What could a dictator with unchallenged power and vast ill-gotten wealth
possibly desire? Respectability, of course. Hollywood celebrities and Western
politicians are just the ones who can give it. Maybe Lady Gaga is not the worst
offender, but she still gets what she deserves when she becomes the face of Azerbaijani
dictator Ilham Aliyev’s serenading celebrity chorus. Conversely, Khadiya
Ismayilova represents the struggles of independent Azerbaijani journalists
(there aren’t a lot of them left) in Benoit Bringer’s The Caviar Connection,
which is still available as part of the online portion of the 2021 DOC NYC.
Technically,
Caviar Connection addresses corruption in all the nations in the Caspian
Sea region, including Turkmenistan, which is bad news for Sting’s image,
because he hypocritically and unrepentantly accepted a lucrative gig from the
dictator’s spoiled daughter. However, the focus falls squarely on Azerbaijan.
Aliyev’s father was a former KGB official, who came to power in a post-independence
coup, with Putin’s blessing. He soon turned over the family dynasty to his son,
whose administration was repeatedly likened to the Corleone Mafia family in
leaked diplomatic cables.
Despite
the many political prisoners held by the Aliyev regime, it still sought the
legitimacy of full membership in the Council of Europe (the EU’s leading human
rights body), so they bribed their way in. Bringer does indeed establish that
pretty conclusively, with the help of Azerbaijan’s former ambassador to the
Council, whistle-blower Arif Mammadov, who was basically the regime’s bag man.
Ismayilova
was one of those political prisoners the Council ignored. While she was always
independent, she wasn’t very political, until she saw her colleague brutally
beaten by Aliyev’s thugs. However, the crude and invasive blackmail tactics the
regime unleashed against her are probably even more reprehensible.
The Rossellinis are like the Kennedys of European art cinema and fashion.
They all inherit high expectations and a legacy of scandal. For Alessandro, the
bi-racial son of Renzo and grandson of the illustrious Roberto, the pressure
drove him to drugs and general neurosis. However, he more or less came to terms
with his famous family by helming his first film, the documentary The
Rossellinis, which screens as part of the 2021 DOC NYC.
About
the first fifteen minutes or so is devoted to explaining how everyone is
related to each other—and viewers will appreciate the crib notes. As every true
cineaste knows, the romance between Ingrid Bergman and Roberto Rossellini
scandalized Hollywood. However, Rossellini basically did it all over again in
India, when he married screenwriter Sonali Das Gupta. Alessandro’s father was
supposed to be the family’s next great filmmaker, but he was never allowed to
escape his father’s shadow. The only film Renzo helmed in his own right has
rarely been screened, but that is how he met Alessandro’s mother, a dancer from
America.
Clearly,
Alessandro Rossellini always felt insecure because he lacked the supermodel
looks of his aunt Isabella and his uncle Robin (who was once romantically linked
to women like Princess Caroline of Monaco, but now lives in isolation on his
mother’s Swedish island summer home). In fact, his relationship with his celebrated
actress-model aunt is rather strained, for many reasons, several of which are
really his own fault. Indeed, his sit-down sequences with her are
excruciatingly uncomfortable.
Like Miles Davis or Picasso, Dean Martin had distinct periods to his career.
There was the Martin & Lewis era, the early-Rat Pack Oceans 11 years,
and the late-Rat Pack Cannonball Run period. Throughout it all, he
maintained megawatt star-power. Tom Donahue chronicles his life and career in Dean
Martin: King of Cool, which screens as part of the 2021 DOC NYC, until its
TCM premiere.
Martin
grew up speaking Italian in his working-class Italian family. He mostly scuffled
as a boxer and a big band vocalist, until he met a comic on the vaudeville circuit
named Jerry Lewis. As Martin & Lewis, they became the biggest duo-act in
Hollywood, but everyone assumed Lewis was the one primarily responsible for
their success. However, a fairly influential show business figure by the name
of Frank Sinatra recognized Martin’s talents.
Donahue
does solid work documenting the ups and downs of Martin’s career. He makes it
clear the crooner was no mere sidekick or a boozy novelty act in the style of Foster
Brooks. In fact, viewers of Generation X-age and younger might be surprised how
popular his top-10 TV variety show was in its day. Donahue’s talking heads also
give him a lot of credit for standing up to Sinatra, particularly when he
refused to perform for JFK’s inauguration, when they axed Sammy Dais Jr., so as
not to offend the solidly-Democratic, segregationist South.
If any film could never conceivably have a sequel, Mads Brügger’s The Red Chapel would be it. For starters, Brügger is now banned from entering
North Korea after he engineered an embarrassing punking of the regime. However,
it inspired Ulrich Larsen, an average Danish fellow, who hatched a scheme to
infiltrate the DPRK regime. Naturally, he reached out to Brügger, who
documented his real-life espionage in The Mole, which screens as part of
this year’s DOC NYC.
In
retrospect, Larsen’s plan was simple but sound. He just started attending
meetings of Denmark’s North Korean friendship association, making himself
helpful. Like the US Communist Party during the Cold War, the higher-ups closely
collaborate with the DPRK government. Like a cult, the Korean Friendship
Association (KFA) looks for insecure underachievers who can find a sense of purpose
serving the royal Kim dynasty.
Enter
Alejandro Cao de Benos, the President of the KFA, who takes Larsen under his
wing. Eventually, the Spanish government bars him from leaving the country, but
he maintains his position of influence within the DPRK regime. He challenges
Larsen to reel in a big investor, so Brügger recruits “Mr. James,” a former
foreign legionnaire and coke dealer, who became a legit but highly adventurous
businessman. Over the course of several years, they travel to North Korea,
Cambodia, Uganda, and tellingly Beijing, for a blockbuster deal to produce high-grade
missiles and meth in Africa that would also deliver arms to the Syrian regime
and import oil into the DPRK, circumventing international sanctions.
Brügger’s
expose is absolutely mind-blowing and chilling as heck. While there was “no
smoking gun” in Red Chapel, Larsen and Mr. James uncover absolutely
damning evidence of official DPRK state criminality, including a literal price
list for armaments like SCUD missiles. It is also a genuine white-knuckle
thriller, because the tension grows exponentially as the two Moles penetrate
deeper into North Korea’s web of intrigue.
The downside of social media is all too obvious (polarization, trolling, cat
memes), but there are positives worth noting. You can get news directly from
human rights activists around the world, uncensored and unfiltered, at least
until they are arrested, like Joshua Wong was in Hong Kong. You can still join
Masih Alinejad’s hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers (in fact, I
recommend it). Alinejad’s social media savvy has made her a particularly
annoying thorn in the side of the Iranian regime, but her prominence has cost
her dearly. Nahid Persson captures Alinejad’s highs and lows as she continues
her campaign against the fundamentalist regime in Be My Voice, which
screens as part of this year’s DOC NYC.
It
is immediately clear why the regime is so threatened by Alinejad. She has boundless
energy and superstar charisma. She regularly delivers news from the Iranian streets
to her army of followers on various social media networks and her VOA Persian
broadcasts. As a result, most of her family back in Iran was forced to renounce
her. The brave exception was her brother Ali, who served as her link to their
parents and other siblings. Of course, identifying pressure points is one of
the things oppressive governments do best. Consequently, they target him during
the course of Persson’s scheduled filming with Alinejad.
Clearly,
Alinejad’s overflowing sincerity is both her greatest strength and weakness. We
can see only too well how deeply she feels everything. Sometimes her temper
might be her second biggest enemy, but her passionate commitment is real and
her enthusiasm is admirable. It is those qualities that built her extensive
following in Iran, including a number of women (of all ages), who have publicly
challenged mandatory chador laws, sending her videos of their defiance. If you
are less than thrilled with face-masks, just imagine how much fun headscarves
(or burqas in particularly restrictive Islamist nations) must be.
In 1985, Tampopo put ramen on the cinematic map. Since then, it has become a
favorite culinary subject for art-house cinema, appearing in films like Eric
Khoo’s Ramen Shop, Koki Shigeno’s documentary Ramen Heads, and the
film Big Tony Leung sold his soul for, Midnight Diner. Viewers hungry
for more get to visit the kind of legit neighborhood ramen joint travelers
always want to go to (but usually wind-up in over-priced Shinjuku tourist-traps
instead) in John Daschbach’s Come Back Anytime, which screens as part of
this year’s DOC NYC.
Masamoto
Ueda always worked long hours and he never got rich, but he earned enough money
with his small unassuming ramen shop to support his family. More importantly, many
of his customers became lifelong friends. Now reaching retirement age, Ueda is
mulling how much longer he wants to do this. His general idea is to close the
store when he is ready to hang it up, rather than sell it off, but he still
hasn’t reached that point yet.
Daschbach’s
film is largely set in the ramen shop, but he follows Ueda on a couple of
related excursions, as when he helps a regular harvest his tasty looking pears.
We also get a bit of time alone with his wife, who has her own identity and hobbies.
She is also charming, like just about everyone is this totally endearing, but
somehow never cloying film.
Brave Cubans are planning a mass protest next Monday (#15N), planned by a
leftwing playwright whose work was formerly produced by the state. It will
follow the example of other mass protests organized by the San Isidro Movement,
a dissident artists’ collective. However, you wouldn’t know there was any
unrest or oppression in Cuban from this glowing documentary portrait of Omara
Portuondo, the beloved Buena Vista Social Club vocalist—and that’s just not good
enough anymore. Portuondo’s artistry is lovely, but it doesn’t exist in a vacuum,
which is largely how it is presented in Hugo Perez’s Omara, which
screens as part of this year’s DOC NYC.
Portuondo
originally came to prominence as part of the Cuarteto d’Aida, along with her sister
Haydee. They even opened for Nat King Cole at the Tropicana. Then the
revolution came and Haydee left for America, while Omara stayed and went solo. Over
the years, she frequently toured internationally, but Ry Cooder’s Buena Vista
Social Club recordings took her to an even higher level.
Even
now in her early 90s, she still performs with verve, as we see from her command
performance at the same Tropicana, in the opening scene. What isn’t
acknowledged is such venues are typically off-limits to average Cubans, and are
reserved for the music (and sex) tourists the Cuban government caters to.
Yes,
it is great to hear Portuondo. She can caress the lyrics to “Besame Mucho” like
nobody else. However, Perez simply cannot ignore what in going on in Cuba’s
streets and in its plentiful prisons. You just can’t not ask her about these
developments, especially since she has obviously enjoyed privileges (she wouldn’t
have traveled so extensively, or at all, otherwise).
State media really isn’t media. It is PR for their regime masters. They do not
reporter the news, they slant it and spike it if necessary. Putin thought he
had rid himself of the last vestiges of an independent media until Natalya
Sindeyeva founded Dozhd. Originally, she had something more pop culture-ish in
mind, but she discovered her calling when Dozhd started reporting stories no
other Russian outlet would touch. Vera Krichevskaya documents the struggle to
keep Dozhd on the air in F@ck This Job, which screens as part of this
year’s DOC NYC.
In
the 2000s, the hard-partying Sindeyeva married Aleksandr Vinokurov, a blue-blooded
financial tycoon, who could buy her anything. She decided she wanted a TV station.
Initially, Dozhd was probably intended to be something like post-music video
MTV, but when they covered a mysterious explosion all the other networks
ignored, a lightbulb clicked on.
A
flirtation with “President” Medvedev led to a temporary break with Krichevskaya
(yet ironically, the figurehead comes out of the doc looking relatively
moderate compared to Putin). However, coverage of the subsequent election
protests and disavowed Russian military incursions into Ukraine soon re-established
Dozhd as Russia’s independent media voice. In the process, they earned millions
of viewers and a concerted harassment campaign orchestrated by the Kremlin.
At
times, Sindeyeva can be her own worst enemy. There is no question her privileged
background sometimes renders her a bit tone deaf. However, that is also what makes
her a compelling figure. She could have partied the years away in comfort, but
instead she and Vinokurov have dedicated their fortune and risked their liberty
to expose the truth.
Hong Kong used to literally be a safe harbor. From 1950 to 1980, two million
refugees swam to the freedom of Hong Kong from the Mainland. That was then. Now
the waters surrounding Hong Kong represent something veery different, as the
case of the 12 Hong Kong Youths, abducted on the high seas and held incommunicado
in the PRC so grimly illustrates. Their crime was seeking freedom in the
democratic nation of Taiwan. The grandfather of this short film’s narrator fully
understands the circumstances then and now, so he encourages his unidentified
granddaughter to follow his example in Olivia Martin-McGuire’s partially
animated short Freedom Swimmer, which screens as part of this year’s DOC NYC.
One
afternoon over tea, the woman’s grandfather tells her the harrowing story of
his flight from the Cultural Revolution. He rigged a crude raft and braved
roiling surf with her mother, who was then a very little girl. Of course, it
was dangerous, but staying would be more perilous. He tells her
matter-of-factly, when there is no hope, there is no fear. Ever since then, he
has led a modest but free life in Hong Kong, but the point of his story is to
convince his granddaughter to now leave Hong Kong, so she too can live in
freedom.
Few original films from 1979 are still generating sequels, theatrical documentaries,
and even unlikely stage adaptations. Sure, the recent sequels have been
questionable, but the second film has nearly equal status as a classic—and so
does the third, for Fincher fans. Given extreme events that transpire, the idea
of reconceiving Ridley Scott’s Alien for the stage would be daunting for
anyone, especially for a company of limited means, like this amateur troupe of
Dorset bus company employees. Nevertheless, they did just that, winning over
super-fans Lucy Harvey & Danielle Kummer, who subsequently documented the
production’s West End premiere in Alien on Stage which screens during
this year’s DOC NYC.
Ordinarily,
the Dorset bus drivers, known as “Paranoid Dramatics” would mount an annual
holiday “pantomime” to raise money for charity. Basically, these were broad
farces that encouraged ruckus responses from the audience. However, they
decided to go serious for a year and agreed to give Luc Hayward a shot at
adapting Alien. It would be a family affair, with his mom Lydia playing
Ripley and his father Raymond creating sets.
As
director, Dave Mitchell drew on his military background to whip the company
into shape and keep them focused. However, Peter Lawford might have had the
hardest assignment as the creature designer. Their initial week-long run in
Dorset was not the sell-out they hoped for, but it attracted two curious
patrons from London, Harvey and Kummer, who were inspired to arrange their special
one-night only premiere on the West End.
Alien
on Stage is
an amiable film, but it is rather narrowly focused on the show’s genesis and
the preparation for their West End “transfer.” (It isn’t much of a spoiler to
say the Dorset players became a cult hit and would return in the year
following.) However, they do a nice job of capturing the flavor of the show,
which is unpolished but impressively resourceful. The Xenomorph costume really
looks cool, while the chest-bursting effects are admittedly crude, but that is
part of their charm.
You would expect it would make American headline news if an
opposition party in a large influential country arrived at their headquarters
one morning to find the doors locked, the door knobs removed, and iron bars
freshly installed over their windows. To make matters worse, one of their
volunteers was locked inside with the people who had performed this surprise renovation.
This is exactly what happened in Moscow, but our media is only interested in Putin
in connection with conspiracy theories regarding Trump collusion. By the way,
the kicker was the only person to face prosecution after this abuse of power was
the innocent campaign worker trapped inside. He was a friend of the youthful
activists documentarian Alexandra Dalsbaek followed when they took Navalny’s
2018 presidential campaign to the streets in We Are Russia, which screens
during this year’s DOC NYC.
There
are no talking heads in WAR and no dry backgrounders. If you don’t know
who Putin is by now and how profoundly undemocratic his imperial presidency has
been, I think you’re an idiot and Dalsbaek probably does too. Regardless, if
you don’t get it by now, you will after watching these kids’ experiences (one
of the Navalny volunteers is only sixteen).
When
we first see Milena and her friends protesting, their efforts look almost negligible
by American standards. One of them merely stands in front of government
building holding a sign not much larger than a sheet of notebook paper, while
the other two film and post on social media. Yet, time and time again, they get
hassled and often even arrested by the cops.
In
fact, Dalsbaek’s film makes it clear Putin’s Russia is, by any standard or
definition, a true police state. It is impossible to effectively campaign for
legit opposition candidates and those who try and inevitably arrested and prosecuted.
It is hard to imagine the deafening outrage if western democracies kept their
accused in cages during trial, but it is standard practice in Russia.
First
and foremost, these activists deserve all kinds of credit for the guts and
commitment they display. Fearless Milena even tries to hold her sign in front
of FSB headquarters, prompting a police response in seconds (literally). They
are risking their [relative] liberty and perhaps even their lives for a better
government and a brighter future.
