[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp- content/uploads/2010/06/heroinhymnstill.jpg)While Okie Shorts provided some great works this year (such as the comedy sketch _My Own Prometheus _about morning coffee and multiple morning identities, or the much talked about faux- documentary Faith Healer, who’s documented protagonists leaving a project reveals less about the film than the metaphor for audience and film-subject relationship), my interest was in two shorts that made analyses of Oklahoma a primary part of their structure.

Jerry Melichar’s Landlocked is a confidently executed piece that follows a Tulsa high-school biology teacher, Martha Hall, who is driven more by her passion of the aquatic than as an educator. The plot, revolving around a resentful student’s false accusation about Hall embezzling class trip funds to a Florida aquatic center, suggests larger political influences. Martha Hall is trapped within a financial context in which there is no support for educational engagement for students (something both regionally and nationally specific), but she is guilty of imposing her desires of escape within this field trip that conflicts with education’s primary selfless purpose. With Hall’s apathetic and violent daydreams, the film also suggests that in these times of educational poverty educators are just as prone to moments of dangerous explosion as any kids with weapons. The subtext of financial struggle urges a resolve over complaints of high taxes and problematic budget allocation that does not result in escapeing the “brain drain” of not just graduates, but educators. While the film’s ending is satisfactory in Hall’s eventual escape, it satirically implicates our sympathy as apathy –perhaps the real reason behind any educational budgetary problem is our own indecision and inaction, resulting in our criminal complicity with Hall at the end of the film.

Patrick George’s Heroin Hymn is described as a poetic tale about the homeless in downtown Oklahoma City, but there is a realism that underlies the physical context of the narrative that is implicitly critical as much as it is emotionally sympathetic. We follow a homeless couple who place their disease of addiction before their own abilities to anticipate safety and needs in a series of scenes that are quite familiar: panicked cravings, begging and scheming for drug satisfaction, prostitution, and emotionally unstable conflicts between addicted partners. While these are situations seen in many drug pictures, it’s the talents of Kevin Pollard and Andrea Moser that allow these moments to take on an immediate presence and emotional weight. The locations of the work also present a keen eye towards describing an Oklahoma City landscape that is often relegated to more exploitive genre works rather than the more quiet and contemplative exploration of the hidden imagery of the city. These sections of the city are “projects” for commercial update, and George is able to describe the flip side of such development, that of both dependence and dismissal. These characters are caught between those incoming classes that begin to enable their habits through sexual or drug transactions, and the refusal to empower or support them through any assistance supplied by organizations in these areas. The world drafted in Hymn depicts no supportive activities, and suggests these necessary needs of transition from overlooked landscape to a ‘revised’ neighborhood can result in the symptoms of these characters: isolation, dependence, and ultimately death. The last place to which these characters can turn are the hidden apartment rooms where deals go bad, and lost dreams never find their redemption. Although the humanistic execution of Hymn implies these thoughts, the work could be expanded upon to balance out the argument, and potentially deepen the power of the piece, through more explicit scenes that addresses the daily ramifications of gentrification, commercial redistricting, drug market and the limitations of local organization support.

[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp- content/uploads/2010/06/FILM_deadCENTERX.jpg)A series of great shorts that redefine the manner in which “kids work’ is compared with “professional,” one in which “kid/student” is simply an age level rather than a definition of cinematic ability of expression or articulation.

Amy Bench’s work In this Place at first glance suggest a rudimentary application of graphic compositing, as a young woman shifts through background layouts of bright and exotic locations. We come to learn that Jane, a young explorer, is simply finding the means of escape from the low contrast, and more realistically photographed, 35mm footage with her mind’s eye of exploration in bright HD imagery. While this juxtaposition in itself holds a fascinating approach towards these two mediums and their relationship with young filmmakers, it also provides a justification for these compositing techniques that imply this artifice is of the love and excitement of imagination. Jane’s boring conversations with her condescending older brothers further perpetuates her desires for escapism, but when she attempts to develop her imaginary travels through video distribution, the distributor tells her the material is unrealistic and overly amateurish. Jane focuses her skills as a dreamer and video-maker to delight and reconnect her family through a love video made specifically for them, as she brings them into the emotionally bright HD footage away from the oppressive and dreary 35mm realism, bridging the gap between the optimistic visions of youth and falsely-imposed definitions of cinematic quality.

Temple Tucker’s The Ribbon captures the delicate balance of young imagination’s existence through thoughtful cinematic composition that relies on tasteful and tactile imagery as well as contemplative moments of what would otherwise be an overly internalized world. The young girl, who almost waits for the departure of her mother to explore the situations in her mind, beckons for a spark of inspiration that can take her beyond the confines of her quotidian day-dreams. A fascinating moment finds the young girl performing shadow puppetry of sword-yielding maidens fighting dinosaurs that ends in a burning at the stake. Though these moments suggest dark undertones of self- deprecation and social ostracization, they are important contrasts of imagination to the beloved pink ribbon that takes her to playgrounds of packed excitement and possibilities. The complicated depiction of a child’s fears meshed with their dreams are the result of amazing observation of a child’s wonder.

Three great and fascinating shorts by young filmmaker Bunee Tomlinson suggest he is quickly becoming one of Oklahoma’s most prolific and talented young filmmakers to watch, two of which are not to miss:

His first film, Mom’s Favorite Vase is a unique coming-of-age buddy comedy of two young preteens whom break a vase while mom is busy in another room. They spend their day piecing together this vase in hopes of mom overlooking its ruined stature, only to come to futility. The smartest choices about this film are it’s clear character building between the audience and these young boys, whom surprise you with every moment of the expression of frustrations beyond their years, which further removes them from the day’s playtime to complete this project in hiding.

Without a Doubt, Tomlinson’s next short follows a decision of love-choice between two suitors: a teenage pen-pal, or current teenage boyfriend. The film is funny because of its balance of awkward teenage love and a real emotional underpinning of excited new connections, but it is also amazingly able to maintain a charm and innocence in every gesture and call for “love” by the washout pen pal, who’s performance leaves no doubt he firmly believes in romantic clichés despite the failures of it’s affect.

[](http://www.candlerblog.com /wp-content/uploads/2010/06/20651_296145263820_296129823820_3400990_6766818_n. jpg)Lagueria Davis’ 1 in 3 is not so much a depiction of Lifetime- melodrama nor the exploitive horrors that are common in domestic abuse thrillers, but a more realistic drafting of the possibilities of subtle daily domestic violence. As a first feature, 1 in 3 is prone to raw craft, but it is the passion and careful intention of the film’s depiction of fear in domestic violence that allows the film to convey its message of strength and validate social advocacy.

An initial courtroom scene between Sydell, social service advocate, and her domestic violence client Angie defines several key concepts behind the film. As the judge hears another case, Sydell and Angie share a private dialogue through the passing of paper and pen. What Angie reveals is a fear of her abusive husband despite the safety of legal decisions. Though she may recognize the authority of the legal procedures, the fact remains that Angie’s voice is denied and the ramifications of this moment extend beyond the courtroom of rules. Angie’s husband not only proves the limits of legal restrictions when he pulls out a gun in a later scene, but also ignites the recognition of the realities behind Sydell’s job: a legal resolution does not stop the possibilities of violence, and perhaps forces an unintended silence of victims. While this sequence of events results in dramatic violence at the hands of a male aggressor and gunplay, the film reveals the forms of violence only begin with the physical and extend into one’s own complicity when fears become the driving force of daily decisions.

Sydell and Angie are two of three women the film follows, and upper-class married Ophelia is the third. While Sydell confronts issues with intelligent contemplation and smart retort, Ophelia is a character of action. Battle preparations of hidden car keys and pill bottles anticipate her husband’s violent outbursts, just as they also reveal her acceptance of this violence as habit. Natasha Barron’s articulate performance of subtle gesture and hidden thought provide a believable character who’s torn between the love of her family and the painful relationship she’s had to endure. While it is Barron’s command as an actress that allows for a believable confrontation between the two strong characters Ophelia and Sydell, Davis has not drafted enough scenes of Ophelia’s struggle between the love for a husband when he is good and the horror of an abuser when he is bad. Such scenes would heighten and clarify the reasons behind the difficulty of leaving a spouse, especially if they are an abuser.

All shortcomings aside, the strength of the film is how Davis conveys the complicity that one’s own fear plays in the role of victim in any problematic relationship. While Sydell does not have a history of domestic violence, she is able to strongly advocate for the validity of a victim’s emotions as well as support their acceptance of violence in their own lives – both key necessities of domestic violence advocates. Though Sydell is strong in her beliefs, only once Ophelia questions her authority in group therapy does Sydell appear to be hypocritical. Sydell’s own fears inhibit her decision making process when it comes to letting her guard down when finding a mate. As Sydell comes to recognize her internalization of fear has blocked her ability to find happiness, the viewer is able to identify Sydell as struggling with the same inhibitions Ophelia does when asked to verbally recognize her own abuse. These two women suddenly share a similar struggle of fear’s powerful grasp over one’s identity, and close the bridge between Ophelia’s question of authority and Sydell’s limited domestic violence memory. This conflicted depiction of Sydell breaks down the often either/or cinematic depiction of the social worker as an overly emotional bleeding heart or the cold-hearted lover of government red-tape. This bridge between Sydell and Ophelia should hopefully instill a comfort for those victims who question the sympathy of their advocates, suggesting they too are overtaken by the fragile nature of one’s fear and guilt.

[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/the- terrible-thing-of-alpha-9.jpg)While these shorts provide for some great laughs, it’s the smart choices from intelligent directors that make these funny moments meaningful and memorable beyond their short duration.

Starting off the comedy block is commercial director Jeremy Berger’s The Van, which is able to provide some laughter due to it’s confident style and juxtaposition of Herman Melville’s poetics with a more crass modern humor. Although the image of a blow-up sex toy is paired with Moby Dick’s narrator description of his unhindered history of exploits plays on the social comedy of manners, the film unfortunately hit’s it’s peak. The chase between a biker messenger and the “white van” that assaults bikers is reliant upon technical proficiency rather than motivated by the psychological or emotional complexity of Melville. Perhaps what is lacking is the reason behind the pairing of the text of Moby Dick within the world of the bike-messenger that would really take the work into more complicated jokes, and perhaps become a more biting satire of contemporary eco-business warfare.

Remington Dewan’s The Lemonade Stand, on the other hand, is able to clearly design the metaphor of young business within a young teenager’s first neighborhood lemonade stand. What makes Dewan’s film stronger is a protagonist whose motivations are clear: pseudo-hip business lingo and the addictive game of profit margins is what excites the young entrepreneur, so much she’s invited her friend to join her in this excitement. The Lemonade Stand is thus able to clearly lay out the conflict strongly present in contemporary comedies like NBC’s The Office, where the successful business is in conflict with simple humanity.  In the end, the young protagonist confronts the limits of business, and stands up for her friend when a competing water stand dismisses the emotions of her friend. Humanity overcomes the shrewd coming of age business story.

Wasting Daylight, the mockumentary of social activists against Daylight Savings Time is conceptually funny and provides not only the strongest contender of character humor, but also the strongest performances of the comedy block. The strength of the short is it’s ability to quickly hone characters beyond the talking heads format and convey a strong and clear sense of character and personality, allowing for very successful humor to naturally spring from clashes of personality types rather than situations or visual gags. While this short has the strongest character direction, it lingers the longest. The concept of these personality conflicts is clear, but more reliance upon the audience to catch on to each character’s personal agenda could be given, especially due to the strength of Joe Parker’s choices going into the shooting and his confident handling of back story with the performers.

Although Oklahoman Terry Holloway’s The Robbery is quick and sweet, it does take a moment to realize when and what the joke is, but this is what makes the film’s humor so inventive and funny! With visual homages to the indie filmmaking of the nineties, this short sketch delivers a situation so succinctly through carefully crafted physical gags and jokes, because of its short duration it’s easy to dismiss the maturity of these decisions. The cues and pace of the film direct my attention so clearly, I am not only able to understand and empathize with a character that is so quickly introduced, but I’m also able to anticipate the character’s actions in such limited amounts of time that the moment the actions occur it’s as if I’ve willed the character to do my bidding –and thus my participation in the joke makes for the unique and clever comedy that reminds me of Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton.

The sweetest comedy, also playing in the Animation block of shorts, is The Terrible Thing of Alpha 9! from Ugly Americans/Superjail animator Jake Armstrong. While the animation’s design is hip and beautiful, it’s the implicit commentary against “invade and conquer” that allows for a surprising subtly in emotion when an alien monster with a reputation of evil turns out to be as loving and loyal as a puppy. While the moment of the alien headhunter’s violent death treads distasteful waters (its execution could be seen as playing up the violence for drama and joke), it is the alien monster’s despair at the loss of this life that lifts this cartoon violence into bittersweet pity.

[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06 /matt-hoffman-flys-590x418.jpg)Although the dominance of ESPN over the concept of this documentary is so powerful, Jackass director Jeff Tremaine and editor Seth Casriel found ways to both defy and utilize the network’s clean format and structure while also presenting some incredible historical footage that places Matt Hoffman’s BMX footage into new light, and perhaps brings us the closest to the mortality of Hoffman’s unique biking style.

One of the most unique kinds of video work is hardcore bike and skate videos, one of my favorite genre of filmmaking. Such works impart a true love of a craft (in this case, biking) and often become overlooked by those who don’t share the same interest, nor know exactly at what it is they’re looking when such footage is presented to them without context. Yet, there is little that rivals such work in its ability to capture the harsh truths and intense passion of any particular, and fleeting, “moment”. While Tremaine and Casriel are able to incorporate such amazing footage, it is the way in which they are able to craft the reasons for such footage’s appeal that makes this documentary shine beyond a possibly rigid talking-head format.

Matt Hoffman, the BMX mad-man/sports star upon who’s career story the documentary focuses, is someone who defines the documentary’s structure in his proclamation that with any successful highs comes the possibilities of a hard landing. As soon as we’re introduced to this philosophy, we find some amazing trick jumps through some very incredibly captured documentation. The stunts become entrancing, and the ability to predict the physical outcome becomes tantamount in these moments. Often when shots are about to display a landing we cut to another successful jump. The implicit feeling of achievement, success, and unhindered possibilities are at the forefront of the documentary’s first third. Only once we feel a sense of Hoffman’s invincibility are we introduced to the falls that come with these jumps, and with each clip we find more and more footage depicts a hand land or crash. While this footage seems more of the harsh reality of physics, it is also an expected element of any great bike video. The successful ramp slides and jumps are contrasted with the real moments of impending mortality, suddenly it’s clear what Hoffman is attempting to escape –not necessarily his own historical records, nor even the limits of his own sport: it is feeling of freedom from the pain and suffrage that comes in a moment after the fall.

This incredible footage also becomes the expected truth through Hoffman’s actual practice footage, footage that was before publicly unseen. This footage brings forth an intimacy not only with Hoffman’s personal practice routine, but with the real possibility of pain in a crash or fall. With the clean and smooth footage of ESPN coverage, or a news crew documentation, comes the safety of a sport’s completion. There’s always the possibility of another take or immediate medical assistance at an event at which participants have spent months practicing. Stripped of these safeties, these practice videos get us so close to the moments of possible failure that Hoffman’s mortality becomes our own –will he make the jump when he’s still yet figuring out the trick? Such incredible moments provide for a real connection that goes beyond ESPN historical footage. These moments are such a treasure for such a notable figure.

As well as his practice footage, we are given a moment-by-moment account surrounding one of Hoffman’s most painful landings that results in extreme physical aftershock from an attempt to jump a thirty-foot ramp before television crews in the early 2000s. The strict ESPN structure and format are suddenly broken down in a moment so clearly captured that all talking heads are forgotten, and all we are left with are the real fears of Hoffman’s life, perhaps the closest we’ll possibly come to grasping the real fears that occur within the head of a biker after the height of a world record jump.

Tremaine has crafted together many great interviews, but what contrasts these clean, and almost overly sterile moments, are some amazingly personal footage and moments that define not only the highs of a careers, but the pains that comes with these humanizing lows.

I don’t make much secret about being an avid reader of the New York Times movie reviews. Though my blogging brethren (and [sistren](http://www.askoxford .com/asktheexperts/faq/aboutwords/brethren?view=uk)) offer prime insight, I came of age as a critic reading A.O. Scott and Manohla Dargis, oscillating between loving and hating them as my allegiances and beliefs have grown over the years. This week, Manohla added to the conversation surrounding Sex and the City 2, which was reviewed for the Times by Mr. Scott. We rarely get to see the opinion of both critics save for year-end roundups, so this is an extra treat so close to release.

I haven’t seen SATC2 yet, so one really ought to take my thoughts with a grain of salt. I’ve enjoyed the smattering of episodes of the series that I’ve seen and I found the first film funny, if grating. New York on film holds a place dear to my heart. It seems even its most gifted celluloid sculptors have had trouble reproducing it in the last decade (I’m talking to you, Woody Allen). The dialogue around this latest fantasia, as Ms. Dargis points out, is largely related to questions of ethnocentricity and racial sensitivities:

To borrow a tactic from the TV show, which invariably featured Carrie posing the week’s Big Question to her readers: Was “Sex” actually 50 percent worse the second time around? Not from where I was seated, though I happily concede that the sequel is about as bad as the original. They’re just lousy in different ways. The new sex puns (“Lawrence of my labia”) are as wince inducing as the old, and Mr. King’s direction remains strictly small screen. What has changed are the locations: in the first film, the friends visit Mexico (funny!), but this time, they yuk it up in the Middle East (not funny!). But what has really changed? The characters, the critics, the context: how quickly yesterday’s pleasure can pop, just like an economic bubble.

I have to agree with her. Like Michael Bay’s Transformers 2 before it, this film makes the perfect target for any number of derisions. Mexico is funny because we don’t mind getting a little racist when it comes to our neighbors to the south. When it comes to the Middle East, we tread softly because of national tensions and, honestly, personal fears. So I’ll give Manohla, and this film, that much.

Where I get annoyed, however, is in her closing:

This and other scenes of the women with Muslims are often awkward, though that’s partly a function of Mr. King’s direction. Yet there’s also something touching about a few of these encounters, as when the women wonder how you eat fries when you’re wearing a veil, a question that strikes me as an uncharacteristically honest admission of difference in a mainstream American movie. Too bad the women weren’t guys and went to Las Vegas, where they could have indulged in the kind of critically sanctioned masculine political incorrectness that made “The Hangover” such a darling.

[I did not like ](http://www.candlerblog.com/2009/06/07/review-the- hangover/)[The Hangover](http://www.candlerblog.com/2009/06/07/review-the- hangover/)[ all that much](http://www.candlerblog.com/2009/06/07/review-the- hangover/), and I completely agree with her sentiment that masculine stupidity often goes unquestioned onscreen. However, that doesn’t exactly make for much of an excuse. The first Sex and the City film was lauded for its ability to rake in millions while boasting a cast of female leads, a rarity in this business. The same goes for the show, though it should be noted that today (not in 1998 when the show first aired) women are in control of television programming in a big way. Phenomena like Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives are a testament to this shift.

Regardless, does the status of Carrie and pals offer leeway on their level of political correctness? For my part, no. Nor should it let The Hangover guys off the hook, but the difference there seems to be that that film knew exactly what it wanted to be. If SATC2 actually is a bad film, then hopefully it is a bad film on merit alone. We should not forget that we now live in a world where a woman has won an Oscar for Best Director, and for a film with no female leads. I think it is short sighted to chalk negative reactions up to critical sexism.

But I haven’t seen the film and I’m a dude, so what do I know?

[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp- content/uploads/2010/05/boxeeondroid.png)Last week, Google announced a new product called GoogleTV, a software platform that lets you watch video from the web on your big shiny television in the living room. This is something I’ve been doing since late 2008 by plugging my laptop into my TV and launching Boxee, a free piece of software that does almost exactly what GoogleTV purports to do. This past February I had a [great chat with Andrew Kippen of Boxee](http://www.candlerblog.com/2010/02/24/candlercast-9-thinking-out-of- the-boxee-with-andrew-kippen/) about their software and the future of media delivery. As I digested Google’s announcement, I couldn’t help but wonder what Boxee was thinking about this. So I emailed Andrew, and this is what he had to say:

We obviously followed the [GoogleTV] announcement and the demo. We think that it would be great to see an open OS such as Android gain market share in the living room. It would enable users to download Boxee on their TV (we will be building an Android-based App) and start using it without the hassle of connecting their computer to the TV.

We have somewhat of a different view of browsing the web on TV. While it was a big part of the Google Demo we believe browsing the web as-is makes more sense on laptops and mobile devices (due to their personal nature, the screen size and the input device) than it does on TV. We look forward to playing with the TV and working with them to bringing Boxee to Android devices.

I wanted to make sure I read that correctly. I’ve heard they are working on an Android remote app similar to the one they have on the iPhone, but this sounds like something different:

You read correctly.  if there’s a TV platform running on TVs that can deliver a great Boxee experience then we want to be there. That** means we’re looking at developing an Android App version of Boxee for the upcoming Google TV.** [emphasis added]

Whoa. That’s kind of a big surprise, and an exciting one for both consumers and content makers. Google announced partnerships with Dish, Sony, Adobe, Logitech, Intel and Best Buy, so it may seem as though Boxee is facing an insurmountable foe. However it is important to remember the company’s history. The software gained prominence once it found its way onto the AppleTV, which at first was a questionable install (it is still only supported by a third party). Boxee essentially beat Apple, one of the most powerful and litigious tech companies around, at its own game by bringing internet video to the television set. Andrew’s assurance that they will bring the software to the Android platform is an indication that history will repeat itself. Boxee will be anywhere where software can run and consumers will be able to choose how they want to view content. Now that I know that, I am far more excited for this new platform.

(Graphic in this post is a combination of Google’s Andorid Logo and Boxee’s Logo)

Just wanted to jot down a few quick thoughts on Todd McCarthy’s recent announcement that he is joining the indieWIRE blog network. As you may recall, [Todd lost his job as Variety’s chief film critic](http://blogs.indiew ire.com/thompsononhollywood/2010/03/08/variety_lays_off_its_lifes_blood_critic s_mccarthy_and_rooney/) the day after the Oscars this year. As a result, the press exploded with opinions on the death of film criticism, with the usual culprit being the online blogger/critic. Now, Todd has found a home online, the very land that supposedly caused his undoing.

Bet you idiots feel pretty stupid now.

There really is no better fit for Mr. McCarthy than indieWIRE, a network that has defined and redefined the online cinema magazine/trade publication time and time again. The real loser here is Variety, who has taken nearly every misstep possible in the age of internet journalism. Their pay wall will eventually be their undoing, but by literally handing their golden boy to the free competition, Variety seems to have put the nail in their own coffin.

Mainly, I would like to say welcome, Todd; the ’net is happy to have you. I have no doubt that you will enjoy an online career as exciting as Roger Ebert or David Bordwell. Film journalism, and especially criticism, is not dead but alive and well online. If ever we see a weakening in the art of film writing, we can only blame ourselves. The internet has nothing to do with it.

(If you’ve been wondering where I am, all my film writing is at the candler blog, but you can also see my work peppered on Greencine Guru, Heeb Magazine, and NachosNY.)

[](http://www.candlerblog.com/wp- content/uploads/2010/04/tesuothebulletman.jpg)In preparation for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, I cozied up with a copy of Tetsuo: The Iron Man, director Shinya Tsukamoto’s 1989 sci-fi mindfuck. The film holds its own as a low budget visual masterpiece, sporting only a handful of dialogue, impressive prosthetics and a phenomenal, pounding soundtrack. With the third film in the series, Tetsuo: The Bullet Man, Tsukamoto keeps the material anything but stale, but his form has suffered gravely over the years. While the film’s concept is solid (man turns into gun) there is far too much time wasted on narrative, an odd complaint to say the least.

In general, I deride films for poor narrative structure (a festival disease, if you ask me), but the thing about the original Tetsuo is that the story is told so vividly through the visuals, that things like character and plot development rightfully fall to the wayside. Fantastic, horrific events just occur in front of you, inexplicably. There was an arc, but it manifested itself in the amount of iron that sprung out of the hero’s body.

Tetsuo: The Bullet Man gets off to a clean start. Anthony, our hero, is obviously going through some kind of mechanical change. After the death of his son, he turns into a gun, meaning if you get him angry enough, rounds of bullets shoot out of his chest. Since assassins are chasing him, he gets angry a lot, so he turns into an even bigger gun. The “bullet man” costume is nice. It is all mechanical, with only a few (possibly) digital flourishes towards the end of the film. It’s impossible to explain what the iron and brimstone costume actually looks like, but it’s quite wonderful.

Here’s the problem. This film is mired in back story, for no reason! It truly is enough to know that Anthony is slowly turning into a monster, but we spend more than half the film building up his history. Why is he turning into a gun? He’s basically an android love child…blah blah blah. There is a ridiculous amount of time spent on this, leaving us with only about twenty decent minutes of movie. Now it’s true that those minutes are pretty great, but the remainder is completely boring.

All that being said, Tetsuo: The Bullet Man does stand as a pretty decent example of what a low budget sci-fi looks like in 2010. Tsukamoto makes excellent use of a rolling video shutter and snap zooms, giving us a frenetic look that couldn’t exist a decade ago. There is no questions that he took great strides to push his limits, but the slow and confused narrative makes it a tough 74 minutes to sit through. If you are a Tetsuo fan, you’ll still fine something to love nonetheless.

The British film The Infidel just reached American shores this week at the Tribeca Film Festival here in New York City. The irreverent comedy is about a Muslim who learns he is adopted and his parents are in fact Jewish. What ensues is a delightful comedy of errors that delves into the murkier depths of religious and ethnic stereotypes. You can read my full review over at Heeb Magazine.

I was able to get some face time with four people connected to the film. Josh Appignanesi is the film’s director and David Baddiel wrote the script. The two offered up some deadpan wisdom on the weighty subject their film deals with. The bulk of my questions (as you’ll hear) focus on reactions to the film and whether or not it is controversial. Both Baddiel and Appignanesi are passionate about their creative choices and the power of comedy in the most uncomfortable of social conversations. They say it better, so definitely check it out.

Omid Djalili and Richard Schiff, the film’s stars, are similarly serious when it comes to discussing The Infidel. Schiff, who is most well known in the states for his role as Toby Ziegler on The West Wing, takes particular offense at having any of his roles, including that of Lenny in The Infidel, labeled as stereotypically Jewish. The two exhude a comic energy that made it difficult for me to keep a straight face while chatting them up. Especially at the end of our talk, the two go off on the provenance of a few racial epithets. It is quite hilarious.

As always, I’ve said too much. Just click play already.

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