ACTORS OF SOUND, dir. Lalo Molina
The art of foleying (and it truly is an art, make no mistake) is something that everyone who learns up on the act of making films knows about in an abstract sense, but it’s less commonly understood as a practical, day-to-day profession. Sure enough, there are people who make a living mimicking the sounds of footsteps, horses, explosions, and everything in between, and this doc is, more than anything, a love letter to this type of profession. They get folks who’ve worked on everything from A NEW HOPE to LIFE OF PI to talk about the specifics of what they do and how they make a living going about doing it. Every artist is different, and there’s a lot of mileage earned in the focus on each artist’s unique methods, workspaces, and conceptions regarding the profession itself and its place in the business.
Still, if this subject is indeed worthy of a feature doc (which it most likely is), this film doesn’t do an amazing job of making it seem exciting enough for 98 minutes of screentime. Part of me thinks it comes down to a simple lack of footage, that they didn’t get enough good stuff in the can to pad out a full-length feature. A lot of the subjects’ insights overlap with one another, and we hit many of the same points two or three times, sometimes more. About an hour in, after we’ve spent quite a bit of time with the same handful of subjects, the focus switches and introduces two ideas that the film could’ve used a lot more of: how sound design is approached in other countries (including India, where Bollywood is possibly even more reliant on sound than we are), and how film schools teach the art of foleying to young students, both conceptually and through hands-on methods including recording prop-work and the intricacies of replicating footsteps. By the time the film opens up to these arenas, it’s already pretty close to the end, and after seeing the same group of people for much of the runtime, we’re rushed through the international studios and Chapman’s foley and ADR classes. These are scenes that get the mind thinking about the craft and what it means, and prove more exciting than at least 20 minutes of the previous hour of footage. The pacing is so disproportionate, that I have to assume it’s merely because the in-depth stuff with the American foleyers produced way more usable material than the foreign foley labs and the Chapman U classes, but regardless of why that is, it results in a lesser, looser film.
As someone whose knowledge of foleying more or less extends to that one scene in Albert Brooks’ MODERN ROMANCE, I did feel like I got a good edification in what it means to interpret and mimic sounds for a living, and what kind of lifestyle that entails. Unfortunately, I’m not sure this is a doc that warrants big-screen exhibition; many of the archive material and clips are in low-res anyway, and the amount of repetition and filler does start to get on the nerves. Nevertheless, there’s a great deal here worth checking out. A lot of explanations and examples regarding how certain sounds are made, such as the bat execution scene in THE UNTOUCHABLES. A bunch of shots showing the soundwork for ESCAPE FROM L.A. (as part of a Paramount promotional package from that time), including an excellent moment where a dorky, chubby foley-er replicates a moment where Kurt-Snake slickly slaps on his leather jacket. A surprisingly extended homage to BREAKING BAD, where the sound guys keep reiterating that the foleying is a crucial element of the production, to the point where Gilligan would be giving them notes in the scripts. A story of a young dancer brought in to mimic some footsteps and ended up falling in love with and marrying the fellow she was paired up with, before embarking on a lifelong foleying career together. It’s a charming, likable doc, one which really does take care to explore what one subject refers to as “the only analog art left in moviemaking”, but one which probably plays best at home rather than for $15 bucks (not including parking) at the arthouse.
DYING LAUGHING, dirs. Lloyd Stanton and Paul Toogood
There’s always been assumptions made about how those who make us laugh are often the saddest inside, but the suicide of Robin Williams, an EGO winner (no Tony) with worldwide fame and fans of all ages, brought that subject to the forefront in a big way. Sure enough, now is the perfect time for something like this film, which distinguishes itself from the plethora of comedy docs out there by strictly focusing on the hard, the alienating, the miserable guts of comedy. Through black-and-white interviews with everyone from Jerry Seinfeld to Bobby Lee to George Wallace to Paul Provenza, Stanton and Toogood plumb a range of subjects that reveals the sad, often deeply unglamorous underbelly of professional comedy, where lonely hotel rooms, mismanagement, hostile, indifferent crowds, racism, sexism, agism, and often insulting paychecks breed loneliness, alienation, insecurity, and, in some cases, wild substance abuse.
There’s a lot of talk about the nature of comedy, and what it means to actually be a comedian, which is very enlightening, particularly coming from folks like Chris Rock, Steve Coogan, and Sarah Silverman, who have had the game on lockdown for decades. These subjects are apparently acutely aware of the weird, unique nature of their art, and at least in Rock’s case, is freed by it; what other profession, he asks, isn’t completely bought out by corporate culture or political correctness? As we learn from the massive breadth of interview subjects, performing comedy is, like most art, made to look easier than it is. There is typically a lot less actual spontaneity going on than the audience is meant to be made aware of, and a large part of the comedian’s job is merely to make people feel like they’re worth listening to, and the various methods these guys use for that are fascinating. It’s all rooted in a mix of basic psychology, instinct, and experience; one of the best stretches of the film deals with hecklers, and how these various talents choose to deal with loud attention-seekers purposefully fucking up the flow of their act. There’s also an incredible section about the comedians’ first times on stage, with several of them shockingly admitting the same thing: that their first set devolved into them blacking out and making bizarre sounds and noises without a lick of control. Nearly everyone (including Gary Shandling, who the film is dedicated to) agrees that if you’re not able to dust yourself off and come back from a humiliating experience like that, then this career probably isn’t for you.
The film is nearly entirely talking heads, with some interstitial bits here and there showing stuff like laughing audiences, famous club marquees, and comics scribbling down material. However, the film, against all odds, ends up proving entirely cinematic, and for a few reasons. For one, the fact that the interviews are all in black-and-white, and paired with very specific, minimal sound design, inherently creates a sense of drama that pairs well with the deep, often weighty musings of this incredible, varied roster of talent. That’s another thing: this is one of the more star-studded docs I’ve seen about anything, comedy or otherwise (possibly rivaling THE ARISTOCRATS), and all these folks are here to talk shop. You’ve got Kevin Hart showing an endless list of hastily typed notes on his phone for later sets. You’ve got Keenan Ivory Wayans hilariously recalling a set in Alaska where he played for a strip club full of angry, likely racist, pistol-packing woodsmen who’d been working in the wilderness for six months and have no other desire besides boobs, booze, and cocaine. You’ve got Billy Connolly, Emo Philips, and 90-year-old-ass Jerry Lewis dropping science about their craft, right alongside Neal Brennan, Jim Jeffries, and Dave Attell. Jamie Foxx has a surprisingly lot to say for someone not necessarily known for comedy anymore, including a solid story of how he’d only know if his “black” material was solid if it played with white audiences. Amy Schumer, possibly the buzziest comedian in the film, relents that she used to feel lucky if there was free yogurt and O.J. waiting for her in her hotel’s buffet. I’m not saying that having stars of this wattage immediately makes your doc worthy of playing in cinemas, but when you have this many, showing up completely open and willing to dig into the sadder, less glamorous parts of their work, it does provide a surprising amount of drama.
This isn’t necessarily a how-to guide to becoming a comedian; these comics are speaking from personal experience, without refinement and without candy-coated words of encouragement. If there is a thesis of this film, it’s that comedy is not an easy business, emotionally, psychologically, or financially, and if, as Shandling says, you don’t feel a “calling” for it, it’s absolutely not worth it. However, the film is not a slog of a depressing experience. One, these guys happen to be some of the funniest people on the planet, and it’s almost impossible for them to talk for an extended amount of time and not shove in an amazing joke here or there. After the film, the directors seemed surprised at how much the audience laughed, but I’d argue that the doc plays much like a black comedy, and that the laughs are too consistent to be considered “comic relief,” as they described it. Two, these are mostly all success stories. Even the more painful experiences, like Royale Watkins recalling, in tears, how he bombed in front of both Bo Jackson and Michael Jordan, before M.C. Bernie Mac called him back onstage to get him a respectable applause, are being told by people who’ve made it in the industry, and who’ve figured out how to do it. As Joan Rivers said, “It doesn’t get easier, you get better,” and, like in some of those making-of or ESPN docs, it’s very encouraging and exciting to hear people who are the best in their field talking about the trials and tribulations they went through, and the lessons they’ve picked up along the way.
This hit me way harder, and got my cracker-barrel working, than most showbiz docs, and Stanton and Toogood deserve a lot of credit for tackling this subject as intently and seriously as they did (maybe it’s ‘cause they’re British?), and for shooting in such a stripped-down, terse way that it feels like a movie and not a clip show of a bunch of famous people sitting in chairs and talking to a camera. Must-see for comedy fans.
LIFE ANIMATED, dir. Roger Ross Williams
Rates of autism have spiked very publicly over the last three decades, and there is no shortage of docs and TV specials out there about what it’s like to have the disease, to raise a child with the disease and the crucial bits of knowledge necessary to understanding how to interact with those suffering from the affliction. It’s one of those subjects almost guaranteed to tug at your heartstrings, and it’s incredibly hard for filmmakers to show restraint when tackling the subject of the mentally handicapped, leading to a lot of schmaltzy, saccharine portraits of the affliction. Surprisingly, the story of Owen Suskind, and his family’s efforts to coax him into society, proves to be powerful, inspiring, and a wonderful testament to the magic of cinema.
Owen was born to Ron Suskind, a Pulitzer-winning Wall Street Journal reporter, and his wife, Cornelia, and was a normal, happy child with his older brother Walter until suddenly shutting off around the age of three. All of a sudden, he stopped speaking, stopped responding to speech, and started having violent mood swings, leading doctors to diagnose him with autism, and to tell his parents that he’d likely never speak again. However, the parents soon realize that Owen seems to respond really well to Disney movies, specifically their animated films, and would quiet down and focus whenever they were on. A few remarkable events occur. Ron figures out that a repeated phrase that sounds like “jusservoy” is actually “Just your voice,” a lyric from an Ursula song in LITTLE MERMAID, cryptically hinting that poor Owen is cognizant of his inability to communicate. Ron is able to strike up a conversation with Owen using an Iago hand puppet and his best Gilbert Gottfried, the first actual talk he’s ever had with his son. They discover a journal with excellent recreations of Disney characters like Sebastian the Crab, Jiminy Cricket, and Timon and Pumbaa, all sidekicks. They put together that Owen has dubbed himself “The protector of the sidekicks” in his head, and using that knowledge, and the obvious fact that Owen has all these films committed to memories, they begin to reestablish their relationships with him, and eventually, get him to come out of his shell and be a functional, working, dating, and independently living member of society.
Many of us have firsthand experiences with autism. My childhood buddy has a little brother named Spencer who was a sweet, quiet lad, prone to sudden, unexplained outbursts, and I watched his family bend over backwards to make sure he had the best possible treatment, not to mention raise awareness about the disease. Remembering them struggle to get their middle child back, talking, and confident makes this particular story hit hard for me. I’m something of a deeply-ingrained cynic, deeply suspicious of nearly all documentaries, particularly those that try and present some sort of narrative, and especially when those narratives seem overly idealistic, hopeful, or rose-tinted. But this story, of how Disney Animation’s exaggerated movements, arch dynamics, and larger-than-life characters were able to tap into Owen’s soul better than even the members of his own family, made a big impact on me.
Ebert described movies as being “a machine for empathy,” and I’ve always believed that to be true. Us film fans often take inspiration, consciously or subconsciously, from the gods we watch on film, whether it’s by replicating their clothing, using aspects of their speech in our vernacular, or merely emulating their movements or tics. This is not a weird occurrence, and a natural byproduct of huge masses of people intellectually and emotionally engaging with the same piece of art; we are wearing these things, or saying these things, or acting like this, to convey how we connect with that particular element in the film. The idea that this kid was able to build himself back up from scratch using film, when, as he says, everything everyone said in real life was “garbled,” is literal proof of what Ebert said; these movies were able to reach out and communicate with his emotions better than any human could, and ended up saving him from a life of quiet, lonely misery trapped inside of his own head. Owen is a functional, relatable adult by the end of this story,
With such a powerful character as his subject, Williams could easily coast on the sentimentality of the material, but he does a few things that make LIFE ANIMATED work as a film, not just as a true-life story. First, perhaps most significantly, he includes several animated segments depicting a surreal version of Owen’s “Protector of the Sidekicks” myth, with various villains like Jafar using magical rays to attack him and his band of buddies, including Iago, Baloo, and Philoctetes from Hercules. These are gorgeous, lively pencil-colored (or at least look like it) renderings that freely use the Disney IPs (one thinks they may have been uncharacteristically generous with Williams and Suskind due to the promotional aspect for their brand) and which serve as little action-scene metaphors for Owen’s internal battles with his disease. Risky move, but very cool stuff ultimately. Another thing is the structure. There’s an ideal mix of on-site footage and interviews, and the film, unusual for docs, never drops or moves on from a subject until it’s properly explored (one painfully honest interview with Owen’s brother about their relationship is placed at a crucial moment for optimal effect).
But ultimately, the most likable, charming, and appealing thing about this documentary is Owen himself. Perhaps it’s because his personality is so heavily influenced by jaunty, expressionistic kids’ films, but Owen’s got a magnificently chirpy, optimistic personality, and actually seems like a really likable guy (a notion which was confirmed when he charmed the pants off our audience after the screening). We not only root for him as he graduates from his special-needs school, dates his girlfriend, moves into his own place, and gets a job, but we like watching him do it, and his sunny confidence is incredibly cinematic and uplifting given the knowledge we have about his horrible early childhood. His impersonations of Disney characters only get better and funnier as he gets older, and watching him head up his school’s Disney Club (leading to two touching surprise appearances by a couple of famed voice actors) and eventually get a job as a theater ticket-taker feels like big, earned wins for the guy. Owen the person is the reason to see this movie, and his natural, attractive energy is supported by his personal story, the animation, and the magnificent statement the film makes about the potential art has to straight up save us from the pits of despair that litter the roadside of life’s highways.
In short, this kinda shit usually doesn’t work on me, but this film did, so check it out, particularly if you’re one who will pick up on the casual Disney references (like one unexpected NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS riff) that Owen inserts into his everyday interactions.
