fter all the election brouhaha of this past month, entertainment has been a blessed relief.  Some would say the election has been entertainment but I take a less cynical view.

Although as usual I saw many films, the big news was my son Sam Worf debuting as an animator on a local feature Tragos, the late show at a Berkeley art house. An enthusiastic crowd stayed way past midnight to chat with filmmaker Antero Alli.  His "video film" did not have the production values that he quite wanted -- there were some focus problems with the projector, so he did apologize and hoped we would not hold it against him. Nit picking aside, the film was a fascinating look at technology/mysticism/relationships with strong performances especially from the men, a cool original soundtrack and some fine animating. Distribution being a chronic annoyance for indies, I don't know where you'll see it, but of course there's always streaming video.

I have to go see some big-ticket items, so I chose Bagger Vance. I was only disappointed by Matt Damon's shiny teeth and Charlize Theron's southern doofiness (just found out she's South African, so that makes Britain & Australia & now S. Africa one-upping the USActress) How could she just go up & kiss him like that not knowing where his mouth had been for 10 years. And was this "Driving Matt Damon"? Geez I don't know, is the wrong to be comforted by a black character the way Will Smith's caddie does you? And if we are talking comfort, for the sake of the big screen does Matt Damon's twin brother Ben Affleck get to console Gwyneth Paltrow in Bounce just for our voyeuristic pleasure since they used to be girlfriend boyfriend?  This film felt to me like Standard Crap, sorry, storyline completely expedient.  I admit I went to see it because I was a widow and I like Gwynnie, but where was the truth? Bad enough that within a year of her husband's death she's apparently over him enough to begin life again with Ben, but those two little boys are cardboard cutouts compared to the real thing, trust me. Blecch!  So let's look at a real family. Cinematically, Requiem for a Dream gives Blair Witch a run for the money.  There are more unsettling camera angles & vertiginous pans than that little indie ever dreamed of.  This is big time. Perhaps so much so that it may be a candidate for 'love it or hate it'. I loved it.  Local paper asks how could Burstyn let us see her like that?  How could she stand it? There are lots of precedents.  Remember the end of Klute: tight shot of Jane Fonda hearing her friend's death approach, she lets her eyes fill and her nose run. I think the question is did the filmmakers take advantage of their actress, humiliate her.  My opinion is that they did not;  far more disgraceful to end up with smeary, overmade-up actresses so that the shot to shot continuity is ridiculous, all for the sake of even (not) skintones. How about raccoon eyes to cover up those late nights...Jeanne Moreau had a great line in Summer House: looking at herself in the mirror "God, what a hag!"  Actually, European actresses have it over Hollywood any day in the truth department. Solas boasts some gritty performances, especially Maria Galiana as the stoic mother.  Body like a sack full of hammer handles, but what heart!  We know all this already, we just have to go for the Bright Smile look. Documentarians as a rule don't end up with that problem. Their subjects aren't prettied up. In Dark Days our New York subway tunnels are populated by folks who rarely see the light of day, except to sell stuff or scavenge. They're white, Latino, black, male & female, all sharing the misery of living with rats & mold & freezing temperatures. A stunning sequence captures Dee smoking crack & looking twice her age, then miserably admitting that losing her children & her chance to be a mother in life has driven her to the edge. Her swollen face suddenly looks like it once must have been well cherished by her babies.  There is a surprising vein of humor in this film, shot over two years amongst the denizens, and look out for the unexpected end.  We do not get that satisfaction from Allie Light's latest doc Blind Spot.  She and her crew prepped themselves well & were not always met with commensurate success. They take a look at women who are in prison for murder in our country. Apparently, there are many states, including California, where interviews are not allowed. The inmates they do get were given two hours access including setup & breakdown, to tell their stories, then it's out the door. This gives the film an oddly unsatisfying quality. That and the 'reenactments' that Allie Light insists on including, distanced me from the subject.  In the Q & A, the filmmakers' daughter who was the producer, appeared competent, polished & comfortable. I guess my wish would be for maybe less attention to the soundtrack & the cutaway visuals. I wanted to get more from the women themselves;  when they are on, some of the revelations are in their own way, certainly more valuable to us than any Dead Person Walking fictions. Two Family House gives us a slightly bizarre biography of a stepfather, true story, but who's the last two-month-old you knew who remembers being that young?  We already know that Robert DeNiro is making too many movies, Meet the Parents becomes funny in the last 15 seconds and he's only got a reaction shot.  That's not entirely true, but you know what an effortless laugh feels like & there's practically none here.  Can you beat seeing What's Cooking? at a matinee on Thanksgiving day? Nearly driven mad by the shots of food, but nice to see a bunch of new faces amongst the stalwarts Mercedes Ruehl & Alfre Woodard & Joan Chen.  At the beginning of the month, The Yards caught our eye & now I can't remember much of it, except that Joaquin Phoenix is the bad guy again. Mark Wahlberg's getting interesting to watch, all grizzled & sore. Still cute, though.

Since we were not lucky last month in the theater department, we decided to make up for it.  Out in the boonies,  the Thick House, a lovely small theater space, presented Oliver Mayer's world premiere Joe Louis Blues. An intimate house got us right in the mood for this examination of the doomed career of that great boxer.  With an exceptionally even cast & a rare play that talks alot but doesn't sag or space out, the evening flew by.  The sights of WWII era were clean & sounds of the blues were in evidence, live & on tape.  Really great to see a smoothly done, accomplished piece with equal parts grit, sass, silliness & history.  Over at Berkeley Rep, we got another nice surprise. One of our longtime favorites, Lorri Holt, in Donald Margulies' Dinner with Friends, directed by another favorite, Richard Seyd.  Two couples, infidelity, flashbacks & food. The guy behind us was in heaven apparently.  At intermission he announced loudly to his friend: "that's some real good acting, isn't it?"   And, no, I was not able to get in to see Henry Moss, Sam Shepard’s latest.  Sean Penn, Woody Harrelson, Nick Nolte & Cheech Marin all make for SOLD OUT signs, but not apparently for knock-out performances.  Nobody cares, though, really, as rational as you want to be, it’s still a draw to see those guys in the flesh. I saw Al Pacino in American Buffalo here in the City, and it was a kick, I gotta admit.

Next month:  follow-up a friend’s suggestion to indulge in ABBA & go see Mamma Mia which opened to tepid reviews & wild crowds. Ear plugs advised. We also have a version of the Christmas Revels, a pagan festival sort of alternative to Christmas shows, playing at the cavernous Scottish Rite Temple.  It’s intense; I’ve participated twice & emerged exhausted.  The audience joins in to snake around the amphitheatre floor singing ‘Lord of the Dance’ until we drop. The ethereal Mummers’ Dance, “moonlit” & with only the sound of a lone flute & the clacking of deer antlers sends a sort of primeval chill up your spine, even if the production as a whole gets a bit message-y & self-important. I wonder what the kids who see it now will recall in 20 years.

 © 2000 Claudine Jones ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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