Slamdance ’16: Embers

Doomsday came and went, but the world keeps ending every night. Due to some sort of pathogen, infected survivors have lost their short and long term memory. Out of sight means out of mind. That applies to time spent sleeping as well. Nevertheless, a motley remnant of humanity will carry on as best they can in Claire Carré’s Embers (trailer here), which screened as the closing night film at the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

When a man and a woman wake up next to each other, they reasonably assume they are in some sort of relationship. When they notice their matching cloth bracelets, it cinches it for them. Just as they have so many times before, the couple give each other names, hoping what impulse provides, will be correct. This time, it is Ben and Jenny. Like characters from a Beckett play they will head into the post-apocalyptic environment for no apparent reason, but at least they have each other.

Meanwhile, a young boy witnesses some of the best and worst of human nature, as he falls in with a series of temporary protectors. The one known as “Teacher” in the credits seems to be functioning at a slightly higher level than the rest of the shuffling dregs, but he ought to be. He was once a research psychiatrist specializing in human memory.

In contrast to those above ground, Miranda is painful aware of the slow passage of time. She has remained infection free, living with her father in an underground bunker facility. However, the isolation is taking a toll on her mind and soul.

Perhaps the strangest thing about Embers is that it is not nearly as depressing as it sounds. It is sort of like Dr. Moreau fused Cormac McCarthy’s The Road with the Adam Sandler vehicle 50 First Dates, but the vibe most closely resembles the delicately balanced Perfect Sense. Frankly, Embers is unusually poignant, especially when focusing on Ben and Jenny (or Max and Katie, as they will soon call themselves). The watching them continue to be a couple, despite it all, is really quite touching.

Jason Ritter and Iva Gocheva develop some remarkable chemistry together, especially considering how much relationship shorthand their situation precludes them from sharing. Embers also gives immediately recognizable but hard to place character actor Tucker Smallwood an opportunity to shine as the Teacher. Mathew Goulish is also acutely tragic as the boy’s short-lived Guardian. However, Greta Fernández is a problematically distant (like a cold fish) as the profoundly privileged Miranda.

Throughout Embers, it is rather inspiring to see love endure, in the face of such existential challenges. It is also pretty scary how convincingly Gary, Indiana stands in for a catastrophic urban wasteland. Maybe the city fathers should reconsider their current economic development policies. Regardless, Embers is a highly distinctive and mature post-apocalyptic science fiction fable. Recommended with conviction for cerebral viewers, it screens on February 19 and 21 at the Oxford Film Festival, after closing out this year’s Slamdance in Park City.

Slamdance ’16: Chemical Cut

LA’s superficial world of modeling is like a pouty Logan’s Run. Irene signed just in time, with only one year of youthful eligibility left before “aging out” of the business. Unfortunately, she will not be frolicking in the stately pleasure dome. Instead, the novice model will be constantly exploited in former America’s Next Top Model contestant Marjorie Conrad’s Chemical Cut, which screened during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Irene’s life before modelling was pretty depressing. She worked in retail and spent most her free time being demeaned by her toxic platonic pal, Arthur. One day, she gets a platinum blonde dye job on a whim. Shortly thereafter, Jared, a dodgy modeling agent slips her his card. Figuring she has nothing to lose, she signs with the obnoxious predator. However, since Jared constantly books her for “free tests,” Irene starts burning through her savings with no future income in sight. Initially, it seems like a godsend when Spring, a more established, better paid model takes Irene under her wing, but she also turns out to be a real user.

Evidently, modelling is a tough racket. If this is breaking news for you, than Chemical has even more disillusionments coming down the pike. Of course, for most of us living in the grown-up world, this is pretty standard stuff. It is all largely presented without humor, allowing viewers little consolation as we witness the pathetic embarrassments rained down upon poor Irene.

As a result, Chemical Cut just isn’t much fun. Conrad might be photogenic, but she is a bit of a shrinking violet on the big screen. At least she is endurable, which is more than can be said for Ian Coster, who is like fingernails on a blackboard as the screechy Arthur. Although her character Spring is a real self-centered pill, only Leah Rudick seems capable of sustaining a long-term relationship with the movie camera.

As a cautionary tale, Chemical is relentless, but as drama, it is kind of pokey. To be fair, the lack of redeemable or compelling characters probably makes it feel slower than it really is. Frankly, spending time with these people is a chore—Irene included. Too shallow to be a teachable film and too downbeat to be a comedy, Chemical is tragically half-pregnant. It means well, but that does not get the audience very far. Conrad’s TV modelling credentials will probably earn it a few looks from programmers, but it will not make much noise on the festival circuit after premiering at this year’s Slamdance Film Festival in Park City.

Slamdance ’16: Water Ghost (short)

The stretch of the Yuanjiang River that bisects Changde is not as notorious as the Nanjing Yangtze River Bridge, but it has enough suicides to employ a specialized body fisher. After witnessing one such unfortunate tragedy from a distance Wen Li followed a compulsion to find the body fisher in her meditative short documentary Water Ghost (trailer here), which screened during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

The body fisher is not an urban legend. He really exists, but the nature of his work makes him a somewhat averse to publicity. He is a private contractor who receives no government compensation. It is the grieving families that hire his services, so obviously the negotiations for each job are an awkward process. Naturally, there are specialized techniques to his work that few wish to learn. For either social or superstitious reasons, the body fisher has no competition to speak of.

Yet, the body fisher is a salt-of-the-earth working man, who quickly warms to Wen Li (his wife, maybe not so much). She also seems to relate to him quite easily, partly through a shared awareness of the related folklore and partly as a result of her own sad family history.

After quietly observing the body fisher at work, she drastically switches gears, chronicling the sad events of her father’s death through shadow puppetry. Visually, these sequences are absolutely arresting. In fact, the starkness of her images are well suited to the acute tragedy of her tale.

Although Water Ghost is a highly personal film, it is also deeply thoughtful. Wen Li seamlessly and thoroughly intertwines her family history with traditional archetypes and gritty, socially conscious reportage. It is a beautiful film, in a darkly elegiac way. Highly recommended for those who follow Chinese language cinema, Water Ghost screens at the upcoming Cinequest following its North American premiere at this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: Last Summer

Plenty of divorcing couples have used their kids to inflict pain on each other, but this entitled princeling has been weaponized particularly cruelly. His Japanese mother has lost all custody and visitation rights to her well-heeled western ex-husband. Franky, the helplessly spoiled Kenzaburo (Ken) does not seem like much of a prize, but his mother’s love remains unabated. Unfortunately, she only has four days to say her goodbyes for the next eleven years in Leonardo Guerra Seràgnoli’s Last Summer (trailer here), which screened during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Although the precise details are never revealed, it is strongly implied mental health struggles and her ex-husband’s wealth brought Naomi to this point. Presumably, those pills she pops in the morning are not vitamins. Clearly, her history was used against her in court and with the four man crew of the luxury yacht provided for Naomi’s farewell visit. Although Alex the captain remains rather open-minded, Eva the steward and Rebecca the surrogate nanny are clearly looking to undermine any last hopes Naomi might have of forging a connection with Ken.

This could have easily been the stuff of Lifetime channel melodrama, but Seràgnoli goes for broke with his rarified art cinema approach and largely pulls it off. Gianfilippo Cortelli’s cinematography has the lush glossiness of a fashion magazine spread that perfectly suits the graceful simplicity of Milena Canonero’s frocks. Canonero’s production design team perfectly conveys the ironically austere vibe of the ultra-chic trappings. (Indeed, the yacht is a trap, for both the aching mother and the problematically passive son).

As stylishly produced as Summer is, the key that makes it work is Rinko Kikuchi’s quiet but violently powerful performance as Naomi. The one-two punch of her vulnerability and beauty is absolutely heart-stopping. This is not a dialogue-heavy film, but you can read it all in her eyes.

Kikuchi also develops some wonderfully ambiguous chemistry with Yorik van Wageningen’s increasingly sympathetic Captain Alex. In fact, the shifting crew dynamics are quite subtly rendered, adding further layers to the hothouse atmosphere. Initially, young Ken Brady does not make much of an impression, but he duly comes out of his shell when Naomi starts to reach his privileged character.

Can you imagine how much this kid will hate his father when he turns eighteen and discovers the old man has been keeping him from his elegant and soulful mother? Seràgnoli and his celebrated co-scripters, Banana Yoshimoto and Italian graphic novelist Igort give us hope it just might come to that eventually, while scrupulously avoiding any phony sentimental cop-outs. Thanks to Kikuchi, it is a lovely little chamber drama. Recommended as a satisfying indulgence for sophisticated audiences, Last Summer screened at this year’s Slamdance, but it is sure to turn up at subsequent festivals given the talent involved.

Slamdance ’16: All the Colors of the Night

When you have a body that needs disposing, you would want to call in Pulp Fiction’s Winston Wolfe. Unfortunately, an aging party girl like Iris will have to make do with an estranged friend with some dodgy connections. She might not realize the gravity of her situation in Pedro Severien’s All the Colors of the Night, which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

During the long prologue, Iris gives us her version of Tiara’s story. She killed a man, but got off scot-free, thanks to her mother’s influential friends. However, the man Tiara killed sort of had it coming—and she did not exactly live happily ever after. Regardless, Iris apparently intends to avoid prosecution just as Tiara did. Frankly, she has no idea who the dead man on her floor might be or how he got that way. She vaguely remembers him giving her the eye during her party, but the rest is a drug and alcohol-enhanced blur.

Clearly, Iris hopes Fernanda can call in a fixer who can make her mess go away. It is also clear their friendship has largely been a one-way street, for reasons of race and class. Initially, Fernanda seems inclined to help the rich, white Iris once again, but old grievances start to surface in the third act. The should-have-been-anticipated arrival of Iris’s even more resentful maid Elga also holds destabilizing consequences.

Despite some surface similarities, All the Colors of the Night should absolutely not be confused with the notorious Bruce Willis vehicle The Color of Night. However, they both require a great deal of viewer patience, albeit in very different ways. Severien’s obliquely askew approach is somewhat akin to that of Qiu Yang’s Slamdance short, Under the Sun, but it lacks the darkly humanistic sensibility.

Regardless, Brenda Lígia is quite impressive as Fernanda, keeping us consistently off-balance throughout the relatively short feature (seventy minutes). For her part, Sabrina Greve’s Iris looks and sounds convincingly zonked out on whatever. They both also have photogenic legs, which is important, because that is mainly what Severien focuses on.

In all honesty, All the Colors feels more like a New Directors/New Films selection than a Slamdance film, but here it is. It is a provocative experiment, but it never really connects. For connoisseurs of broadly experimental films, All the Colors of the Night screens again tonight (1/27) in Park City, as part of this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: If There’s a Hell Below

Driving through wide open and apparently endless highways and rural routes can make you feel disconcertingly exposed. The notion that the government might be monitoring and tracking average people without probable cause is also somewhat disturbing. Even though the latter is a red hot button issue, a Chicago journalist’s misadventures are far more successful conveying the unease of the former. Regardless, he will find himself well out of his depth in Nathan Williams’ If There’s a Hell Below, which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Abe has arranged to meet “Debra” out in the middle of nowhere, because she claims to have some sort of explosive information regarding an NSA-ish government agency. Even her first name is more personal information than she wants Abe to have, if it really is her name, which it probably isn’t. She is a senior mid-level data cruncher of some sort, but at her level, even her gender would be a meaningful tell.

Debra is certainly better at the cloak-and-dagger stuff than Abe. He will try to win her trust and calm her raging paranoia, but that obsessive fear and suspicion is not misplaced. Events will happen, but at a slow boil that allows for enough ambiguity to fill the Great Plains.

The teasingly oblique manner in which Williams’ advances the narrative could have fallen flat, but he manages keep the audience focused like a laser-beam. Frankly, the entire film feels like an homage to North By Northwest, in which Roger Thornhill is constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if that crop-duster really means business. Of course, nothing is as it really seems, but Williams’ third act reversals are almost too much for their own good.

Still, Conner Marx and Carol Roscoe put on a veritable master class playing off each other as the earnest Abe and the skittish Debra. Mark Carr also delivers and fascinating and deceptively out-of-left field monologue as a character whose identity we never really verify.

There is no question If There’s a Hell is the sort of film you have to work with. Yet, the layers of mystery Williams bakes in make it quite distinctive. The importance of Chris Messina’s cinematography cannot be over-emphasized. He vividly captures a sense of vulnerability one feels on isolated stretches of empty road. Ironically, the film is so enigmatic, we lose sight of the very policies it seeks to critique, but that is not such a bad thing. Recommended for adventurous viewers with adult attention spans, If There’s a Hell Below screens again tomorrow (1/27), as part of this year’s Slamdance in Park City, Utah.

Slamdance ’16: Under the Sun (short)

Don’t get involved. No good deed goes unpunished. Those seem to be the takeaways from this unfortunate story, set in the go-go city of Changzhou. The commercial hub is booming, but many have been left behind. This causes resentments that will complicate a rather simple everyday tragedy in screenwriter-director-editor Qiu Yang’s short film Under the Sun (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

While returning home on a late night bus, a teenager sees an elderly woman collapse. Being a Good Samaritan, he schleps her to the hospital, but as a reward for his service, the woman’s grown daughter threatens to sue his family, accusing him of tripping her mother. It seems perversely unfair, because it will jeopardize the decent kid’s future plans. However, as we learn the daughter’s grim circumstances, we come to sympathize with her as well. Sadly but inevitably, tragedy will compound rather dramatically.

Judging from Sun (which shines very little), Qiu seems to be highly influenced by Tsai Ming-liang, both in terms of aesthetics and the street-level, socially-informed subject matter, with maybe a pinch of Ozu sprinkled in. It is a darkly humanistic film that offers empathy for nearly all its characters. Qiu captures some extreme emotions, but the visual strategy he and cinematographer Tarun Hansen apply, often framing scenes through doorways, at oblique angles, is initially somewhat distancing. Yet, it forces the audience to fill in some blanks during the grimly logical climax.

Whether Qiu’s stylistic approach could be sustained over a future length film is something we will just have to find out later. As an eighteen minute film, it is quite impressive. For those who are willing to work with it, Under the Sun packs quite a pop. Recommended for everyone interested in independent Chinese-language cinema, Under the Sun screens again this Thursday (1/28), as part of Narrative Shorts Block 1 at this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: Million Dollar Duck

It has been called the Federal government’s most successful program ever. It is also maybe the most aesthetically pleasing. Frankly, the Federal Duck Stamp does not have much competition on either score, but it still deserves all due credit. For nature artists, the annual stamp art contest represents the brass ring as well. Brian Golden Davis follows several participating artists in Million Dollar Duck (trailer here), which screens at the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Every waterfowl hunter has been required to buy a Duck Stamp for their license since 1934. Ninety-eight cents out of every dollar go to fund wetland preservation. Rather than resent the cost, hunters have embraced the conservation goal and the classical, Audubon-style art. The Feds do not actually cut the winners a million dollar check. In fact, there is no prize money involved, but the winning artist retains all licensing rights to their paintings, which can be considerable.

Winning the contest helped establish artist Adam Grimm early in his career, but now that he is married with three young children, he could really use another Duck Stamp boost. Yet, he and fellow artist Tim Taylor still work collaboratively to scout and photograph ducks in the early development stage. Like many wildlife artists, their friendship was forged during their time spent at the annual contest. Frankly, it can be a harsh process, incorporating elements not unlike the withering early rounds of American Idol. Yet, there is something to be said for making it so public and above-board.

Davis introduces us to several other contest regulars, including the Hautman Brothers, whose collective wins earn them comparison to the New York Yankees. There is also a decent blood feud running between the likable Taylor and the hipster-provocateur Rob McBroom. You can always recognize his submission. It will be the one with the glitter. Along the way, we also meet artist Dee Dee Murry and her blind painting dachshund Hallie (who sadly passed away before the film’s premiere), so MDD definitely covers its feel-good animal bases.

Believe it or not, the Duck Stamp competition, as documented by Davis, is enormously tense and shockingly cinematic. By the same token, seeing the artists’ passion for nature and the extended community they have built around the contest will give the audience all kinds of good vibes. There was a brief throwaway line about the Duck Stamp contest in the original Fargo film but Davis and screenwriter Martin J. Smith (partially adapting his book The Wild Duck Chase) give it the full treatment it deserves.

In recent years, the war on hunters has cut into Duck Stamp sales, ironically hurting their waterfowl prey, so it is worth noting you do not have to be a hunter to buy a Duck Stamp. They are available to any and all collectors. Million Dollar Duck could drive some business their way. It is highly informative, but also rather warm and fuzzy. Recommended conservationists and those who appreciate a handsome duck portrait, Million Dollar Duck screens again tomorrow (1/26), as part of this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: Art of the Prank

Prankster Joey Skaggs must be real—he has his own wikipedia page. Even though we are trained to be skeptical of what we see on the internet, many still tend to accept what they are served-up in documentaries and the old media at face-value. Skaggs has done his best to undercut the media’s credibility and authority with his politically charged pranks. The journalists and talking heads who fall for his hoaxes really ought to know better, but they are too lazy to do their due diligence. Skaggs revisits his greatest hits and reveals his latest extended gag in Andrea Marini’s as-true-as-you-know documentary, Art of the Prank (trailer here), which screens at the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

It will not surprise anyone when Jack Cafferty shows up several times in Prank with journalistic egg on his face. Skaggs punked some of biggest media outlets, but apparently Cafferty was an easy target. You might think after one such embarrassment, the media establishment would be on-guard against his antics, but they have taken his bait, time after time. Marini shows vintage footage of the Cathouse for Dogs, the Celebrity Sperm Bank, the Cockroach Vitamin Pill, the “Portofess” portable confessional, and the Fat Squad plenty of producers and anchors would prefer to forget.

Sometimes you just have to shake your head and wonder who could be so gullible. On the other hand, some of Skaggs’ operations have been so elaborate, it is harder to blame his marks. For most of us, seeing would be believing in the case of a cathouse for dogs. However, his latest prank might have unintended consequences. Skaggs and his merry band of co-conspirators produced Pandora’s Hope, a phony short documentary (ostensibly directed by Kit Farrell) about the purported dangers of GMOs that also included completely bogus footage of Skaggs’ character getting genetic shark implants to regrow his lost teeth. It actually screened at a few festivals, including the Big Apple and Moondance fests, where the social conscious audiences bought it all, hook, line and sinker. Yet, you have to wonder if people will start to doubt the rest of its GMO alarmism when they realize the genetic shark grafts are a joke.

Frankly, greater skepticism regarding documentaries would probably be healthy for the body politic. Take for instance, Örn Marino Arnarson & Thorkell S. Hardarson’s Feathered Cocaine, which screened at the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival. Half the film is a rather interesting expose of the dubious practices of Middle East falconers, but the second half claims their intrepid focal bird trainer discovered Bin Laden was living in Iran, as a guest of the very Shia regime, by tracking the unique transponders on his falcons. Furthermore, the filmmakers clearly imply the Bush Administration was protecting Bin Laden, because they refused to act on this prime intel. Of course, unless the Obama Administration faked the Seal Team Six raid in Pakistan, these claims turned out to be complete garbage. Yet, it seems neither the filmmakers nor the festivals that screened Feathered Cocaine have issued any retractions or apologies.

Okay, so that is a wee bit of a tangent, but it supports Skaggs’ general contention that we cannot simply assume everything presented in a documentary, or a news report, is one hundred percent factual. So yes, Prank offers a valuable lesson in informed media consumption. Unfortunately, as a revealing work of film, it falls far shorter. Marini never really gets inside Skaggs head, instead settling for his sea story reminiscences and his warmed over hippy New Left ideology. She never challenges any of Skaggs’ pronouncements and he certainly never re-examines any of his assumptions.

Frankly, Prank becomes more than a little self-congratulatory. Still, it is quite amusing to watch Skaggs’ career highlights—unless you are Jack Cafferty. Diverting but disappointingly shallow, Art of the Prank screens again this Wednesday (1/27), as part of this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: How to Plan an Orgy in a Small Town

What else are you going to do in a quaint little Canadian burg that still only has dial-up? Watch hockey or read Anne of Green Gables? Actually, the good townsfolk of Beaver’s Ridge are more partial to the virtuous YA novels of local luminary Maureen Cranston. Make that the late Maureen Cranston. Her black sheep sex columnist daughter has returned for her funeral, getting an even more awkward reception than expected in Jeremy Lalonde’s How to Plan an Orgy in a Small Town (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Back in the waning days of high school, Cassie Cranston decided to seal the deal with her boyfriend Adam Mitchell during a party. However, he wasn’t quite ready. Through an unfortunate chain of events, Cranston was forced to do a near naked walk of shame through town, while Mitchell curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor. That was kind of it for Cranston and Beaver Ridge. She moved to the big city and unloaded on the town’s prudery in her first Carrie Bradshaw-esque column. They still remember that one.

In fact, the town’s paragon of Puritanism, Heather Mitchell, Adam’s wife and Cranston’s old nemesis, sort of over-compensates. She tries to enlist Cranston’s help organizing an old fashioned Marin-county orgy. Cranston is incredulous and slightly appalled, but she agrees anyway. She happens to be in a bit of a fix. She is due to deliver her book to her publisher, but she hasn’t written a word. Honestly, she is a bit of a fraud. Despite some research in sex clubs and what have you, Cranston is still technically a virgin. If nothing else, a Beaver Ridge orgy should be good material.

Of course, there are about half a dozen colorful characters who agree to participate in the swinging bash for their own reasons, including her trampy bestie Alice Solomon, Solomon’s ED-afflicted ex, Bruce Buck, his suave new realty partner Spencer Goode, and the ill-matched Mitchells. Some look good in various states of undress, others not so much. Generally, the on-screen action is mostly somewhat frank rom-com stuff, but that title is not metaphorical.

Plan is generally amusing, but it is nowhere near as clever as last year’s Canadian underdog, Big News from Grand Rock. Stargate: Atlantis’s Jewel Staite is an engaging screen presence, who finds just the right attitude for Cranston. Katharine Isabelle certainly will not jeopardize her growing cult popularity with her vampy work as Solomon and Lauren Lee Smith is rather spectacularly prim and shrewish as Heather Mitchell. However, Ennis Esmer, who was terrific in Grand Rock, underwhelms as her doormat-like husband. Likewise, the realtors and the other assorted orgiers are not so subtly drawn or nuanced.

Go broad and slightly naughty was clearly Lalonde’s strategy. In general, it works okay and he earns bonus points for not chickening out down the stretch, but it doesn’t have much staying power, so to speak. For those who are looking for something easy with no emotional entanglements, How to Plan an Orgy in a Small Town screens again this Wednesday (1/27), as part of this year’s Slamdance in Park City.

Slamdance ’16: The Lesson

Mr. Gale would probably blame Rousseau for what he is about to do, because his advocacy of a child-centered education eventually facilitated the rise of hellions like Fin and his pals. Their humiliated teacher will also cite the Hobbes’ argument regarding the nasty and brutish requiring a strong hand. Somehow Nietzsche gets off scot-free, but Fin is in for a whole lot of painful karma in Ruth Platt’s The Lesson (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

Fin is a rotten kid, but it is easy to understand why. Since his sainted mother passed away and his abusive father took some high-paying international construction job, Fin now lives with his loutish brother and his Eastern European girlfriend. The brother is no prize either. Fin silently resents the way he psychologically dominates Mia, but getting involved is not his thing. He certainly does not interfere when his pondscum mate Joel demeans Mr. Gale in class. However, the last time Joel does that really will be the last time. Fed up with their delinquency and ignorance, Mr. Gale violently abducts the two lads to subject them to a lesson from Hostel U.

Setting up class in some sort of workshop, Mr. Gale commences lecturing on Rousseau, Hobbes, Blake, and William Golding’s Lord of the Flies with the aid of a nail gun. Being in better shape than the badly battered Joel, Fin will get the full benefit of Mr. Gale’s instruction. You had better believe he is listening now, especially since he knows there will be a test later.

The Lesson might sound like run-of-the-mill torture porn, but it is way smarter and more complex than that. Frankly, Platt has more than a little sympathy for Mr. Gale—and more than a little criticism for the soulless nihilism of Fin’s social circle. The fact that only Mia realizes and cares that he is missing is glaringly significant.

Mr. Gale’s high stakes lectures are also razor-sharply written. Although Gale is most definitely talking down to his captives, Platt never dumbs-down the dialogue. As a result, we get capsule introductions to Rousseau and Hobbes, as well as a close reading of Blake (although Platt sort of lets him off the hook too. Frankly, his tendency to objectify the very proles he made such a show championing could have contributed to Gale’s unhinged remedial instruction). Regardless, the audience is only too keenly aware Fin and Joel sort of have it coming.

Robert Hands is pretty terrific as Mr. Gale, somehow making him massively scary and acutely tragic, all at the same time. Michaela Prchlová is also a major discovery as the self-esteem-challenged Mia. Her character has a development arc that is quite remarkable for a horror movie (to use the genre label loosely). Evan Bendall is also solid as Fin, but oddly, the film is not such a great showcase for him. Platt has him mostly sneering and jeering in the first act and then turns loose Mr. Gale to open up a can on him for the rest of the film.

The Lesson is indeed a smart genre film, but it is still plenty bloody. Think of it as To Sir, with Pain. Platt holds a Hobbesian mirror up to nature, keeping viewers locked in her vice-like grip. Taut and rather daring, The Lesson is enthusiastically recommended for horror fans when it screens again this Tuesday (1/26) as part of this year’s Slamdance Film Festival in Park City.

Slamdance ’16: Disco Inferno (short)

This cat burglar will steal all the style and atmosphere that isn’t nailed down. Narrative does not interest her so much, but it hardly matters. Prepare to get your Irma Vep on with Alice Waddington’s short film Disco Inferno (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

A woman in a skin tight body suit slinks into a mansion that vaguely brings to mind Last Year at Marienbad. As she skulks about some pagan rituals appears to be underway. It is a scene not unlike Eyes Wide Shut, but with more goat heads. Any and all cinematic allusions we might suspect are probably intentional. After all, Waddington (somewhat sheepishly) dedicates the film to Georges Franju.

Initially, Disco Inferno looks like a stylistic mash-up of Bruce Weber and Louis Feuillade until it takes an overtly and explicitly satanic turn. It seems the grand dame of the ball is Satan herself and the Vepish figure is a responsible minion come to drag her back to her sulfuric duties. Then it gets weird.

Does Disco make sense? Sure, kind of. More importantly, it looks fabulous and when it crescendos, it gets unsettlingly creepy (before totally letting us off the hook). Waddington serves as her own costumer and she certainly gets her money’s worth. Everything about the film looks rich, particularly Antonio J. García’s lush, fashion-influenced black-and-white cinematography.

While not a thespy sort of film, Ana Rujas shimmies quite effectively as the cat-suit woman. Regardless, it is more of a showcase for Waddington’s chops and the talent of her design team. If you want a quick WTF, it hits the spot. Worthy of mention for its sleek, ultra-chicness, Disco Inferno screens again this Tuesday (1/26) as part of the Anarchy Shorts Program at this year’s Slamdance.

Slamdance ’16: Director’s Cut

Even with the rise of digital technology, you still need some expertise to make a credible film. However, with the advent of crowd-funding, any joker with a paypal account can buy a producer’s credit. Herbert Blount is one such donor, but he will take it upon himself to finish a troubled serial killer thriller. He’ll finish it alright. Viewers will see his final absolutely-not-studio-approved edit and hear his commentary in Adam Rifkin’s Director’s Cut (promo here), which screened at the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

As the opening credits roll, Blount explains why Adam Rifkin’s Knock Off was initially poorly received by audiences and critics—not enough Missi Pyle. Blount clearly has a thing for Pyle that will become increasingly problematic as he starts to chronicle the behind-the-scenes chaos. He will even splice some of it in for our viewing benefit. After all, as the top crowd-funder, he bought the rights to be the making-of videographer.

Harry Hamlin co-stars with Pyle as himself, Harry Hamlin, playing the misogynistic, compulsively vaping police detective Godfrey “God” Winters. Blount is convinced Hamlin is Knock Off’s weak link and he might be right in that limited respect. As the FBI profiler, Pyle must work with the sleazy Hamlin and Hayes McArthur playing himself playing Winters’ partner Reed. In the film, they are directed by the harried Adam Rifkin, while in the film-with-the-film, they are bossed around by their lieutenant, played by Lin Shaye, in an inspired bit of casting.

About ten minutes into the film, Blount gives us a strong indication he is a bit off the rails when he installs spy cameras in Pyle’s room. Of course, his behavior will only get more erratic. Just for the record, Director’s Cut was itself crowd-funded, but it sure doesn’t seem to think much of the practice. Whether it be Blount invading Pyle’s space or Rifkin mailing out t-shirts, the film just doesn’t make fundraising strategy look like it is worth the hassles.

You have to give Hamlin and his wife Lisa Rinna credit for poking fun at their celebrity images. However, nobody is a better sport than Pyle, who soldiers through all sorts of embarrassing situations and allows the film to remind the world she was in A Haunted House 2, with Hayes McArthur. Rifkin shows some nice comedic timing of his own. Yet, Penn Jillette dominates every second with his in-character, relentlessly un-self-aware narration and his larger-than-life, uncharacteristically unsettling presence.

Sure, we have heard Teller talk here and there, but his whacked-out speaking cameo in Director’s Cut will be absolute catnip for Penn & Teller fans. It is consistently amusing, in an awkwardly creepy sort of way, but Tim Kirk’s conceptually similar Director’s Commentary—Terror of Frankenstein creates a richer, more subversive secret history for its ostensive meta-text-film. Anyone who has seen

Penn & Teller Get Killed knows Jillette is the sort to go for broke on the big screen—and Director’s Cut is no exception. It is funny and sometimes acerbically insightful, but Rifkin and Jillette get a bit bogged down during the endgame. Still, whenever this much self-referential humor is offered in such questionable taste, no self-respecting cult film fan should pass it up. Recommended for fans of Penn & Teller and the films of Kirk & Rodney Ascher, Director’s Cut just had its world premiere last night at this year’s Slandance in Park City, Utah.

Slamdance ’16: Dead Hands Dig Deep

Edwin Borsheim is the embodiment of all Tipper Gore’s worst fears, even her most outlandish. He is notorious to a select few as the front man of the extreme metal band Kettle Cadaver. For one unlikely moment, it looked like he band was building some momentum, but then reality set in. Since their implosion, Borsheim has existed in a highly unstable state of self-imposed exile. Filmmaker Jai Love ventured into Borsheim macabre lair, documenting his profoundly anti-social attitudes and behavior in Dead Hands Dig Deep, which screens during the 2016 Slamdance Film Festival.

This film is not for those who are weak of stomach or easily offended. Borsheim’s fame, such as it is, rests on his graphic stage excesses involving unsimulated self-mutilation. Apparently, Kettle Cadaver sold enough of their two shock videos to be in regular inventory at Tower Records. Be warned, there is a lot of blood in DHDD and it looks real enough. However, Borsheim willingly did it to himself, so there you have it. Frankly, Borsheim makes Insane Clown Posse look like the New Seekers and DHDD makes Last Days Here look like Mariah Carey’s A Christmas Melody.

Not surprisingly, Borsheim had trouble making his relationship with the love of his life work, so he crafted a wooden mannequin to take her place. When not passively aggressively threatening suicide, he manically fantasizes about shooting sprees and mass murder. At one point, he signed on for a planned campaign of hate crimes against Christian charities, but the conversation of an accomplice threw a spanner in the works. By the time someone pulls a copy of Mein Kompf off his shelf late in the film, it hardly registers anymore. The truth is DHDD would be deeply unsettling if it were a horror film. As a documentary, it is terrifying.

Yet, there is a point to DHDD beyond mere gawking. You do not need five minutes of psychiatric training to diagnose Borsheim’s clinical depression. He might have scared the snot out of Love and his Australian crew, but their camera became the closest thing in his world to a psychiatrist’s couch.

Still, the trappings of death and witchcraft surrounding Borsheim speak volumes. We try to avoid cursing here, but there is no other way to say it: this film is fucked up. It is just one WTF after another. Slamdance has programmed some adventurous docs in the past, like Kung Fu Elliot and The Institute, but DHDD is in a league by itself. Love is probably still suffering from shellshock, but he and his crew deserve all kinds of credit for guts and perseverance. Highly recommended for those who appreciate hardcore metal, hardcore documentaries, and hardcore reality, Dead Hands Dig Deep screens again this Wednesday (1/27) in Park City, as part of this year’s Slamdance.