Entries tagged with “Film Screening” from Rooftop Films Blog

Rooftop Films
& Court 13 present
"Glory at Sea!"
As a fundraiser for injured director Benh Zeitlin

Sat., April 26, 10:30pm
Walter Reade Theater
at Lincoln Center, NYC

SOLD OUT!
We raised over $5,000!

"Glory at Sea!" will be screening at Rooftop Films' 2008 Summer Series on June 12. So if you haven't already, join our email list (left) to receive updates about the schedule.

Tremendous thanks to everyone who bought tickets!



If you can't make it to the screening, you can still support the cause by going to www.court13.com and clicking DONATE.

* * *

In 2005, the Rooftop Filmmakers' Fund awarded a grant to Benh Zeitlin and Court 13 Pictures for their 25-minute film "Glory at Sea," an inspiring and astonishing epic re-telling of the Orpheus myth, set in post-Katrina New Orleans. You can read about the film here.

Unfortunately, while on the way to the premiere of the film at SXSW, a driver (without car insurance) rear-ended the vehicle Benh was in, putting Benh in bed for the next several months with a dislocated hip, a shattered pelvis and two sprained ankles.

Not having health insurance at the time of the accident, Benh and the future of Court 13 are in dire financial trouble, and we are reaching out to the community for financial support. All proceeds from this fundraiser will go toward the arduous and expensive process of getting Benh walking, and soon charging toward making another epic down in New Orleans, this time a feature film.

On Saturday, April 26, we will host the New York Premiere of this amazing film, and also screen the world premiere of Benh's adorable short film, "I Get Wet." Tickets are pay what you can at a set, sliding scale (there's no difference in seating or other options, you just choose to donate more or less). If you would like to make a larger donation, or if you can't make it, but would like to donate, please visit www.court13.com and click DONATE.

If you want to support the cause but do NOT plan to attend, please do NOT buy a ticket. Make a donation through the link above so we can save that seat for someone who can come.

"GLORY AT SEA" Fundraiser
Saturday, April 26, 10:30pm
at The Walter Reade Theater
at Lincoln Center
North side of West 65th St.,
btwn. Broadway and Amsterdam Avenues, one flight up on the upper level.
Buy Tickets -- SOLD OUT!

And don't just take our word for it that the film is amazing. It won the Wholphin Award for best short film at SXSW, and the following people have all written glowingly about it:

+ Michael Tully at Hammer to Nail & IndieWire
+ Spencer Parsons at Austin Chronicle
+ David Lowery at Spout Blog

Come see an amazing film, and help an artist in need!

New York Underground Film Festival
April 2-8, 2008
@ Anthology Film Archives
www.nyuff.com
Tickets

March 27 @ 9:45pm
Selections from the 2007 NYUFF
@ IFC Center
Tickets



The New York Underground Film Festival, a venerable anti-establishmentarian institution, the godfather of all "Underground" film festivals, will be hosting its 15th and Final installation in April, and then doing what any good punk rocker should do: dying young and . . . re-establishing itself as year-round programming consortium called "Migrating Forms."

The NYUFF has always been a haven for strange and beautiful, shocking and revealing avant garde cinema, and is definitely a big inspiration for Rooftop. I'll certainly be out for many screenings, including films by the following Rooftop alums: Jim Finn, Jacqueline Goss, Patrick Jolley, Jeanne Liotta, Jennifer Matotek, Seth Price, Robert Todd, Keith Wilson, Bryan Boyce, Lyn Elliot, Kent Lambert, Darrin Martin, Eileen Maxson, Kelly Oliver, Keary Rosen, Shelly Silver, Jim Trainor, Cory Arcangel, Skizz Cyzyk, Joe Nanashe, Moira Tierney, and Aaron Valdez (film pictured).

Check back here to the Rooftop Films blog for some write-ups and reviews of films, and I hope to see you there!

Late last night, after jumping from IFC's My Morning Jacket / Yo La Tengo concert to the wide-open SXSW Closing Night party and finally onto Joel Heller's birthday, I wound up at the Magnolia diner, eating scrambled eggs and discussing scrambled documentaries. I was there with Dan Nuxoll from Rooftop, Joel, and Alex Karpovsky and Eric Bruggermann, the director and editor, respectively, of "The Hole Story" and 2008 SXSW selection "Woodpecker."

I brought up the fascinating dialogue about the distinctions of fiction and non-fiction filmmaking that I had heard surrounding some of the films here at SXSW, including Alex's film(s), Daniel Stamm's "A Necessary Death," and even films as different as Nanette Burstein's "American Teen," Morgan Spurlock's "Where in the World is Osama bin Laden?" and Josh Safdie's "The Pleasure of Being Robbed," where categorical definitions would appear pretty straightforward. We'd heard a rumor that when "A Necessary Death" played one European festival, it was in the documentary section, and the crowd was incensed.

Why is it that people get so mad about films that blur these distinctions or even deliberately mislead the audience? Do these distinctions matter? And if so, how should we be defining these films?

[To read this entire article, please click here.]

Is Barry Jenkins' "Medicine for Melancholy" the first African-American "Mumblecore" movie? Hell yeah!

And, uh, maybe not.

Jenkins' engaging and entertaining low-budget love story certainly fits many of Mumblecore's thematic ideas, and premiered at SXSW, the cauldron that supposedly brewed the movement. The film takes place over the course of one dreamy day, from the time when a man and a woman wake up next to each other in a strange bed, hungover in the hazy dawn after a party, through the waxing and waning stages of a burgeoning relationship, and into the second night of their one night stand. As with most of the affirmed Mumblecore canon, the characters are most comfortable flirtatiously talking about themselves and their relationships, about indie art and pop culture, but the greater issues of social anxiety and political awareness occasionally intercede in a way that is natural and revealing.

Tracey Heggins plays the guilt-ridden woman, and she perfectly offsets her inscrutable and somewhat stand-offish attitude with just enough charm and savvy to justify Wyatt Cenac's dogged pursuit of her. Cenac, a stand-up comic in his first acting role, is a screen natural with a uncanny ability to captivate with a mix of clever wit, shy deflections and downright adorable gestures. In one delightful scene that stands as a microcosmic representation of the entire film, Cenac insinuates his way into her apartment and beguiles her into letting him stay a bit. I won't bother to describe the details of the scene, because the intangibles which the two characters express far outweigh the basic narrative, but the conversation sparkles along, touching on joblessness, rent, fidelity, desire, guilt, race, perception, showers, and stolen art, finally concluding in a Mr. Rogers song and the creation of doodle masterwork sketched in Sharpie and laden with racial overtones. You're in love with these characters by the end of this scene, and ready to ride through the day with them empathizing with everything they feel.

In addition to highlighting Jenkins' ability to craft believable and meaningful dialogue and shape realistic and engaging characters, the sequence also demonstrates his subtle cinematic skill. When Heggins goes to take a shower, Cenac meanders through her apartment, snooping here and there. Opening one door, the sound of the shower suddenly becomes ever so slightly louder, and there's a breathless and exciting moment of anticipation when we wonder along with him if he should go in with her. I won't even tell you what his decision is, but it's telling.

Unlike many Mumblecore films, Jenkins has shot the film with an obvious "look," with most of the color desaturated. It's a foggy look which is not only a resonant depiction of San Francisco, but also evokes the hazy, hungover, timeless feeling of their Sunday afternoon extended one-night stand. Jenkins mentioned in the Q & A that Karina Longworth of Spout had even conjectured that the film is 93% desaturated to reflect the racial makeup of the city, which is explicitly mentioned in the dialogue. Although Jenkins denied that this was explicitly the case, he liked the idea, and the way visual tropes and simple dialogue evoke the deeper political themes of race, class, and gentrification is another exceptional aspect of "Medicine for Melancholy."

In theme and attitude, the film fits the Mumblecore moniker, though it's clearly not a "Mumblecorps" movie, because it doesn't star any of the Swanberg/Gerwig coterie. But I think it's interesting and important to attempt to decipher if this is a Mumblecore film. One of the criticisms of the movement is that it's dominated by apolitical white males; so, first of all, by calling "Melancholy" Mumblecore, I think you expand the genre for the better, moving it forward and keeping it relevant. The point of defining such genres is to give viewers a context with which to interpret and evaluate films, and by defining the work by content instead of cast, you encourage the audience to weigh the emotional and intellectual evocations against other similar films. Some might say that categories are limiting, but I think they provide context and inspire dialogue.

Barry Jenkins may not have been inspired by or aspiring to Mumblecore, but "Medicine for Melancholy" has successfully embraced the best of the movement, and he's made a wonderful independent film which anyone should love.

A few days ago, I posted below about "Glory at Sea!" a short film directed by Benh Zeitlin of Court 13 Productions. It's a movie that Rooftop Films partially funded, and which is an amazing, uplifting, collaborative project, a mythical narrative about a community (set in post-Katrina New Orleans) coming together to build a raft to join their loved ones after a fatal flood.  

Please take a moment to read what I wrote when I attended the cast and crew screening in New Orleans last week:

www.rooftopfilms.com/blog/2008/03/bleeding-rust-glory-at-sea-in.html

On the way to his SXSW premiere, Benh's car was rear-ended at a stoplight. Benh has shattered his hip and broken his pelvis. Three other people in the car with him also had minor injuries. Benh was in surgery all day, and it appears that he will recover. I visited him in the hospital and his spirits are remarkably high, but he's facing a long, painful, expensive recovery process. And he could use your help.

There are a few things you could do, if you're a friend, a supporter, a SXSW filmmaker.

+ SEE THE FILM!
+ SIGN THE FILM GUESTBOOK
+ SEND A DVD OF YOUR FILM
+ DONATE TO HELP COVER HIS MEDICAL EXPENSES


SEE THE FILM
I was hyping this film long before Benh's accident, but now more than ever go see his truly inspiring and uplifting film. Michael Tully, who writes for IndieWire and Hammer to Nail, saw the film and said he wanted to stand up and shout hallelujah. You'll feel the same, and the rest of the cast and crew will really appreciate your support. "Glory at Sea!" screens:

Shorts Program 3
Tuesday, March 11, 12pm, Alamo Lamar 2
& Friday, March 14, 2:30pm, Alamo Lamar 2  

There are so many amazing, inspiring films here at SXSW, and this is such a supportive community, I have no doubt that the outpouring of kindness will be tremendous.  


SIGN THE GUESTBOOK
We'll have a guest book at the screening so that Benh can receive some of the feedback he'll be missing by not being there. Please take a moment to tell him your thoughts about the film.

If you already saw the film, or can't make a screening, you can also send an email to Benh at <benh AT court13 DOT com>.


SEND YOUR FILM
One of the unfortunate results of this accident is that Benh, who has made such a beautifully collaborative project, is sadly missing the festival experience here at SXSW. (The SXSW staff has been very supportive, but of course there's nothing to be done to get him out of the hospital right now.) He would love to see films and meet people. On top of that, he's going to be laid up in a hospital bed with no entertainment for some time.

We're asking that SXSW filmmakers please donate a DVD of your film to Benh.

We understand of course that some of you may not be comfortable having DVDs of your film floating around at this time, so if you can't lend a DVD, that's okay. But if you don't mind passing on a copy of the film to a trusted filmmaker, it would be a sweet gesture. You can drop off your film:

Convention Center
(near the screening room)
Tuesday, March 11, 4-6pm

I along with some of the crew from the film will be hanging out at at a table, so drop by and donate a DVD to Benh. (We'll try to set up a small sign. Otherwise look for me, a guy with a shaved head. And I'll wear a colorful tie.) Other forms of entertainment, support, get well cards, etc., are also welcome. If you can't come then, drop me a line at mark AT rooftopfilms DOT com and we'll try to arrange something else.


DONATE
Benh does not have health insurance and is facing tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills and lost income while he's laid up. It may be that the car insurance will cover his expenses, but unfortunately, it's not clear if that's the case (issues surrounding the driver of the other vehicle are sketchy). I will keep you posted if and when financial support becomes necessary (and promise not to send a glut of emails). You can check www.rooftopfilms.com/blog and www.court13.com for updates.

I know that Rooftop, SXSW and others are also discussing benefit screenings, so stay tuned.  

Thank you all in advance for your support. I know that Court 13 and Rooftop Films and SXSW have a really strong community here and that we'll be able to support a filmmaker and a friend in need.

The pleasure of "The Pleasure of Being Robbed" is the joy of discovering a bag full of kittens (and watching them playfully flip through the air); the bliss of an unexpected overnight road trip with a friend; the warmth of a frolic with a polar bear. Josh Safdie's film is filled with a carefree awkwardness, a lightness of touch with melancholy and humor, and a whole host of unexpected stolen delights. I am a big fan of Josh's short film "The Back of Her Head," which we screened at Rooftop in August of 2007, and his debut feature carries the emotions, ideas and spirit of his short films to a brilliant pinnacle.

The film follows a young lady as she drifts through life with the naïve charm of curious puppy, who takes whatever she wants, and with the detachment of an adorable kitten, who cares not a fig what you think of her. But Eleonore is neither greedy nor simple. She is constantly stealing, but does so exuding a joy in sharing objects, stories, lives. She steals with a hug, with a shared joke, with a helping hand. The real world does intrude on her beatific kleptomania, and one doesn't get the sense that people do always understand and appreciate what she does, but as the description of the film says, the people from whom she steals "owe her their thanks."

Certainly we all owe a tremendous thanks to Safdie, actress Eleonore Hendricks, and the entire crew of the utterly dazzling Red Bucket Films team for creating this magical piece of cinema.

Amazingly, the film itself was somewhat stolen. The filmmakers had been commissioned to make a commercial, but instead used the money to make this gorgeous film, reminiscent of the best of the free-wheeling late-60s / early-70s American cinema.

When asked at the World Premiere Q & A why Josh was so interested in the idea of stealing, Safdie compared the feeling he got when he would steal as a kid to that of being in love, and being compelled to do irrational, illicit things for your lover. Might the creation of this character be seen as celebrating mental illness, one viewer asked. "Well, if mental illness is doing whatever you want all the time, then yes, I'll celebrate that."

In a certain way, this entire review is a spoiler, so if you don't want to know too much, skip my writings and go see the film. Herein, I don't really tell you the plot--an exciting and gripping drama--but I do get at the essence of the film.  I highly recommend it.

In Daniel Stamm's "A Necessary Death," we see a young film student known for taking wild risks as a filmmaker wants to make a documentary about someone who plans to commit suicide. His friends think it's a crazy idea, and while some of them agree to help, his roommate decides to document the making of the documentary. They post an ad online, interview some suicidal candidates, and finally settle on a young man with a terminal brain tumor who wants to kill himself before he has to suffer. The nature of the filmmaking process, and a series of manipulations, romances, and discoveries, lead the film in a taut and tragic trajectory.

At the SXSW premiere, after the screening, the audience gasped at the sight of the supposedly dead actors. The director of the film asked for a show of hands as to how many people thought it was a documentary through to the end, and fully half the crowd raised their hands. But it's not a documentary. It's a brilliantly executed work of fiction.

At the Q & A, one woman walked out 2/3rds of the way through, but came back at the end to discuss the film. She had believed it was a documentary, and was too disturbed to watch, but raised the question about filmmaking and audience complicity in this "death." Even if it turns out to be a narrative, what does it say about our society if we want to watch something like this?

My first reaction to that is, how is it different from watching a film about a war, or about someone dying of a disease? Presumably, death in those circumstances is completely inevitable and out of the filmmakers' control. In the rare circumstances when a filmmaker has a chance to save a life, they probably usually do put down the camera. But it's never just that simple. For example, what if a filmmaker in a war knows that someone is injured, but continues to film something else rather than helping, because to help would mean to stop filming?

I believe that most of the filmmakers whose films play at Rooftop and SXSW and similar festivals truly do want to help their subjects and the causes they stand for. They want to tell the story so that audience members can engage with the issue. If they stop filming, the one person may be sacrificed, but the larger issue of the film will carry on, eventually (so the hope goes) saving many people.

That was my initial reaction--an idealistic and utilitarian one. But frankly it didn't sit right with me. It felt morally thin. Talking to my extremely kind-hearted girlfriend Stephanie Skaff and to filmmaker/Docs That Inspire-writer Joel Heller about the topic, they expressed what I think is the key to the issue: a filmmaker who genuinely cares about his subjects wouldn't allow themselves to simply watch, and not interfere in order to save a life or help an individual. Of course, in every situation, the filmmaker has to make careful distinctions and choices, but I think one can probably draw a close link between the lasting humanity of a given film and the ability of that filmmaker to make the "right" choice as to when to interfere and when to keep rolling.

That still leaves the complicated issue of suicide, and this non-documentary "A Necessary Death." Personally, I think if I was working on a documentary about a potential suicide, the goal of the film would be to work through the issue of suicide and to engage audience members in a dialogue which could eventually help people. So I would try to help the person work through their issues, see if there was a solution before death, assist them in making the best choice for themselves. And if suicide were still the choice, I'd be willing to roll the camera.

"A Necessary Death" I think succeeds in raising and addressing the issues of the role of the documentarian, the viewer, and all witnesses and friends. In the film, the tragedy is not the suicide, but the fact that clearly the friends and documentarian have not done enough to engage and help, letting a man kill himself when he was not in fact at peace with that choice.

At least that's my take on this very thought-provoking film. If you get a chance, check it out so we can talk more.

Carroll Pickett was a minister in Huntsville, TX--a place best known for its many prisons and high number of executions--when two of his parishioners were taken hostage in an infamous prison riot in 1974. He was called in to try to broker peace, but his friends were eventually killed, and Pickett vowed to never return to that prison.

But years later, the prison asked him to become the chaplain, and he thought he could do some valuable work for the people there. Indeed he did, until suddenly his job description changed, and he was asked to be the minister presiding over executions. He would spend all day with the condemned, getting to know them, listening to their fears, concerns and confessions, and aiding any of their last wishes. Pickett agreed in principal with the death penalty, but he certainly had trepidation about the burden of task.

Over 15 years, he was at 95 executions, each a fascinating story. And over those years, Pickett's opinion of the death penalty changed completely.

"At the Death House Door," directed by Steve James and Peter Glibert, is a gripping, fascinating, powerful film about Pickett, about a wrongly-executed man named Carlos De Luna and his family, and about the tragic moral mistake that is the death penalty. Pickett's character unfolds with a stately grace. Being a old-fashioned Texan, he's reluctant to reveal his emotions, a trait which only makes them burn with more ferocity as you see them shine through. In the Q & A, he was asked why it took him so long to come to the conclusions he did, he said that he's "just hard-headed." But in the film, you see an amazing evolution of a man's feelings and ideology, a rare and stunning transformation to see in a documentary, or really in life in general (aren't we all pretty stubborn in our beliefs?)

After every execution, Pickett recorded an audio diary of what happened and what he was thinking and feeling. Until the documentary, not even his family knew these tapes existed, and watching Picket re-listening to them in the film is one of the most harrowing looks into man's soul that I've ever seen.

Finally, the execution of Hector De Luna, a man who Pickett suspected was innocent, is enough to set the ball in motion for Pickett to leave the prison and become an anti-death penalty activist. Emotionally, Pickett was verging on destruction. But he harnesses these core moral disturbances and uses them (and an array of factual evidence) to fight against the death penalty. He actively campaigns now, arguing that not only is the death penalty cruel and painful, not only are there irremediable mistakes made, not is the penalty ineffective as a criminal deterrent (there are hundreds more people on death row now than there were when it was reinstated 30 years ago), but it's a fundamentally immoral act, that's "not Christian, it's not American, and it's not Texan," a moral blight on our society which makes us weaker as a people.

In the Q & A, someone wondered if they film might be more effective if it also focused on some of the victims, and the filmmakers' rightly pointed out that in many ways this is a film about victims. It's one side of the death penalty story, surely, but one that crucially implicates all Americans in continuing to allow this injustice.

"I'm angry," says Rose De Luna, the sister of the wrongly-executed Hector De Luna. "Stay that way," Pickett says.

We all need to get angry.

If you don't get a chance to see it at SXSW, the film will be on IFC in May, and perhaps at Rooftop some time soon. I would love the honor to show this to people, and sure wish that a few of them might be on the Supreme Court.

"Glory at Sea!" plays at SXSW in the Shorts 3 program on March 9, 11th and 14th, at the Alamo Lamar Cinemas.

In the guidelines to the Rooftop Filmmakers' Fund--the grants that Rooftop offers to filmmakers whose work has screened with us--we say "We are more likely to fund films that make the most of their resources and community." We don't have the means to fund big-budget films, so we want to help support filmmakers who are clever and collaborative, and show that they uphold the collective ideals of Rooftop Films.

Last night, I was in New Orleans for the cast and crew screening of "Glory at Sea!," a short film which Rooftop co-funded. The movie is based on the myth of Orpheus, and in this version a man who washes to sea aims to sail back to the underwater Hades that has taken his girlfriend. While he builds a raft, the community watches, and becomes interested, and finally rushes to his aid, carrying with them the busted and rusted icons of their lives--all that remains of their husbands and wives, children and parents--strapping to the boat trumpets and bathtubs, charred church crosses and unspooled mix tapes, in the Bayou-inspired voodoo-like belief that these talismans will lead them to their drowned loved ones. The rickety craft sets sail with a song (fitting for Orpheus and Orleans), and the crew finds salvation in sinking.

The film is an irrational fable, a rich and poetic impossibility, and it gains its power from its myth logic. In dream logic, you do something crazy and need to look at the subtext to understand why. But in myth logic, you do something crazy because you have the tenuous belief that it will help. "Glory at Sea!" captures that pathos perfectly: the filmmaking is stirred with music video madness as it strains at the conventions of traditional narrative filmmaking. The film invokes this need for a community to bond--not a logical need, based on survival or chances of success, but an inherent need which transcends logic and gets to the core of who we are as people, as neighbors, as people who need each other in life and in death. In post-Katrina New Orleans, where all everyone has left is water-soaked memories of missing persons, "Glory at Sea!" is the perfect parable.

The director Benh Zeitlin choked up when he welcomed the crowd, saying that "making this film was the greatest experience of my life, and it's thanks to so many of the people in this room, who bled rust for this movie."

There were 300 people there.

300 people in support of a short film!

They volunteered their time. They lent their own heartbreak to the telling. They literally risked their lives riding this home-made raft out onto Lake Pontchartrain. One guy, Jimmy Lee Moore, a local guy who was cast as an actor, ended up doing much of the complicated welding on the boat. I spoke to him after the premiere, and he was beaming with pride. He told me about how the Coast Guard didn't think the craft was sea-worthy, and no one would take responsibility for towing it out onto the water. But they hooked it up a speedboat, and tore the tail off it in the process, because they had no other option, and for days on end the actors and crew were doing things no one in their right mind would do, all for this film. Now Jimmy wants to modify the boat and make it a Mardi Gras float, to represent the film, and New Orleans independent filmmakers, and the spirit of this project.

Benh was originally going to make this mythical film in Greece, but he told me that when he received funding from Rooftop--where the money comes from ticket sales and submission fees, the fans and filmmakers who make up our community--he knew he had to make a populist film, and that it had to be in New Orleans. Seeing not only the power of the film, but the glorious power of the community that made it, I can't express how proud I am, on behalf of all of us at Rooftop Films, to have had a small part in such an inspiring project.



"Glory at Sea!" plays at SXSW in the Shorts 3 program on March 9, 11th and 14th, at the Alamo Lamar Cinemas.

A lot has been written about the South by Southwest Film Festival and their support of the Austin film community and the "Mumblecore" movement. Personally, I love the idea of indie filmmakers bonding, working together, supporting each other. You can say that the importance of the those scenes is blown out of proportion, and that might be true--the community is a bigger and more diverse than Austin and Mumblecore.

A look below at the Rooftop alums who are screening films at SXSW this year shows filmmakers from all around the country, and filmmakers working in a variety of genres and styles. (Racial diversity is another matter, something both Rooftop and SXSW work to address in our programming. Our overlapping lists, unfortunately, don't reflect this diversity). We're proud to see so many filmmakers we like screening at this excellent fest, and we're excited to get a chance to hang out again.

From March 7-12, Rooftop's staff will be down at SXSW, scouting for new films, supporting our alumnae filmmakers, and enjoying the cheap tacos and warm weather with our friends. In town will be Artistic Director Mark Elijah Rosenberg, Program Director Dan Nuxoll and Managing Director Genevieve DeLaurier. If you're in Austin, drop us a line so we can meet up.

sxsw AT rooftopfilms DOT com -- That email will reach all three of us.

At the top of our list here is Benh Zeitlin's "Glory at Sea" (pictured left). Rooftop gave a grant to support this film, so we're particularly proud of it. "Glory at Sea" is a retelling of the classic myth of Orpheus, who descended into Hades to rescue his lover. Originally, the film was going to be made in Greece, but when the Rooftop funding came through, Benh changed his plans. "Part of what drew me toward New Orleans was the populist attitude of my backers.  Imagining being on a roof and having a film that spoke to Americans about America, was something that got my insides moving, that got me realizing that the resurrection I wanted to tell was a story I had to tell in the states, in New Orleans."

The film is stunning, and everyone should go check it out. I'm heading to New Orleans for a cast and crew screening on March 6, and then rumbling over to Texas after what is sure to be a grand night in NOLA. I'll certainly write about those adventures soon.

In the meantime, go see the latest films from these Rooftop alums:

SHORTS
Glory at Sea Director: Benjamin Zeitlin
34 x 25 x 36 Director: Jesse Epstein
Upwards March Director/Writer: Kaveh Nabatian
Fish, But No Cigar Directors: Tara White and Lyn Elliot
Shut Eye Hotel Director/Writer: Bill Plympton
The Rambler Director: Calvin Reeder
LOVEolution Director: John Bryant
Let's Get Down to Brass Tacks Director/Writer: Aaron Katz

FEATURES
Woodpecker Director: Alex Karpovsky.
The Pleasure of Being Robbed Director: Josh Safdie.
Living with the Tudors Directors: Karen Guthrie & Nina Pope.
Intimidad Directors: David Redmon & Ashley Sabin.
Goliath Director: David Zellner.
The Marconi Bros. Director/writers: Marco Ricci, Michael Canzoniero.
The New Year Parade Director/writer: Tom Quinn.
Rainbow Around the Sun Directors: Kevin Ely and Beau Leland.
My Effortless Brilliance Director: Lynn Shelton. Starring: (Rooftop Alum) Calvin Reeder

[This is the complete article originally published on March 13, 2008.]

Late last night, after jumping from IFC's My Morning Jacket / Yo La Tengo concert to the wide-open SXSW Closing Night party and finally onto Joel Heller's birthday, I wound up at the Magnolia diner, eating scrambled eggs and discussing scrambled documentaries. I was there with Dan Nuxoll from Rooftop, Joel, and Alex Karpovsky and Eric Bruggermann, the director and editor, respectively, of "The Hole Story" and 2008 SXSW selection "Woodpecker" (pictured left).

I brought up the fascinating dialogue about the distinctions of fiction and non-fiction filmmaking that I had heard surrounding some of the films here at SXSW, including Alex's film(s), Daniel Stamm's "A Necessary Death," and even films as different as Nanette Burstein's "American Teen," Morgan Spurlock's "Where in the World is Osama bin Laden?" and Josh Safdie's "The Pleasure of Being Robbed," where categorical definitions would appear pretty straightforward. We'd heard a rumor that when "A Necessary Death" played one European festival, it was in the documentary section, and the crowd was incensed.

Why is it that people get so mad about films that blur these distinctions or even deliberately mislead the audience? Do these distinctions matter? And if so, how should we be defining these films?

One of the first things we realized is that general audience members, far more than film critics, filmmakers, and film programmers, do question what's "real." You hear in Q & A sessions how important it is to them. And a great number of film professionals also debate (and confuse) these terms and distinctions. So the distinctions do matter. And I think the first reason why they matter, why people want to know if a film is a work of fiction or non-fiction, is because people don't like "being suckered" (as entertainment lawyer and SXSW panelist Alan Levy put it when I was discussing the issue with him). Being suckered is different from being tricked: a murder mystery tricks you, but that's what you want it to do; a fiction film that poses as a non-fiction film (the thinking goes) suckers you. People think that the film is somehow lying to you, which you don't want it to do.

I think this discrepancy comes initially from expectation: when you go to see an action movie, you don't want to find yourself instead watching a quiet drama. When you see certain documentary aesthetics, you expect that what you are seeing is non-fiction. So the second and more important reason why audience members want to know the nature of the film is because of the inherent differences in the way we interact with fiction and non-fiction films. People are more likely to immediately connect emotionally with non-fiction characters because one of the greatest challenges of fiction cinema--effective suspension of disbelief--is alleviated. When a character in a fiction film does something outlandish, an audience member is likely to think, "No one would ever do that." Not so in documentary; you have to assume they really did it. So when you think a film is non-fiction, and it turns out to be scripted, you mistrust your own emotional reading of the film. The same is true in reverse for non-fiction films. Every camera move and edit in a documentary is of course a manipulation of reality, yet people still get hung up on the details of some non-attainable objective truth.

With either fiction or non-fiction, that mental approach to film watching is limiting. We should be able to watch a movie, and analyze our feelings and our thoughts based on the emotions expressed and the ideas addressed, not solely on whether it was "real." I think keeping the lines between fiction and non-fiction blurry is a wise move. Whether the filmmaker writes a story and casts actors to play the characters, or if the filmmaker follows the story of people leading their existing lives, the goals are the same for any film: to entertain the audience, to enlighten them, to take them to emotional highs and lows.

This is where films like Safdie's "The Pleasure of Being Robbed" and Burstein's "American Teen" come in. I thought "American Teen" was entertaining and engaging, but I didn't love the film because of some of the manipulations--jumps in time to enhance the weight of an emotion, moments that are clearly created in the editing room but didn't happen live. My problem isn't the manipulations per se, and I don't doubt the veracity of the basic facts. My problem is that because of those manipulations, I didn't really connect with the characters. I thought the jumps in time simplified complex emotions, and the forged scenes fell flat. When watching either a non-fiction or a fiction film, you understand that this isn't an objective reality, but if the cuts and camera angles fail to create a subjective emotional and intellectual truth, the film has failed.

In contrast, some scenes in Josh Safdie's film are, as he put it, "stolen"--he caught people on the street unawares and wrote them into his narrative. I was impressed by the way he was able to fluidly bring these elements into his rather fantastical story, and from a narrative standpoint, I was touched by the interactions.

Karpovsky's "Woodpecker" is a brilliant example of the way a filmmaker can blend fact and fiction to make an amusing, moving and meaningful film that transcends either documentary or fiction modes. The film is about the true story of the supposed sighting of an Ivory Billed Woodpecker in the bayou of Arkansas. Hundreds of bird watchers descended on the swamps, hoping to confirm the sighting. Alex sets the stage for his film with mostly documentary footage, and provides a sincere and intriguing look into a region transformed and polarized by this funny little bird. We meet ordinary people who were transfixed by the beauty of the bird, and hunters who are displeased that the search for the bird is keeping them from their hunting grounds. There are locals opening tourist shops selling bird trinkets, and taxidermists who claim to be able to manufacture an Ivory Billed in minutes. Into this world, Alex injects Jon e. Hyrnes (pictured below left), an actor who Alex discovered, ironically, when Johnny appeared as the subject of another documentary, "Johnny Berlin." Alex makes the wise point, "Much like the bird itself, "Woodpecker" explores the intersection of fact and fiction, manipulating our notions of documentary and narrative techniques within a tragic comedy about hope, perception, and some very very strange birds."

One of the ingenious cinematic devices in "Woodpecker" is the way Karpovsky has the character he scripted continue to develop a theme first brought up by one of the documentary characters. One of the birdwatchers who (I'm pretty sure) is real, says that the bird's cry is simply the announcement, "I am here." This phrase becomes a core leitmotif for Johnny, the lead in the film, who himself is looking for the bird in order mark to his place in birdwatching history. This lonely guy, who drolly remarks that when his wife left him "she was essentially saying 'I am not here,'" thinks that if he spots the bird he will somehow justify and signify his own existence. He wants to be famous, yes, but only in this obscure realm. His core desire, as he explains in one of his ludicrous but subtly insightful rants, is to be an integral part of the birdwatching community. He wants people to know he is there, to care that he's there, and to enable people to see this bird. So as we watch Johnny mingle with the locals and drift through the swamps, we relate to the community with his specific perspective, this strange but pure and life-affirming connection with the world.

The film raises a lot of issues about environmentalism and hunting, about dying small towns and the pitfalls of media attention, about individual isolation and community, and the way in which the issues are presented through the perspective of an entertaining and astute on-screen character effectively makes them more genuine and resonant than if we were seeing them in a purportedly neutral documentary. "Woodpecker" is a far more potent use of motion pictures than a purely factual news report of the (possible) discovery of the Ivory Billed Woodpecker.

So if blurring the lines between fiction and non-fiction can be useful, how do we define such films? Even though I think audiences shouldn't determine their appreciation of a film by any categories or expectations, I think we need definitions in order to avoid confusion and reach a more universal understanding of these conventions, so that audience members aren't burdened by misconceptions.

There are three essential categories, and a handful of styles within them. All films are fiction, non-fiction or a hybrid. I think one of the core confusions stems from the misleading term "narrative film." Most films, whether based on imagination or fact, are narrative--they are telling a story. Non-fiction films, however, can be told in a variety of styles, which include documentary, verité, and recreation. Conventional "documentary" style would include films in which the camera records events as they unfold in real time, without the director intentionally influencing the action. Documentaries often include elements such as music, titles, and effects that did not appear directly in front of the camera, and interviews, in which the action is perhaps staged with lights, sets, and questions, but what the subject says is not shaped by the filmmaker. In contrast, verité filmmaking does not use any such non-diegetic elements or staged events.

A film like Robinson Devor's "Zoo" (pictured left) is still non-fiction, because the audio and video are all based on facts not imagination, but it is a work of non-fiction not made in a documentary style, because the voices of the subjects were re-recorded by actors, and the images were recreated with actors, lighting, set-decoration, etc. (Throughout this article, I used the terms "documentary" and "narrative" to refer to the style of filmmaking, but not the category of films.) It's interesting to note that Morgan Spurlock's "Where in the World is Osama bin Laden?" is considered a work of non-fiction (by most people), in a documentary style, even though, like "Woodpecker," it contains scripted elements and a "character" who is interacting with real people. The differences between Spurlock's and Karpovsky's films is the way in which the character is presented (Spurlock as himself; Jon e. Hymes as the fictional Johnny Neander), and the essence of the narrative (Spurlock investigating a question; Karpovsky crafting a portrait).

Within hybrid films, the distinctions of style are equally varied, including mockumentaries, faux documentaries, meta-documentaries, and fake home movies. Over lunch at Stubb's BBQ joint, I was discussing the issue with filmmakers Andrew Bujalski and Garrett Savage, and filmmaker plus "Woodpecker" co-producer Dia Sokol, and for Karpovsky's film we settled on the term "faux documentary." Although "Woodpecker" is black comedy, it shouldn't be called a "mockumentary." A "faux documentary" is a film that incorporates fiction and non-fiction, and uses the style and conventions of a doc to tell semi-fictional story. A "mockumentary," in contrast, is completely imaginary, and tends to be making fun of the characters. Further, I think most "mockumentaries" poke fun at documentary form itself, with overly-contrived sit-down interviews and obvious nods to the camera, such as the ubiquitous "don't film this" moments.

In "Woodpecker," by contrast, although one is often laughing at Johnny's naiveté and quirky obsession, he's more like a Don Quixote, the madman on a mission who is lovable and laughable but also honest, noble, and inspiring. The film treats Johnny and all the characters with warmth and respect, so it lacks the spoofing of a mockumentary.

Non-fiction and fiction "meta-documentaries" would include films that explicitly address the essence of documentary form. "Woodpecker" does not, but Karpovsky's "The Hole Story" and "A Necessary Death" both in some ways deal with the nature media and the way the act of filming events inherently affects the action. "Fake home movies," such as the infamous "Blair Witch Project," purport to verité filmmaking conventions in which the on-screen characters are filming their own lives, only the characters and actions are scripted and staged.

So, I hope all my rambling has proved helpful or at least interesting to some. It seemed interesting enough in late-night film festival conversations over eggs migas and pulled pork sandwiches. The next question, I guess, is whether I've accurately documented all that we discussed.

Third Ward, TX
a documentary about art, life and real estate
Directed by Andrew Garrison
Produced by Nancy Bless & Noland Walker
Friday, Feb 1, 6:30pm
@ Center for Architecture
536 LaGuardia Place, NYC
RSVP: www.aiany.com/calendar
FREE

Project Row Houses is the unlikely home of cutting-edge art and visionary thinking about inner-city renewal. Third Ward, TX introduces artists and neighbors who are breathing new life into their historically black community in Houston. But art, life and real estate collide when deep-pocketed developers arrive. Project Row Houses' unexpected response offers new, creative solutions.

In 2007, Rooftop Films was proud to screen Third Ward, TX as part of our INDUSTRIANCE series -- films about the changing landscape in industry, architecture, agriculture, and about the way individual lives are affected by these shifts. This film is everything we're looking to say in that series: it's a great story, told with charm and dexterity, and really has universal appeal, addressing are issues facing every city in America, including Brooklyn. Our country needs more innovative ideas like Project Row Houses. A first step is for people to see Third Ward, TX, so if you missed it on the roof, go check it out this week.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 8PM
Rooftop Films & Stranger Than Fiction co-present
"Film as a Subversive Art: Amos Vogel and Cinema 16"
a feature-length documentary by Paul Cronin
at The IFC Center | Tickets

We at Rooftop Films are proud to be co-presenting this film because we certainly consider ourselves descendents of Amos Vogel's Cinema 16. I think one of the great legacies of Vogel's work was the way he and his compatriots placed a great social and moral significance on independent and experimental cinema. They recognized the power of motion pictures, and used film to challenge people's aesthetics, their values, their ways of thinking. This is something that we've always tried to do at Rooftop as well. And much the way that Cinema 16 was famous for showing varied programs short films, at Rooftop we also like to mix genres, styles and voices, programming around a central theme to encourage people to see new and unexpected films.

I know that Vogel wrote about the importance of the total immersion in the theater-going experience, so I hope he would approve of Rooftop's outdoor model. I think the key to Rooftop's success is that we get people to engage with cinema beyond the theater. They are watching films relevant to the very communities they are sitting in, which we hope gets them to engage with the issues and ideas presented in the film. I'm eager to ask Amos if he has any thoughts about Rooftop.

The bottom line is that Cinema 16, Rooftop Films and Stranger Than Fiction are all vital to the cultural dialogue in New York because we get people to come out to see challenging films they otherwise wouldn't see. So it's a thrill for us to all be working together on this presentation, and we hope you all come out and enjoy Paul Cronin's documentary "Film as a Subversive Art: Amos Vogel and Cinema 16."

There is no film I'm more pleased and proud to see here at Sundance than "Trouble the Water," directed by Rooftop's neighbors and friends Carl Deal and Tia Lessin. Dan and I first saw a rough cut of this film about a year ago and the material was so powerful and the story so compelling we would've shown it right then. But after a year of hard work editing, the film has truly become a masterpiece.

Kimberly Rivers Roberts and her husband Scott (pictured above) had just gotten a video camera a few weeks before Hurricane Katrina, and "Trouble the Water" includes their astonishing footage documenting the experience in their neighborhood, New Orleans' 9th Ward. The incredible power of the film comes directly from Kim and Scott's strength, insight, charm, and from the potent symbolism of their story, representing the story of so many people in America today--those whose lives were ruined (or lost) to Katrina, and those across the country who are being left behind by an uncaring government.

Kim and Scott are somewhat cavalier about the impending storm, and in a subtle but striking moment, we hear that Kim is a drug dealer, and that she's raising prices because she expects a shortage soon. At the same time, though, we see the early signs that Kim is a remarkably thoughtful and caring person. As she wakes her uncle Nat from a drunken stupor and tries to send him home to safety, she also turns to some nearby kids and tries to convince them not to be like Nat.

Kim's narration of these sections is both biting and poetic. "If I had wheels [a car] I'd be gone, too," Kim says to some neighbors, a direct articulation of a point later made by critics of the government's initial failure to help evacuate the city. When the rains come, and the water begins to rise, she points the camera at the wind-lashed streets while her off-camera monologue mixes prayers and bravado, fear, resignation and hope.

The flooding forces Kim and Scott into their attic, along with neighbors and children they rescue into their taller house. In an absolutely heartbreaking sequence, we see the family trapped by the water, and hear desperate 9-1-1 callers being told, point blank, that no rescue teams are coming until the flooding recedes, leaving thousands to die. But when the police and the coast guard can't or won't help, locals do: Kim and Scott's neighbor, a rival dealer named Larry Simms, swims from house to house with a large punching bag, floating women and children to safety.

Larry's astounding heroism is contrasted, later, with the actions of the men at the local Navy base. The gated base was on the highest ground in the neighborhood, was running emergency generators for power, and, because of government cutbacks, had some 500 empty apartments. But when Scott and others approached the base, they were greeted with automatic weapons, and told to leave. "What good is it to have a military if they can't serve us," Scott says ruefully. Yet in spite of this harsh treatment, Scott thanks the individual National Guardsmen he encounters who have come to help rebuild New Orleans after the storm. "I hope you don't have to go back to Iraq," Scott's friend says, "Because that ain't our war. Our war is here."

The film follows Kim and Scott for over a year as they try to rebuild their lives, and, quite literally, their city. The battle FEMA for their pitifully small relief assistance checks, struggle to start a new life in a new city, and are still looked-down upon by the very authorities meant to serve them. Rooftop alum PJ Raval shot the post-hurricane footage, and he has done a brilliant job showing the destruction of the city without fetishizing the ruins, as so many films do. His intelligent cinematography highlights the heartfelt compassion the filmmakers feel for their subjects, creating a perfect balance between Kim's footage and the "professional" footage shot later, drawing the audience into the story.

There are moments of poignant heroism and tragedy throughout, and the climax of the film is the final reveal of Kim's talents and spirit: a hip-hop song about her life that she belts out directly at the camera. She has a dynamic gift for rhythm and rhyme, and the insightful and intimate lyrics that lay her emotions bare are extraordinary. I've seen this film four times, and I still don't think I've ever been able to take a breath when Kim performs. It may be the most magnificent piece of music I've ever seen in a film.

The raw footage which the filmmakers were given to work with is incredibly compelling, but what really makes "Trouble the Water" such a significant movie is the way Deal, Lessin and editor T. Woody Richman have been able to cull from the material parallels and contradictions--the heroism and ingenuity of supposedly "bad" people; the cowardice and incompetence of those supposed to protect us--which tell a grand socio-political story through a tragic personal narrative. I've seen quite a few excellent Katrina documentaries and narratives, but none so perfectly encapsulates the human tragedy in New Orleans and across the country. I hope everyone in America can see this film. Maybe Rooftop can start by screening it on the White House lawn.

"Made in America" is a radical film about the history of African-Americans in the infamous neighborhood of South Central, Los Angeles. The film outlines the early migrations of former slaves to Los Angeles, and discusses the post-WWII boom of skilled industrial careers which brought large numbers of blacks to LA for the first time. But by the mid-1960s, industry was leaving the city, and African-Americans were losing their jobs. Young men, with little hopes of finding beneficial careers, and even barred from the Boy Scouts, began to form street gangs, looking for social and physical support. These were fighting gangs, but of a somewhat more tame nature than we know now: "You used to make an appointment for an ass-whupping," says one former gang member. "I'd beat your hairline back and knock your sideburns off."

[All quotations are paraphrased to the best of my abilities in dark-theater note-taking and memorization.]

Unwilling to accept the implicit racism and segregation in the city which their ancestors had put up with in the South, in 1967 thousands of angry blacks finally fought back in the infamous Watts riots. In the years since, many people have disparaged the riots for the looting which occurred within black neighborhoods. But one man who participated in the riots defiantly pointed out, "The looting didn't undermine anything, because we're talking about desperate people here." Hemmed in by thousands of national guardsmen during the riots, and by the racist police during the rest of their lives, given the generations of brutal oppression and total lack of economic salvation, when you hear the people tell their stories in this film, you can understand why they might loot anything from food for their children to a new color TV.

The years following the riots showed an upswing of social and political activism and a decrease in gang activity. But by the end of the 1970s, with the government reneging on promises to help and little having been accomplished, white LA hemmed South Central in even more, allowing an influx of drugs and crime. The main element of the government's "War on Drugs" and "War on Crime" is the constant harassment of African-Americans--essentially waging a war on blacks. South Central has dived deeper into despair than ever before. In the last 30 years, brutal gangs have ruled the streets. In the last 10 years alone, there have been 15,000 gang-related deaths in Los Angeles, more than in the entire history of the civil war in Northern Ireland.

Most of the people in South Central are, of course, desperate to stop the violence. Social groups are springing up--without much support from outside the community--which work to convince young black men not to join gangs, and to try to find alternatives for them, from after-school activities, to lasting careers. But without major changes to the socio-economic system in Los Angeles, the cycle is bound to renew itself.

I said that this is a radical film, and it is. But the filmmaking is not what's radical here. The fast editing and effects, the constant use of music, may in fact put many people off. And frankly, the history being told is also not radical territory: many movies, books, articles have discussed the treatment of African-Americans which has lead to such widespread alienation, depression, rage, and violence. Other truly excellent films here at Sundance, even, such as "The Order of Myths," deal in some part with these issues.

No, what is radical here is who is telling this story, and how they are saying it. The power and significance of hearing this story from the mouths of angry black men cannot be discounted. When 1 in 4 African-American males is expected to go to jail at some point in their lives, a film like this cannot be dismissed just because it seems overly flashy, or because we think we've heard it before. "What right have you got," says one former gang member in the film, speaking of the daily police stops he faced, "to ask me where I'm going, what I'm doing? It's none of your damn business. But every day I'm fed this spoonful of hatred. It's my daily diet. And I'm gonna erupt. The question is when."

If we simply say to ourselves that we've heard about the problem--and don't acknowledge the deep-seated, widespread, and justified anger represented in " Made in America"--that eruption will come again soon.  

Rooftop showed Chris Waitt's humorous narrative short "Dupe" a couple years ago, so I was very eager to check out his debut feature. The slick short starred Chris as an extremely lazy hipster who orders off the internet a cloning machine (that looks like an crappy old photocopier) so he can send his dupes off to work for him. (We actually showed that film in a program, about labor and industry; indicative of Rooftop's attempt to mix serious and silly films in themed programs.)

"A Complete History of My Sexual Failures" is a hysterical and inventive personal documentary which reveals that Chris is every bit the extremely lazy hipster he appeared to be in "Dupe." After realizing that he'd been dumped by every woman he'd ever dated, Chris decides to try to make a film of self-discovery: why do ladies drop him as easily as he drops his dirty clothes on the floor?

The first handful of exes he contacts dismiss him out of hand, with Chris demonstrating his deadpan ability to get rejected and to say the wrong thing. When interviewing a young lady on the street, he asks her how long her boyfriend's penis is. Her reply: a shy smiling "Uhh, me mum's right there." It's only when Chris' mum gets out some old love/hate letters sent to her son (one of which is addressed "Dear Shit-Fuck), and negotiates interviews on his behalf, that he is able to even really communicate with any other woman.

And that's when we get to see that his awkwardness and social irresponsibility isn't just limited to pestering women on the street; his failures run far deeper. From the interviews, a pattern emerges: he's uncaring, constantly late, a liar, and in one instance even tried to kiss his girlfriend's mother. One woman is so ashamed of having dated him, she only agrees to be interviewed behind a curtain, typing her humiliatingly harsh answers into a computerized voice machine. In the Q & A following the screening, Chris pointed out that he'd really allowed these women to "discover their inner anger."

One former fling who is a self-described sex addict reminds Chris that he was unable to perform in bed, he is forced to admit (in front of a wide-eyed female hotel clerk) that he's impotent. The film then really goes wild, with Chris seeking medical help, getting advice from drunks on the street, and visiting a dominatrix who literally whips his balls, in full view of the camera, in an uproariously funny sequence which is sure to vindicate many of his former lovers. Finally, Chris OD's on Viagra (and beer), and runs around the streets asking women to fuck him. Call it his own "Super Size Me" moment.  

The film is certainly part of the growing trend of "stunt" documentaries, with these numerous set pieces that wouldn't be happening if not for the camera. One has to wonder at points if Chris isn't hamming up his own lack of awareness, his own ignorance of basic human relationships. But I think Chris and these women are being pretty earnest. The fact is, Chris is a charming, attractive, creative, hip guy: women really want to love him. But he's also solipsistic and painfully uncaring, and so he disappoints his girlfriends badly. If he was just a dumb schmuck, none of these women would care one way or the other. But the fact that he does have so much potential makes the sting of his failures all the more poignant, and makes the film all the more compelling.

Chris does learn some lessons from the process. For one, he heals his relationship with his longest-running girlfriend, and now that she's had a baby, Chris seems to gain more respect for her, and seems to actually acquire some sense of responsibility. Even more amazingly, Chris ends up in a long-term relationship with one of the women he accosted during his little blue pill freak-out. At the Q & A, she said that remarkably she hadn't seen the film until now (a sign of both his insecurity and his callousness, it would seem), but though she was quite shocked by the film, she claims he's been a much better boyfriend.  

When asked if there was anything that was too embarrassing to put in the film, Chris said that it was all damn embarrassing, "but I had gotten some funding, and there comes a point when people have put all this time and effort into the thing, and I couldn't go back. I wondered when it would ever end, because after all, it's my life. And believe me, it wasn't good news for me when the film got into Sundance. I was like, 'Oh no, now even more people are going to know what a fuck-up I am."

That he is, but a charming and delightful one, who has made a daring, insightful and hilarious film, one which really fits with Rooftop's ethos of showing personal documentaries, even "home movies."

Jay and Mark Duplass' "Baghead" is a miraculous film that succeeds in two genres for one simple reason: the characters are amazing. Four struggling actors--two guys and two girls--head off to a cabin in the woods to write a screenplay in the hopes that it will launch their careers. But flirtations, lust, jealousy, competitiveness and paper bags all intercede in their plans.

This simple set up is all the Duplass brothers, and their four talented improvising actors, need to launch a rich and honest, emotionally intricate film that is one of the most exciting pieces of cinema I've seen in a long time. To explain exactly why it's so stunning would sort of ruin it, but suffice it to say that the Mark and Jay have proven that by creating characters who are real but surprising, their remarkable talents can be used successfully to build any style of film they choose.

Though it's shot in a documentary style, that's never an excuse for lazy filmmaking, instead using the realism as a base to forge evocative genre-work in sections that are poetic and quiet, sequences which mix shock and comedy, and intercut scenes which layer the intricate drama. Use of silence at three key moments--twice accompanied by a guitar score reminiscent of Will Oldham's work for Kelly Reichardt's "Ode," and once when the characters sit around in stunned quiet--highlight the Duplass brothers' deft cinematic skills, as the three scenes parallel each other, but each have distinct emotions.

When writing clever plot twists, the trick is always to make them unexpected but believable. "Baghad" succeeds perfectly in that department, but more importantly the characters themselves do unexpected but believable things. The film is so subtle and insightful that it's almost impossible to write about without resorting to clichés. (It's like the old joke about the dancer asked to explain the dance, and replying, "If I could explain it, why would I bother to dance it?") Quoting lines or describing scenes out of context would cheapen them, which is really an indication of how perfect this film is.

So, without getting more into the plot and the styles, I'll just say that this film should give any filmgoer all that they would want out of a movie: it's hilarious, touching, lyrical, disquieting. Any one aspect of the film would be sufficient to carry it, and that they've struck such a brilliant and delicate balance of emotions makes "Baghead" a delight to watch. I'm sorry I can't explain it better, but see the movie, email me, and we'll talk about it for hours. Or, even better, I sincerely hope we can get a chance to screen it at Rooftop this summer.

Katrina Browne can trace her family's history back to the early American colonial days . . . back when they ran one of the largest slave trade operations in the world. What do you do with knowledge like that? It's been at least 140 years since anyone in your family owned or traded other human beings--it's not your fault. Many people in Browne's position ignore that part of their heritage (check out Margaret Brown's fascinating "Order of Myths" to see some similar denial in action), or make excuses for it. But Browne decided to contact 200 of her known relatives, and invite them on an exploration of their family's past. 9 agreed to come, and the documentary "Traces of the Trade" is one of the many results.

The family members travel from Rhode Island (where the family was based) to Ghana (where they purchased slaves) to Cuba (where they owned plantations, worked by slaves, which fueled the cycle). One might wonder what these (mostly) privileged white people, in the 21st Century, would gain from such a trip--if it would merely end up as a guilt-assuaging tour of near-forgotten horrors. But for me, the film faces down complex moral turmoil and emotional anguish, and it's all split open on the family's first day in Ghana, where they see that these atrocities are not nearly as forgotten in Africa, and by African-Americans, as they may seem in to white Americans.

One relative says, [to paraphrase] "I had always excused my ancestors, saying that they were only a product of their times, that trading slaves was just the way of the world. But after being in one of the slave prisons, where hundreds of people were held in cramped, dark cells before being shipped across the Middle Passage, now I know that's bullshit. What they were doing was evil, and they had to know it was evil, and they did it anyway. I wouldn't have thought that if I hadn't come here."

That crucial admission, and the knowledge that he could only have reached that revelation by confronting the past directly, is the moral crux of the film. By making that admission he opens up the possibility of his own complicity, acknowledging that there are aspects of this horrible past which he may be suppressing, thereby continuing the legacy of denial,  ignorance, racism. And so the 9 press on, opening themselves up to learn and understand and attempt to do the right thing. They realize that even though slavery was abolished a century and a half ago, the problems of racial inequality persist, largely because the root causes have never been fully acknowledged. In the end, they each find ways to try to make amends, and Browne and a few others begin to advocate for large-scale reparations, with the funds earmarked for social programs that might help end the systems of racism and inequality.  

It could be easy to dismiss this family's journey as a limited example, relevant only to them and other direct descendents of slave-owners. But such a dismissal would avoid the important point that Browne's film makes: morality cannot be complacent. We all have beliefs--we're against the wars in the Middle East, we fear for the environment, we're outraged by the myriad inequalities in our society, for example--but are we doing enough? If we rationalize away our inactivity, our morals will crumble and fail. At a certain point, we have to examine at our excuses and simply say, "That's bullshit." It's time to do something.

This is a blog so I can be personal, right? Ok. When I was 17 years old, I bicycled across America. From Sandy Hook, NJ to Florence, OR. I carried all my own gear--clothes, tent, food. Camped out wherever. I had a lot of minor adventures--fell asleep under a bridge on train tracks in Missouri during a lightening storm; drank water from a hose on the lawn of a nuclear power plant after a 112 mile day through the Idaho desert; got hit by a truck on purpose by two jackasses cursing me in West Virginia. But mostly it was a trip of minor observations, ephemeral feelings, and a grand struggle against boredom and exhaustion.

The goal was always the Pacific Ocean, but that final ride to the shore was crushingly anticlimactic. There was no triumphant feeling of accomplishment. No epiphany, or relief, or ecstasy. I was worn down, tired, ready to go home, and yet stasis felt ponderous. Staying in the same place for two nights for the first time in 58 days, I literally felt heavy, and depressed. It was only months later, maybe even years later, that I started to sense and understand the journey. There's still never been any pat lesson I learned, but on the whole I can now feel, in my soul (if I can use that word), a sense who I was on that trip, across these specific lands.

Lee Kazimir's "More Shoes" is a film with a similar feeling. Kazimir was stuck in a dead end job when he heard Werner Herzog proclaim that the best way to become a better filmmaker is to walk 5,000 km alone, for example from Madrid to Kiev. And so that's what Kazimir did.

This film is lyrical, hypnotic, and deeply introspective. Although Kazimir also has a singular destination, the film blissfully lacks a linear direction: a car on a highway has a linear direction; a man on a journey like this travels in all directions at once. Kazimir meets many people, hears some fascinating stories, and has mini-adventures, but to describe any of them would limit the scope of the film. In the end the most remarkably thing about this film is the feeling of being in motion again. It's the most extraordinary feeling in the world.

Sunday, January 20, 6:30 PM
Monday, January 21, 6:30PM
Sundance New Frontier on Main
333 Main St. (Lower Level)
Animation with live music by Califone
FREE

Brent Green is the closest thing I've got to a religion. His animations, performed with live scores, with Brent shrieking out the stories, scare the hell out of me, and fill me with hope. Brent's performances play out like he's a singing preacher who not only met god, they built a house together, and had some creative differences along the way. They worked their asses off, scavenging scraps of wood from Santa's sleigh, rigging up wires and pulleys to illuminate the moon, debating the merits and availability of gravity. Some birds died, some firetrucks were misplaced, some birds were resuscitated (briefly), the bedroom was three feet lower than the living room, but in the end they came to an agreement: "Wondrous things happen every day, and to sleep through even one of them would cripple you for life."

I put that last bit in quotes, but all of that wondrous imagery is directly from Brent's films.

Personally, I know Brent has a complicated and fascinating relationship with religion and the supernatural, and I'm a flat out atheist, but I bring it up because Brent really does inspire me in a way that seems to me to represent the essence and power of religion: he points out how scary and terrible and horrifying life and death are, and then he reminds you to see the beauty in that. The beauty and passion in his work are mesmerizing and awe-inspiring. You just have to see it to believe.

(P.S. Dear Sundance, please continue and expand the New Frontier section of the festival. It's great, and will only get better, under the brilliant curatorial guidance of Mike Plante and John Cooper. Next year, Brent should be playing the Eccles.)

For the past three years, Rooftop Films has collaborated with the fine folks at the Rural Route Film Festival to bring a bit of pastoral cinema to the big city. Rural Route is going on tour now, and we highly recommend you check them out. Here are some early dates and descriptions:



Festival Director and Chicago Filmmakers will be present for Q&As!

"This year's "Rural Route Tour" program definitely leans towards the more artistic and documentary side, in a killer good way. We've got fun and serious pieces from all around the world. Arctic owls in Montana, Canadian riding lawnmower races, films about light pollution, a Ukrainian poetic peasant masterpiece, dancers in the snowy Norwegian tundra, plastic lawn deer lost in Brooklyn, a man's captivating search for his ancestors in Lithuania, and some good, 'ol banjo playin' at a Kentucky old folks home. Total running time is 97 minutes.

"Our "Go Organic!" program, originally screened at Anthology Film Archives in New York City, is a new component to the Rural Route tour that we consider absolutely essential. These films provide a refreshing education on the current state of agriculture, and point out positive sustainable and organic practices that you can take part in. The Meatrix and Frankensteer expose the ways of unethical farming, while others provide us with role models through CSAs, Cuban community, sustainable lemon farms, organic choices, and a new wave of female farmers leading the way. Includes Ladies of the Land, Academy Award Winner for Best Student Documentary. Total running time is 110 minutes."

Check their myspace for New Year dates coming up in places like Silver City, NM, San Francisco, CA, and Abingdon, VA.