Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Ironweed Film Club

While I’m going on about films, I’d be crazy not to men­tion Ironweed Film Club. This is a monthly ser­vice, a bit sim­ilar to Film Movement (except they’ll actu­ally deliver to Canada!), but the films are mostly doc­u­ment­aries with a pro­gressive view­point. The price is US$14.95/month, and all the films I’ve received so far have been excel­lent and thought-provoking. Here are some of the films they’ve fea­tured over the past few months:

The way I dis­covered them was while searching for a DVD of “The Education of Shelby Knox,” an amazing doc­u­mentary I saw at Hot Docs in 2005. Another bonus is that even when some of these films are avail­able on DVD else­where, Ironweed’s are almost always cheaper and often include bonus films.

FULL DISCLOSURE: If you click the Ironweed link above and sign up with them, I get a free month. But my desire to get lots of free months should tell you how much I really value a ser­vice like this. Please sign up!

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The Sugar Curtain

The Sugar Curtain (Spain/Cuba/France, dir­ector Camila Guzmán Urzúa): Strangely and almost unin­ten­tion­ally apolit­ical, this film is a per­sonal remem­brance of growing up in the 70s and 80s in Cuba. The dir­ector seems to have shot all of the footage her­self, making it more like a home movie. And it’s incred­ibly nos­talgic, with lots of com­par­isons of old photos with the present. But the film’s thesis, if I can use a word that strong, is impossible to prove in this con­text, even if it’s cor­rect. The dir­ector seems to be saying that life in Cuba in her child­hood was good, that Castro’s revolu­tion was achieving pos­itive res­ults and that the end of the Cold War was dis­astrous for Cuba. But this is pretty self-evident. We see a lot of run-down or aban­doned build­ings that were in good repair thirty years ago. We hear inter­views with her class­mates who agree that things aren’t as good any­more. I don’t want to sound facetious, but I could prob­ably make a pretty sim­ilar film about my own childhood.

When she talks to stu­dents at her old high school, about the only priva­tion she can uncover is that they no longer get snacks. In the director’s child­hood, they got chocolate bis­cuits and fizzy drinks. But in a society where the gov­ern­ment provided so much (and still does, com­pared with the rest of the world), these examples seem a bit forced. I’m sure life in Cuba is dif­fi­cult for many, but from the evid­ence of the film, it still seems to be doing pretty well. For a society that has with­stood a trade embargo from the world’s richest nation for more than fifty years, and whose biggest bene­factor cut it off more than fif­teen years ago, it’s doing remark­ably well. Its chil­dren are lit­erate and fed, and it seems to have avoided the extremes of poverty seen in many parts of the Caribbean and Latin America.

Unfortunately, I think the director’s com­plaints are fairly uni­versal. The idealism we feel in our youth turns into dis­il­lu­sion­ment as we age. The forces of glob­al­iz­a­tion and cap­it­alism are affecting Cuba, even as Castro tries to hold them at bay. The fact that the dir­ector and many of her class­mates left Cuba in the 1990s (during the “Special Period” that fol­lowed the end of the Cold War, a time of tre­mendous eco­nomic hard­ship for Cubans) also clouds the pic­ture. How does her memory of Cuba as a socialist para­dise differ from the memories of the anti-Castro crowd in Miami, who remember pre-revolutionary Cuba as a dif­ferent kind of para­dise? Both are unre­li­able and nostalgic.

While the film was enjoy­able as a window into one person’s exper­i­ence, and it was great to see the modern footage of life on the island, overall I found it unsatisfying.

6/10(6/10)

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