Hey, everyone. ”Moriarty” here. Father Death is an old timey Sundance spy, a guy who’s been sending in reports since at least the year 2000. He’s back today with a report on two films he’s seen so far this year, and he’s thrown in a couple of pictures. It cracks me up that he didn’t recognize the “mysterious guy” he photographed in the third picture below, but I’m sure you guys will tell him who it is. Good stuff, Father Death, and keep it up!
It is I, Father Death, that have risen to go to the movies in Park City on Saturday the 19th. It's been four years since my last visit (a measly two films on the first & last day). FILM THREAT editor Chris Gore calls me "Boba Fett of Internet movie reviews" in a brief email exchange. Flattery is appreciated, Chris.THE WAVE I returned to Sundance Film Festival because I'm interested in the select films that delve in politics and international affairs. I'm a political junkie, so it's fitting to start with the viewing of THE WAVE, adapted from the 1981 novel by Todd Strasser based on a true event taking place in a high school history class in Palo Alto in 1969, as my first film. The German movie is slated to play in theaters nationwide in Germany this March. It's about the rogue teacher that woke the high school students from the state of apathy by teaching the principles and practices of autocracy -- Fascism. It's a rousingly entertaining movie in the first hour, with what sounds like a terrific story and some spectacular acting by the cast to set the mood. It's a dark political comedy in the vein of BLACKBOARD JUNGLE, DEAD POETS SOCIETY and STAND AND DELIVER with a superlative performance by Jurgen Vogel as the rebel teacher (also double as the water polo coach) who inspire his initially disinterested students to take on radical politics with his project week assignment focusing on Fascism in place of anarchy. From that point on it bred the positive result in unity and pride leading to horrible outcome when extremism takes over among the few students who take it too seriously. Director and adaptation screenwriter Dennis Gansel did a fine job adapting the movie, but since I've never read the novel, I don't know how faithful the movie is to the source material, because the last 15 minutes imploded with contrivances that made it difficult to suspend my disbelief. Spoiling the last 15 minutes is out of question, but suffice to say it doesn't ring true and border on utter contrivance with a cop-out ending, which render the whole movie somewhat disappointing that started with a great promise to be riveting with the depth of story in connecting the political system with the disaffected students who take the class just to pass without intellectual stimulation. I would recommend The Wave for its taking on the controversial subject matter of teaching the students the benefits of autocracy -- a rare kind of the student-teacher/teen movie devoted to the politics. The ending, however, left something to be desired. A side note, The Wave isn't quite subtle with its anti-Bush message statement (a reference to Bush regime as fascistic and even "Fuck Bush" bumper sticker on the mailbox; however politically I concur with the point of view). It's also one of the first movies to make direct references to MySpace, visually and in dialogue. Weirdly, there's an actual MySpace Celebrity cafe on Main Street in Park City. ** 1/2 (***1/2 for the first hour)
After the first movie, I headed onto Main street populated with the people, young and old. Even at night, I recognize the people from New York and California based on their fashion statement. Almost all young women look like Calvin Klein or Abercrombie & Fitch models, which is kinda surreal. I went to New Frontier on Main across the street from Egyptian theater where The Wave played to check out the art and video installations. Unfortunately, it hasn't opened till noon, so I had an hour to waste. I sat on the sofa chair next to a freelance photographer banging away on his laptop & setting up his super-fancy Canon camera. I brought the graph pencils, clay eraser and blank notebook in my backpack to practice pencil-drawing the portrait of Robert Redford speaking at the opening nite from the photograph in the newspaper. A few people peeked and commented favorably on my photo-realistic rendition of Redford. Drawing really help pass the time; besides, it improves my drawing skill in the meantime :-) The show finally opened to a huge eager crowd, most going to the panels. Art/video installations are typically pretentious, but pretty cool nonetheless. I'm unable to describe because they are plainly indescribable. You know what I mean if you've encountered them. I came late for wait list line for "Alone in Four Walls", the documentary on Russian juvenile delinquents, previously mentioned by Quint. Alas, I was handed #66 wait list number, which means poor luck of getting in unless bad word of mouth empty the significant number of seatings (unlikely, as far as I know it almost never happen -- even people would be willing to see particularly execrable movies, where terrible, shitty movies are a pretty common occurrence at absurdly prestigious markets like Sundance Film Festival). Me and the unlucky wait list attendees knew we were shit out of luck, so we dispersed after the organizer told us the screening was sold out. Strike one. At least I have plenty of free time to look-a-see in Park City. Besides, Quint mentioned "Alone in Four Walls" pace too slowly, which is code word for "boring". Thanks Quint, saved me ten bucks. This is where it got interesting... I beelined to EW cafe at Kimball Art Center to buy an apple for a buck and I recognized the famed photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders and his compansion Elvis Mitchell (in town for HBO documentary "The Black List"; Greenfield-Sanders previously photographed porn stars featured in the documentary "Thinking XXX" which is also available in hardcover photo art book packed with essays by celebrities) chatting with an unrecognizable guy on the table next to my table. We had a brief chat after I suggested he photograph the presidential candidates of both parties for, say, a special issue of a prominent NYC-based magazine. He had done this kind of work before. I pointed to my pin-back button "Ron Paul" on the left breast of my winter jacket and he looked closely and said softly "Ron Paul" with a slightly appreciating smile. We shook hands twice, and I realize I have met one of the world's greatest living photographer-artists who take the art of portrait photography to new level preceded by Annie Leibovitz. I could care less about the present-day movie star celebrities (I could never understand the pop-culture obsession with vapid likes of Paris/Britney/Lindsay), but I was slightly star-struck by this man for a reason unexplained. I love looking at photography art, in museums and books, even Rolling Stone magazine. Afterwards, I walked Main street and noticed some people coming up to kiss ass with the particular dude with the Prince Valiant haircut like a babemagnet. I can't make out who he is, even though he looks familiar. Even snowboard-obsessed teen boys (obviously judging their wear style) walking by instantaneously recognize him as the dude walked past them and they turned around to gawk at him with star-struck look on their faces. Here's the photograph of a mysterious dude, for your amusement:
Okay, now on to another movie. It's called Perro Come Perro (Spanish for "Dog Eat Dog"), a Columbian crime "thriller" about the thug hiding gobs of American cash from the fellow thugs and the mob boss for his own gain. I went to see this movie because of a gushing capsule preview by a "critic" screening hundreds of movie submissions for Sundance in the film catalog. It's obvious she was doped up on drugs. "Perro Come Perro" is rank amateur in terms of cinematography (so irritating it makes Bourne Ultimatum look positively restrained), editing (overused "speed-up" editing and annoying two-second blackout flashes), some overacting (particularly the mob boss, with the laughable facial expression of puffing face in raging anger) paltry-written & horribly cliched script that doesn't even make sense at all (the movie involve a vex-casting voodoo priest and a mysterious dead man in the casket that haunts the particular black thug's dream). The story's so dreadfully lulling I resisted the urge to doze off, and I did doze off in the meandering middle. The movie emphasize the gritty and nasty with its over the top violence that seems to glamorize gross brutality for the sake of violence, as though it's the cinematic love letter to violence that only the death-row prisoners would admire for depicting absolute nihilism. Maybe that's the actual point of the title. I'm an admirer of Sam Peckinpah's "Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia", which utilize brutal violence with actual story in substance to a superior effect. Perro Come Perro is so lurid in its exploitation of glorified violence that it's as sensational as Latin American tabloid magazines that publish the gory pictures. The movie felt amateurish, with constantly shaky cinematography and awful acting that tried to emphasize rough & grit stoicism. This is not a "thriller" in any sense, because the editing and story are incredibly trite. There's a particularly grotesque death scene involving the buzzing chainsaw (though not shown in full) that appear to have been lifted straight out of "Scarface". This movie doesn't have an original bone in the body, only trying to up the ante by being as nasty as the movie can be in terms of violence with dead aesthetic and lesser artistic value. Sounds familiar -- that was "Chaos". "City of God" this ain't, and easily one of the worst movies at this year's Sundance. I thought Sundance represent the quality choices of filmmaking, but apparently not. The Sundance 08 film catalog capsule reviewer who lauded "Perro Come Perro" must have seen a different movie, otherwise she must be on drugs when she saw the movie. Pure trite horseshit that should have seen straight to video in Latin America market, like shitty Mexiploitation movies. I'm a reasonable moviegoer with an opinionated point of view, but this movie isn't good in any aspect -- just shitty bad. I'm sure some moviegoers felt the same as they left the screening promptly as the credit roll, not caring for the Q&A session afterwards indicate their disdain. 0 star I'll be seeing more later this week. Ta-ta. Father Death Resurrected
