Indie Summer
"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.
September 7th, 2005 at 4:14 pm
I wish I could find a tactful–even elegant–way of saying that the only-even-slightly-enlightening effect of this clear-and-utter disaster is to provide revelation to those below the Mason-Dixon that the “President” is an ineffective, negligent twit.
I keep wondering where the biased “media” ever got the notion (oft-repeated, yet unsubstantiated) that Bush’s response to 9/11 was anything to write home about. “Strong and immediate” — my a-ss. I’ve always considered “Bush-as-rally-er” as a corrective myth of scared-shtless mid-Americans trying to maintain their sense of bloated bravado.
If my memory is correct, after the 9/11 attacks, that cowardly idget (that would be W) skedaddled, flying around the country like a scared child seeking refuge in his mother’s bed after having a nightmare. In fact, I believe he flew to Louisiana, before fleeing to Nebraska. And look what happened to Louisiana. Coincidence? All I say is that Omaha better watch its butt.
After 9/11, it took Bush three whole days to reach New York, despite pretty clear evidence that all of those scary terrorists who carried out the attacks on New York were already dead.
It was the spirit of New Yorkers that brought the nation together. Bush just simply used it for his political gain, to steal another undeserved election.
And don’t trust him not to try it again. Beware!
Here’s my prediction:
I’m still awaiting the administration to announce the “War on Atmospheric Circulation,” or the “War on the Release of Heat via Water Vapor Condensation at High Altitudes.” Then, despite somewhat clear evidence that Katrina developed in warm waters off Mauritania, then aided by a tropical wave east of the Bahamas, Bush completely nukes the entire island of Cuba, in a mission effort entitled “Ending the Gulf Stream As We Know It.”
All of Europe north of Portugal (a.k.a. “Old Europe”) freezes. Several days later, Tony Blair complains on behalf of his countrymen and fellow EU brethren that Bush’s response to the hurricane may have been a bit rash, or irresponsible, or politically-motivated. Bush brushes off the protestations, accusing Europe of not adjusting to the realities of the post-Katrina world. Bush reassures Americans by claiming that we’re fighting low-pressure systems abroad so we won’t have to fight them in Pascagoula.
His popularity in U.S. polls rises to stratospheric levels, and he appoints himself — and is subsequently confirmed — to a life-time term as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.