Indie Summer
Friday, August 26th, 2005
"So, how was your summer?" My answer to this frequently disingenuous question will be simple this year: "Bloody awesome." My summer’s summary will not include tales of debauchery in the Hamptons dunes, blitzed bikinied publicists, or mojitos (ok, there was this one mojito). Nope, I’ll spin stories of iced-coffee buzzes, sepulchral screening rooms, long shots, and the sublime genius of Wong Kar-Wai. For this has been the splendid summer of the indie film.
I’m no anti-Hollywood film snob. I’ve seen all of this year’s big blockbusters (Revenge of the Sith, Fantastic Four, Batman Begins, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, War of the Worlds, Wedding Crashers, you name it), laughing, crying, and gasping at all the right (and rigorously tested) moments. I don’t go to these movies expecting great art — that’s da showbiz — but can we please dial down the crass contempt for the audience just a wee bit? Every juvenile joke, phoned-in scene, and pointless character seems a slap in the face to my New York City, college-educated, seen-more-than-five-flicks sensibility. Honestly, I’m feeling a little molested by big Hollywood, with no relief in sight — as Michael Jackson has shown us, molesters with money can get away with anything.
And then I saw Me and You and Everyone We Know at IFC Film Center. Miranda July’s debut feature film about people struggling to connect is everything an indie should be: focused, fresh, and subversive. The characters put themselves out there again and again in search of understanding — through conversations, phone calls, chat rooms, video tapes, salacious messages taped on windows – and find themselves misinterpreted and misunderstood more often than not. In the end, love descends, slipping past the barriers, an enveloping warm embrace.
2046, by sensualist-director Wong Kar-Wai, also explores the themes of connection, want, and frustrated desire. A sequel to Wong’s masterpiece, In the Mood for Love, 2046 continues the story of the previous movie’s main character, a newspaper man haunted by an almost-affair who embarks on a series of intense one-sided flings. Wong is painterly in the way he drenches each frame with color and texture and the way he dabs together action and dialogue (most scenes are improvised on-set). Sitting in the claustrophobic confines of Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, I was struck by two thoughts: first, "Blondes don’t go to art house movies," and second, "Wong Kar-Wai is the best filmmaker working today."
Two other films that caught my eye were March of the Penguins by Luc Jacquet and Broken Flowers by Jim Jarmusch. While Broken Flowers would seem to have the advantages of Jarmusch’s indie street cred and the seemingly endless Bill Murray win streak, I have to say I found the National Geographic penguin documentary more interesting and enlightening. I knew what was motivating the penguins; can’t say the same about Bill Murray’s character, Don Johnston. One thing I will give to Jarmusch: he took one of the world’s most interesting looking actresses, Tilda Swinton, whose famous androgynous looks won her the part of the angel Gabriel in the recent crapmine Constantine, and transformed her to a trashy biker chick. Bravo.
