Category: Articles

LFM Reviews Jafar Panahi’s Taxi

By Joe Bendel.  Dissident filmmaker Jafar Panahi sort of brought the Taxicab Confessions concept to Iran, but most of the sins that need atoning are those of the Islamist government. The idea of Panahi working as a cabbie might sound appalling, but it makes sense as a cover for his defiant underground filmmaking. Cabs are a common sight on the streets of Tehran and they also have the advantage of being a moving target. Frankly, nobody is really sure how scripted it is, but each fare he picks up is significant in Jafar Panahi’s Taxi, which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

As the third film Panahi has made since being banned from filmmaking, Taxi is quite an accomplishment just for existing. Although his post-ban films are very self-referential by necessity, Panahi has yet to repeat himself. In this case, he appears to be making a hidden camera documentary about the average citizens who hail his cab, but some of the dialogue is so on the nose calling out his situation and echoing his previous films, it sounds suspiciously hybridized. Of course, on a more general level, the film itself can easily be interpreted as an homage to Abbas Kiarostami’s dash-cam taxi drama, Ten.

Some of Panahi’s “fares” recognize him, while some do not, but they all have something to say. His first two unrelated fares (picking up multiple hails is a standard practice in Tehran) argue about Sharia Law. She is appalled by the public executions, but he seems to think they serve a constructive role controlling society. His job? Mugger.

The third ride-sharer avoids political arguments, eventually revealing himself to be a bootleg hawker. Even Panahi has used his services in the past, because how else would he see Once Upon a Time in Anatolia? He is eager to sell the taxi-driving auteur on a sleazy “Panahi Recommends” bootleg scheme, but the director will not bite. We take it Panahi met plenty would-be exploiters of his ilk during his periods of house arrest. However, things start to really get serious when Panahi is flagged by an accident victim and his wife. During the brief trip to the hospital, they desperately try to hash out some sort of legal arrangement that would not leave her destitute should he die, since Iranian wives do not have inheritance rights under law.

jafar-panahi-s-taxiIn This is Not a Film, Panahi’s docu-essay capturing the frustration of his time serving the house arrest sentence, he was somewhat upstaged by his pet iguana Igy. However, he never stands a chance once his niece Hana steps in the cab. She has natural comic timing and a flair for delivering dialogue with a mischievous twist. If her scenes were extemporized then Heaven help her parents. Obviously, Panahi thinks she is the bee’s knees, even when she is delivering the heaviest commentary of the film. As part of a class assignment she is tasked with filming a “distributable” film. However, her teacher has given her a long list of absurd restrictions. Panahi knows them well.

Moments like that risk coming across as rather didactic, but Panahi maintains a street-level vitality that makes everything sound fresh and realistic. Beyond Hana, the movie-star in the making, his entire cast of “participants” always keep the film down-to-earth and the energy level cranked up. It would be nice to associate names with our praise, but they remain deliberately unidentified, for their protection.

As one would expect, the reality of Panahi’s situation is reflected in every minute of Taxi, by the secretive nature of its production. Still, he does not force his points, preferring to tease out a critique of current Iranian government and society over time. It is a clever and engaging film that would screen well in dialogue with Sanaz Azari’s criminally under-programmed I for Iran. Frustrating in its honesty, yet strangely satisfying for its resiliency, Jafar Panahi’s Taxi is very highly recommended for everyone who values free expression when it opens this Friday (10/2) at the IFC Center.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on October 2nd, 2015 at 3:11pm.

LFM Reviews Les Cowboys @ The 53rd New York Film Festival

By Joe Bendel.  The “Love Jihad” or “Romeo Jihad” phenomenon, in which young Muslim men seduce non-Muslim women and teens, enticing them into marriage and conversion, culminating in emotional abandonment and in some cases outright exploitation, has been hotly debated in India, but there are precedents in the West, as well. Betty Mahmoody’s ordeal documented in Not Without My Daughter could be considered an early example. Such is also the case when Alain’s daughter elopes with a budding jihadist, irrevocably fracturing his French family in Thomas Bidegain’s Les Cowboys, which screens as a Main Slate selection of the 53rd New York Film Festival.

Alain, his wife Nicole, sixteen year-old daughter Kelly, and young son “Kid” are French western aficionados, who enjoy kicking up their heels and singing cowboy songs at hoedowns. However, this 1994 round-up will be their last as a family. Much to their shock, Kelly has planned to elope with her secret boyfriend, Ahmed, the radicalized son of assimilated parents. With the help of his Islamist network, they cover their tracks quite thoroughly.

For years, Alain tirelessly searches for them, dragging the obedient Kid along to watch his back. Riffing on John Ford’s The Searchers and Paul Schrader’s Hardcore, Bidegain and co-screenwriter Noé Debré will take Alain into dangerous “No-Go Zones,” before the media was denying their existence. Ultimately, the relentless quest will eventually destroy Alain.

LesCowboysThe Kid will duly pick up his standard, but he will try to be smarter about it. Nevertheless, Kelly’s reported proximity to radical Islamist circles greatly alarms him following the World Trade Center bombings and the London 7/7 attacks. Eventually, he will join an NGO relief organization active in the Middle East, hoping to glean information regarding her whereabouts. A mysterious American ransom-fixer might be able to help, but he demands the Kid ride shotgun on his latest dodgy mission first.

Les Cowboys looks like it might be the sort of film the director lost control of, in a good way. Like John Wayne in The Searchers, Alain is intended to be a portrait of corrosive obsession, but François Damiens (playing radically against his lumpy comedic type) humanizes him too effectively. Likewise, everything we learn about Kelly’s subsequent life suggests it is one of profound misery and regret. Sure, there is some kneejerk “Islamophobia” directed at Shahzana, one of Ahmed’s subsequent wives, forced by circumstance to accept sanctuary with the Kid in France. Yet the scene is question comes across as a clichéd and obligatory tack-on. However, their evolving relationship is arguably rather bold and touching, in a haram kind of way.

Those who know Damiens from frothier films like Heartbreaker or Delicacy may not recognize him as the grizzled Alain, but his performance deserves to be an award-winning career turning point. Finnegan Oldfield’s performance as the older Kid is also quite accomplished, depicting the maturation process with rarely seen complexity and sensitivity. Yet, the chemistry he develops with the arresting Ellora Torchia’s Shahzana is the film’s real knockout punch. As an additional bonus, John C. Reilly hams it up just enough, but not too much as the American security contractor.

Bidegain crafted Les Cowboys with unusual subtly. Details like when and where Kelly and Shahzana wear bandanas and headscarves have real significance. It is an uncompromising family tragedy, but it still manages to be deeply satisfying. There are several scenes that truly stay with you. Surprisingly highly recommended, Les Cowboys screens tonight (10/2) at the Gilman Theater, as part of this year’s NYFF.

LFM GRADE: B+

Posted on October 2nd, 2015 at 3:11pm.

LFM Reviews Narcopolis

By Joe Bendel. Welcome to a near future dystopia, where legalized drugs are the defining characteristic of the brave new society—or perhaps it is someplace in today’s Colorado, where a lot of British expats have congregated. Since a spotty form of time travel exists in this world, maybe it can be both. However, control over that new temporal technology will lead to even more trouble in Justin Trefgarne’s Narcopolis, which opens this Friday in New York and Los Angeles.

All of the drugs produced by the Ambro Corp come with founder Todd Ambro’s hollow personal guarantee. They are one hundred percent safe, but still head-smackingly effective. As the much abused and neglected son of addicts, he made legalization his personal crusade, so now he maintains his end of the bargain. At least that is the official story. As a narcotics cop or “dreck,” it is Frank Grieves’ job to keep the dangerous unlicensed stuff of the streets—basically anything not produced by Ambro.

Grieves has decidedly mixed emotions about his duties, especially since his corrupt squad chief officer makes no secret of his loyalties to Ambro. He also openly sniffs the company’s products, as is now acceptable in this day and age. Grieves was already on his bad side, but his use of scarce resources on a recent case has further perturbed the corrupt copper. Somehow, he has uncovered a series of bodies and suspects whose DNA is not in the system. Eventually, the elusive and frequently leather-clad Eva Gray will offer him an explanation, but he does not what to hear she is a freedom fighter from the future.

narcopolisNarcopolis is not exactly a complex film, but you will be hard-pressed to explain just what the Ambro Corp is doing, beyond their core legal narcotics business—or why they are doing it, besides their general all-purpose commitment to villainy. Still, there is something darkly compelling about the film’s vision of post-legalization society. Drugs are now almost omnipresent, even in the top levels of the police force. Although its dystopian cityscape owes a clear debt to Blade Runner and its host of followers, the design team still makes it look slick and coolly oppressive.

Elliot Cowan is serviceable enough as Grieves and Jonathan Pryce gamely chews the scenery as the oddball Russian designer chemist Yuri Sidorov. Yet, somehow the characters never seem to connect with the audience or each other. It does not help that the villains are basically vanilla-flavored cardboard. Even more frustrating, Elodie Yung (Netflix’s Daredevil, District 13: Ultimatum) hardly has any chance to show off her action chops as Gray.

We pretty much know from the start who the mystery corpse is, because the film never gives us any other suspects, yet the revelation is still surprisingly potent. In fact, Trefgarne displays a fair degree of skill. Perhaps instead of marrying together a dystopian drug thriller with a time travel fate-changing fable, he should have focused solely on one or the other (probably the former). Let’s just say he’s no Timothy Woodward, Jr. We’d be happy to see another film from Trefgarne. Even though the pieces don’t quite fit together, genre fans should consider checking it out when it hits Netflix. There is something to it, but probably not enough to justify Manhattan ticket prices. Regardless, it opens today (10/2) at the Arena Cinema in LA and screens ‘round midnight this weekend at the IFC Center in New York.

LFM GRADE: C+

Posted on October 2nd, 2015 at 3:10pm.

LFM Reviews Deathgasm

Deathgasm 1By Joe Bendel.  As long as there are angst-ridden teens, there will be a market for really loud music. Punk has the advantage of its cool anarchist ideology, but there are more bikini-clad women in heavy metal videos. Of course, reality is nothing like that for bullied metalheads like Brodie. However, the satanic apocalypse could reshuffle the social order of Brodie’s white bread New Zealand high school, if he survives it. Heavy metal and demons really do go together like a horse and carriage in Jason Lei Howden’s Deathgasm, which opens this Friday in select theaters and also releases on VOD.

After his mother is institutionalized, Brodie is forced to move in with his Ned Flanderish Uncle Albert, whose jerky jock son goes out of his way to torment him at school. Initially, the only people who will hang out with him are the D&D playing band geeks (C’mon, doesn’t Howden know Pathfinder has taken all of their marketshare?), until he meets Zakk, an older, more sociopathic metalhead. Naturally, they all form a band: Deathgasm. Through an unlikely chain of events, Brodie comes into possession of a heavy metal black mass that literally unleashes H-E-double hockey sticks when they play it.

Anyone within earshot who was not jamming on the tune turns into a bloodthirsty demon. It is all very inconvenient, but at least it gives Brodie an opportunity to kill his family in good conscience. In fact, it turns out Medina, Brodie’s out-of-his-league crush is one of the best demon killers around—and she is developing an ear for heavy metal.

So in Deathgasm you have heavy metal, demons, shadowy satanic cultists, gore with chainsaws, and gore with sex toys—basically everything that made Harry Potter popular with third and fourth graders. Yet, underneath all the blood, guts, and contempt for easy listening, Deathgasm actually has a good heart. Brodie’s halting courtship of Medina is nearly as sweet as it is unlikely. On the other hand, his frienemy antagonism with the jackastical Zakk is certainly believable enough. Still, what really sells the film is Howden’s feel for the disaffected metalhead lifestyle and the outsider appeal of the music. The short-lived character of Rikki Daggers, a legendarily reclusive former metal star is particularly spot-on.

From "Deathgasm."
From “Deathgasm.”

Howden does not exactly reinvent blackly humorous carnage, but he goes about it with admirable enthusiasm. There are a number of spectacularly gruesome gags, which Howden is never afraid to double-down on. As Brodie, Milo Cawthorne sometimes gets annoyingly sad-eyed and mopey, in an Adrien Brody kind of way, but James Blake and Kimberley Crossman bring plenty of energy as Medina and Zakk, respectively.

It should be noted Deathgasm has a stinger that is arguably worth sticking out the credits for. It is a proud meathead movie that delivers the right vibe and the right attitude. Recommended for genre fans who like their films loud and rude, Deathgasm screens after midnight this Friday (10/2) and Saturday (10/3) at the Nitehawk in Brooklyn.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on October 2nd, 2015 at 3:09pm.

LFM Reviews Paradise View @ The Japan Society

ParadiseViewBy Joe Bendel. The Vietnam War is winding down, which some would say is good news, but not necessarily on Okinawa. The separatist rebels should be pleased, but they have been quiet lately. The snakes in the jungle are as deadly as ever, but the greatest danger is losing one’s soul to the rainbow pigs secretly marauding through the rain forest. On paper, it looks like absolutely bedlam, but for the most part, the days are pleasantly languid in Go Takamine’s Paradise View, which screens today as part of the Japan Society’s Monthly Classics series.

Okinawan is spoken throughout Paradise, making it one of the few Japanese films that required Japanese subtitles when it opened domestically. Like the periodic Welsh language film produced in the UK, it was intended as an act of Okinawan cultural affirmation and defiance. Yet, it is hard to imagine getting too worked up in this island village. Granted, nobody is happy per se, but the heat and the spirit-infested air have an anesthetizing effect. Goya Reishu is a case in point. He was once a busy musician working the American military bases, but now he just lays about, gluing teeny-tiny numbers on the ants that fascinate him.

On this island, outsiders like the ethnic Japanese botanist Ito are almost considered foreigners, even though the Japanese government is about to reassert political control of the island. However, he is still a good catch, at least according to Nabee’s mother, who happily arranges their marriage. Unfortunately, all her plans come crashing down when she deduces Nabee is pregnant with Goya’s love child. The shy Chiru is not too happy about it either, considering the torch she has been carrying for Goya. The resulting scandal is bound to end in tears, especially considering the regularity with which people in the village misplace their souls, becoming extremely apathetic mabui.

With its eccentric vibe and unhurried pace, one might also diagnose Paradise with a persistent case of indie-itis, but it never feels self-indulgently twee. Everyone is just too hardscrabble to be cutesy. Although Takamine’s strict budget constraints start to show down the stretch, he still transmits a vividly pungent sense of Okinawa as a specific place with a Shamanistic state of mind. Frankly, there is something seductive about the ebb and flow of the first two acts. You can feel the humidity clouding into your perception, while Takamine takes his time slowly implying bits and pieces of his undisciplined plot. Yet, that elliptical suggestiveness is part of the charm. When things finally start to happen definitively, it rather breaks the spell.

From "Paradise View."
From “Paradise View.”

Kaoru Kobayashi makes an appealingly low key anti-hero as the ant-obsessed slacker, while Jun Togawa is quite touching as the lovelorn Chiru. In fact, the entire ensemble looks appropriately rugged and slightly sunstroke-addled.

Paradise View is the sort of film that insists viewers acclimate themselves to its rhythms. It really transports the receptive viewers to Okinawa, as it was prior to the Japanese Reversion. Even those who cannot synch up with its mysterious atmosphere should still appreciate the novelty of it as an example of rarely seen Okinawan cinema. Recommended for those who appreciates mystical folklore, Paradise View screens tomorrow (10/2) at the Japan Society as their classic of the month.

LFM GRADE: B+

Posted on October 2nd, 2015 at 3:08pm.

LFM Reviews Jia Zhangke, a Guy from Fenyang @ The 53rd New York Film Festival

By Joe Bendel. Like many filmmakers selected for this year’s New York Film Festival, Jia Zhangke gets more distribution internationally than in his native country. However, in Jia’s case, it is not because he is an elitist or lacks a popular following. In fact, many of his films have been widely seen through bootleg copies. It is simply a matter of government censorship. Despite his uncertain status with the official state film establishment, Jia is received like a favorite son when he revisits his home town and other scenes from his resolutely independent films in Walter Salles’ documentary, Jia Zhangke, a Guy from Fenyang, which screens during the 53rd New York Film Festival.

The concept behind Guy from Fenyang is hardly a new one. Damien Ounouri essentially did the same thing in his hour-long documentary Xiao Jia Going Home from 2008. However, a lot can change in seven years, especially in today’s China. Nor is Jia one to be idle for long. Indeed, as Salles’ doc opens, Jia and actor Wang Hongwei walk through the streets of Fenyang that were lined with karaoke bars when they made their earlyfilms like Platform, but are ominously shuttered now.

For someone who cannot get his films approved for Mainland theatrical distribution, Jia sure has a lot of people approach him on the streets. Yet, he is always gracious about it. He also seems like a dutiful son when he visits his mother and eldest sister. In somewhat oblique fashion, Salles reveals the importance of family to Jia, especially with respect to his father. As a university faculty member, who had the profound misfortune of keeping a diary since his teenage years, the Cultural Revolution was especially difficult on Jia’s dad. It was also hard on his grandmother, who was the widow of a land-owning doctor. Clearly, his family’s experiences have influenced his work, most notably Platform, but there is a nonconformist humanist perspective reflected throughout his work. Of course, that is exactly why he has such trouble with the censors.

From "Jia Zhangke, a Guy from Fenyang."

In addition to Jia, Salles also talks to several of his key collaborators, notably including his wife, muse, and frequent leading lady Zhao Tao, who explains how her life inspired The World. In accordance with Jia’s democratic spirit, Salles also elicits insights from his frequent cinematographer Yu Lik-wai and sound designer Zhang Yang. Fittingly, he liberally illustrates the film with clips of Jia’s work, but none are as evocative as the visually striking (and perhaps comparatively underrated) The World.

Picking up on Jia’s concerns regarding overdevelopment and callous demolition, Salles often compares and contrasts the locales of Jia’s film as they were then with their present radically altered conditions. It is hard to miss the devastation wrought on working class neighborhoods. Although Jia never gets explicitly political, we get a clear idea of the social inequities that distress him.

At one point Jia suggests he makes films about average people living common lives. That is sort of true, but it is nearly impossible for anyone to be average or common during a period of hyper-reality. Jia captures that zeitgeist with vivid directness (see a Touch of Sin for a particularly blistering example). Salles provides the cultural and political context necessary to understand Jia’s significance in contemporary China, while conveying a sense of his resilient personality. Recommended beyond Jia’s admirers for anyone interested in independent Chinese film and culture, Jia Zhangke, a Guy from Fenyang screens this Wednesday (9/30) at the Beale and Thursday (10/1) at the Gilman, as part of this year’s NYFF.

LFM GRADE: A-

Posted on September 29th, 2015 at 9:21pm.