Philosophical or not, do you need to bring a barf bag?

It was like night and day reading coverage of David Cronenberg’s new film Crimes of the Future. And hilarious too. There couldn’t be more difference between the almost referential coverage of Canadian critics to fellow countryman and auteur’s latest philosophical horror flick. Not referential? Okay, but hardly nary a word of criticism or skepticism either. By contrast, the New York Post’s critic came right out and said this movie might make you throw up.  “You might actually vomit,” says Johnny Oleksinski. It’s hard to know whether Oleksinski thinks the film is up to critical snuff. But it’s hilarious reading his review. “Viewers’ hands flew up to shield their faces from the full-view blood, organs and intestines that enveloped the screen. I was seated in the front row, which was practically a splash zone. Two confused, squirming, squealing women next to me surely got lost on the way to Top Gun: Maverick.” I guess he is critical since he calls the movie’s theme “warped,” saying it “makes the technological apocalypse of Terminator look like a Build-a-Bear Workshop.” And a wink that maybe Cronenberg is really satirizing his own arts community. “We hope that all these offal offenses are meant to satirize our own world’s pretentious artists. Perhaps pale, black-hood-wearing Saul is a stand-in for Tilda Swinton in a glass box at MoMA or a Banksy drawing shredding itself.” Compare that to Canada’s three national newspapers - National Post, The Globe and Mail and Toronto Star – including reviews and lengthy interviews with the director. National Post’s Chris Knight: the film is “a fascinating foray into ideas that have long obsessed the thoughtful Toronto director.” And “The film explores the ways in which we are both at home in our bodies and outside them, treating them as means to get what we need, but also as the very vessels that have those needs.” The Globe’s Barry Hertz says it “is a testament to (Cronenberg’s) singularly twisty, squishy, uncompromising vision” and a “magnificently dirty movie.” Also, “Every millimetre of this film is filthy, decayed, polluted. And thank God for that.” It’s “a ruthlessly meditative film” exploring ideas and “a strangled cry against our self-destructive tendency to poison our own environment.” And Toronto Star’s Marriska Ferandes: “Shocking viewers has never been his intention” but the film is “a dark satire meant to entertain and start a dialogue” on matters like “technology and creativity.” After reading these views you be the judge. I've normally been a Cronenberg fan but after digesting these pieces I'm almost nauseous at the idea of going to the flick. 

Crimes of the Future is playing at Windsor and Detroit-area cinemas.

Windsor Jewish Film Festival opens with winner

I was surprised, even a but shocked, at how few people turned out at the opening night last night at Devonshire cinemas for the Windsor Jewish Film Festival’s first screening. The last time I was there for opening night was in pre-Covid 2018. That year the fest opened with two screens - Cinema 2 and 12 to accommodate the overflow crowds. Last night I attended the slightly larger Cinema 2 and had expected a massive lineup. It wasn’t there. Before the lights went down there was still only a scattering of people in the theatre, perhaps a quarter full. This was very disappointing after screenings in 2018 were almost filled to capacity. I put it down to post-Covid, a lot of people still too frightened to go to the cinema - or not in the habit - mask-wearing or not. Meanwhile, if mask-wearing was a concern, there are no rules at Cineplex though it seemed all staff wore them. This differs from the upcoming Windsor International Film Festival’s (WIFF) May 12 – 14 series at the Capitol Theatre where mask-wearing and 50 per cent capacity along with vaccine checks, are mandatory as per the theatre’s health and safety protocol. Four films are on offer.

Last night’s WJFF opener, Tiger Within (2020, Rafal Zielinksi) is a charming, well-acted film starring veteran – and in his final role - Ed Asner. Up against him is Margot Josefsohn as Casey. The unlikely screen friendship finds Asner, an aged Holocaust survivor, living alone in LA, and accidentally meeting Casey, a cynical teen goth. I’d been expecting something sappy but this film wasn’t that at all. From the opening with inventive artwork unfolding into Casey’s onscreen character, and the brush strokes occasionally accentuating key moments in the movie – a technique I hadn’t seen before but which works – the film’s predictable plot line develops in an unpredictable way and that’s to its strength. Asner is almost unrecognizable due to age, a convincing German accent and superb acting. As Samuel he imparts, incidentally, life lessons to the wild and emotionally cold and depressed Casey, where a true-life spirit finally ignites. Josefsohn’s performance is also very believable. 

But I was disappointed by a film I caught at Devonshire just before the WJFF’s opening. This was the much hyped The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (Tom Gormican) starting Nicholas Cage. Reviewers had touted the movie as Cage’s comeback after a series of ‘meh’ outings in Joe, Mandy and Pig, equating it with the dual character roles in 2002’s Adaptation (Spike Jonze). The first half hour of the movie is good with Nick, playing himself – or yet even a more extreme version – in anguish over a new film role. He’s a self-obsessed star whom ex-wife (Sharon Horgan) and daughter (Lily Sheen) can barely tolerate when they’re not bored by his narcissism. Nick’s flown to Mallorca Spain on the promise of getting $1 million to attend a super fan’s birthday party. Thinking the fan, a film buff and wannabe director, Javi (Pedro Pascal), wants to make a buddy movie but which is “character-driven” “nuanced” and “layered” – ha, a send up of art film pretensions - Nick is caught up in an international kidnap plot and enlisted by CIA agents. From here the movie descends into a yawn fest; Adaptation it is not. By aiming to be cleverly hilarious by playing up Cage’s eccentricities the film overshoots and lands in a miasma of derivative run-of-the-mill action flicks.

About, uh, that streaming service

I have a sense of schadenfreude (that’s laughing at others misfortune) with the recent Netflix numbers. The most wonderful streaming service (wink) lost 200,000 subscribers in the last quarter and believe it or not is expecting another drop of two million the next one. There are various reasons, say those maybe in the know. Among these are that there are so many more competitors these days, like Amazon Prime, Apple TV, BritBox, Crave, etc. etc. Another is that the pandemic is over – over! – get it? People are sick of watching movies in their basements no matter how large the screen. Elon Musk, mischievous as he is, even suggested so much of Netflix’s content is “woke” (politically correct) and therefore “unwatchable.” Let me weigh in. I’ve long found Netflix unwatchable, having complained about it a number of times, and last summer snipped the electronic cord by cancelling my virtual subscription. It wasn’t necessarily wokeness that did me in, though I can see what Musk means, but the fact so much of the inventory held no interest for me. I’m not a television watcher so, despite how supposedly great content was (Peaky Blinders vile premise – please!), I had no interest in “binge” watching. It was movies for me. But Netflix never offered up much in the way of classic, foreign or independent films and their current offerings with few exceptions (Roma (Alfonso Cuaron, 2018), Copenhagen (Mark Raso 2014), Panoptic (Rana Eid 2017), Life Itself (Dan Fogelman, 2018)) just didn’t appeal. Months would go by before I watched another Netflix movie. I’d go on the site, scroll and scroll and scroll and never find anything to watch. But truth be told, in recent months I’ve reconsidered. My main movie outlets have been Criterion Channel and Turner Classic Movies, and since I was in Europe for two months, had no access to the latter. I wanted more content and thought I should re-open the Netflix window. That remains to be seen. Meanwhile, I have to smile at the great streaming service’s (wink) bad news.

Finally, I took an interest in the Oscars

I finally took an interest in the Academy Awards, Of course, it wasn’t the night of the awards ceremony but the day after and only after I’d seen some reference – after all, it was everywhere - to an outrageous event that had taken place the evening before. It was of course "the slap heard round the world" that Will Smith had delivered on emcee Chris Rock. Rock apparently had made a joke about Smith’s wife’s Jada Pinkett Smith’s baldish head as her being in “GI Jane 2” a reference to Demi Moore’s shorn locks in 1997‘s film GI Jane (Ridley Scott). Jada, not amused (yes, I watched the video) rolled her eyes. After laughing apparently hilariously at the joke, Will, perhaps eyeing his wife’s reaction, lost the smile, and left his seat and walking on to the stage slapped – slapped, why not punched? - the comedian across the face. Normally even an event like this wouldn’t get me too excited but it captured my imagination – perhaps it was a slow news week. My immediate reaction was that Smith should be condemned, censured, arrested and even banished from Hollywood. This was assault pure and simple. But of course none of that has happened (yet). According to a show producer LA police were on hand to make an arrest but Rock, being the stand-up guy (and not just comedian) he is, didn’t want charges pressed. Will Smith, in the days afterward, became more contrite, fully apologizing (eventually to Rock) and resigned from the Academy. It will be interesting if the slug – sorry, slap – will tarnish his career and reports indicate some productions are reviewing the great actor's status. I couldn’t believe the audience at the Oscars actually seemed to come to Smith's defense, with actors like Denzel Washington and Bradley Cooper “comforting” him. And then the guy gets a standing ovation later in the ceremony when he accepts the best actor award for his role in King Richard (Reinaldo Marcus Green). (That, by the way, is the only award I know of from last week’s Oscars). Well, I thought, that’s Hollywood for you. Always siding with the bad guys. You have to ask why. Wasn’t Smith the guilty party for making an assault? It doesn’t particularly matter what the reason was – defending his wife’s “honor” (so chivalrous!)? - and then perhaps only after Jada didn’t find the joke amusing. Rock indeed should have been called out for joking about a health issue – Jada's alopecia or hair loss. But he claims he knew nothing about it. But a slap across the kisser or cheek or wherever the slap landed? But, hey, it got me interested in the Oscars, if only in hindsight. And, you know what, I still don’t know which film won for best picture.  

Very excited about the Criterion Channel’s April releases, with the new French film from France’s Bruno Dumont called, well, France the first name of a glamorous TV journalist (Léa Seydoux) whose life is upturned by a freak accident. There’s also a retrospective of actress Delphine Seyrig’s career. I had had no idea who Seyrig was but recently caught her in Luis Buñuel’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972) (see March 21 post) and last night – finally – watched Alain Resnais’s Last Year at Marienbad (1960), in which she stars. She’s glamorous (photo), but with a script by the novelist Alain Robbe-Grillet, whose revolutionary spare writing style is the equivalent of Minimalist art, this may not be your cup of espresso, in more ways than one.  Other major groups of films released by Criterion this month include the Blaxploitation films of the 1970's, Ethan Hawke’s personal picks, 14 films by John Ford and Asian American filmmaking 2000-2009. 

Merrily, merrily, life is but an absurd dream

I just finished watching a spate of films by Luis Buñuel. That's because I happened to be in the Reine Sofia museum in Madrid and caught a glimpse of the surrealist's famous 1929 film, Un Chien Andalou, which Roger Ebert described as "the most famous short film ever made." It has been awhile since I’d watched anything by Buñuel. So when I got home I immediately clicked on Criterion Channel and watched any film by Buñuel that I had not seen or not seen in a long while. This resulted in viewing The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972), Belle de Jour (1967), The Phantom of Liberty (1974) and Viridiana (1961). My memory was still fresh enough to remember The Exterminating Angel (1962), which I saw last year. And even though Buñuel's oeuvre is more than that, that was all I could absorb….The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie is a comic setup of a group of upper crust couples who continually try to have dinner together but keep failing. Yes, I guess it’s like a dream. And of course, Buñuel being the surrealist that he was, much of his work has to do with dreamlike images and absurdity. It stars one of the greatest suave and debonair actors ever in movies, Fernando Rey - he of the goatee - whose aristocratic bearing is always comically undermined. Rey also stars in Viridiana, which shared the top prize at Cannes and was banned in Buñuel’s native Spain for 17 years. Starring a character as a nun (Silvia Pinal) who becomes corrupted, it's hard to believe (the banning that is). But I guess sensibilities were, well, more sensitive in those days. The nun, who leaves the monastery,  is portrayed in a charitable light but apparently succumbs to temptation. But this is only in the final scene and seems extraordinarily mild. Viridiana reminded me of a Fellini film, with its set pieces of marginal but idiosyncratic characters who here create a beggars' banquet. Belle de Jour has the great Catherine Deneuve as a middle class maven fascinated by the dark side - that is, prostitution. And so she is able to act out her deepest sexual cravings but only from 2 to 5 pm when she has to be home and make dinner. So this film could also be dubbed Love in the Afternoon, though I know another film has that title (Billy Wilder, 1957). The Exterminating Angel is perhaps the most interesting of the films. A dinner party in an opulent mansion has gathered yet there are forebodings of doom. A servant runs off before dinner is served. The guests are fed and everyone is sated. But upon retiring to the parlour our well heeled guests find they cannot cross back into the rest of the house. This state lasts hours then days and the gathering, in tuxes and evening dresses, are reduced to refugees, cutting up furniture to throw in the fireplace to keep warm. Finally, in The Phantom of Liberty, a series of unrelated sketches counter seemingly normal human experiences with the non sensible. A little girl is lost and her parents report to the police. Even though she reappears her presence is discounted because the official search has not concluded. And here is also the famous scene of another dinner party (Buñuel was apparently fascinated by dinner parties)  where our guests sit down at a respectable dining room table, only their chairs are toilets.

Is this Laura Dern? And a seven-year-old gem

While three movies do not a career make - and this actress's career has had much wider and varied  scope - it was still a surprise to watch three more or less supposedly representative films of one of the contemporary film world's leading actresses. They’re featured in a Laura Dern mini retrospective on Criterion Channel. If these are representative of a character who defies stereotypes then "defy" is a misnomer. The first film, Smooth Talk (Joyce Chopra 1985), interestingly enough based on author Joyce Carol Oates's Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?  has Dern as Connie, a 15-year-old wild thing who flirts ferociously with boys at the local mall and irascibily confronts her mother (Mary Kay Place) at every turn. She is, in a word, a typical if gregarious teenager who lacks as much insight into herself as those would-be victimizers. In Rambling Rose (Martha Coolidge 1991), we again see Dern as the outrageous flirt or in a certain parlance, tramp. Set in the 1930’s Dern as Rose has a checkered background and is considered by many a "loose" woman. Her behavior alights the town in the Deep South as scandalous, as she sashays along main street in skimpy clothes to the delights of men and condemnation of women. Finally, in Citizen Ruth (Alexander Payne 1996), Dern plays a young woman 'Ruth' (photo) caught up in the abortion wars. Ruth, a drug addict, is at once fearsome and naive. After getting pregnant she ends up adopted by both sides in the abortion debate. One would think with a title like "Citizen" Ruth would undertake a commanding role of moral rectitude, whatever side that puts her on, but it isn't the case. She’s literally willing to go to the highest bidder (literally a monetary payoff) whether she chooses to have her baby or not. All this being said Dern is a splendid actress in this and the other films but her character is hardly an example to other women on screen or off. Worst of all about Citizen Ruth is its cartoonishness. Burt Reynolds plays a farcical anti-abortion leader arriving with private chauffeur. Tippi Hedren plays his opposite, swooping down in a helicopter to excavate Ruth from the opposing braying hordes. Thankfully, Ruth finds her own way. 

Meanwhile one of the better films I have seen lately is a little known gem from 1953 called Little Fugitive (Raymond Abrashkin, Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin) about seven year old Joey (Richie Andrusco) as a boy lost in Brooklyn who ends up on a summer weekend in Coney island. This film "influenced the French New Wave and is considered by modern-day critics to be a landmark film because of its naturalistic style and groundbreaking use of nonprofessional actors in lead roles,” according to Wikipedia. Who knew? But, whatever else, it’s a charming and realistic story of a kid "on the run" from his boyhood terrors and creating a world of his own amidst summer honky tonk.

Making my entrance again with my usual flair

As theaters (again) reopen - and at full capacity! - my mind wanders back to various incidents that have occurred to me over the years as I entered or was in the lobbies of theaters. Nothing particularly big or outrageous but small events, often humorous and bizarre, that have stuck in my mind….For example, there was the time long ago at the beautiful, then new and spacious Parkway cinemas in Windsor, which met a premature demise as retail took over that plaza at the corner of Tecumseh Rd. E and Lauzon Pkwy. (i.e., a Winners store). That's when I tried sneaking in with a bag containing my evening's dinner - a Big Mac, fries and a pop - under my jacket. After paying admission and walking up the hallway to the one of five cinemas, the bag dropped to the floor and splattered, just in front of an usher walking towards me…..A few years ago, I was at the recently closed and very lamented Main Art Theatre in Royal Oak, when I casually made a comment to the clerk behind the concessions stand. I’d been a devotee of the Main for decades but noticed that the lobby, with a lounge to the side, always seemed kind of empty. Expanding concessions including, say, hamburgers and other foods, or even beer, would be ideal. In short order I was denounced by the clerk for promoting hateful meat-eating values…..Then  there was the once influential Montreal World Film Festival in one of its final years, where I gathered in the lobby of the Imperial Cinema where some major star of the film was meeting the public. A friend and I moved in close. Then I heard someone behind me say, “The nerve of some people” referring to us blocking her getting close to the star; we didn't even know she was there! The next day I spotted this same woman and approached her, explaining what had happened. Without hesitation, she replied, “You’re insane!”....There was also the time at the once iconic but now closed Cumberland theatres in Toronto’s Yorkville - where you took an escalator to get upstairs to the cinemas (photo) - when, waiting my turn at the concession stand, I opened my wallet. I had just been to the ATM and it was stocked with bills. A guy standing behind me saw this and said to his friends, “We should roll this guy!”.....There was also the time in Paris, France, when I wanted to see the film, Stefan Zweig: Farewell to Europe. I was catching a bus for Germany that night so I toted along my suitcase. I was immediately told by an usher that I couldn’t enter the theatre. This was in the immediate aftermath (a year later) of the Bataclan nightclub terrorist attacks and I suppose a parked suitcase posed a threat. This was the only time on my European sojourn where I lost it, angrily showing my displeasure.