September 2004

Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession

Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession (USA, dir­ector Xan Cassavetes): The daughter of the late film­maker John Cassavetes and act­ress Gena Rowlands, Xan (Alexandra) Cassavetes grew up sur­rounded by the cul­ture of film. But in her teens, she began to form her own taste, thanks in part to an innov­ative Los Angeles area cable channel. Z Channel began in 1974, long before there was a Blockbuster Video on every block, and it showed both neg­lected American films as well as the greats of European cinema. Xan set out to make a straight doc­u­mentary about the channel, and in the pro­cess found a whole other story.

Jerry Harvey was a film geek’s film geek. He joined Z Channel in 1980 after pro­gram­ming films for a local art­house cinema. Under Harvey’s dir­ec­tion, Z Channel really took off, com­peting against heavy­weights like HBO. While remaining a local treasure, Z Channel’s influ­ence was dis­pro­por­tionate to its sub­scriber base, since so many film­makers lived in the LA area. Harvey was a friend and cham­pion of such film­makers as Sam Peckinpah, Henry Jaglom, Michael Cimino, Robert Altman, and Paul Verhoeven, and was one of the first to show “director’s cuts” of such mis­un­der­stood films as Heaven’s Gate, Once Upon A Time In America, and The Wild Bunch. But he was also a deeply troubled man. His obsessive nature fuelled his work, but it often led to bouts of crushing depres­sion. His mood swings cul­min­ated in a ter­rible tragedy in 1988 when he killed his wife and then took his own life. Remembrances from his friends are still fraught with grief and anger, more than fif­teen years later.

While at first, I wondered if I were seeing two films (a por­trait of Jerry Harvey, and an appre­ci­ation of over­looked films), I real­ized that the beauty of Cassavetes’ film is that she’s cel­eb­rating the life and achieve­ments of Jerry Harvey by talking about some of the films that he brought to her atten­tion through Z Channel. Not his tragic end, but what came before. So often, when a life ends in tragedy or viol­ence, we only remember that part. Sure, you could call Harvey a mur­derer. But he was also an incred­ible film lover and filmmaker’s advocate, someone who had a wide ran­ging influ­ence as well as a group of loyal friends who are still reeling from his loss.

Z Channel only lasted about a year after Harvey’s death, and the many people inter­viewed (Quentin Tarantino, James Woods, Theresa Russell, Paul Verhoeven, Robert Altman, and Jacqueline Bisset among them) seem almost as wistful about the death of a cer­tain era in cable tele­vi­sion as of their friend Jerry Harvey.

P.S. It seems fit­ting that I should end my 2004 Toronto International Film Festival exper­i­ence with a film about a TV channel that dir­ector Henry Jaglom described as “like a film fest­ival in your house every night.”

8/10(8/10)

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Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson (USA, dir­ector Ken Burns): It may seem hard to believe, but I’ve never seen a Ken Burns film. I’ve always meant to, of course, but watching a multi-part doc­u­mentary series is some­thing of a com­mit­ment. So I jumped at the chance to see an entire film in one sit­ting. Clocking in at an impressive 218 minutes (and including a short inter­mis­sion and a lively Q&A ses­sion, I was in the theatre for almost 4½ hours), I was hoping that the quantity would be matched by the quality. I was not disappointed.

Jack Johnson was a true ori­ginal. The first black man to hold the heavy­weight boxing cham­pi­on­ship, he was a self-assured man who dressed well, drove fast cars, and kept white women as girl­friends. While not unusual now, this was highly irreg­ular a hun­dred years ago, at a time when black lynch­ings were at their peak and the press reg­u­larly printed offensive car­toons to go along with its racist rhet­oric. In the ring, he was a highly intel­li­gent boxer, favouring a defensive style unknown in his day. He was also incred­ibly sens­itive and artic­u­late, espe­cially for a man with only five years of formal edu­ca­tion. But the struggles Johnson faced were almost insur­mount­able. No white cham­pion would agree to fight a black man. Jim Jeffries pre­ferred to retire undefeated rather than face Johnson, and Johnson had to travel around chasing champ Tommy Burns, hounding him to give him a title shot. When Burns finally agreed to a fight in 1908 (for a purse of $35,000, an unbe­liev­able sum in those days), the con­test wasn’t even close, with Johnson dan­cing around, taunting his opponent, and talking to people in the ring­side seats. The police stepped in during the four­teenth round to pre­vent him from knocking out the badly beaten Burns.

Johnson held the title from 1908 until 1915, with his most famous bout in 1910, against ex-champ Jeffries, whom he soundly defeated. This led to race riots all over the country, and many people were killed. From the moment he won the cham­pi­on­ship, it seemed that white society looked for ways to dis­credit him. The press were relent­less, printing hos­tile edit­or­ials and calling for a “Great White Hope” who would return boxing’s crown to its rightful place (and race). When a 37-year old Johnson finally lost the cham­pi­on­ship to Jess Willard, a giant man ten years his junior, it seemed to many that the black race had been taught an important lesson.

Johnson’s life was troubled, and he con­tinued to face per­se­cu­tion from the press and even law enforce­ment, who pro­sec­uted him on charges related to his “debauchery” with white women. He even­tu­ally served a year in prison. There would not be another black heavy­weight cham­pion until Joe Louis, 22 years later.

This is a remark­able film for many reasons. First of all, in the little-known story of Jack Johnson, Burns has found a micro­cosm of the racial situ­ation of the day, and one that has many echoes even now. Muhammad Ali, after seeing James Earl Jones por­tray Johnson in the Broadway play “The Great White Hope” (later made into a film), declared that Johnson’s life story was sim­ilar to his own. A black man choosing to live as a free indi­vidual on his own terms is some­thing that is still hard for some white people to tolerate.

Burns’ film is also remark­able for the way in which it uses actual archival film of Johnson’s bouts. Using silent film, Burns and his crew have added sound effects such as crowd noise and the sounds of blows con­necting, and it gives these scenes the vis­ceral punch they require. Finally, the superb “talking heads” (including the late George Plimpton, James Earl Jones, and the witty Stanley Crouch) and voice talent (Samuel L. Jackson is the voice of Johnson; others include Billy Bob Thornton, Derek Jacobi, Brian Cox, and Alan Rickman) bring the extraordinary story of Jack Johnson vividly to life.

As an added bonus, you get to hear James Earl Jones say “balls”. Twice.

P.S. Ken Burns is involved in a cam­paign to have Johnson leg­ally pardoned for his alleged viol­a­tion of the Mann Act. Other sup­porters include Samuel L. Jackson, Senators John McCain and Ted Kennedy, and the Rev. Jesse Jackson.

Film’s Web Site: www.pbs.org/unforgivableblackness/

Director’s Web Site: www.pbs.org/kenburns/

9/10(9/10)

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Bad Education

by James McNally on September 15, 2004

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Bad Education (La Mala Educación) (Spain, dir­ector Pedro Almodóvar): I’m really having trouble coming up with things to say about this film. I’m new to Almodóvar films (Talk to Her was the first one I saw), and maybe I just don’t “get” him yet, but I must say I left this film with a vague feeling of dis­ap­point­ment. Outlining the plot is dif­fi­cult, but it begins as a story of two child­hood friends reunited in adult­hood. One is a film dir­ector and the other a strug­gling actor who shows him a short story that he’d like to see developed into a film. It is a par­tially auto­bi­o­graph­ical account of the sexual abuse exper­i­enced at the strict Catholic school where both boys met. The two boys also fall in love there, and the jeal­ousy of a priest con­spires to sep­arate them forever. To be honest, this sec­tion of the film was the most enjoy­able for me. Despite the horror of abuse, it’s very dis­creetly implied, and the inno­cence of child­hood love is refreshing. Unfortunately, this sec­tion, seem­ingly so important, only lasts about ten or fif­teen minutes. The rest is a tangled telling and retelling of events that came later, when sex becomes a com­modity for everyone involved. The plot is com­plic­ated by the fact that each char­acter is being played by two or three dif­ferent actors, and des­pite having only a handful of char­ac­ters (all male, by the way), the film never really lets us get to know them or their motivations.

Despite that, it’s a clev­erly con­structed film, and shot beau­ti­fully. It’s hard to think that even a dis­ap­pointing Almodóvar film can be better than most Hollywood product, but alas, it’s true.

Film’s Web Site: www.lamalaeducacion.com

Director’s Web Site: www.pedroalmodovar.es

8/10(8/10)

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Mondovino

Mondovino (USA/France, dir­ector Jonathan Nossiter): Since I work in the wine busi­ness, I had been quite eager to see this doc­u­mentary, and I wasn’t dis­ap­pointed. Reportedly drawn from over 500 hours of footage, the good news is that Nossiter will be releasing not only a the­at­rical cut, but a ten-part, ten hour series of the film on DVD by next Christmas (ThinkFilm is dis­trib­uting it). The bad news is that it’s still a bit of an unwieldy beast. When it was shown in Cannes, it was close to three hours long. For Toronto, he’s cut about half an hour but it still clocked in at 135 minutes. Now, for me, that’s fine. I love wine and I love hearing about the con­tro­ver­sies raging in my busi­ness. But not everyone wants that much.

Nossiter flits around the globe, from Brazil to France to California to Italy to Argentina, talking to wine­makers and PR people and con­sult­ants and critics about the state of the wine world. The theme that emerges is that glob­al­iz­a­tion and the undue influ­ence of wine critic Robert Parker are for­cing a kind of same­ness on wine. Small local pro­du­cers are either being bought up by larger con­glom­er­ates (American as well as local), or are being pres­sured by market forces to change their wines to suit the palate of Mr. Parker, who dic­tates taste to most of the American (and world) markets.

Mondovino

It’s a com­plic­ated sub­ject, and I can under­stand why Nossiter wants to let his sub­jects talk. There is Robert Mondavi, pat­ri­arch of the Napa wine industry, and his sons Tim and Michael, whose efforts to buy land in Languedoc faced oppos­i­tion from local vign­erons and gov­ern­ment offi­cials. There is Aimé Guibert, founder and wine­maker of Daumas Gassac, icon­o­clastic opponent of Mondavi’s plans and cru­sader for wines that express local terroir. There is Robert Parker him­self, expressing some dis­com­fort with his influ­ence while refusing to stop writing about the wines that he favours. There is “flying wine­maker” Michel Rolland, con­sultant for dozens of wineries all over the world, advising them how to make Parker-friendly wines. There are many many more fas­cin­ating per­son­al­ities in this documentary.

If you are a wine lover, you will want to seek out the ten-part series as well as the the­at­rical ver­sion of this film. But even if you’re not into wine, the film is an inter­esting look at how the forces of glob­al­iz­a­tion are chan­ging many of the world’s oldest and most estab­lished tra­di­tions. The effects on local cul­tures and eco­nomies cannot be ignored.

8/10(8/10)

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Les Choristes

by James McNally on September 13, 2004

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Les Choristes

Les Choristes (France/Switzerland, dir­ector Christophe Barratier): Les Choristes is an unabashedly sen­ti­mental film that reminded me very much of Italian films Ciao Professore! and espe­cially Cinema Paradiso. It tells the story of a failed musi­cian named Clement Mathieu who finds him­self taking a job in des­per­a­tion as the super­visor of a reform school in 1949. The school is run by an author­it­arian tyrant and the stu­dents are a bunch of delin­quents who taunt him imme­di­ately with shouts of “Baldie!” and “Bullet Head!”. Mathieu decides to begin a choir as a sort of pro­ject to help with dis­cip­line and soon has the respect of the stu­dents. He also dis­covers a boy with a remark­able voice and does his best to encourage this gift while har­bouring a crush on the boy’s mother. This is not totally ori­ginal stuff, but the story is told well and the per­form­ances are strong, most espe­cially by Gérard Jugnot as the rumpled and lonely Mathieu. The resemb­lances to Cinema Paradiso are quite strong. Both films use a flash­back struc­ture. In Cinema Paradiso, a famous film dir­ector is called home to his vil­lage to attend the funeral of his old mentor, the pro­jec­tionist at the local cinema. In Les Choristes, it’s a famous orchestra con­ductor, called home to bury his mother, but the event trig­gers a visit from an old school chum who unfolds the tale of their music teacher Mathieu. The film is a “man behind the man” tribute to those quiet souls who push others to great­ness while often not feeling very suc­cessful in their own lives. As someone who studied to be a teacher, I love this kind of story, even if it is not always fash­ion­able in “ser­ious” cinema circles. The emo­tions are real and are helped tre­mend­ously by a fab­ulous musical score and beau­tiful choral pieces.

The dir­ector was proud to be presenting the film in Toronto after its huge suc­cess in France, where it sold eight mil­lion tickets and a mil­lion copies of its soundtrack CD. We were also treated to a per­form­ance after the screening of two of the songs from the film by another boy’s choir, and the standing ova­tion was almost inevitable.

Film’s Web Site: www.leschoristes-lefilm.com

9/10(9/10)

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