January 2008

Quiet City/Dance Party USA

In her gen­er­ally neg­ative appraisal of the “mumble­core” move­ment in the November/December 2007 issue of Film Comment, Amy Taubin reserves praise for the two fea­tures written and dir­ected by Aaron Katz, calling him a “breakout talent” and praising both the “lyric beauty” of his cine­ma­to­graphy (although acknow­ledging he used dif­ferent DPs for each film) and his “expressive” sound design. I’d seen the posters for both films, and some stills and the trailer for Quiet City, and was intrigued. Though I’m still a mumble­core novice, I’ve made some assump­tions of my own, and before even seeing Katz’s films, thought he had a much more developed visual sense than some of the others. With pre­con­cep­tions in mind, I sat down to watch both films this weekend, thanks to the gor­geous DVD package from Benten Films, avail­able January 29, 2008. In addi­tion to both films, the DVD package fea­tures dir­ector and cast com­ment­aries on both films, altern­ative and extended scenes, an early short film, footage from Quiet City’s New York premiere, and more. Benten are quickly becoming the Criterion of the indie film world.

Quiet City (2007, Director: Aaron Katz): In its brief 78 minutes, Quiet City was able to accom­plish some­thing quite remark­able. By the end of the film, I was begin­ning to care about a couple of people whom I almost dis­missed at the start. Though the script still feels a bit under­cooked in places, and the sound mix often had me straining to hear what was being said, the editing and acting actu­ally felt nat­ural so that I jour­neyed with the char­ac­ters from awk­ward­ness to curi­osity to empathy to genuine connection.

The story arc is modest, to say the least, and I wouldn’t con­sider my plot sum­mary to be spoiling any­thing, but just in case, con­sider this a spoiler alert and skip to next para­graph if you like. Jamie (Erin Fisher) arrives in Brooklyn toward evening. At the subway stop, she asks stranger Charlie (Cris Lankenau) dir­ec­tions to a diner where she’s sup­posed to meet her friend Samantha. When Samantha fails to show, Charlie and her spend the rest of the evening and the next day together. For the first ten minutes, their twentyso­mething slacker (lack of) vocab­u­lary was driving me nuts, with each “like” hit­ting my eardrums like a sharpened stick. But it’s remark­able how their dia­logue improves as their nervous­ness dis­sip­ates, and before long, they’re teasing each other good-naturedly. There’s a def­inite attrac­tion between them, but each is careful not to spoil it by making a wrong move. The film really catches fire as the two attend a gal­lery event the next evening. At a party after­ward, they sep­arate, Charlie chat­ting ami­ably with strangers about nothing much, and Jamie having a ser­ious con­ver­sa­tion with her friend Robin about Robin’s fear of intimacy. In her friend’s halting speech, com­plete with more adoles­cent “likes,” we see how far Jamie has moved in just a short time. When they leave the party together, it’s as if they were meant to be together, so dif­ferent do they seem from anyone else they’ve encountered. They share a lovely chaste moment of affec­tion on the subway and the film ends.

Katz’s achieve­ment is to accom­plish this in such a short space of time, and with no grand speeches or declar­a­tions of love. The plot sounds very sim­ilar to Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise, a film I’ve not actu­ally seen, but knowing Linklater, that film is bound to be more lofty and chatty and intel­lec­tual than this one. And per­haps less real for that reason. As a mar­ried man in my 40s, I can cringe at some of the things these char­ac­ters say, but it’s only because they’re acting within their lim­it­a­tions. Their awk­ward­ness and lack of dir­ec­tion are genuine, as is their des­perate desire to hide them beneath a layer of cool.

The cine­ma­to­graphy was gen­er­ally excel­lent, bathing Brooklyn in a warm and golden light. There were a few occa­sions where a tripod would have been wel­come, though, and a few of the camera set ups seemed a little slap­dash, but the feeling of the images was per­fect. As was the music, which was used spar­ingly and to good emo­tional effect.

I’m quite sure that Quiet City will reward repeat view­ings, and I’m looking for­ward to listening to the cast and dir­ector com­ment­aries to see how Katz man­aged to turn my feel­ings around so quickly. It seems a little like magic.

Quiet City poster

7/10(7/10)


Dance Party USA (2006, Director: Aaron Katz): Although released in 2006, this film was actu­ally shot in 2004, and so seeing it after Quiet City, I expected to notice to be a huge leap for­ward in Katz’s devel­op­ment as a dir­ector. Instead, I found myself enjoying the earlier film even more. Similar in struc­ture and even in theme, there is a pretty big dif­fer­ence in tone and in at least one of the char­ac­ters. I found Dance Party USA more direct and the script was much tighter.

Set among a group of high school stu­dents in Portland, the film shares the basic arc of Quiet City. Over the course of a day or two, a male prot­ag­onist reaches out to a some­what mys­ter­ious woman and the film ends with them reaching a sweet and rather tent­ative con­nec­tion. In the case of Dance Party USA, our prot­ag­onist is the teen­aged Lothario Gus, first seen brag­ging about the sexual con­quest of an underage girl to his vacuous friend Bill. Played by Cole Pennsinger, Gus is a guy on the brink of leaving his adoles­cent per­sona behind him. His Beavis and Butthead exchanges with Bill are leaving him unful­filled, and he’s looking for a more real con­nec­tion than the “hook-ups” he seems able to achieve with ease. One night at a Fourth of July house party, he meets Jessica, sit­ting alone out­side. She’s a friend of his ex, and she’s aware of his repu­ta­tion. But he sits down and, almost like he’s in a con­fes­sion booth, he begins to tell her about some­thing he’s done in the recent past, some­thing that was very wrong. Somehow, he feels he can trust her, and after sit­ting silently through his con­fes­sion, she lights two spark­lers and hands him one. “Do you want to go some­where?” she asks. Each sees some­thing in the other that no one else has yet seen, and each wants to be that some­thing more than any­thing else. Gus is actu­ally finding that being a horny teen­ager is get­ting in the way of him finding a real con­nec­tion. Jessica is more of an enigma, but played by the lovely Anna Kavan, she oozes mys­tery, if not depth.

Later in the film, Gus attempts to make things right for his earlier mis­deed, but finds he’s awk­ward and unsure what to do. And his later exchanges with Bill are frankly hil­arious, as he talks about wanting to pursue some­thing cre­ative (pho­to­graphy, painting) and then asks Bill for a hug. There is a lot of dia­logue in this film, com­pared to Quiet City. The exciting thing is to see the drunken sin­cerity of teens at a beerbash devel­oping into the first halting attempts at full-time adult sin­cerity. Pennsinger and Kavan both show their vul­ner­ab­ility in dif­ferent ways. Gus has to escape a per­sona, albeit one that has served him well for some time, while Jessica has just seemed unim­pressed with the quality of the men she’s been around, and is opening her­self up for per­haps the first time. Maybe it’s because I’m more of a dia­logue person than most, but I found these per­form­ances stronger than the ones with fewer words in Quiet City.

All in all, a great pair of films and a great intro­duc­tion to an exciting young director.

Dance Party USA poster

8/10(8/10)

Buy Quiet City/Dance Party USA from Amazon.ca

Buy Quiet City/Dance Party USA from Amazon.com

UPDATE 6/21/08 Both of these films played at the Toronto stop of the Generation DIY mini-festival which is trav­el­ling across Canada in the next few weeks. Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Aaron Katz held after the screening of Dance Party USA. The first loud voice is your humble author asking a ques­tion, the second loud voice belongs to my friend and col­league Bob Turnbull, and that’s Canada AM’s film critic Richard Crouse hosting the session:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 13:10

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Close per­sonal friend and some­time Toronto Screen Shots con­trib­utor David Dylan Thomas weighs in on 2007 doc­u­ment­aries. This clip reminds me that I need to get Dave to con­tribute here more. Maybe we could do a pod­cast or something?

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South by Southwest Film 2008

It’s that time of year again. I’m busily pre­paring to attend my eighth(!) South by Southwest con­fer­ence in Austin, Texas this March. I really should say con­fer­ences, because for the second year, I’ll have a Gold pass which allows me to attend both the Interactive and Film events. This year, I’m hoping to offer a lot more film cov­erage here. Prior to the con­fer­ence, though, I’d direct your atten­tion to the won­der­fully useful SXSWBaby! site where I will be blog­ging about all the film panel and screening announce­ments. If you’re plan­ning to come, or just want to exper­i­ence the buzz vicari­ously, come on over and check it out.

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Dusty Cohl, the co-founder of the Toronto International Film Festival, has died after a long struggle with cancer. He was 78.

David Hudson at GreenCine col­lects some of the online tributes.

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Over the past week, a quiet but very pro­found change has taken place in the small world of Toronto film journ­alism. Geoff Pevere, one of the Toronto Star’s full-time film critics, has moved to the Books sec­tion. In return, long­time book critic Philip Marchand will be cov­ering film. Why, after three dec­ades of writing about film, has Pevere decided to switch beats? Well, it was becoming evident when I sat down with him last winter for a long inter­view. I’d recently enrolled in a magazine writing class at Ryerson University, and our major assign­ment was to write a 1,000 word pro­file of a person. It didn’t take me long to come up with a sub­ject. I’d begun to take my writing about film more ser­i­ously, and though I’d never claim to be a film critic, Geoff Pevere’s ability to convey a rev­er­ence for film his­tory while writing with gleeful irrev­er­ence made him one of my role models. So after a short email exchange, we sat down for about an hour and a half, and he gave me an inter­view that could have spun off half a dozen dif­ferent stories.

Although I got an A on my assign­ment, I’d wanted to submit the res­ulting piece for pub­lic­a­tion. The only place I could think of was Toronto Life. In hind­sight, I can’t even remember if I sent them the fin­ished piece or just a query. But after hearing nothing, I forgot about it. It was only in December when I began thinking of posting it here. And then I read Geoff’s December 18 column where he announced his impending depar­ture from the Movies sec­tion of the paper, and I knew I had to drag my pro­file out of mothballs.

I’ll be honest and say that I’ve been sur­prised at the lack of cov­erage of this. There was a fair bit of cov­erage sur­rounding the death of NOW Weekly’s film critic John Harkness a few weeks ago, including right here on Toronto Screen Shots, but I’ve yet to read any­body else men­tioning Geoff’s depar­ture. And that’s a shame, because even though he’ll still be writing and seeing films, he won’t be writing about film. And that’s a real loss to the filmgoing public here in Toronto, and beyond. And to me.

So indulge me as I offer this clumsy “appre­ci­ation” for the work of Geoff Pevere, the punkest film writer I have ever been priv­ileged to meet.

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It’s 1972, and a 15-year-old Geoff Pevere is sit­ting at the dining room table, pencil in hand, and run­ning his finger down the tele­vi­sion list­ings. His eyes light up when he sees it. Citizen Kane. The film he’s heard so much about is being shown that week. There’s only one problem. It’s at 11:30 p.m. Over the next few days, he works out a deal with his par­ents. If he gets all of his home­work done, and prom­ises to be up for school the next day, he can stay up to watch it.

Pevere, the crankier of the Toronto Star’s two film critics, relates this story to me over coffee at his local Starbucks on a cold February evening. The venue hadn’t been his first choice, but Luna Cafe had closed already, so here we sit, talking over the too-loud muzak. Though he’s nearly 50 and has been with the same woman for 27 years, Pevere still styles his hair spiky and sports a ring through his nose. Maybe it’s fit­ting that it’s John Lennon we’re talking over.

As for Citizen Kane, Pevere admits rue­fully, “I wish I could tell you it was a trans­form­ative event, but I didn’t really get it.” It was, how­ever, an important part of the long pro­cess of filling out his frame of ref­er­ence, which involved both seeing films and seeking out the voices of others who knew more about film than he did. Seeing and studying films was a steadying influ­ence for a young man whose family moved around a lot, and young Pevere often found him­self in the local uni­ver­sity lib­rary, looking for more inform­a­tion than he could get from the TV Guide.

What ini­tially attracted Pevere to writing about film was the fact that, like music, it affects us on many dif­ferent levels, but that our first point of response is emo­tional. For him, the critic’s job is to talk about his own emo­tional response to the film in intel­lec­tual terms, but to make it access­ible to as many readers as pos­sible. As the film industry has changed over the past thirty years, he’s begun to sus­pect that for film­makers today, emo­tional response has taken pre­ced­ence over everything else, which has made his job more dif­fi­cult. “It has an awful lot to do with the speed with which we expect cul­ture to deliver things to us,” he says. “We know how we feel, we don’t want to be told how we feel, or that our emo­tional response is invalid.” So that explains the occa­sional emails he gets calling him a dick.

There are other pres­sures in the pro­fes­sion that weren’t there when he began. Whereas his par­agons Pauline Kael and Andrew Sarris had a couple of thou­sand words in a magazine to expand upon their opin­ions, Pevere has 400 to 500 words in a news­paper. He’s also cov­ering as many as five films a week, redu­cing his “pro­cess” to “ham­mering away.” Television’s cov­erage of the movies has changed the char­acter of what now passes for film cri­ti­cism as well. Despite an immense respect for his print cri­ti­cism, Pevere sees Roger Ebert’s tele­vi­sion show as largely harmful due to the intro­duc­tion of the “thumbs up” and “thumbs down” approach. Prior to this, no one required film critics to give any numer­ical or star rat­ings to films, but by the early 1980s, Pevere says, “the idea of ana­lysis that required you to read the review became replaced by a kind of short­hand.” As a result, news­pa­pers began trying to imitate the approach of tele­vi­sion and of pop­ular magazines like People, which rated movies as “Picks” or “Pans,” with little ana­lysis of why. Year-end lists of the “top films” and the pro­lif­er­a­tion of awards have only made the problem worse, as has the rise of celebrity wor­ship. Which brings Pevere to his pet peeve, the Academy Awards.

The Oscars, according to him, are simply about the din of com­peting mar­keting depart­ments, and awards and lists in gen­eral are a sign of a creeping com­pet­it­ive­ness that doesn’t fur­ther the func­tion of film cri­ti­cism. “The refine­ment of the hype factory is stag­gering,” he says. “It’s get­ting harder to deal with the mar­keting machine.” In a February 2007 column entitled, “Why I Loathe Oscar,” Pevere referred to the whole mess as, vari­ously, “an almost stu­pefy­ingly dull TV event. A nuclear-strength hype det­on­a­tion. A mass dis­trac­tion. The Super Bowl with better cleavage. An excuse to drink, eat and trade catty remarks late on a work night. Easier to under­stand than Iraq. The best thing to happen to Hilary Swank. The worst thing to happen to Martin Scorsese. A list-maker’s wet dream. A cos­metic surgeon’s bon­anza. A glimpse into the vast and ter­ri­fying abyss of mass-mediated exist­ence. A reason to cheer on global warming.” Uh oh, I think that nose ring is showing.

Strangely, though, Pevere is a punk who has plenty of respect for tra­di­tion. When forced to write about the Oscars, Pevere spins it his way. Instead of cov­ering the same well-worn ground as every other critic, for instance, this year he dug into the past and wrote about films that either won a lot of Oscars or were ignored. Another year he wrote a series on Best Pictures, choosing one from each decade, examining the con­text of each film and com­paring it with its fellow nominees.

After almost 30 years of writing about the movies, Geoff Pevere’s anti-establishment views are just as strong as ever, but now he wears them as com­fort­ably as an old leather jacket. He has always been more inter­ested in broad­ening people’s interests than in trying to narrow them. In an age with almost unlim­ited access to film, just one stream in an onrushing tide of media, this is daring. For the boy who once had to wait months to see Citizen Kane, how­ever, it’s simply a ges­ture of generosity.

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