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Amy George

by James McNally on September 13, 2011 · 1 comment

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Amy George
Amy George screens at part of the Canada First pro­gramme at TIFF 2011.

Amy George (Directors: Yonah Lewis and Calvin Thomas): Toward the end of this quietly res­onant film, 13-year-old Jesse’s mother tells him about a time when he was a child that his par­ents thought they had lost him, but that they knew to just look up: “You came down from the trees like a monkey turning into a man.”

And although it’s a rare case where the writing feels a tiny bit forced, it just might sum up this intimate slice of adoles­cent life. It’s a glimpse, a snap­shot of a man in the pro­cess of form­a­tion. And it’s all the more remark­able because the average age of the cast and crew must be some­where around 20. Director/writers Yonah Lewis and Calvin Thomas are very recent (2008) film school gradu­ates, and the film’s exec­utive pro­ducer is 15-year-old actor Connor Jessup.

“Write what you know” is good advice for writers and Lewis and Thomas cer­tainly are not so far removed from the small ter­rors of adoles­cence. And new­comer Gabrielle Del Castillo Mulally is stuck right in the middle of them, ensuring that his con­stant expres­sion of puz­zle­ment comes from a genuine place.

Jesse is the son of well-meaning but flaky lib­eral par­ents (ex-Rheostatics drummer Don Kerr and his real-life spouse, author Claudia Dey) who are nav­ig­ating a fright­ening new stage of par­enting in which neither of them seems able to com­mu­nicate with their son. Mother Sabi nags Jesse to eat his vit­amins but won­ders to her hus­band whether he might be gay, or unpop­ular at school. It’s the stage where taking care of your kids seems to become expo­nen­tially more com­plic­ated than just making sure they’re fed and clothed and sheltered.

In reality, Jesse has lots of friends, even a close female friend, but he also seems to enjoy spending time by him­self. When an art teacher’s assign­ment requires him to take a pho­to­graph that rep­res­ents some aspect of him­self, he con­vinces his par­ents to buy him an “analog” camera and a tele­photo lens.

He also takes an off­hand remark from his teacher about being a “true artist” so lit­er­ally that he checks out a book from the lib­rary called “True Artist” in which the male author says defin­it­ively that no man can be a true artist until he has made love to a woman.

Throwing this “advice” into the churning stew of Jesse’s adoles­cent sexual awakening leads him into some murky ter­ritory; namely, up a tree across from his slightly older neigh­bour Amy George’s room, where he snaps a pic­ture of her. A few days later, the two are thrown together in unusual cir­cum­stances. After sneaking some alco­holic coolers from the fridge, and some exper­i­ments with hyp­notism, Jesse finds him­self tempted to go fur­ther than ever before in his sexual explor­a­tions on a passed out Amy.

In one of the film’s best scenes, he con­fesses his feel­ings of guilt to an older female family friend, who assures him he’s likely done nothing wrong, and that these things are more com­plic­ated than he thinks.

It’s barely an epi­phany, but the film con­tains a few of them, making us feel that Jesse, des­pite his con­tinued wide-eyed bewil­der­ment, is on his way.

It’s a remark­ably self-assured debut for the film­makers, and though there are a few rough spots tech­nic­ally (shaky camera, less than per­fect sound, a few uneven per­form­ances from the sup­porting players) and a bit of shape­less­ness to the story, it adds up to a sat­is­fying exper­i­ence. And it makes me happy to add another couple of young Canadian film­makers to my radar.

Official site of the film

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Shinsedai Film Festival 2011 (July 21-24, 2011)

Shinsedai launches its third edi­tion tonight through Sunday at the Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre. Continuing to show­case new inde­pendent cinema from Japan, co-programmers Chris Magee (J-Film Powwow) and Jasper Sharp (Midnight Eye) have cur­ated another strong lineup for this year’s fest­ival. Special guests include 15-year-old film­maker Ryugo Nakamura who is presenting the North American premiere of his drama The Catcher on the Shore (Yagi no bouken) on Saturday July 23rd at 6:00pm. He shot the film when he was just 13 years old, so this should make for a very inter­esting Q&A session.

The Catcher on the Shore (Yagi no bouken)

If you’re inter­ested in where Japanese cinema is heading, you need to check out the Shinsedai Cinema Festival. Check the site for film list­ings, schedule, ticket prices and directions.

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Husbands
Husbands screens tonight, Monday July 18, 2011 at 6:30pm, at the TIFF Bell Lightbox as part of the series Masks and Faces: The Films of John Cassavetes. The series runs from July 14–31.

Husbands (1970, Director: John Cassavetes): I’m not cer­tain which of the films of John Cassavetes would be the best point of entry for a new­comer, but I don’t think I’d recom­mend Husbands, which was my own intro­duc­tion. Considered the god­father of American inde­pendent cinema, Cassavetes worked as an actor and dir­ector on other people’s films in order to fin­ance his own unique studies of ordinary people acting out. In Husbands, it’s about the mys­teries of the middle-aged male psyche, and it’s one loud and crazy ride.

His pre­vious film, Faces (1968) had been an unex­pected hit, and so not only did he find someone to help fin­ance the film (Italian pro­ducer Bino Cicogna, whom Cassavetes had met while working in Italy on Machine Gun McCain in 1969), but later on, he con­vinced Columbia to release the film the­at­ric­ally. Nevertheless, Husbands was a com­mer­cial failure, des­pite some intense performances.

It’s essen­tially a three-hander. Harry (Ben Gazzara), Gus (John Cassavetes) and Archie (Peter Falk) attend the funeral of the fourth member of their group, and, trying to work through their grief, go on an epic bender, which lasts sev­eral days and takes them from New York to London.

Although the tagline is “A Comedy about Life, Death and Freedom,” there are only a few places where I laughed, and uncom­fort­ably at that. Instead, Cassavetes’ exam­in­a­tion of male friend­ship, grief, and mid­life crises becomes more and more har­rowing as it goes on. This bender is a des­cent into a sort of howling exist­en­tial hell.

Not being familiar with the rest of Cassavetes’ work as a dir­ector, it was ini­tially dif­fi­cult for me to tell whether these emotionally-stunted, crass and abrasive char­ac­ters are meant to evoke our sym­pathy or not. Their “charm” cer­tainly becomes more trans­parent the more time we spend with them, and Cassavetes enjoys drawing scenes out to almost absurd lengths. An early scene of a drunken sin­galong in a bar must run at least 20 minutes, and by the end, with our trio bul­lying a woman into adding more “pas­sion” to her per­form­ance, our opinion of these guys has cer­tainly changed for the worse.

Husbands

So it’s not a huge sur­prise when Harry comes home to change the next morning and ends up in a phys­ical con­front­a­tion with both his wife and her mother. As the defacto leader of the trio, he’s the most aggressive. Before his ill-fated trip home, he’s told Gus and Archie, “Aside from sex, and she’s very good at it, I like you guys better.” He fol­lows this up with a few repe­ti­tions of the phrase, “Let’s go home and get it over with.”

After his violent out­burst, he grabs his pass­port and tells his friends that he needs to get away; oth­er­wise, he’d just go back inside and apo­lo­gize and he doesn’t want to do that. All these guys seem power­less when it comes to their wives and chil­dren and other respons­ib­il­ities, but their “acting out” just seems to con­firm their imma­turity, des­pite the macho trappings.

Under the cover of con­cern for their friend, Archie and Gus decide to go with him, to “tuck him into the hotel and then come back home,” they assure each other. As soon as they arrive in England, they want to gamble, drink and pick up women, as if these activ­ities are what bind men together. The only member of the trio who tries to com­mu­nicate any­thing deeper is Archie, but poor old Peter Falk always seems to end up talking to him­self. He’s the sort of actor who seems to end up doing that in almost everything he’s ever done.

There’s another long scene in London, where our three tough guys suc­ceed in get­ting three attractive women back to their hotel rooms. Gus has picked up a woman who’s men­tally unbal­anced, and the other two appear to have hired pros­ti­tutes, but in any case, the fol­lowing “seduc­tion” scene is one of the most creepy and joy­less I’ve seen in a long time. It is kind of funny to realize that the only people willing to spend time with these guys are either crazy or are being paid.

It’s a strange thing, though. Although I couldn’t wait for the film to end, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for days. These loud brutes, “drama kings” if I can coin a phrase, are trapped not only in their jobs and mar­riages, but in their con­cep­tion of what being a man is all about. Their attempts to con­nect with each other, to grieve their friend and their passing youth, all end in shouting and viol­ence. Their rage is inar­tic­u­late but exposes some­thing, except they don’t have the vocab­u­lary to express this vul­ner­ab­ility. Perhaps I’m reading more into the film, but I want to give Cassavetes credit for for­cing the audi­ence to spend two and a half hours in the pres­ence of such unre­con­structed brutes. Their humanity comes out not in what they say but in what they’re unable to say. This is no comedy. It’s a tragedy.

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John Cassavetes

From July 14–31, TIFF Bell Lightbox is presenting a ret­ro­spective of the work of pion­eering American inde­pendent film­maker John Cassavetes (1929–1989). It’s the first time in 20 years that such a major exhib­i­tion of Cassavetes’ work has taken place in Toronto.

Beginning his career as an actor with roles on stage as well as on tele­vi­sion and film (including a mem­or­able turn as Mia Farrow’s hus­band in Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby), Cassavetes always chafed against the strictly eco­nomic focus of the studio system, and was one of the first film­makers to fin­ance, make and exhibit his films out­side the existing infra­struc­ture of the Hollywood movie busi­ness. Working with a small group of col­lab­or­ators and friends, including his wife Gena Rowlands, Cassavetes made a handful of films that have had an enduring influ­ence on American film­making, including the work of dir­ectors as dif­ferent as Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg.

I am eagerly looking for­ward to cor­recting yet another blind spot in my know­ledge of American film his­tory, espe­cially since Cassavetes’ obses­sion with char­ac­ters rather than plots is right up my alley. In many of his films, his char­ac­ters are ordinary people facing dif­fi­cult situ­ations or at major turning points in their lives. He also chose to work with actors who looked and spoke like reg­ular people, using his friend­ships to chal­lenge them to dig deeper and to give some of their rawest and most direct per­form­ances. Some of his reg­ular col­lab­or­ators (Peter Falk, Seymour Cassel) are among my favourite actors, and I’m espe­cially looking for­ward to seeing the recently-departed Falk light up the screen again.

Tickets are avail­able online for the entire series, including a very spe­cial con­ver­sa­tion with Gena Rowlands on July 14th at 6:30pm. She will also intro­duce her Oscar-nominated per­form­ance in A Woman Under the Influence (1974) at 8:45pm that evening, as well as Cassavetes’ second fea­ture Faces (1968) on Friday July 15th at 6:30pm. More inform­a­tion on the series is avail­able on the TIFF Bell Lightbox site.

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Cold Weather

by James McNally on November 23, 2010

in Theatrical Release

Cold Weather

Cold Weather (Director: Aaron Katz): I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit dis­ap­pointed with Aaron Katz’s third fea­ture. I’d been turned away from a sold-out screening at SXSW all the way back in March and had been eagerly waiting for another chance to see the film. Thanks to Refocus, Jeff Wright’s awe­some FREE screening series, Toronto audi­ences (including your nar­rator) finally got a chance to see it.

Doug (Cris Lankenau, pre­vi­ously seen in Katz’s last film Quiet City) has dropped out of col­lege in Chicago and moved back home to Portland, where he shares an apart­ment with his older sister Gail (Trieste Kelly Dunn). Despite his ambi­tion to become a detective, some­thing didn’t work out and he’s retreated to familiar sur­round­ings to regroup. He takes a menial job, working night shift in an ice factory, where he meets Carlos (Raul Castillo), a sur­pris­ingly com­plex char­acter who is nev­er­the­less con­tent with his choice of career. Nothing much seems to happen until Doug’s ex Rachel (Robyn Rikoon) turns up in Portland. She claims to be on a busi­ness trip, in town for some training classes. Over the weeks that follow, the four char­ac­ters socialize and we see what might be the begin­ning of some attrac­tion between Carlos and Rachel. Doug doesn’t seem to care.

And then one night Carlos finds Rachel missing from her motel room, and the would-be detective and his new friend find them­selves with a real mys­tery on their hands. Of course, Katz being Katz, he doesn’t sud­denly turn the film into an episode of CSI. Instead, his char­ac­ters gradu­ally move into action, cracking codes and tailing sus­pects. They’re smart but they seem to realize when they’re relying on methods they’ve read about in books or seen in films. This self-awareness adds a very dry sense of comedy to the pro­ceed­ings, but Katz is also able to gradu­ally ratchet up the sus­pense. The mys­tery is actu­ally pretty well-constructed and not as obvious as it first appears. I also like how in gen­eral Katz leaves details in that other film­makers might take out; for instance, some of the awk­ward silences that happen in con­ver­sa­tions between new friends, or ex-lovers.

But for every detail that the film hands you, it with­holds two more. It’s as if Katz scribbled very hard in one corner of his canvas, and left other huge patches blank. In the end, the uneasy mar­riage of genre film with talky self-aware “slacker” cinema didn’t quite work for me. The abrupt ending seems to imply that the rela­tion­ship between Doug and Gail is more important than the mys­tery they’re ostens­ibly solving. But that rela­tion­ship is even more of a mys­tery than the dis­ap­pear­ance of Rachel. Gail is older, more respons­ible and rational, and she and Doug appear to be close, but they still don’t know much about each other’s lives. Doug is passive to the point of disappearing.

While Lankenau played a sim­il­arly dull char­acter in Quiet City, he at least seemed to come alive in the pres­ence of his love interest. Here, des­pite being sur­rounded by more inter­esting char­ac­ters, he never feels par­tic­u­larly real. Even though her char­acter has less screen time, Trieste Kelly Dunn has a pres­ence that out­shines Lankenau in every scene. And the char­acter of Carlos is so appealing that I actu­ally missed him when he wasn’t on screen. Doug’s abso­lute lack of romantic interest in the beau­tiful Rachel also seemed hard to fathom. There just doesn’t seem to be very much to Doug, and even his attempt to emu­late his hero Sherlock Holmes by smoking a pipe falls flat when he real­izes that, unlike Holmes, it doesn’t really help him think at all.

None of this is to say that Cold Weather is a bad film. It has a great score by Keegan DeWitt, for one. It’s as well-made as any­thing Katz has done, and I admire his reach in trying to go beyond the tra­di­tional lim­it­a­tions of cur­rent American indie cinema. But I think it’s either under­written or else the central char­acter of Doug is just not com­pel­ling enough to care about. I recently watched Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye, another update of the tra­di­tional detective story, and found it com­pletely charming. But it, and other Chandler-esque homages such as The Big Lebowski or television’s Bored to Death, pos­sess razor-sharp scripts and uniquely unfor­get­table prot­ag­on­ists who seem to almost wink at the audi­ence from time to time. Cold Weather, though remin­is­cent of those films, is so low-key that it’s in danger of evap­or­ating right off of the screen.

7/10(7/10)

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