One of the finest fiction films we've ever shown at Rooftop is coming back to NYC on February 27--David Lowery's St. Nick. The soft-spoken, thought-provoking director will be in town for the Q&A at the 92Y Tribeca. Rooftop fans can use the ticket code ADV to get $2 off the price. BUY TICKETS
Here's what Rooftop Artistic Director Mark Elijah Rosenberg wrote about the film when we screened it last summer:
David Lowery's debut feature is a pre-teen Badlands, a lush and visceral young American drifter tragedy. Astonishing imagery, evocative soundscapes, heartbreakingly smart and subtle performances, and a story that reveals layer after layer of complexity form a masterpiece of introspection and exploration.
A brother and sister--they can't be more than 10 years old--are living on their own. No explanation is ever given about what brought them to this lifestyle, and Rooftop alum David Lowery said he wanted to explore the "how" and "what" but wasn't concerned with "why." We know they once had a more sheltered life--the braces the boy painfully tries to remove belie a certain class status. Not explaining what happened is a brave choice to make in a film, in a culture that often wants the easy answers of a sensational backstory, a pat X caused Y morality. Instead, Lowery inspects the painful and shifting psychology of these kids, the landscape of their purgatory.
They find an empty, run-down house, and settle in. There's no heat or running water, but they fix a stove so the smoke blows out the window, rig up a little kid's favorite primitive defense mechanism, and make a secret bedroom with sheets strung from the walls like a canopy. It's a sad and twisted fantasy home, a place they hope will not merely shelter them but save them, transform them. The most revealing metaphor from the house is the attic stairs, which when pulled down emit a horrifying howl, creating an ominous haunted quality to the space above them--the temporary physical roof and the tenuous idea of ascension and salvation. The detailed explorations of the house are crucial in the story because they mirror the kids' attempt to build an armor of adulthood--attempts that fray and crack at the seams, revealing the vulnerable children inside.
"Why are you talking like that," the girl asks. - "Like what?" - "Like you're from Texas? - "I am from Texas."
In these snippets of dialogue, the boy is trying on a subtle tough-guy front, but his sister innocently pierces it. In another scene, the girl gathers the bones of a tiny dog, reminded of their own former pet. She clings to the bones as a ghastly but quaint talisman of their former, sheltered domesticity, but her brother must try to keep her focused on their new reality, arguing with childish stubbornness that their old dog will have forgotten them by now.
And when a real adult shows up and kicks them out, the kids we've begun to see as mature--now with quivering lips and watery eyes, with shuffling "yessirs" and juvenile rock-throwing retaliation--they revert to their childhood status. The hopes they've built have been challenged; their bodies are weakened from the strain. You can't say their dreams are dashed, because despite the dream-like quality of the film, these kids are too practical for much dreaming. Like all kids, they are trying on different incarnations of selfhood, and their long-term plans are still nascent. But unlike most kids, the harsh facts of their existence mean they can have only escape and survival as goals, and the daytime dreamlike quality of their lives--whale songs ringing from train yards, horses unnervingly coddling them--is not a comfort to retreat within, but a fog from which to wander forth.
Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children, but if he's to be found in St. Nick, he's probably the church thief who finds the kids, stares them down, and decides they're not even worth his attention. The film, however, is worth everyone's attention.
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Back in 2007, Rooftop showed a short meta-doc by Michael Palmieri called How To Build a Better Rocketship. Later that year, I followed up with Mike to see what he was working on, and he showed me a 30-minute assembly of a feature-length documentary he was co-directing with Donal Mosher. I immediately fell in love with the stunningly beautiful footage, the intimate and evocative story, and the daring filmmaking style. After a trip out to Portland, OR, to check out the final edit (and give tiny little bits of advice), in September of 2008 Rooftop Films held the first ever public screening of Mike and Donal's documentary October Country. Since then, the film has gone on to dozens of festivals and won numerous awards. Now it's coming out in theaters, and of course I can't recommend a film more highly. (And it goes without saying these days that for independent films, every ticket sold counts, particularly the first weekend!) I'll be there on Saturday, and hope to see you there.
IFC CENTER, 323 6th Ave. at W3rd St.October Country
New York Theatrical premiere
Fri., Feb. 12 through Thurs., Feb. 18
The family will be in attendance at the 7pm show on Fri Feb 12
Mike and Donal will be in attendance at the 7pm shows from Feb 12 - 14
More information about the film is at www.octobercountryfilm.com.
Tickets are available online at www.ifccenter.com.
Here's what I wrote about the film back when we showed it, helping the film gain much-needed finishing funds and attention:
A beautifully filmed portrait of an American family struggling for stability while haunted by the ghosts of war, teen pregnancy, foster care and child abuse. This vibrant and intimate documentary examines the forces that unsettle the working poor and the violence that lurks beneath the surface of American life.
Every family is haunted by ghosts--some metaphorical, some literal. The Mosher family has more than most. Based on the essays and photographs of Donal Mosher (the family's eldest son), and shot and edited by acclaimed director Michael Palmieri (Garry Trudeau's Duke2000; videos for Beck, Belle and Sebastian and The Strokes), the filmmakers have crafted a deeply personal documentary with broad social significance. Shot over a year from one Halloween to the next, October Country hums with rich visual metaphors--distinct but subtle motifs illuminate each character like a revealing costume. The film paints a realistic portrait of a unique family that is sadly representative of the struggles of America's working class.
Dottie married Don when they were teenagers, but he was shipped off to Vietnam at age 19, and came back, in his own words, "an asshole," plagued by visions of dead friends and nightmares he can't bear to describe, which burst and linger like 4th of July fireworks, resonating through generations. Still, with his dry wit, strong moral character, and tough love, combined with Dottie's caring advice and eternal hopefulness in the face of inevitable despair, the two of them form the precarious source of stability for the family. "Family is the one thing," Dottie says, "the government, or a bill collector, can't come and take away from you."
Don's sister Denise, a practicing witch and lifelong outsider, has been painfully estranged from Don ever since he went to war. Her favorite place is the cemetery: "Some of my best friends are ghosts." In this family, where the government and bill collectors are working to split the kin, relatives are sometimes eerily similar to distant and anxious spirits.
Don and Dottie's child Donna also grew up too fast, and as a teenager she gave birth to Daneal, who was raised essentially without a father. Daneal weeps when she learns a sad new truth about her father, begging to be lied to. She'd rather live with her fantasy of a father than deal with the real thing. And so the cycle continues, as teenage Daneal is already a divorced mother, falling into yet another violent relationship with a man who thinks it's funny when she's mad. Still just a kid herself, Daneal wonders, "If you can't take care of yourself, how can you take care of a baby?" She fights to keep her child from becoming yet another ghost, but you can see her drifting like the concrete river she stares at, sinking like the shots of liquor she downs all too often.
The last hope to break the cycle could be Donna's whip-smart pre-teen daughter Desi. "Ain't I a sweetheart," she croons. "Not really. I wasn't raised by the perfect family." Standoffish but as sweet as Halloween candy, Desi seems poised to transcend the mistakes made by the older women in her family, despite a horrific revelation about her own history which has her ready to disappear at the count of one-two-three.
Struggling to hold it all together, Dottie organizes a Halloween party, because at least then folks can come in costume and pretend to be someone else. But everyone in the family knows you can only hide behind an apparition for so long. "Sometimes you wonder is this the real me, or is this something that's been created," Don says. "And you'll never know."
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Rooftop's partners at DCTV are hiring 3 young filmmakers to go into NYC neighborhoods and document stories about gun violence. This is a full-time, 2-month paid position for early-career professional filmmakers and journalists.
Timeline
Beginning of March through the end of April 2010
Assignments
• Filming for 8 weeks to create a series of two-minute videos for DCTV's anti-gun violence website, www.beyondbullets.org
• Filming will take place in neighborhoods in all five boroughs: Harlem, Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brownsville, Crown Heights, Mott Haven, Stapleton and Jamaica
• Reporting daily to Executive Producer(s)
• Providing written reports about your experience for the website
Objectives
• To make compelling videos about gun violence for presentation on www.beyondbullets.org
• To challenge conventional news coverage of gun violence
Qualifications
• Must be under the age of 25
• Must have documentary filmmaking experience
• Must have camera operating experience
• Must be able to work independently, but report to and take direction from an Executive Producer
• Must be able to work as part of a team
• Must be able to meet strict deadlines and work well under pressure
• Must be comfortable addressing issues of guns and gun violence
• Must be comfortable traveling to and working in the above neighborhoods
• Experience editing on Final Cut Pro a plus
• Familiarity with the issue and/or recommended neighborhoods a plus
• Salary commensurate with experience
To Apply:
• Submit resume and cover letter stating why this project is of interest to you, and why you are qualified for this position
• Submit reel or work samples (no longer than 5 minutes & labeled with your name, phone number and the role you played in creating the videos **online link preferred; if submitted in hard copy, samples will not be returned)
• Provide contact information for one professional reference
Please note: Incomplete applications will not be considered
Submit materials by Tuesday, February 16, 2010 to Stephanie Skaff, Project Director:
Via email: jobs@dctvny.org
Via mail: DCTV
87 Lafayette Street
New York, NY 10013
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Vik Muniz is an internationally-acclaimed artist best known for his playful recreations of famous masterpieces using quotidian materials--the peanut butter and jelly Mona Lisa, for example. But coming from a lower class background in Brazil, Muniz is now developing an interest in breaking out of art world gags and doing something more global, more socially significant. And so he hits on the idea of working with garbage pickers at one of the world's largest landfills, using them and their materials to make giant, stunningly beautiful, emotionally and intellectually evocative portraits. The conditions are potentially toxic, the people reputedly treacherous. Will the project be impossible, Muniz asks? "It is more impossible to think that we can't help these people." Lucy Walker's stellar documentary Wasteland follows Muniz on this daring project. Arriving at the landfill, Muniz discovers that the workers are welcoming, engaging, bright people. One man has opened a library using the discarded books he's found, while another has started a union for the pickers. They are also not just scavengers: they run a sophisticated recycling system, doing more for the environment than the mix of millionaires and paupers whose garbage they sift through. In a shining lesson, a wise old man imparts the necessity of recycling each and every possible item, valuing everything, "because 99 is not 100." There is always more you can do; there is always a unique individual who can do something special in this world.
As the pickers help Muniz create portraits of themselves, they become invested in the project, their eyes opened to new ideas, new possibilities. It is then that Muniz and his artistic crew realize the fallacy of their initial assumptions, that though these people were living in squalor, they were somehow happy. In fact, they made do, but they would do anything to leave the landfill. And so as the project comes to a close, the question rises, how can Muniz bare to leave? What will he have done to them, by revealing options but not offering opportunities? It's a meaningful question for many artists and filmmakers, and Muniz and Walker handle it deftly, creating a series of uplifting and genuinely helpful works of art. With Muniz based in Brooklyn, and our fair share of squalor and scraps, it would be inspiring if we could recreate a little bit of this wonderful project at Rooftop this summer.
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Spanish director Rodrigo Cortes introduced his film Buried thusly: "I am sorry that Ryan Reynolds cannot be here today, because he is much taller and better looking than I am, but I have this accent, which perhaps to you is sexy. This is a film about a man in a coffin. That's it. And yet you are still here. I don't know why. Our writer, Chris Sparling, is also here today, and after the film, we will do a Q&A. If you like the film, I will say, 'Thank you, I am the director, I am responsible for this masterpiece.' And if you are frustrated and angry and want to know why we did this thing to you, I will say, 'What do you want from me, I didn't write the thing.'"
Buried is, as Cortes said, simply one man in a coffin. For ninety minutes. No other actors appear, no other locations are seen, no other plot twists develop. The film opens grippingly with a minute or so of blackness, during which time we hear increasingly frantic breathing, rustling and pounding. At last, a Zippo lighter is flicked on, and we get a glimpse of where Reynolds and the audience are trapped. More of a thriller than a horror movie, Reynolds, it turns out, is a civilian contractor in Iraq who has been kidnapped. Stashed with him in the coffin are an Arabic-language cell-phone, a pocket knife, a flashlight, and a couple of neon green glowsticks. Through tense calls to his wife, his wife's bitchy friend, his employer, the state department and his captor, Reynolds tries--no surprise here--to get out of the coffin.
Audaciously, the film works. It's exciting throughout, intelligent, relevant, and daringly original. The unswerving story-line, which could seem limiting, writhes and contorts (like Reynolds himself) in ways that propel the film forward with a tension that never wanes. Despite the restrictive cinematic options, Cortes revels in the stripped down aesthetics, having built a dozen different coffin contraptions for clever shooting angles and enticing perspectives, and lighting the film almost entirely with practicals (sometimes cleverly using multiple off-screen Zippos to enhance the light if necessary). Reynolds' performance is intense and nuanced, with touches of anguish and black humor. After the screening, Cortes was asked how he ended up working with Reynolds. "We met in Los Angeles, and I told him about the film. I think because of my accent he didn't understand what we were going to do to him, and so he accepted." From here on out, audiences will understand what they're getting themselves into, and I imagine they'll love it.
Rooftop might have the opportunity to host a screening in an abandoned Brooklyn subway tunnel, and we think we've found the perfect film. We can't think of a better way to turn claustrophobia into a hot-ticket publicity stunt.
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Rooftop alum Sam Green
and Dave Cerf's philosophical film essay Utopia in Four Movements--performed with live narration (by Green) and
live music (by more Rooftop alums The Quavers)--swirls brilliantly and casually
through cultural history and detritus, through fantasy and forgotten fact.
There is an ad hoc air to the
piece, highlighted by the fluidity of the montage, constantly recalibrated by
Green's remote control, and elevated by the shifting interplay between the
spoken words and the audience reactions. This breezy style not only keeps the
piece from being an intellectually pretentious harangue: Utopia in Four
Movements is a lot of fun, full
of laughs and wonders.Daringly original, piercingly insightful, the journey of ideas traces links from Sir Thomas More to Fidel Castro, from the nearly-forgotten language of Esperanto to the nearly-abandoned "World's Largest Shopping Mall" in an unheard-of Chinese industrial city (as seen in Green's short film of the same title). The links are sometimes whimsical, sometimes tragic, as Green discusses spectacular utopian failures and odd utopian near-misses. It is perhaps telling that in today's world, some of the few states that claim the mantle of utopia are Cuba and North Korea.
But for all the melancholy and despair of examining our imperfect world, Green's investigations left me (and him) with an unexpected feeling: hopefulness. Instead of proving the futility of grandiose attempts to eradicate suffering and injustice, Utopia in Four Movements illuminates how many magnificent ideas are available to us, and though true paradise may be out of our reach, we can always have a little piece of utopia in our pockets and in our souls. It would be fantastic to bring this project and that feeling to the roof, our own little utopia above the city.
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One thing that's often missing from investigative documentary and satire--from Michael Moore to Sasha Baron Cohen--is a sense of vulnerability on the part of the filmmaker. The artist is taking on some big bad company or some giant malevolent ideology, and yet the Quixotic individuals seem to have no fear, never seem to be in danger, and don't seem personally threatened by the situation. In The Red Chapel, filmmaker Mads Brugger travels with two Koren-born Danish comedians (Simon Jul and Jacob Nossell) to North Korea, under the pretext that they will perform a pro-socialist play, celebrating the role of Kim Jong Il as the anti-imperialist hero he makes himself out to be. Traveling to one of the most isolated countries in the world, making fun of one of the most deadly regimes in history, takes courage and passion, but it should also be terrifying. What elevates The Red Chapel beyond intelligent political satire to moving personal investigation is the complexity of emotions and ideas the three intrepid satirists experience.
Brugger seems to be the best informed about the heinous North Korean government, and often spurs his two compatriots on by mentioning Kim Jong Il's oppressive treatment of the populace through a culture of spying and brainwashing, through brutal work camps and (essentially) forced starvation. But because of his awareness, Brugger is also the most fearful of the regime, and therefore the most obedient. When their hostess asks them to salute a military parade, Brugger alone obliges.
The two Korean-born comedians, on the other hand, are both more boldly out-spoken and more personally tormented. When shown a pro-government demonstration by kindergarten kids, they can barely contain their anguish. When told to change their theater performance, they try to resist. They want to speak out, but are awash in a complex set of conflicting feelings: they are opposed to the government, but feel badly for their obsequious hostess; they proudly consider themselves Danish, now, and come from South Korea, but are clearly awe-struck at the possibility of setting foot back in their homeland, solemnly walking around a negotiating table placed on the contentious border. The artists' inner turmoil, represented in The Red Chapel, allows for a political discourse that examines personal difficulties and intricacies of the situation, accounting for the fact that even an evil empire consists of individual human beings.
By turns hilarious and harrowing, absurd and insightful, I'm sure hoping that we can bring The Red Chapel to Rooftop this summer.
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Throughout the film, Fox is the emotional divining rod, wandering and wavering throughout the US, picking up on tragic tales of people, animals and places contaminated beyond repair, pointing always toward the hazardous link between "clean" natural gas and dangerously polluted water. Explaining the problem, Fox says, "Let me start at the beginning: this is Dick Cheney." In 2005, Cheney's secretive Energy Commission designed a bill that was able to overturn parts of various decades-old environmental-protection legislation, allowing for a relatively new process of gas drilling, invented by Halliburton. Commonly referred to as "fracking," in this new process, the mining companies inject a cornucopia of toxic chemicals deep into the ground and explode the rock beds. Companies across 38 states are doing this with almost no oversight or regulations, often operating within feet of homes, schools, streams, wells and aquifers. An EPA spokesmen describes the legislation as "Orwellian" and "Un-American."
As Fox chases the companies' operations across the country, he encounters cats and horses losing their hair in clumps, men and women with sudden painful illnesses, and houses where you can literally light the tap water on fire. Cowboys and roughnecks in the far west and deep south--certainly not your granola-eating tree-huggers--decry the situation with pathos, charm and a bit of mordant humor. The gas companies deny, deny, deny.
Fox is able to explain the process and the repercussions with an easy-going verve and a dire sense of urgency. With a swelling populist love for America, Fox gets the viewer to understand the problem and care deeply. Gasland begins as a personal query about Fox's own land, then slips into documentary filmmaking as he encounters people with stories to tell, ends as activist rallying cry as he exposes one of America's most dangerous environmental secrets. If audiences are given the opportunity to see these horrifying stories, amazingly wide-spread and consistent wherever natural gas is drilled, it shouldn't be a secret for long. Look to get involved this summer (if not sooner) at Rooftop Films. Get started now at www.gaslandthemovie.com.
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My first day at Sundance
went pretty smoothly, especially considering that I had to wake up at 4 AM to
catch my plane and that they had to make an emergency landing when someone fell
seriously ill over the Midwest. I didn't get into Park City until 2 PM, yet
still managed to catch four films and get back to my hotel at a relatively
reasonable hour. Intermittent text messages inform me that at 2:15 AM the
B-Side/FantasticFest karaoke slam is still raging, but I think that perhaps I
will wait until tomorrow to hit the parties.
First film up today was
"Boy," a genuinely charming narrative feature from New Zealand filmmaker Taika
Waititi. We screened Waititi's short film "Two Cars, One Night" in 2008, and
this feature is somewhat based on some of the characters and scenario that
worked exquisitely well in the short. Set in the 80's, "Boy" tells the story of
an imaginative but restless adolescent boy living in Waihau Bay who must deal
with the return from prison of his irresponsible father (played winningly by Waititi
himself). The film is charming without ever becoming too cute, broad without
ever becoming trite, and it compares well to somewhat similar films like Son of
Rambow and Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys. I found it much less forced and
substantially more amusing than either of those films, and the response here
has been generally positive, except for a rather luke-warm review in Variety. Next up was Catfish, which simply blew me away. A genuinely shocking and suspenseful true-life story involving one of the most unusual instances of Facebook stalking yet documented, Catfish is so entertainingly twisty that many here at Sundance are still arguing over whether or not the doc is legitimately non-fiction (it is).
If you are in Park City this week, GO SEE "CATFISH." It just does so many things right and offers so much to talk about that it demands to be seen. It is vibrantly of-the-moment and almost magically relevant to debates swirling about a half dozen different issues of our time, some big and some small. It never shies away from the idea that our culture is obsessed with self-documentation and social networks, but Joost, Schulman and Pontier wisely refrain from slowing down the story with any meandering discussion of the issue--they simply let the story tell itself and leave the audience to ask each other questions after the credits roll. It is a very personal story but it is much too entertaining and briskly told to be accused of being indulgent. It features some simple but highly innovative visual storytelling mechanisms that manage to convey life as it is lived online without resorting to irritating animation or quirky contrivances. And yet, despite it's various accomplishments, "Catfish" leaves you because it manages to end on a note of bittersweet empathy that rings true despite the freaky string of events that preceded. "Catfish" is the talk of the town and deservedly so.
I followed up Catfish with Chico Colvard's "Family Affair," a bleak but strikingly honest documentary about the filmmaker's tortured family history. Colvard accidentally shot his sister with his father's rifle when he was a young child, and this incident set in motion a series of events and revelations that soon led to his father being sent to jail for molesting each of his daughters. Well told and courageously inquiring, the film benefits tremendously from Colvard's willingness to show even the darkest and most unnerving sides of each story; at one point, his sisters even admit that they often enjoyed their sexual encounters with their father and that it was actually a welcome respite from his physical and emotional abusiveness. Neither they nor their brother think that this in any way excuses their father's behavior, but allowing his sisters to speak candidly shows that Colvard's goal was to explore emotional complexity, not excuse or further condemn his family for their well-documented failings.
Finally I grabbed a beer with Mike Tully of Hammer and Nail and Jake Perlin of BAM and then went to see a spectacularly awful sci-fi horror film called "Splice," starring Adrian Brody. Written and Directed by Vincenzo Natali, "Splice" tells the unlikely tale of two of the stupidest scientists on the face of the Earth splicing animal DNA together with human DNA and accidentally producing terrifying creatures, one of which runs amok and endangers all mankind (sort of). The audience at my press and industry screening sat silently through the silly first half of the film, but when Brody made an odd face and proclaimed, "Elsa, those were not mysterious tumors inside her body---THOSE WERE FULLY FUNCTIONAL AMPHIBIOUS LUNGS!" I couldn't help but burst out laughing and immediately the rest of the crowd joined in, and from then on a good time was had by all. Laughs could be heard throughout the auditorium, even as Sarah Polley was being raped and impregnated by a fish-bird-frog-man-hybrid (spoiler alert! Oops, too late).
Brody in particular seems lost from start to finish, never appearing sure if he should ham it up for laughs or tone it down in a last ditch effort to retain some little bit of self-respect. Talking to the crowd after the film, it was apparent that not one of us was sure if the film was intended to be campy or if it was merely accidentally hilarious, but clearly the overall vibe in the crowd was not good. Jake recommended that the film skip standard theatrical altogether and go straight to midnight movie screenings. This film is in trouble. That being said, I can't say I am not looking forward to TV ads that feature the sentence, "Academy Award Winner Adrian Brody in....SPLICE!"
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Eugene Hernandez, Editor-in-Chief at IndieWire:
It's a been a tough summer for cinema. The economic crisis has hit film organizations and festivals hard. With corporate support for arts programs and events dwindling, administrators and planners have taken a closer look at their financial situations and, in many cases, made significant cutbacks. In the past few months, organizations such as the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the Denver Film Society, Seattle's Northwest Film Forum, New York's Rooftop Films and others have faced economic hardships that have played out in public.
LACMA slashed its forty year old repertory and foreign film program in June but last week agreed to reinstate it through next year after cinema activists and moviegoers mobilized online. They changed course after a couple of corporations stepped with cash donations to temporarily save the program.
"It's not that people don't love film here, but it's hard," LACMA museum director Michael Govan told the LA Times recently, "We are getting diminishing audiences. This is a good time since we are shrinking to spend time thinking and rethinking. We do have to stem our losses."
* * *
Here at Rooftop, we have indeed been hit hard by losses in government funding, foundation support, and corporate sponsorship. But the good news is that unlike most other film organizations, our attendance is better than ever--up 20% from 2008 to 2009. By the end of our annual Summer Series, almost 25,000 people will have come to Rooftop Films this year. Despite heavy financial losses in the winter and spring, Rooftop Films presented our festival as planned, with no cuts to public programming.
Sadly, ticket sales covers only 1/4 of the expenses that go into presenting the Summer Series, and while we're clearly still a popular and growing organization that is creatively finding ways to get people to see movies, if we don't raise additional funding soon, we will be in serious trouble. Individuals who care about Rooftop Films should please make a tax-deductible donation. Foundations that want people cinema to reach wide audiences should support our populist work. And corporations who see the value in one of the few arts organizations with steadily increasing audiences should get behind Rooftop.
Thanks.
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