Category: Documentary

By Joe Bendel. They were influenced by Sun Ra and toured with Penn Jillette. Few bands command the same degree of fan loyalty and fascination, but it is important to note The Residents might not actually exist. Fortunately, that will not deter Don Hardy from chronicling their careers in The Theory of Obscurity: a Film about the Residents, which screens during this year’s SXSW Film Festival.

The identity of the musicians beneath the eyeballs remains of the most closely guard secrets in show business. Right from the start, Hardy warns the audience everything fans think they know about the band might be false. Of course, the Residents are not about to set the record straight. After forty years of strict anonymity, they are not about to embrace the trappings of celebrity culture now.

They fact remains, nobody outside of the band’s most intimate circles know who is a member or what they look like. Reportedly, they originally hailed from Northern Louisiana, but made their way to San Francisco, for obvious reasons. The quartet (as far as we know) were just as interested in avant-garde art as music, incorporating both into their program. They adopted their tongue-in-cheek name and trade mark eyeball masks and top hat ensembles largely through unlikely happenstance, but the group’s interest in new technology and short form video put the Residents decades ahead of their contemporaries. It boggles the mind today, but there was a time when the Residents were in heavy rotation on MTV, which Hardy hastens to explain to young viewers was once the broadcast home of music videos.

It must be constitutionally impossible to make a dull film about the Residents, but if you are expecting a dramatic Scooby-Doo style reveal at the end, forget about it (however, there is an amusing stinger worth staying for). However, it sometimes feels like Hardy is too respectful of his subjects, never presuming to speculate about anything concealed by their costumes and myth-making, even though he has us well primed for some idle conjecture.

Still, even if you have yet to acquire a taste for their darkly hued, often discordant music, it is cool to see they never succumbed to the lure of fame and the ego-stroking that typically goes with it. They just keep doing their thing. That necessarily means Hardy had no interviews with his subjects, which presents an undeniable challenge. Nevertheless, he scored sit downs with former members of the Residents inner circle, including several former officers of The Cryptic Corporation, the band’s duly empowered business and logistical management crew, as well as Jillette, the intentionally over the top emcee of their notorious early 1980s tour.

That Hardy leaves all of the Residents’ secrets undisturbed is both laudable and frustrating, because let’s face it, the group inspires a virulent form of curiosity. It is not called mystique for nothing. We wonder just who played the Albert-Ayler-on-crack alto solos during their early performances and whether there has been any personnel turnover throughout the decades. Naturally, that mystery is a good part of the band’s allure. Hardy illuminates their appeal and cogently puts their work in the cultural context of the times. Recommended for Residents fans and those who appreciate a little eccentricity in life, The Theory of Obscurity screens again this Thursday (3/19) and Friday (3/20) as part of the 2015 SXSW.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on March 17th, 2015 at 10:20pm.

By Joe Bendel. Andy Summers went from stadium tours as the lead guitarist of the Police to headlining at the Baked Potato, an intimate jazz club in Los Angeles. He had the chops for both and enough left over from the former style of gigs to enjoy the latter. Jazz listeners always knew Summers was the coolest member of the Police and that judgment is vindicated by Andy Grieve’s Can’t Stand Losing You: Surviving the Police, which opens this Friday in New York.

Although Stand is based on Summers’ memoir One Train Later and features his confessional narration, it never has time to touch on his jazz work. For blindingly obvious reasons, Grieve’s film is mostly concerned with Summers’ tenure in the Police and his relationship with the other two band members, particularly Gordon Sumner, a.k.a. Sting. However, Summers’ early scuffling years will be surprisingly interesting to those who do not already know them chapter-and-verse. He nearly caught on with a number of bands in the late 1960s and early 1970s, even serving a stint in Eric Burdon’s The Animals, but he never managed to break out big.

Summers was about to chuck it in when he found himself playing a couple of one-offs with Sumner and Stewart Copeland. The two were trying to make a go of it with a pseudo-punk ensemble called the Police. Summers was not sure he had the right feel for the new style of music, but when he and Copeland happened to arrive for a meet-up on the same subway train, he took it as a sign (hence the title of Summers’ book). You basically know the trajectory the band took from there, but casual fans might have forgotten some of the details and diehards will enjoy reliving them from Summers’ viewpoint.

To his credit, Sting (as we must refer to him now) was reasonably cooperative with the film, even though he does come across as a bit of a prima donna. Clearly, he had no objections when the press focused in on him at an early stage. He just as obviously had one foot out the door for quite a while, yet he still tried to impose his my-way-or-the-highway will on the band. At least, that is how it looks from the candid archival footage. Perhaps most damning, it is decidedly not cool to see him act like a jerkweed to Martha Quinn in an MTV interview.

Yet, Summers oral history is just as hard on himself as it is on Sting (so apparently Copeland must have the patience of a saint). It would be fair to say he let the rock star thing sabotage his personal life. However, his third act was rather redemptive in ways Grieve might have spent more time exploring. Instead, he essentially concentrates on their 2007 reunion (thanks to tour footage directed by Lauren Lazin) and a special exhibition of Summers’ photography, mounted in conjunction with Taschen’s publication of I’ll Be Watching You: Inside the Police 1980-83.

If you lived through the 1980s, Stand brings a lot of it back—and maybe delivers a little closure. It must be conceded their music still holds up pretty well, as does Summers’ jazz work, such as the Monk tribute album Green Chinmeys. He certainly emerges from the film as a relatively down-to-earth figure, as well as a survivor of considerable chaos. Highly recommended for fans of the Police and 1980s music in general, Can’t Stand Losing You opens this Friday (3/20) in New York, at the Village East and the AMC Empire.

LFM GRADE: A-

Posted on March 17th, 2015 at 9:36pm.

By Joe Bendel. They never had a hard and fast membership, but their big sound was immediately recognizable, especially for the record producers who kept them constantly gigging in the Los Angeles studio scene throughout most of the 1960s and 1970s. If you played a number of studio sessions with Earl Palmer, Plas Johnson, Al Casey, Carol Kaye, Hal Blaine, Don Randi, and Tommy Tedesco then you were probably a member—and you could surely lay down a killer groove. Filmmaker Denny Tedesco pays tribute to his guitarist father and all his friends in the hugely entertaining documentary, The Wrecking Crew, which opens this Friday in New York.

The Wrecking Crew played with just about everyone, including the Beach Boys, the Byrds, the Monkees, Nat King Cole, Sonny & Cher, Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra, Herb Alpert, and the Chipmunks. They were Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound. They were largely unknown to the record buying public, but at least one Wrecking Crew veteran made good as a solo act: Glen Campbell. Naturally, whenever Campbell returned to the studio, he made sure his old pals were the ones backing him. His road band always resented it, yet he was really being true to his roots. They powered six consecutive Record of the Year Grammy winners, but they rarely saw their names on record jackets. In many cases, they were the recording industry’s equivalent of a ghost writer. Still, it was a pretty good living while it lasted.

For obvious reasons, the musical licensing was an absolute nightmare that has delayed the film’s release for years. It is a truly decades-in-the-making project that Tommy Tedesco (1930-1997) sadly never lived to see completed. Yet, the film is better thought of as an upbeat celebration of the musicians and their music than a bittersweet elegy. In fact, it is often wildly funny. These cats (and bassist Carol Kaye) can tell a good story, particularly the wickedly droll Blaine, who shows a drummer’s perfect sense of timing with one zinger after another.

There is nostalgia in Tedesco’s doc, but there is an even greater sense of camaraderie. It is also gratifying to see these unsung heroes of pop music finally getting their due. Hard core jazz record collectors will especially enjoy hearing from Don Randi (who recorded some excellent sessions for Pacific Jazz) and Plas Johnson, who might be the most widely heard tenor saxophonist in the world. Seriously, you know that “Pink Panther Theme?” That was him.

Wrecking Crew will bring to mind films like Standing in the Shadow of Motown and Muscle Shoals, which also paid tribute to some of the under-appreciated artists who helped make so many beloved hit records. They are all very good films, but Wrecking Crew is far more fun. Worth the wait, it delivers a lot of laughter and generous helpings of dearly licensed grooviness. It is just a blast from start to finish—and audiences will want to hang through the credits because there is a stinger worth sticking around for. Highly recommended for anyone who has ever listened to music recorded in the latter half of the Twentieth Century, The Wrecking Crew opens this Friday (3/13) in New York, at the IFC Center.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on March 9th, 2015 at 11:07pm.

By Joe Bendel. By now, many people do not realize that at the time of the Civil War, Jews were largely more accepted by the South than the North. However, there was one Unionist who stood tall against anti-Semitism (Lincoln, of course). Maybe it should therefore not be so surprising one of the one hundred fifty-some surviving real deal kosher delis happens to be in Houston, Texas. Proprietor Ziggy Gruber (formerly of New York) will be our primary guide through the savory traditions of delicatessen cuisine in Erik Greenberg Anjou’s Deli Man, which opens this Friday in New York.

Gruber was born into the delicatessen establishment, as the grandson of the owner of Broadway’s famed Rialto deli. He started working part-time for his beloved grandfather at an early age and absorbed all his traditional recipes and practices like a sponge. He now co-owns and operates Kenny & Ziggy’s New York Delicatessen in Houston, one of an estimated 150 legit kosher delis in America. To put things in perspective, there were over 1,500 certified kosher delis in New York City during the 1930s.

Anjou supplies some historical context (pastrami originally came from Romania) and offers some analysis of deli fare as a poignant cultural remnant of a shtetl world that no longer exists, but when you really get down to it, Deli Man is all about the food. The mountainous pastrami sandwiches are as mouth-watering as you would expect, but everything coming out of Gruber’s kitchen looks appetizing. In fact, he whips up some sort of roast shank that could probably justify a trip to Houston by itself.

Anjou could not have cast a more fitting central figure than the effusive Gruber. The man knows deli traditions through and through, yet he treats his staff and customers like family, regardless of their backgrounds. We also meet a representative sampling of other deli men and women, including Jay Parker of Ben’s Best in Rego Park, Queens, which is about as authentic as it gets. However, Anjou only peaks into the personal life of Gruber, who may have finally found someone willing share so much of his time with the corned beef. It is nice to see things working out for him, considering what he has done to keep his family and culinary traditions alive.

Anjou duly observe the irony that it was Jewish Americans’ successful acceptance and assimilation into suburbia that largely drove scores of neighborhood kosher delis like Ben’s Best out of business, without belaboring the point. Indeed, there is some serious substance to the film, but there is no getting around its food porn indulgence—and who would want to? Recommended for those who appreciate culinary cultural history on rye, Deli Man opens this Friday (3/6) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza uptown and the Landmark Sunshine, not so far from Katz’s on Houston Street.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on March 4th, 2015 at 10:13pm.

By Joe Bendel. It was not a total loss when Only God Forgives, Nicolas Winding Refn’s much anticipated follow-up to Drive, bombed with the Cannes press corps. At least it should have shown Ryan Gosling how to deal with the Lido drubbing dealt to his directorial debut, Lost River. Maybe Winding Refn’s film is not looking as bad to them, by comparison. Maybe. Nevertheless, his family did not return from six months in Thailand without bringing home one highly watchable film. Alas for Refn, that would be his wife Liv Corfixen’s up-close-and-personal behind-the-scenes documentary, My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, which opens this Friday in New York.

When watching Corfixen’s film, you immediately realize there was no way OGF was going to work. Winding Refn essentially admits his script makes no sense, which is never a good sign. Yet, his own contradictory impulses imply an even deeper identity crisis for the film. On one hand, he is clearly preoccupied with the pressure to repeat the success of Drive, yet he is perversely determined to produce a something utterly dissimilar. Mission accomplished on that score.

Much to her frustration, Winding Refn strictly limited Corfixen’s access to the set. It is evident from their often testy exchanges that she missed a lot of “making of” drama as a result. Still, it is blindingly obvious from the get-go this is a “troubled” production. In some shockingly revealing scenes, she captures all of her husband’s unvarnished self-doubt and self-pity, as OGF irreparably runs off the rails. Winding Refn’s references to compatriot Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier sounds especially telling. They seem like they should be two neurotic peas in a pod, but Winding Refn clearly nurses an inferiority complex.

Life should really not be dismissed as a DVD-extra, because it is hard to see anyone packaging it with OGF. After all, the shorter film basically explains why the longer feature attraction is such a chaotic mess. Short is also the right term. The actual movie substance of Life clocks in just under sixty minutes. However, Life has one thing few films can boast: their legendary family friend, director Alejandro Jodorowsky reading tarot and providing marriage counseling.

In all honesty, OGF has its moments, but they all come courtesy of the wonderfully fierce Kristin Scott Thomas and stone cold Thai movie star Vithaya Pansringarm, both of whom are seen in Life, planning their climatic scene together. In contrast, Gosling is utterly underwhelming, but to be fair, he comes across like a good sport in Corfixen’s doc, often seen playing with the couple’s young daughters. Perhaps he and Refn should just leave the making of David Lynchian films to David Lynch.

Regardless, Life is a brutally honest look at the personal and emotional repercussions of a film that never worked, in any step of its production. It is also frequently very funny, in decidedly uncomfortable ways. Frankly, it is a shame we do not have similarly intimate records of the notorious production processes for films like Heaven’s Gate, but Life will be there as a cautionary example for all future filmmakers battling their expectations and egos. Highly recommended for fans of cult cinema, My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn opens this Friday (2/27) in New York, at the Elinor Bunin Monroe Film Center.

LFM GRADE: B+

Posted on February 25th, 2015 at 9:58pm.

By Joe Bendel. A community is not just an assemblage of condos. Frankly, the complex in question is more of a concentration of angst than a communal body. Notions of community and the lack thereof feature prominently in Cao Fei’s hybrid documentaries, with the emphasis placed squarely on the “hybrid.” Contemporary Chinese life gets a strange but true-in-spirit genre spin in Cao’s Haze and Fog and iMirror, which screen together during MoMA’s 2015 Documentary Fortnight.

Initially, Haze feels very much like a standard aesthetically severe observational documentary, except Cao seems to have an eccentric knack for focusing on dark, uncomfortable moments. We see a prostitute going about her 50 Shades business with clients in the building, security guards peeping on tenants, and a pregnant housewife engaging in self-destructive behavior. Perhaps Cao’s cast really is part of the building’s universe, but hopefully they are playing fictionalized roles.

Clearly, everyone is alienated to some extent, despite their close proximity. Gao uses their daily frustrations to critique an increasingly fractured Chinese society and the continuing conflict between empty consumerism and traditional values. Then Haze turns into a zombie film. For real. It is all part of the allegory, but the zombies do what zombies do.

This is a strange film—and a bold pick for Doc Fortnight. It clocks in just over an hour, but it is unlikely Cao could have sustained the weird, anesthetizing vibe and frequency of understated, untelegraphed WTF moments much longer. It is a masterful piece of filmmaking that keeps the audience off-balance from start to finish, but Cao also gets some notably sensitive performances from Wang Chenxu as the young single woman and Liu Lu as the expecting housewife.

iMirror also falls a good deal outside the traditional bounds of Fortnight selections, but it is more deliberately doc-ish. Cao, billed as “China Tracy,” her virtual handle, chronicles a relationship she had with the avatar of an older man from San Francisco, within the virtual reality world of Second Life (SL). It is not really a catfish story, because he was more-or-less who he claimed to be and it is understood that everyone constructs idealized versions of themselves. Yet, it got pretty real, even though it wasn’t.

The second part of iMirror focusing on China Tracy’s virtual something with the younger and then older looking Hug Yue is considerably stronger than parts one and three, which mostly just establish the issues and environment of SL. Naturally, the animation looks very computer generated, as it must, because that is SL. Nevertheless, the film raises a number of questions for offline viewers, especially given the apparent freedom Cao found there. Is this a place where connected Chinese citizens can go to escape government censorship and surveillance? If so, why the hammer-and-sickle decorative motifs? Is a utopian ideologue inherently attracted to the presumptive perfectiveness of SL’s virtual world?

Given their genre elements, Haze and iMirror fit together rather easily, but the former is the far more challenging and inventive film. If you are a MoMA member you should drop in and see it when it screens, because love it or hate it, you will not see anything like it anytime soon. Highly recommended, Haze and Fog screens with iMirror next Thursday (2/26) and Friday (2/27) as part of this year’s Documentary Fortnight at MoMA.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on February 16th, 2015 at 10:05pm.