the violence levels to turbo. 

Those familiar with the ABCs of Death may find themselves in the loving arms of déjà vu as Turbo Kid itself is an expanded segment of the anthology’s “T is for Turbo”. Much of the same “heavy-spray” practical effects are employed here but they’re ratcheted up to a wonderfully tasteless degree. Heads are cracked in two, appendages soar and bodies literally pile up on one another.

In fact, Turbo Kid features so much practical effects-driven gore that on any given day, the crew included a “stunt team, a blood team, a prosthetics team and a doctor.” Though eye-poppingly fun in those big set pieces, Turbo Kid fails to really engage on any level beyond camp and nostalgia. For this particular case though, that’s almost all I needed.

C+

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SXSW Review: BONE IN THE THROAT

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You can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat. Greedy bites or delicate tastes reveal a person’s inner slobbishness or sophistication; tt’s a testament to their character; a litmus test of their social graces. In Bone in the Throat – a delectably violent adaptation of celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain‘s crime/foodie novel of the same name – people also reveal themselves with their utensils.

Ronnie the Rug foregoes the traditional forks and knives routine and stuffs his gullet with meaty, messy and often bloody fingers. His coat pockets are usually lined with halibut or mackerel, leaving behind a distinctly fishy odor in the rooms he vacates. Police chief Sullivan (John Hannah) takes measured, deliberate bites of his white bread sandwiches. Like him, they don’t even appear to be condimented. Sous chef and Ronnie’s nephew Will Reeves (Ed Westwick) is oft seen operating finely-carved rosewood chopsticks or a delicate appetizer utensil, dining on artful and exquisite cuisine. In Bone in the Throat, food reveals lifestyle, modus operandi and, more often than not, the ability to employ nuance. By the end, it can even be employed as a weapon.

In the rough and tumble whirlwind of Bourdain’s Bone in the Throat, the cutthroat world of high class cuisine meets the literal cutthroat world of the East End London mob. Caught in the middle is Will, an aspiring executive chef with family ties to the mafia. When Uncle Ronnie and Skinny execute a would-be informer in Will’s workplace and force him to help cover it up, Will is pressured to keep his gills shut or swim with the fishes.

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Andy Nyman as the love-to-hate-him Ronnie is one of those juicy, larger-than-life cockney mobsters thrashing and crashing their way through environs that fail to contain them. With a gnomish mutton chop of a face, he’s Ray Liotta meets Peter Pettigrew with the social courtesies of Tommy DeVito. Watching him chew and chomp through the scenery is one of the great joys of the film and one that keeps it humming with nervous energy and dark intrigue.

What and how a person eats may tell a story but newcomer Graham Henman is there to capitalize on that often untold tale in surprisingly blood-stained fashion. He crams his camera uncomfortably close to gnashing teeth and gulping tongues, giving us a too-close-for-comfort mug of people’s most bacterial-filled innards before exposing us to scenes of chilling extremity. In the corners of the screens, characters distort and lose focus (was there an aspect ratio issue in my screening or was this intentionally?) as Arctic Monkeys blare their doomed post-rock ballads. Before long, everyone is dead or in jail. It’s a righteous experience even when tripping over its shoelaces.

Existing somewhere in the undiscovered ether between Snatch, Good Fellas and Master Chef, Henman’s Bone in the Throat is a brutal crowd-pleaser that’s destined to be a delicious score for those who can’t decide between the Food Network and FX.

B

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SXSW Review: WILD HORSES

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The proof-of-concept for Wild Horses is in the pudding: Robert Duvall in front of and behind the camera, festival “it” boy James Franco and once teenage heart-throb Josh Hartnett saddled at his side. Even though Duvall hasn’t directed a film since 2003’s widely panned Assassin Tango (what. a. terrible. name.) there is promise in the idea of the diverse trio hidden beneath cowboy brims mugging through difficult family dynamics. Duvall, Franco and Hartnet aptly square off but there is just so much wrong with Wild Horses that it’s hard to overlook its bumbling, clueless ways.

In the opening moments of the film, Duvall discovers his youngest son (Franco) in the arms of the Spanish stable boy and threatens them both at gunpoint. There’s mumbling and grumbling to such a degree that I wasn’t sure whether Duvall’s character was supposed to be senile – he’s not – and soon he fires two shots from his handgun – the fire time, the barrel doesn’t even register a visible flare but a shooting noise rattles through the room. Inattention to detail like this abounds in Wild Horses. In a real d-bag, deep-Texas, sternly backwards move, Duvall threatens his son at gunpoint, effectively booting his candy ass from the ranch once and for all.  

The film picks up 15 years later when a “lady sheriff” (Luciana Duvall) is assigned a cold case involving the disappearance of the aforementioned stable boy. Turns out that he was wiped from the face of the earth following Duvall’s barnyard discovery. How coincidental. Before long, Ms. Lady Sheriff comes sniffing ’round ol’ man Duvall’s ranch asking nosy questions like, “Do you know what happened to that boy that was buggering your son that you banished?” Rather than sift through a convincingly maze-like web of mystery, Wild Horses keeps the “who killed the stable boy?” card in its back pocket until the final scene of the movie. It’s excruciating getting to the end because by the time we’re only quarter of the way there, we think we know that Duvall did it and don’t really care either way.

Admittedly, there are some fine performances from Duvall and Franco, particularly when the two face each other down and attempt to reconcile their broken relationship, but the script is so poorly written that you are left wondering why Franco even signed on in the first place. I’m nearly convinced he only took the role so he would play a gay character.

In my interview with him, Robert Duvall admitted that the first draft of the script was “fucking terrible”. I don’t know what happened between that iteration and this but it’s hard to imagine something even more messy, poorly written and almost entirely fake feeling than Duvall’s final edit of the material. To make matters worse, Duvall cast his younger, much more Argentinian wife in the lead role of “Lady Sheriff” and she is all but incompetent in the part. She can barely hack her way through her lines but tasked with taking on a Texan accent, she flubs and fumbles her way into a full-blown cinematic safety. She chokes worse than the Seahawks on the one-yard line.

From a directing standpoint, Duvall is almost incapable of framing an interesting shot. It feels more like he planted the camera in an arbitrary position, yelled “Action”, did the scene and rolled the print. There is no indication of forethought, visual complexity or composition. When mounted on a horse looking down on the outcast son, Duvall doesn’t even take advantage of the natural opportunity to frame himself looming large in the corner of our line of sight, lording over his once rejected offspring, meant to look small and unfocused.

No, every shot is the product of a camera somewhere for no reason telling a story that does need to be told, but not by the people assembled here. The tale of a father and son – particularly a conservative, Texan one – trying to sort through what it means to have a gay son/have a father that believes that being gay is “evil” is one rich with dramatic potential. To see it so egregiously executed and sufficiently botched as it is here is borderline painful.

D

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SXSW Review: MANSON FAMILY VACATION

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From Lina Phillips’ ticks – his quick-burst nervous laughter after nearly everything he mutters, the awkward, uncomfortable way he holds himself, his unsettling obsession with Charles Manson – we know something’s off. The journey is uncovering what and the platform is J. DavisManson Family Vacation – a dark family drama that knots itself up in misunderstandings and a trembling desire to be accepted. It’s eerily funny, smartly performed and more twisty than you would expect for an independent film.

Produced by the Duplass Brothers, Manson Family Vacation stars Jay Duplass (the skinny, dark-haired older sibling of indie prince Mark) as Nick, a man who believes he has it all figured out. He’s got the white picket fence, the loving, supportive wife (Leonora Pitts) and a child with a recent penchant for off-colored drawings. When Nick’s shleppy artist brother Conrad (Phillips) arrives on his doorstep – or rather under his bed, bearing a knife – Nick is confronted with the harsh reality that maybe he and his recently deceased pops weren’t always the gentlest of family members to the adopted, eccentric Connie.

Well into his 40s, Conrad is a black sheep, still struggling with the weight of “childhood stuff.” Having just quit his job and sold all his belongings, he asks Nick to take him on a tour of the Manson hot spots (a distressingly comic bit plays out at the LaBianca house) because he thought it would be a “nice thing for them to do together.” When I’m out with my brother, we usually get some oysters and local brews but the dynamic between Conrad and Nick is one of deep-seated discomfort.

Nick is visibly shaken by his brother’s recent predilections of all things Manson while Conrad fails to see just why his older brother – he who is supposed to protect and shepherd him – won’t even attempt to get outside of his comfort zone to appease this one particular ask. The chemistry between Phillips’ and Duplass is an icy hot pack – at one moment, they’re on the same page playing the buddy-buddy role and another, they’re at each other’s throats so diametrically opposed that they can’t even grasp how in the hell the other one could think the way that they do.

A larger theme of open-mindedness and acceptance comes into play when Nick agrees to drive Conrad to his new “job” at an “environmental organization” and things begin to trend sketchy. When Tobin Bell enters the picture, the unease escalates palpably. As the film barrels towards a totally unexpected conclusion, Davis succeeds at winning our investment and our empathy, brewing up a sense of understanding that challenges the rational human mind.

Davis drafted the script from seeds of his own life. At a young age, he found a copy of “Helter Skelter” – his grandfather was a police chief and had snatched it up quick – and grew a mounting fascination with everything Manson. Real life friend Jay Duplass had trouble understanding and accepting Davis’ unusual fixation and much of the character dispositions was born of their true-to-life failure to see eye-to-eye on the matter. As the underlying notions of nature vs. nuture and genetics come to head in the third act, Davis makes way for a surprisngly tender examination of family. Who we are and where we come from acutely informs character motivations in Manson in such a way that you might not anticipate as you’re going through it but will be able to make sense of once it’s all said and done.

For a low-fi indie movie, there are some great things at play – strong performances, an enticing script, mounting suspense, a huge payoff – even though some of the trappings of small budgets features don’t escape Manson Family Vacation‘s grasp. Cinematography from Sean McElwee seems sloppily lit – some indoors shots are especially second-rate – giving the film a kind of home video look at times. Infrequent, scuzzy technical issues aside, J. Davis’ film is a product of an era and a fascination that rings true to the outcast mentality. The only problem is now I have an undying wish to watch Charles Manson watch this movie.

B

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