or the obsessive, we have now reached the somewhat ballyhooed Millenium and we in the Bay Area were of course not prepared:  our Rapid Transit system folks, thinking that since last year they overcompensated for Y2K, this year cut way back, causing some to spend the wee hours taking from 12:10 to 3 am to go 15 miles. This is not good.  We are in the midst of many crises, not the least of which is our (not) chosen Leader and the fallout on the entertainment scene is palpable.  We were again caught unprepared for the crunch on the Bay Bridge, making it difficult to support local venues which many times depend not on subscriber based houses, but word of mouth, spontaneous crowds. Actually, it would be great to live so close to any number of theatres that one could just walk or ride a bike.  The catch is that we are trapped without major government support so that the high quality one might hope to attain by healthy budgets for talent is just not there. The result is a miserable choice between $10 for amateur night and $30+ for anything resembling professional stuff.

Having thus pontificated, I hereby recant at least in part, based on the reports coming from our local production of the world premiere of Sam Shepard’s newest play, The Late Henry Moss.  Although I don’t like our resident critic who shall remain nameless, SW has said that this show was fraught with sound problems. The completely sold out run of a show with Woody Harrelson, Sean Penn, Nick Nolte and Cheech Marin,  was miked up the wazoo and people still couldn’t hear consistent clear speech. This is the result of the blazing enthusiasm of the aforementioned worthies to get on stage together and create some Magic (little joke here:  locals will know that this is also the name of the theatre company). They unfortunately threw themselves into the project having come directly from the world of filmmaking and apparently were unable to project consistently in a relatively small house, something that even the lowliest community theatre pounds into its actors. I’m not talking bellowing here, just the common sense awareness of the acoustics of the space. It still must have been fun, though, to see those guys up there in the flesh, I admit, while damning the attitude of the “big” houses who insist on casting out of towners.  It’s clear that Magic banked on people coming to see stars & had it been otherwise, it probably wouldn’t even have been staged at all.  And what have we to look forward to? Kathleen Turner in “Tallulah”  and Leslie Caron doing Colette.

We treated ourselves with a great evening of live Klezmer music during the holidays.  Our own Josh Kornbluth, whose film of his one-man show Haiku Tunnel is on the list at Sundance, opened with his brand of bizarre stream of consciousness monologs;  I’ve heard the material before, yet it’s always different.  And we walked to the Julia Morgan Center! This space has seen many ups and downs, renovations, money problems, but it remains open and appreciated as a beloved example of local architecture.

Speaking of  appreciation, while deep in the process of editing, we’ve come to honor the efforts of documentarians even more as we catch various showings. It takes the reflexes of a martial artist to catch the screenings sometimes, but it’s worth it, even though as a general comment I would say length is indulgent. Scrap that extra shot, man, we’ve seen it 3 times already. Also the digital age is upon us, Lucas is doing it big time & this means budgeting is actually within the reach of the independent.   This month we were pleased to see some great stuff:  On the Ropes directed by Nanette Burstein and Brett Morgen is an unforgettable look at boxing, mixing genders, ages, confronting stereotypes and containing such footage that one feels privileged & awed to have witnessed some unique & raw captured moments.   Coming to Light, the examination of the life of an examiner, Edward S. Curtis, who spent thirty years documenting the lives of disappearing American Indian tribes through photos & texts, audio tapes & films.  The results of this work in twenty rich volumes and miscellaneous fragments shows us the folly & the triumph of Curtis’ life.  His ‘normal’ existence is ironically sacrificed (he essentially abandoned his family) by his drive to accomplish this monumental project with the sometime support of bigwigs like J.P. Morgan who eventually drifted away when the initial thrill & interest wore off. It’s clear that Curtis’ involvement with the Hopi tribe for example is far beyond reasonable;  he is simply obsessive & unstoppable. Also in line for work above & beyond the call awards are the scientists in Me & Isaac Newton . One after another, we’re shown portraits of dedication to goals (whether you agree they’re worthy or not is another question: I personally find the design of little robots to be kind of silly, but a case could be made that Serious is not always completely Necessary.)  The neat thing is that these people, whether they’re out watching the behaviour of  marmosets or trying to figure out a cost-effective way of sterilizing drinking water for desperately poor people who probably are doomed by their myriad problems anyway, their devotion is palpable, their faces lit up by passion & their enthusiasm & energy give us hope.  And that’s a large part of the impetus for the subjects of Rebels with a Cause the good old SDS, for those of us here in sight of the Campanile on the campus of UC Berkeley a matter of intense pride that We Were There in the Sixties.  Sure, a lot of derision is clouding our view now, fun is made of Jane Fonda, etc. etc., but the original members of the Students for a Democratic Society sit for their interviews with values intact. Archival photos attest to the old fire in their eyes,  the tales of Cointelpro misinformation campaigns confound them still. How could pure intentions meet & overcome dirty tricks? Answer: they couldn’t. But of course we’re still here & Nixon ain’t.  Sad to say, One Day in September,  story of the tragic hostage taking at Munich, just reinforces the lingering sorrow over the Israeli/Palestinian conflicts that continue to this moment.  There’s no winner, even at the Olympics.

For our monthly dose of fiction/independent/Hollywood, we got some nice ones. Chocolat has merit (Judi Dench) even though it’s not as good as the book and what’s with ignoring Victoire Thivisol after her magnificent debut in Ponette?  Haven’t seen her mentioned in a single review.  They also seem to have dubbed her voice, which is horrifying.   And also on the French side, my mother the Parisian is very upset with Quills because she says the real Marquis de Sade’s wife is not accurately portrayed.  Since I am my mother’s daughter I have to disagree on principle to make life more interesting for us both. I say to heck with historical accuracy, it’s Phil Kaufman’s film he can do what he wants, but privately, I do wonder why it is that we can’t just quit orgiastically monkeying with the known facts and still make wonderful films. I hate it when they make up silly names for foreign films, too, like “Set me Free” for Emporte-moi which is clearly “Take me” or “Take me, too” or “Take me with You” or “Can I Go, Too?” See, much better titles. Anyway, lovely film about a lunatic Canadian-Jewish-Catholic family. I had to see Proof of Life to see how bad the politics were and to see if taking the torrid scenes out of the final cut confused the storyline. The result:  FARC looks like toy revolutionaries, big surprise, and one leetle kiss is sort of disappointing and makes the sacrificial side of Crowe’s character underwhelming. I liked it anyway. Liked Miss Congeniality too, even though I hate the FBI, but I’m so close to burnout on Michael Caine. Gotta pace myself. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is a chick flick apparently;  my partner thought Chow Yun Fat was too impassive & I thought he was way yummy & the cinematography has raised the bar to daunting heights. Coming from half Ozark hillbilly background, I appreciated the Coen brothers’ Oh Brother, Where Art Thou even whilst recognizing that some folk might take offense.  I was charmed, but then I have no call to worry that I might be caricatured, tho’ I have sung my share of folk songs. I found myself wishing that the guys had done their own singing, whilst acknowledging the difficulty in finding a true yodeler in L.A. I save my favorite for last: although it doesn’t not seem to have found its legs, Panic was the film I found fulfilled me the most. Go figure.

 © 2001 Claudine Jones ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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