And there you have it folks. Another wildly successful film festival in the Pacific Northwest. It’s a good thing we had rain well into June this year, or I’d almost feel guilty spending so much time in theaters. Having attended SIFF last year, I was more familiar with the venues and programming layout. This allowed me to go totally batshit overboard and spend hundreds of dollars (including a new car window and a $3 parking ticket) seeing almost 20 films. And I still worked full time and went to my part-time classes. I know, I’m pretty awesome.

Once again, for the lethargic amongst you, below is a list of all the films I watched this year along with final grades and links to reviews. My heartfelt thanks to all of the directors, producers, actors, family members, cinematographers, volunteers, programers, and SIFF members for investing so much of their time in SIFF, and so much of their souls in the world of film. Whether I gave these films an A+ or an F, I fully respect and appreciate filmmaking in all its forms and I applaud anyone who manages to make a film and get it shown at a festival. Best of luck to all of you and your films. Once again, if you have time, money, or passion for film, help out SIFF here.

Also, I know it’s a year too late, but if Joe Mitacek is out there somewhere, my apologies for never responding to your awesome comment on my review of your film Morning last year. I fully intended to, but life gets in the way. Thanks so much for your thoughts, and good luck!

We now return you to your irregularly, infrequently scheduled programming at sexy gypsy. Keep Reading!

-GWG

Hot Coffee: D+

Revenge: A Love Story: B+

To Be Heard: A

The Redemption of General Butt Naked: B

The Clink of Ice: A-

The Off Hours: B-

Angel of Evil: D+

We Are The Night: B

The Last Circus: A-

John Carpenter’s The Ward: B-

Tyrannosaur: A

Outrage: A-

Hooked: C-

The Future: B+

The Trip: B-

How to Die in Oregon: N/A

Ex: C+

My final film of SIFF 2011 was Hot Coffee at the Harvard Exit.

This documentary is initially about a legal case most of us are familiar with. An elderly woman spilled a cup of McDonalds coffee in her lap, claimed it was too hot, and sued the company for millions. This ignited many a monologue joke and the widely-held belief that this woman was a clumsy idiot who has a hard time with accountability. However, what starts as a specific, well-balanced account of one legal battle meanders into a “bigger picture” story that includes several other legal cases, but not much common sense.

Let me clarify that. There are four cases described in this film.

One is the McDonalds incident. Seeing pictures and hearing the actual story of what happened, I was appalled. Not just because her injuries required $10,000 worth of skin grafts, but because I had been lied to so blatantly, and I swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

Another is a family whose OBGYN made a clumsy mistake that resulted in one of their twins being born with brain damage. Their son is going to need medical care for the rest of his life, but because of the government cap on “non-economic” awards in lawsuits, his future is uncertain.

The third is a Missouri judge who was erroneously smeared in the courts after a vicious political race. In a film where these companies are crying foul in all these suits, seeing these same politicians and companies bringing equally unwarranted cases is tragically ironic.

The final case is a young woman who was raped in Iraq by coworkers while working for Haliburton. Because she signed a contract containing a Mandatory Arbitration clause, and because her rape kit was “lost”, she still hasn’t had her day in court.

Each of these cases is legitimately tragic. I really sympathize with all those involved. These people were completely, blatantly, unapologetically screwed over by large corporations and political influence on the court system. I would never detract from any of their stories or hardships, and I hope all of them find moral and legal justice.

But…

But flashing up “Karl Rove declined to be interviewed for this film” on the screen, playing clips of George W. Bush stuttering through a speech, and purposefully interviewing lawyers working for large corporations does not an honest documentary make, regardless of how much the audience laughs and points and gets caught up in it.

My problem here is that, in a documentary that claims to be about giving validity to so called “frivolous” lawsuits, the filmmaker fails to establish any kind of statistic or ballpark figure for how many cases every year are valid versus how many are stupid wastes of taxpayer money. I understand that Torte Reform is a complicated issue and can potentially screw over a lot of legitimate victims. But going from that to Non-Economic caps, to Mandatory Arbitration clauses takes us too far away from the initial question without actually answering it.

To watch this film, you would think that “frivolous” lawsuits are few and far between; the minority of cases by a landslide. We all know big corporations can be super evil. We know the legal system is intensely flawed. Unfortunately, showing us that most Americans don’t know what Torte Reform means, or what the U.S. Chamber of Commerce is, or what Mandatory Arbitration is, and then telling us your average Joe isn’t likely to file a ridiculous lawsuit just doesn’t jive. This country is full of stupid people. The idea that four examples of legitimate cases is proof of widespread civil suit validity is asinine. You can’t tell me employees are being “forced” to sign contracts with mandatory arbitration clauses, and at the same time that they “don’t know about” said clauses. You’re essentially infantilizing people at the same time you’re relieving them of all accountability.

We’ve all heard about ridiculous lawsuits. They exist. They waste taxpayer money and legal time by going after easy money. This happens. This does not mean that most or even half of all lawsuits are frivolous. Conversely, Hot Coffee does not prove that most are valid. Both kinds are happening all the time. With all due respect, compassion, and prayers for everyone depicted in this film, Torte Reform comes down to the question, “How do we discourage bullshit lawsuits while still acknowledging and providing for real victims.” Like I said, not a simple issue.

I realize, believe it or not, that this film won the Golden Space Needle award for Best Documentary at SIFF this year. Unfortunately, I really believe that documentaries like Hot Coffee which stack all their research and biased investigations on one side of an issue, are irresponsible road blocks on the way to ensuring that McDonalds never again serves coffee at 190 degrees. Or that doctors actually guilty of malpractice aren’t allowed to ruin another child’s life. Or that innocent people, be they judges or young women, are not railroaded by a system that looks out for its benefactors before its victims.

Final Grade: D+

Hot Coffee will air on HBO Monday, June 27 at 9pm PST.

I decided to finish SIFF 2011 the same way I started it the first day: with a double feature on the last day. So Sunday, June 12, I milked the clock at work before rolling out to the Neptune Theatre for a relaxed screening of Ching-Po Wong’s Fuk sau che chi sei (Revenge: A Love Story).

I must admit I made a rookie mistake coming into this one: I had expectations. From everything I heard, read, and saw in the trailer, I was expecting something along the lines of a Chinese True Romance. This is not what I got. So I guess it’s a good thing the movie was awesome despite my cinematic faux pas.

In the first five minutes, three very important things are established. One: Ching-Po Wong is a master of the wide shot. Two: He likes to use this wide shot mastery to make you really uncomfortable. Three: This movie is gonna be really fucked up. You’ll have to forgive my language, but it’s true. First three thoughts of the film: “Wow, that’s cool.” “Wow, that’s cool.” “Holy shit, who does something like that???”

Kit (Juno Mak) is killing people. We’re not sure why, but it’s pretty clear he’s deranged and really, really pissed off. The short first act of the film establishes the good guys (the cops) versus the bad guys (Kit). As Wong Tarantino’s the story, however, good guys aren’t necessarily good, and bad guys, though violently psychotic, are not necessarily bad. As a young man, Kit fell in love with Wing (Sola Aoi), a mentally challenged girl who visited his dumpling stand with her grandmother. When her grandmother passes away, Wing is on her own with only Kit to take care of her. One horrible, horrible night, Wing is attacked by a violent drunk. One thing leads to another, and the film devolves into a back and forth of violent revenge, hatred, and punishment that doesn’t stop, even when it should.

Ching-Po Wong and cinematographer Jimmy Wong work the camera in this film like a Gus van Sant/Akira Kurosawa lovechild. Kurosawa’s wide shots are taken to the extreme, like the panning slow-motion wide shot of a foot chase at the beginning. Van Sant’s longer-than-is-comfortable fixed shots, like several violent, spoilery shots throughout. Asian cinema in general has been doing a great job in the camerawork department recently, and this one is still innovative.

The title of the film, Revenge: A Love Story, is an ironic misnomer. Yes, the story revolves around a blossoming love at first. But gradually (pacing, not violence; the film is steadily violent throughout), the love falls away and is replaced by the pursuit of revenge made even more ludicrous by over the top death scenes and special effects. Like so many films coming out of China and Japan recently, this is a cautionary tale. Revenge is cyclical, never-ending, and ultimately costs you more than you’re willing to pay. What I like about these morality plays is they don’t smack you upside the face with the message. Unlike mainstream American audiences, not everyone needs things spelled out in clumsy dialogue. Sometimes all it takes is a wide overhead shot of two guys bleeding a lot.

This film, and many others like it lately, still raises one major philosophical question for me: Do Asian people have bones? Seriously. Either they don’t have bones, or everyone in Asian punches like a five year old girl and their bullets are made of Gobstoppers. It’s impossible to kill anyone in these movies.

FInal Grade: B+

Fighting rush hour traffic, I headed to Seattle on Thursday, June 9 for the much anticipated documentary, To Be Heard at SIFF Cinema.

Anthony, Karina, and Pearl are high school students from The Bronx, an area of New York City where kids don’t have a lot of options growing up. As Anthony puts it at the beginning, “This city isn’t helping us do shit. They just give us a basketball and a gun, and say either shoot the basket or shoot each other.” The streets are rough, and home life isn’t much better. Too much responsibility, not a lot of understanding. Abuse, both verbal and physical. This is the same area highlighted in last year’s The Lottery, where a child’s chances at a good education were luck of the draw. But these kids actually have a fighting chance, and it comes in the form of a poetry class.

Power Writing, whose director Amy Sultan is also co-director of the film, is a program that teaches people of all ages to express themselves through writing and poetry. It is an informal, intimate, judgement-free environment where they can read their poems aloud, most of which are extremely personal. The teachers (among them co-director Roland Legiardi-Laura), are realists in that they understand the world these kids come from. This isn’t Dangerous Minds or The Principal (I know, I’m old…). This is real people who’ve seen kids get lost in the system, and they’re dedicated to saving as many as they can.

It’s tough to review a film about poetry. So much of it is the experience of sitting in the room, listening to the words. While the directors and cinematographer Edwin Martinez do a great job of documenting the struggles of these three kids (who refer to themselves as “the tripod”, a label of solidarity and loyalty), this effort in cinema verite rests completely on the audience’s absorption of these words. Karina’s poems about her violent mother. Pearl’s confessions of unrequited love. Anthony’s anger with and scrutiny of a system he refuses to let keep him down. Even if the technical aspects were faulty, which they aren’t, there is a constant feeling of intimacy without intrusion that allows us, almost forces us, to fall in love with all three teenagers. We are entranced by their ability to express fear, love, and anger. We are invested in their successes and failures. This is documentary in it’s purest form, and it will change you. Maybe not politically, socially, or philosophically, maybe not in a way that’s immediately apparent. But it will change you. This is the true test of a documentary, and To Be Heard succeeds.

These transformative words, however, would have little power without a proper context. The subjects allow the filmmakers almost uninhibited access to their lives, and the filmmakers take full advantage. The inclusion of a scene where Karina and Anthony are comparing mother-inflicted wounds, or Pearl showing us around her apartment, may seem innocuous or relatively trivial. But when they are referenced later in poetry, we see the effects these trivialities have. The choice to include everything possible in this film, wins and losses, rejections and acceptance, is a spectacularly effective one. The film’s effects on the audience were palpable, and I’ve never heard so many rounds of applause at a single screening.

Final Grade: A

Q&A

After the show, directors Amy Sultan and Roland Legiardi-Laura, cinematographer Edwin Martinez, Pearl Quick, and two producers from Seattle (Again, my apologies for not remembering names. This is why you review things in a timely manner…) took the stage to discuss the film. I had realized two minutes into the film that, when I entered the theater lobby, I had squeezed past all of them in my quest for a bathroom. So I was very happy to get the chance to actually hear them speak.

This nearly decade-long project was an intense labor of love that started with the directors, spread to two producers on the opposite side of the country, and culminated in the accomplishments of the subjects. It was great hearing about every stage of the film, and where the kids are now. But the greatest moment of the evening was when an audience member finally got up the courage to ask Pearl Quick to perform a poem. After so much applause, laughter, and candid questions and answers, you could have heard a pin drop in that room as Pearl launched into an emotionally charged poem called “War Drums”. Being able to see her in the film, starting out as a nervous, insecure teenager, and afterwards as a confident, empowered girl on her way to college was a special moment that I don’t think any of us will soon forget. Thanks so much to Pearl, SIFF, the filmmakers, and a great audience for making this screening my favorite at SIFF 2011.

Keeping with the comedic air, I headed out to the Egyptian Theatre to see a documentary called, “The Redemption of General Butt Naked”. Turns out it wasn’t the study in ridiculousness I thought it’d be.

Daniele Anastasion’ and Eric Strauss’s latest documentary is about Joshua Milton Blahyi, an evangelical preacher in Liberia who preaches forgiveness and compassion. The kicker is, Joshua is a war criminal responsible for thousands of deaths during the Liberian civil war, and he used to go by the name, “General Butt Naked”.

The name is misleadingly humorous. Joshua actually believed that, when naked, he could unlock his “power” faster, and that he couldn’t be harmed by machetes or bullets. He would walk down the street with his Butt Naked Brigade (that’s not a joke) clothed only in weaponry, slaughtering combatants and bystanders alike. Now, Joshua has returned to preach the good word and ask forgiveness of the many, many people he hurt.

This documentary is respectable in that it presents a fairly unbiased look into the subject matter. Joshua killed people. He ordered people killed. He shot his own soldier in both kneecaps and locked him in a room for days, ultimately costing the young man his legs. His soldiers bashed infants against rocks because General Butt Naked said, “the son of my enemy will grow up to be my enemy”. Yet seeing Joshua on the streets of Liberia with a bible in his hand, he is articulate, remorseful, and most interesting, confident in his belief that God has forgiven him.

As we delve deeper, our initial hatred for this man is blurred. He goes into the ghetto where his ex-soldiers are living, most of them drug addicts. He cleans them up, gets them off drugs, gives them food. He takes them to Bible studies which he leads. On the surface, he’s changed. He is a completely different person.

Then things get strange. Watching Joshua on the pulpit, shouting to god, almost demanding his congregation to call on the name of Jesus, evokes the image of a General shouting orders to his troops. What could legitimately be a man consumed by the Holy Spirit also appears to be a man who is far too comfortable in a position of power.

It gets even more uncomfortable when Joshua talks with a woman whose brother he shot and killed. When he visits the home of the soldier he crippled. When he confronts a woman whose husband he killed, whose daughter he blinded in one eye. When he comes face to face with a young man who lost his entire family to Butt Naked’s bloodlust, and now has no one. You have to give him credit for being able to face his mistakes, actually look them in the eye. But is that enough?

This documentary isn’t easy to watch. Not the same way How to Die in Oregon was hard. This is hard because you don’t want to forgive Joshua. Yes, you want to believe that forgiveness is possible, that people can change. You’d like to believe that spirituality of any kind could be a transformative force. But the things this guy did…how can we? I credit the filmmakers for never actually answering that question. They do pose it, and they do make us answer it ourselves, but not once do they give us a solid “Yes” or “No”.

I really, really liked this documentary. I would definitely recommend it. However, as far as documentary filmmaking goes, I was extremely distracted by the camera work. The camera man seemed more concerned with stylizing his shots than capturing reality. There couldn’t be a single scene without a pan, a zoom, a sweep, moving to a different angle. In a film that largely succeeded in documenting without influencing, this was something that I really couldn’t ignore. Did it ruin the film for me? No. Was it an ill-conceived way of showing us reality? Absolutely. Would I still tell people to check it out? Without a doubt. But next time, I might recommend a tripod.

Final Grade: B

Wedesday, June 8. I got a chance to hang out in beautiful downtown Kirkland and check out the super small farmer’s market, followed by happy hour margaritas, before heading up to the Kirkland Performance Center to see Le bruit des glacons (The Clink of Ice). Just FYI, The Kirkland Performance Center is the only venue at SIFF, to my knowledge, that serves beer during screenings. Something to think about next year.

Charles Faulque (Jean Dujardin) is a writer. He’s also an alcoholic divorcee who’s cordoned himself off from everyone in his rustic summer house. He also has cancer. We don’t know this last part at first. Not until Albert Dupontel’s character walks right up to the gate and buzzes the intercom. The maid sees no one, and closes the gate. But on the video monitors in the house, Charles can see him plain as day. Looking into the camera, he introduces himself:

“I’m your cancer.”

Charles lets him in, and “Le cancer de Charles” proceeds to shadow him everywhere, lightheartedly reminding Charles how and when he’s going to die. To cope with his life - and impending death - Charles drinks four bottles of wine daily. He is constantly carrying around an ice bucket. In the bathroom, by the pool, at his desk. He is “constantly accompanied by the sound of clinking ice”. In the midst of his terminal midlife crisis, he’s taken Evguenia (Christa Theret), a young Russian girl, as his “lover”. But his real emotional connection slowly takes the form of his maid, Louisa (Anne Alvaro, one of the only people who is eventually able to see Charles’ unwelcome guest.

The Clink of Ice could have been a fairly successful stage play. The melodrama, the tongue-in-cheek dry French humor - there’s even soliloquies by several characters - give the entire film a fun, accessible, completely relatable stage presence. However, there are two big reasons this actually makes a better film.

First of all, the cinematography is outstanding. Kinetic tracking shots around the labyrinthine estate are fluid and tight, never devolving into distracting shaky cam. Following Charles around corners and down flights of stairs either running from or to his cancer is an emotionally dizzying experience, not a physical one. Director Bertrand Blier (How Much do you Love Me?) and cinematographer Francois Catonne master the physical space and cinematic frame, so much so that the light, breezy drama and humor are never complicated or hindered by technical craft.

The second reason this works as a film is the music. The on-location environment lends itself very well to the grandeur of the score and soundtrack. The very first scene is Cancer walking along a dirt road in the woods. The music is immediately foreboding and intense, a piano-heavy orchestral piece that would fit right in with 1960’s American Film Noir. Once in the house, the music oscillates between this and a violin/string laden tension reminiscent of 1960’s French New Wave cinema. This grandiose simplicity is further prodded by a soundtrack that includes Leonard Cohen and Nina Simone; those crafty French are full of surprises.

I admit there were times when the story, character motivations, and what appeared to be esoteric symbolism, muddied the plot a touch. The introduction of characters and changing of locations is simultaneously confusing and amusing. There’s a sex scene towards the end that is too ridiculous for me to not love it. But the way characters interact with Charles and his cancer, without being able to see Cancer, is fluid and full of brilliant comedic timing.

This is much lighter fare than I’ve had at SIFF recently. It seemed very short, but poignant comedy and talented filmmakers will always be a welcome change of pace.

Final Grade: A-

Tuesday, June 7. I managed to switch shifts at work and sneak off to a screening of Megan Griffiths’ The Off Hours. I know that’s breaking the rules, but this is a local film, shot in the Seattle area, and Lynn Shelton happens to be a producer and actress for the film. Whatever, I don’t have to defend myself to you.

This film starts off with one of my favorite opening shots at SIFF this year. It’s a shot of Francine (Amy Seimetz), a night shift waitress in an all-night diner, standing at the counter. There is one old man at a booth, the rest of the room is empty. In an era of cinema where the average shot length is 2.5 seconds, Griffiths greets us with a long, lingering shot of sheer boredom and loneliness. We are gently but immediately removed from the rest of the population and imprisoned in this generic, middle-of-nowhere watering hole for truckers and road trippers.

That is ostensibly what The Off Hours is about. People who’s lives exist on the fringes of time and civilization, in a haze of isolation and alcoholism. Francine is our apathetic, promiscuous protagonist whose escapism is normal in this community. But the story is equally about Oliver (Ross Partridge), a husband and father of two who started driving a big rig after his job at a bank dissolved. It’s about Stu (Tony Coupe), the owner of the diner and a recovering alcoholic whose failed marriage to Danielle (Shelton) overshadows his artistic talents and failed attempts to connect with his teenage daughter. It’s about Corey (Scoot McNairy), Francine’s lazy musician roommate who is also in love with her.

What I personally think this film is about at its core is the aforementioned art of escapism. Whether it’s a relationship, home life, a failing music career, the loss of a loved one, or just the pressures of everyday life, these people are running away. They are confining themselves in a world where human interaction is rare, even when you’re talking to people. However, ultimately this life takes it’s toll. The yearning for connection emerges, the reflection of your existence is depressing, and you again run away. To booze. To infidelity. To random sex. Even to unrequited love.

Production design and scene detail in Griffiths’ first feature is commendable. Every shot is brimming with purpose, every interior fully realized. Cutaways of a half-eaten birthday cake, a plastic bag stuck to a chain link fence, or two birds on a telephone wire don’t seem random; they add to the feeling of self-exile and loneliness experienced by the characters.

I imagine it’s hard as an editor to work with a project so lethargic. I would think it takes a patient realist to not get carried away with wipes or jump cuts in a film with this tone. Even if I’m wrong (which has only happened twice before), Griffiths herself does an impressive job of maintaining her vision as a director in the editing room.

My only gripe with the film is most likely a product of the cutting process. Later, in the Q&A, Megan Griffiths said that almost one third of the film was cut to make this final product. This may explain why, at times, I felt a certain disconnect with the characters. There was one short sequence of Oliver at home with the wife and kids. This set him up as more than an ancillary character, but this home life was never revisited. Stu starts out as background; the boss who’s kinda there but kinda not. Yet most of the end of act two is devoted to his relationship with his daughter and his past alcoholism. We never see Corey actually playing music (though that may have been the point), we get very mixed feelings for the guy Francine is sleeping with but not dating. I definitely understand that cutting is difficult. But while Griffiths didn’t take any of these decisions lightly, I’m confident I would’ve enjoyed watching that extra third, and spending time with characters whose arcs ultimately felt flat, despite my affection for them.

Megan Griffiths managed on her first feature to collaborate with great actors, dedicated producers, and even a key figure from the Mumblecore movement. She has a fantastic eye, an abundance of patience, and the ability to write relatable characters. I can’t wait to see what she does next.

Final Grade: B-

Q&A

After the screening, we were lucky enough to have Megan Griffiths, Lynn Shelton, Tony Coupe, and producers Lacey Leavitt and Joy Saez (my apologies, I know I’m forgetting someone here) on hand to chat with the audience. Hearing the amount of effort it took for this film to reach fruition was interesting. Five years from writing to production, losing out on a multi-million dollar budget because of the recession, all made me feel the same hometown pride as last year’s Morning. It’s great to see local filmmakers succeeding, and hearing a crowd actually take advantage and ask quality questions. Many thanks to SIFF and everyone who showed up to answer questions and share in the viewing experience.

My apologies for being two weeks late with these reviews. I may have bitten off more than I could chew in closing out SIFF this year, but I definitely had fun.

Sunday, June 5, I clocked out from work and went straight to the Egyptian Theater for an afternoon showing of Michele Placido’s new Italian gangster bio, Gli angeli del male (Angel of Evil).

In the 1970’s, Renato Vallanzasca was a Milanese celebrity. Not because he was an actor, or a politician, or a musician. He was an infamous back robber who, despite involvement in kidnappings, murder, and violent robberies, captured the attention and love of the Italian masses.

The first time we see Renato (wonderfully embodied by Kim Rossi Stuart), he is already in prison. While singing in the shower,he chastises a guard for not speaking “proper Italian” to him. He doesn’t like slang. Back in his cell, the cockroaches and the condition of the room give us a great character juxtaposition: Renato is a proper, old-fashioned Italian gangster, all but forgotten in this nondescript corner cell of nowhere by a changing world. Placido then flashes us back to Renato as a child, and pushes the film along at an alarming rate through the late ‘60’s and into the mid ‘70’s, chronicling Renato’s rise to criminal celebrity and his multiple incarcerations. From his courtship of Consuela (Valeria Solarino) to his rocky relationship with crime lord Francis Turatello (Francesco Scianna) and his lifelong friendship with Enzo (Filippo Timi), we experience a fragmented and flashy ride through the life of a good man with a capacity for extreme darkness.

After successful gangster biopics like American Gangster and Mesrine, I was really hopeful for this one. Placido got a lot of love for 2005’s Romanzo criminale, which is essentially the same film (it even starts Kim Rossi Stuart). Unfortunately, this turned out even worse than Public Enemies. Here’s the main problem:

When you do a gangster film that’s based on real events, there’s a lot of information. You have the protagonist’s upbringing. Their family life. Their love interests. Their vast or complicated criminal career. Their associates and business dealings. Their fame or infamy, public love or scorn. And the efforts of law enforcement to stop them. In Renato Vallanzasca’s case, he’s still in prison, serving four consecutive life sentences in Milan. That’s sixty years of story you have to sift through. So it takes a very intelligent writer, and a very patient, careful director to turn three decades into two hours. American Gangster did it. Scarface did it. Bonny and Clyde. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Mesrine cheated and did it in two films. But the point is, it’s doable.

Angel of Evil suffers from an extreme fragmenting, not only in plot, but in technical style. The first half is almost nonsensical in it’s depiction of random heists, romantic dates, and drug use. Even more incomprehensible are the plot jumps. One minute, we’re at a daytime heist in the middle of the street. The next, we’re in a dark club watching a character we don’t know get stabbed in the neck for an offense we never heard about. Placido’s unnecessary overindulgence in close-ups instead of medium shots also plays a part in making specific actions on screen - especially in action sequences - indistinguishable. By the time you figure out what happened to who and why, we’ve already gone through three other scenes in two other locations.

Another side effect of this story chopping is that the purpose of the film gets lost. Are we watching one man affect the entire 1970’s culture of Italy? Is it a story of a criminal trying to balance a family life? Are we focusing on his childhood friendships, his misplaced loyalties? Is it a tale of ambition? Circumstance? Angel of Evil delivers all of these elements, without focusing on any of them. One minute it’s family life, the next his best friend is a junky. But we don’t care about his best friend, because we haven’t seen much of him, and the very next scene, we’re being told how much the country loves him without ever having seen a single headline.

I may have forgiven all of this, even the distracting editing and camerawork, if they had stuck to that style the entire film. However, halfway through, the story changes gears. I won’t ruin anything, but I will say that the technical style followed suit. What started out as kinetic and fragmented suddenly flips a switch. For the rest of the film, it’s slow, steady shots with tempered scene transitions and cinematography. You could make the argument that the style followed the mental state of the main character, but it felt more like the film merely packed twice as much into the first half, and blew their load halfway through act two.

My final complaint (I promise) is the music. This is a period piece. The production design and art direction are fantastic, and really accomplish the jump back in time. I also understand that films like Marie Antoinette paved the way for modern music in period films. However, the score for this film involved a lot of heavy guitars that, though I’m not a ‘70’s Italian rock expert, sounded more like late ‘90’s industrial rock than the classic electric riffs we’re used to. The music itself wasn’t bad, but it did break apart my immersion in the film.

Stuart, Solarino, and Timi’s performances are the highlights of the film. Stuart is honest and comfortable as a man who realizes he can’t blame a horrible home life for his choices. He is fiercely loyal and accepts consequences with a stiff upper lip. Timi as a drug-addicted, loyal friend whose love of a lifestyle gets him left behind in an increasingly dangerous and complicated trade. Solarino is seductive and confident, a ball buster who’s not afraid to take on a prison warden even when she’s pregnant. Overall, these three and their solid supporting cast held their own and then some on a well-intentioned ship that sinks nonetheless.

Angel of Evil is not a horrible film. It is an interesting story about a very sympathetic character that is saved by acting and production design, but hampered by overzealous cinematography, editing, and directing. The concession that I’m more than willing to make is that often times when a foreign film is distributed in the US, they have to cut it down considerably. Americans have a really hard time sitting through a film longer than 90 minutes. Mesrine split into two films. Red Cliff did the same thing, but overseas it was released as one film. What I’m really hoping with Angel of Evil is that somewhere out there, an international cut exists that would add an hour to the film and slow down the pacing. I would love to believe the shortcomings of this film could be blamed on the American film machine. As it stands now, I think fans of Italian cinema would do better to just revisit Romanzo criminale.

Final Grade: D+

Today is going to be a good day.
Today, I will go after that promotion.
I will finally ask that cute girl at Starbucks for her number.
I will seize life by the horns.
Today is going to be a good day.

This is how normal people might start their day. They look in the mirror, amp themselves up, and convince themselves that today will be as good or better than yesterday.

I will see time happen in single file.
I will put my life in order.
I will not know what happens next.

This is how Eva (Leslie Silva) starts her day. These are her goals because, like many people in the distant-but-not-so-different future of Hollywood, Eva was born without the gene that allows her to experience time in a linear way. Past. Present. Future. She knows it all. She sees life through a “mishmash”. A kaleidoscope of omniscient flashes. Today will be no better than yesterday, because today already happened, and yesterday is happening right now.

Writer/Director Mia Trachinger’s new film, Reversion, forces us awake in a world where the ability to know the future is seen as an “affliction”, and its victims are seen as mutants by the rest of the population. Morality has all but disintegrated amongst these mutants, resulting in anarchy. When you know how you’re going to die, paying for your groceries seems trivial, stealing someone’s car inconsequential. But what starts as a subtle study in causality quickly shifts gears when Eva meets Marcus (Jason Olive). Simultaneously intimate and unfamiliar, Eva and Marcus already know their story. They know they will go on a journey. They know they will fall in love. They know the end before they even start. Marcus is calm, almost apathetic, about the future. Eva refuses to accept it. Causality blends into predestination, and freedom of choice is blurred with futility as we follow these two in literal and figurative circles from West Hollywood to the beach and back in an effort to change events that have already happened.

I’ve seen this film twice now. I love the writing. Lines like “I can never fall in love with anybody. I’m in love always. With everybody.” push the film to a David Mamet-esque pacing that feeds off random violence and flashes of exposition you have to run to keep up with. I love the direction. Trachinger’s kinetic storytelling, even when the camera is still, draws us into the “mishmash”. Every scene, from the lighting to the set details, is an amazing visual experience. I love the editing. Mischa Livingstone makes an art form out of jump cuts that allows the characters to have a continuous conversation in three different locations at two different times, without ever becoming too confusing. I love the one-two combo of Patricia Lee’s fidgety-yet-focused cinematography and Jonathan Snipes’ nerve-grating music. I love the fact that I could completely relate to and feel for these people I couldn’t possibly understand, and I felt a surreal empathy as I watched them struggle with their memories of the future, their anxiety over the present, and their imprisonment in the past. I love it all.

But to me, the test of a truly great film, be it indie or mainstream, is how long you can talk about it afterwards. I could talk about Reversion for days. Is everything futile because the characters know what’s going to happen? Is nothing trivial because our futures are a product of innocuous causalities, like stealing a gun from a random passerby? If we know the future, do we really have free will? Or does seeing the end first actually push our free will towards a climax we can’t possibly avoid because of who we are? If you were on a journey through a world that didn’t understand you, moving towards an outcome you didn’t want, would you take refuge at the beach where cause and effect cease to exist? Or would you push on because that’s who you are; that’s your destiny.

The fact that all of this is packed into a lean 72 minutes might seem daunting. It might sound like the film is bursting at the seams, overly-complicated, messy. Trust me, it’s not. Granted, this is definitely not pedestrian indie cinema, or even the lighter side of sci-fi. This is an involved, engaging, intellectual nesting doll of social and philosophical ideas that will require your undivided attention every minute it’s on screen, and for hours after it’s over.

Reversion had its wide premiere today in New York. It’ll be playing tonight and tomorrow (June 10 & 11, 7pm & 10pm) at the Rerun Theater (147 Front Street (Mezzanine), Brooklyn, NY 11201). As a special bonus, Writer/Director Mia Trachinger will be present for Q&A’s after the screenings, so throw her some good questions!

Check out the film’s official site here.

Thanks so much to Shaun Homsapaya and Mia Trachinger for the chance to revisit this film and give my two cents.

Returning to the scene of the crime, I managed to get to The Egyptian Theater 15 minutes late for the US premiere screening of Wir sind die Nacht (We Are the Night)

Lena (Karoline Herfurth) is a young woman in Berlin, lost in life and moving from club to club with the occasional one night stand and misdemeanor offense in between. One night she meets Louise (Nina Hoss) at a club. After a little dancing, Louise follows Lena into the bathroom. She tells her there’s something special about her. Then she pops fangs, and sinks them into Lena’s neck.

Throughout the night, Lena’s transformation takes a very physical toll. She heads back to the club to find Louise and two other women. She wants answers. But we already know: she’s a vampire. Hooking up with the three vixens, Lena jumps into a world of unlimited materialism, hedonism, and immortality. But we know these things never last.

Writer/Director Dennis Gansel and writer Jan Berger manage to turn what on the surface appears to be a very generic vampire film into and interesting and entertaining experience. Their mythology has all the male vampires dying out long ago. Apparently they were too greedy, lazy, and arrogant. Now, there are only 40 or so female vampires in Europe; only a few hundred in the world. Essentially, this is a German female’s equivalent of The Lost Boys. They have unlimited cash, allowing them to buy their way into after hours shopping sprees at expensive stores. They steal cars, and race in autobahn tunnels (a Maserati, a ‘69 Mustang, a Rolls Royce, and a Lamborghini. I wanna be a vampire…). They break into observatories to play in fake sunlight and sit beside manmade lagoons. One of my favorite parts shows the girls staying up every night to watch the sun rise. They stand on balconies and wait as long as possible before diving inside. It always ends in giggling, but it’s a solemn, almost reverent experience that adds a little more depth to the characters.

Though I’m sure I missed some cool vamp action in the opening scenes, I thought it was an interesting choice (or maybe just a rating issue) that a lot of the violence in this film occurs off screen. You hear screams, or see a facial expression. Most of the bloodshed is left to your imagination. Even towards the end, what could have been a flashy, violent massacre with a killer soundtrack focused more on the main character’s emotional situation. Interesting choices that may not work for some, but I appreciated them.

Unfortunately, the film does have its shortcomings. The visual effects are actually pretty well done. Several scenes involve the girls walking up walls and on ceilings. There’s a fight sequence near the end very similar to the hotel scene in Inception. The way these and other scenes were set up, I personally wouldn’t pin any negatives on the director; he seems to have an eye for visuals and scene structure. These cool scenes, however, are marred by camera movements and editing that is too quick for us to appreciate them. I honestly can’t tell if the editor saved the film from a horrible cinematographer, or if he rushed and basically ruined what could have been awesome scenes. Either way, it was a shame to see great ideas fall short of full realization.

I also blame this phantom culprit for a scene at the end of act two that, without spoiling things, should have been an emotional moment for all of the girls; one that snapped them back to reality and exposed the vulnerability they spent so many nights repressing. Again, the visuals were on point. And again, the pacing of the shots caused the scene’s intended affects to taper off too quickly.

There are a lot of standards here. The typical transformation, where wounds, tattoos, and physical imperfections are shed like old skin. The main character’s discomfort with feeding. The unease with which she interacts with her maker. Each of the four girls embodies what has now become a list of vampire archetypes that rivals Jungian psychology. A love interest that can’t be allowed into their world. These standards are there for a reason: they work for most vampire films, and I suspect they’ll always be there. We are the Night features some solid acting, some well-written characters and emotional arcs, and a handful of cool, standout scenes that I hope will be counted among the greats. Don’t’ go in expecting stunning originality. But if you enjoy foreign cinema and vampire fun, this is a worthwhile foray into both, and I’m happy with it.

Final Grade: B