Film Review

Bloody Good Time

Leah Richards — Sun, 05 Apr 2020 19:13:53 +0000

Bloody Good Time Leah Richards April 5, 2020 - 15:13

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Bloodride

Netflix, 2020

6 episodes

Of note to fans of compact bursts of un-self-serious horror, the Norwegian series Bloodride (2020; original title Blodtur) has recently been added to Netflix's streaming catalog, joining such series as Two Sentence Horror Stories (2019- ), also on Netflix; Shudder's Creepshow (2019- ) series, renewed for an upcoming second season; and, to a lesser extent, Amazon Prime Video's Lore (2017-2018) in the resurgence of the tv horror anthology. While it may not contain any masterpieces of the form, it is certainly on par with current comparable series, offering up enough occasionally gory fun to recommend it.

The stories in Bloodride, created by Kjetil Indregard and Atle Knudsen, have no connection to one another beyond the opening credits sequence, so its six episodes, all clocking in at just a few minutes on either side of half an hour, can be watched in any order. The title connects to the opening frame, such as it is, in which a seemingly empty bus with an unpleasant-looking driver is revealed to carry the souls or spirits of characters from the various episodes (each opening sequence gives slightly expanded focus to the character or characters from that particular episode). Beyond its effectively creepy aesthetic, this frame doesn't bear too much thinking about: for example, some of the spectral rider are murderers and some are victims, so it would seem to be a stretch to see this as, say, a bus to hell (which was a tempting reading after the first episode), leaving the "bloodride" to operate more as a metaphor for the viewer experience than for anything specific in the series itself. The tone of the episodes has a lot of affinity with the HBO Tales from the Crypt (1989-1996) series, minus the bad puns, as well as with the first Creepshow film (1982). While Bloodride isn't quite horror comedy, it is assertively entertaining rather than unsettling, with some of the installments even including that EC comics-style moral message found in Crypt and Creepshow, and it isn't generally bloody or graphic enough to put off the average horror viewer (though the first episode might cause animal lovers some discomfort).

Like most horror anthologies, Bloodride is uneven. Two of its best episodes bookend the series. The first, "Ultimate Sacrifice," finds Molly (Ine Marie Wilmann), her husband Leon (Bjørnar Teigen), and her daughter Katja (Emma Spetalen Magnusson) relocating, with extreme reluctance in Molly's case, from the city to one of those small towns with a dark secret that are ubiquitous in the horror genre. The mechanics of that secret drive a simple but well executed parable about greed, and the episode falls into that category of horror that engages with financial anxieties by way of the supernatural (think of the tradition of films in which the protagonists can't leave the haunted house that they purchased because they would take too much of a loss). The sixth episode, "The Elephant in the Room," takes place at an office party, the off-kilter atmosphere of which is helped by everyone wearing full-body animal costumes (it's a theme party). Paul (Karl Vidar Lende) and Kristin (Rebekka Jynge), the company's newest employees, hear about a coworker's coma-inducing accident on the job and, deciding that something untoward is going on, embark on some amateur sleuthing. "Elephant" succeeds on the strength of its leads and their tentative bonding, a little gleefully deployed gore mixed with some comedy, and some aggressively odd and off-putting moments of behavior by one of the characters, conduct of which HR would most definitely not approve. "Bad Writer," in which Olivia (Dagny Backer Johnsen) takes a writing class and is subjected to much worse than peer feedback, is not quite as strong as the first and last entries, but it overall belongs in the top rather than the bottom half of the season. Its central trope is by no means a new one, and viewers would be best served not to think too hard about the plot holes created by the narrative, but Johnsen gives a strong, appealing lead performance, Henrik Rafaelsen is effective as Olivia's ambiguously strange classmate Alex, and the story pulls off a few legitimately good twists by the end.

"Three Sick Brothers" and "The Old School" are significantly more middling offerings. The first, involving dysfunctional brothers, a hitchhiker, and a trip to the family cabin, suffers from its own reliance on a long-established plot trope (including that it is easy for the reveal in such a plot to feel like a cheat), and although it is sufficiently enjoyable in the moment, it's hard to remember specifics a week or so after watching it. While "The Old School" also treads very familiar ground—a woman named Sanna (Ellen Bendu) takes a job at a newly reopened school in the countryside and finds herself investigating an ominous mystery from decades in its past—it does so efficiently and with solid performances. It also benefits from some impressive and well shot scenery, and its ending deviates at least slightly from those of many similar tales. "Lab Rats," about ruthless CEO Edmund's (Stig R. Amdam) unsavory efforts to figure out who stole his company's new drug prototype, is the weakest of the series, and the only one that was a bit tedious to sit through. The stereotypes of the megalomaniacal, amoral businessman and the group of people trapped in a confined space so that they might begin to turn on one another don't do enough to dispel the feeling that you've seen this story too many times before. Perhaps this is in part because the story itself strains one's suspension of disbelief even for horror. The inciting incident, for example, raises the questions of (spoilers?) why exactly a seemingly successful company would possess only a single small vial of its supposedly very important new product and, more bafflingly, why Edmund offers to show it to his assembled dinner guests. What, precisely, is anyone supposed to glean from looking at an antidepressant? After this object is discovered to be missing, it's lucky for Edmund that his company has a very large, lockable glass room that seems to be used to sedate or kill rats for experiments by filling the entire thing with gas.

On the whole, Bloodride doesn't ask too much of viewers, and it doesn't achieve, except maybe in "The Elephant in the Room," memorable atmosphere at the level of Creepshow's "The House of the Head" (adapted by Josh Malerman from his short story of the same name). However, even the less successful episodes are entertaining enough, and their short length means a brisk pace that suits the types of stories that it tells. There are worse ways to help ride out a pandemic lockdown. - Leah Richards & John R. Ziegler

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Observations By A Gamer

Luca Petracca — Fri, 13 Mar 2020 00:05:34 +0000

Observations By A Gamer Luca Petracca March 12, 2020 - 20:05

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video games

Video games are arguably the West's fastest growing pastime over the last 30 years, from the humble beginnings of Pong and Pacman, to the early days of hyper violent sickeningly beautiful carnage with Mortal Kombat and Doom. All the while Nintendo appealed to the family audience seeing massive success with Mario and Zelda games. Then in the early 2000s games like Halo, Call of Duty, and Grand Theft Auto dominated the markets and still do to this day.

The video game industry has been growing nonstop since it started in the 1970s and based on the evidence it has no signs of slowing down. Kids and adults in all aspects of Western culture can't get enough of video games. We're always searching for the next game to latch onto and play until our eyes burn out. I should know because in 2019 I spent roughly 1000 hours playing video games on my PS4 alone.

In total I own 4 video game consoles -- a PS4, Nintendo Switch, Apple laptop, and iPhone. Each piece of hardware offers me a different gaming experience. My iPhone keeps me company on train rides and loathsome family get togethers. My laptop "focuses" my brain on strategic games in the middle of classes while I pretend to take notes. My PS4 allows for the larger-than-life epics I so desperately crave. Epic gun fights and mighty heroes conquering evil in bloody duels so graphic my sweet grandma would recoil at the sight. My Nintendo Switch fulfills the more family friendly games I remember from my childhood days of playing on my Gameboy Advance and Nintendo DS. Games like Pokémon, Super Smash Bros, and Zelda. All of which are supposedly "kids" games yet Pokémon is a dog fighting simulator. Smash Bros. pits Luigi against Peach to see who can send the other flying into the stratosphere first. And Zelda tasks Link with murdering goblin tribes attempting to survive the harsh landscapes of Hyrule. While those are all relatively accurate depictions of the games, they still are over the top. Still amongst all games, none appeal to me more than looter shooters.

A "looter shooter" is a game in which you shoot things and then loot their corpses. Sounds simple and violent enough for any 13-year-old boy to get behind. However, there's a much deeper level than that. In most looter shooters, the goal is to acquire the best items in the game. You start off as powerful heroes and grow stronger as the game progresses. Usually through leveling and ability upgrades. As your level grows, so do the enemies. With each new power you gain the bad guys seem to grow twice as strong. To someone new to these games, this may seem daunting. Have no fear because the stronger the villains the better the loot. And the better the loot the closer you are to winning the game. Although it seems you can never truly win.

Looter shooters are designed so that the next item you desire is always just out of reach. The feeling that you’re so close to getting it but then the boss doesn’t drop it. In these games bosses and enemies have dedicated "loot pools." A "loot pool" is all the items that have the potential to drop from said enemy. Each item is then given a percentage to drop from that specific enemy. For example, there’s a dragon who can drop a sword, a bow, a halberd, a helmet, and a magic staff. The sword has a 50% chance, the bow 20%, the halberd 15%, the helmet 12%, and the magic staff 3%. Usually, the rarer the item the stronger. Side note, looter shooters are so addictive they get a math hating moron to excitedly figure out percent’s in his head for 3 minutes. Now back to the main topic. Let’s say you’ve fought this dragon 10 times and each time it takes you 15 minutes because he’s such a deadly beast. Most players will have gotten the sword, bow, halberd, and helmet by now. In fact, you’ve probably got each of them twice and the sword 9 times. What do you do with all this loot? You pick it up and toss it in storage. And that’s where our problem truly begins.

Looter shooter players are constantly desiring more storage for their endless supply of stuff. Just like their real-life counterparts. Over my short 21 years I've had so much useless shit that selling half of it on eBay and buying a storage locker still isn't enough. My childhood bedroom is packed full of shit I haven't touched in 4 years. Old toys and books that I'll never play with or read again. Holding onto them thinking someday my kids will get the same enjoyment I did. Clothes I never wear but refuse to get rid of because it'd make me feel guilty for just tossing away money. Looter shooters capitalize on these feelings so expertly. Players will spend hours "farming" bosses for loot. "Farming" is when a player performs a repetitive action to gain experience, in game currency, or items. I've spent upwards of 200 hours farming in my lifetime and for what? To repeatedly be let down when the dragon doesn't drop that stupid fucking magic staff which I need to be considered "cool" in the context of this game. I've wasted so much time when I could've learned a new language or become a better guitar player. Oh, but the gameplay, it's so smooth and satisfying I just want more.

These games know how to make combat feel exciting even though you've experienced nearly all it has to offer about halfway through. Your actions carry a weight and you see it play out in front of your eyes. Equipping the sword and hacking off ghoul limbs. Then switching to your bow and sneaking around a snowy fortress dropping clueless guards one by one. Finally, you get the magic staff and you charge headfirst into the enemy barracks. With two clicks of a button everyone in the room is burnt to dust. But you can't get enough from one use. You travel to fortresses all over the map leaving a trail of death everywhere you go. You can let out all that frustration from farming on the soldiers and monsters who dare oppose you. Looter shooters know how to make junk feel useful.

The players are the biggest reason for these games' success. Youtubers and streamers that design "builds" for characters and weapons. A build is a specific skill set up of a character that maximizes the damage potential of weapons in the game. Players will spend just as many hours working on the builds as they did farming the weapons. Testing out each skill and its effect on combat and survivability. Streaming their tests on Twitch for some reason. Attempting to make funny comments while running around in game for 5 hours. They upload their findings to YouTube for all the lazier gamers to use. Now the process is almost complete. You have the items you want and the perfect build to complement the items. What’s next? Well, that's pretty much it. The game is essentially over. You can use your build to farm for more items. Or you can wait around until the next expansion pack drops in 3 months. Then you can finally use the build killing an array of new enemies. Only to find out that new items have dropped along with skill changes made by the developers. Now the build you spent two weeks attaining is rendered useless. But the desire to return to that level of power brings players back again and again.

I've played countless looter shooters in my day; Borderlands, Destiny, The Division, etc. But those are just games classified as such. There's a plethora of other games that utilize ideas of looter shooters while being a different game altogether. The Fallout games are a perfect example. Those games focus more on story and character building so it feels like the items you acquire will have an effect on outcome of the story. Instead of hours spent farming you walk aimlessly bringing life back to a desolate wasteland. Both types of games heavily exploit a player's desire for more shit. You want more, more, more until your storage is full. Then you complain that the developers didn't give you enough storage options even though you have 200 spaces in your storage. That's 200 individual items. Most of the time a player will have multiple copies of the same item with slight variations. This magic staff shoots a fireball, but this one shoots lightning bolts. They have the same name and identical stats but that slight difference will cause players to have more than one.

Many items also share the same feature so players will fill up their storage but only have 125 unique weapons, which is still too many. Think of it like having 5 striped shirts all with identical stripe layouts. Instead of going for different sized stripes or vertical instead of horizontal stripes, players are opting for different colors of the same shirt. Something I still am all too guilty of. Thankfully I've learned to part ways with a lot of my shit. Now I'm learning to not acquire all this shit in the first place and instead pick my items wisely and with purpose.

Mr. Petracca is a graduating senior at Ithaca College. He's a gamer, writer, actor, and comedian from New York City.

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Stanley!

Mark Weston — Sun, 01 Mar 2020 03:09:05 +0000

Stanley! Mark Weston February 29, 2020 - 22:09

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dramatic comedy

Sometimes one gets away from you. When Stan and Ollie was first was released I knew I wanted to see it, but for some reason didn't. Maybe it was my impression that the reviews were lackluster. And, in reading back through them, they feel that way. In the Times, Jason Zinoman (who for my money often misses the mark), was assigned to review, though he rarely if ever reviews films. For some reason they have designated him their "comedy" critic, and I guess that's why they threw this film his way. It's not that his review is a pan, it's that he writes about it with utter disinterest and any praise is grudging. His review is disdainful.

I was flying back from Europe recently and looking for a film or two to while away the hours when I came across Stan and Ollie. It is wonderful, from start to finish, wonderful. That it gained no traction in awards season, that both Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly weren't nominated, that the film was not a Best Picture nominee (in an era where it seems that anything released in a movie theater garners a Best Picture nod), is a terrible shame.

When I say that this is a gentle comedy about two gentle comedians I mean it as the highest praise. Here we get a glimpse into the chemistry and grace that made Laurel and Hardy the most beloved and revered comedic duo in the world. More than that we get a beautiful rendering of a relationship and friendship between two men who are bound together, who love each other and how complicated that can be.

But what really sets this film several cuts above virtually any of the over-hyped juggernauts of 2019 (I do not include Parasite or Pain & Glory in the foregoing) are the brilliantly and deceptively off-hand performances of Coogan and Reilly. Virtually any other actor would have flirted with if not succumbed to caricature. That these performances succeed so completely -- that they embody Stan and Ollie from the inside and on the outside without a shred of "acting" -- is almost a virtual impossibility and even now, reflecting back on these performances, I am in awe of what Coogan and Reilly achieved. And they just make it look so easy.

The result is that we get to see Stan and Ollie doing their most famous comedy routines with perfect timing and effortless charm. I found myself laughing out loud on the airplane -- the comedy was so fresh and true. And we get to see the strains on their personal friendship, portrayed without histrionics or melodrama. I found myself crying on the plane -- the emotional moments were so poignant and subtle.

Load this one up, folks, and watch it. I fear for too many of us, this is one that got away.

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The Misery of Life

Mark Weston — Tue, 21 Jan 2020 15:57:19 +0000

The Misery of Life Mark Weston January 21, 2020 - 10:57

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drama

Les Miserables -- not to be confused with the musical nicknamed Les Miz or truth be told the Victor Hugo novel from which it takes inspiration -- is incendiary. Literally. It takes place in a neighborhood outside Paris. There the detritus of French society live in housing projects that look like prisons or human warehouses. The film focuses on three mis-matched plain-clothes homeland security cops -- one a foul-mouthed white bigot who looks a bit like Putin, one a black cop who grew up in the hood (he bears a physical resemblance to Jesse Green from Law & Order) and the newbie, a recently transferred cop who has both a moral conscience and a Gallic nose. On the other side of the law are the immigrant kids who over-run the 'hood, and the competing corrupt interests of the "mayor," a drug lord and a Muslim Imam.

Les Miserables resembles the first act of Slumdog Millionaire or the recent indy film The Florida Project. It is hard-hitting, relentless and dystopic. It's a documentary-style portrait of a teeming underclass of kids without hope. One of the film's episodes concerns a lion cub stolen from a circus -- the cub is treated with more humanity than the kids. But in the end, the kids get their revenge.

There's nothing more unsettling than seeing the faces of these children. They have fun, they laugh, they bluster, they cower, they act out -- like children everywhere. Like our children here on the Upper West Side experimenting with skateboards and cigarettes and sex in the park. Except our children have a future. The children in Les Miserables do not.

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Trans Teens, American Muslims, and Harriet Tubman Get Their Due at Cinematters

Brandon Judell — Thu, 16 Jan 2020 18:11:43 +0000

Trans Teens, American Muslims, and Harriet Tubman Get Their Due at Cinematters Brandon Judell January 16, 2020 - 13:11

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LGQBT

Frame from Anthony Mandler's All Rise

Before "Jokering" around, Joaquin Phoenix noted in the 2005 documentary Earthlings: "Since we all inhabit the earth, we are all considered earthlings. There is no sexism, racism, or speciesism in the term 'earthling.' It encompasses each and every one of us: warm- or cold-blooded, mammal, vertebrate or invertebrate, bird, reptile, amphibian, fish and human alike."

In a far better world or, more realistically, only in a sci-fi novel, such a state of congenial existence with no negative "isms" might be achieved. We're not there though, and consequently salamanders, sardines, and koalas don’t have it easy. However, Cinematters: NY Social Justice Film Festival, which runs from January 16–20, is a new annual event that limits its focus to just humans and their plight. Even with that narrow focus, the event has its hands full.

Opening night showcases Anthony Mandler's All Rise, a true tale of a black honors student charged with felony murder. Jennifer Hudson and Kelvin Harrison Jr. (Waves) star.

Leana Hosea's doc, Thirst for Justice, dives into America’s contaminated water crisis, focusing on communities in Flint, Michigan, and Sanders, Arizona, and the accompanying health effects such as ovarian cancer and lead poisoning. (One in four of your fellow U.S. citizens are currently sipping and bathing in possibly pestilent H2O, but you already knew that, right?)

Barak Goodman and Chris Durrance's Slay the Dragon takes on gerrymandering; Linda Goldstein's We Are the Radical Monarchs follows a group of moms and their daughters as they create an alternative to the Girl Scouts where minorities do not feel left out, and so forth and so on.

As for Adam Zucker's vibrant American Muslim, this hard-hitting doc bristles forth with facts such as "nearly 60% of Muslims living in in the United States are first-generation immigrants," most of whom have become American citizens, with the majority living in New York City. The film, shot in the time immediately after Donald Trump passed his travel ban affecting seven Muslim countries, captures the plight of those affected and those trying to help the same in communities such as Ozone Park, Queens, and Sunset Park, Brooklyn.

Frame from American Muslim

Amidst footage of 5,000 men praying in a parking lot, interviews about being female and Muslim, fundraising for indigent families, speeches in a synagogue, plus a marshmallow-in-the-mouth stuffing contest, there are chats about the Koran and belief systems: "Religion is personal. It's how you connect with your inner self. Your creator."

There are also community dances to protest Trumpian policies plus tales such as that of a father picked up by the authorities while his daughter, a 7th grader, was in school. What grief did she come home to? Yet the film’s message is: "Do not despair. Have hope." Luckily, there are signs of progress as one man observes: "Our neighbors don’t think we’re as strange as they used to."

This is a timely doc that addresses an ignorance-fueled hatred embraced by so many FOX-aholics. Yet if any of these MAGA-capped folks would ever watch Zucker's applaud-worthy offering, their bigotry might be decimated. The chances of them purchasing tickets for this screening? Nil. I know. I’m related to a bunch.

Michael Barnett's Changing the Game, a moving documentary on three trans-teens competing in the sports arena, also incorporates a reaction or two to Trump, here though to his vilification of the non-cisgendered.

Mack Beggs is a Texas high-school wrestler forced to wrestle girls while he considers himself a boy. Does being on testosterone give him an unfair advantage? Some of the media, a few of Mack's opponents, and many of their parents certainly feel so. And what happens when he wins the state championship?

Intercut with his journey is Sarah Rose Huckman's. She's a transgender female skier, who sometimes holds back from winning her events to avoid criticism that it's inequitable for her to compete against cisgender girls her age because of her biology.

Andraya Yearwood is a runner, who also faces similar hostility. An old-school feminist, attending one of Yearwood's runs, rants that this teen has "made a mockery of women's sports."

Thankfully, these determined athletes all have support from their parents, guardians, friends, and coaches. Yet in a world when coming out as just gay or lesbian is still not a walk in the park, to be trans seems that much harder. According to a 2018 study by the American Academy of Pediatrics and as reported by the Human Rights Campaign, "more than half of transgender male teens who participated in the survey reported attempting suicide in their lifetime, while 29.9 percent of transgender female teens said they attempted suicide. Among non-binary youth, 41.8 percent of respondents stated that they had attempted suicide at some point in their lives." As Beggs' grandfather notes, "There's always some redneck against [them]."

Yearwood's mom agrees and explains why athletics must be open to her daughter and other trans teens:

"This is important. We’re talking about life or death. It scares me the numbers what she's up against. What my child won't be is suicidal. What my child won't be is on drugs. If track gives these young kids an opportunity to be living their truth, how dare we take that away from them. So for me that's being unfair. That's more than being unfair. That's cruel."

Tales of the City's author, Armistead Maupin, once noted, "The world changes in direct proportion to the number of people willing to be honest about their lives." This is what Changing the Game is about . . . as is Cinematters.

The fest's closing night feature is the highly successful Harriet Tubman bio that has just earned its star Cynthia Erivo a Best Actress Oscar nom. With the emotional restraints of a Lifetime movie, Harriet, though no doubt thoroughly researched, has a way of making the truth seem counterfeit. Did Tubman really get on her knees every ten minutes and ask God whether to go left or right with the slaves she was trying to free? As filmed and as directed, you’ll have to take a leap of faith to accept Harriet’s own faith as depicted.

For example, here's a scene taken directly from the screenplay, in which William Still, known as the "Father of the Underground Railroad," is attempting to convince Tubman to give up endangering herself.

Still: I won't have you captured and killed. I'm removing you from the network.

Harriet: I got my own network. I'll team up with John Brown. He’s . . .

Still: I can't lose you.

Harriet: You tol' your wife that?

Still: Don't be cruel.

Harriet: You de cruel one.

Still: If I had met you first . . .

Harriet: I'm not your type.

Still: How could you be? I never dreamt God made such creatures.

Harriet is moved. They stand close to each other, the air electric between them, dwelling for a moment in intoxicating possibility . . . before reality sobers them up.

Yet, if you can overlook the awkward moments as written by Gregory Allen Howard (Remember the Titans) and Kasi Lemmons (Eve's Bayou), and Lemmons' often embarrassing direction (e.g. cardboard villains), Harriet can still serve as a powerful introduction to the topic for young folk.

And with an impressive list of events and a noteworthy slate of films, the much-needed Cinematters, launched by the Marlene Meyerson JCC Manhattan, is clearly making an equally powerful debut on the fest circuit. (Tickets can be purchased online.)

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The Bridge Between a Film and Its Music

Isabella Huang — Mon, 23 Dec 2019 15:00:00 +0000

The Bridge Between a Film and Its Music Isabella Huang December 23, 2019 - 10:00

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soundtrack

The chances of finding two suspects on the run are quite slim in a remarkably populated city like Manhattan. What does NYPD detective Andre Davis do when he faces this dilemma in 21 Bridges?

Chadwick Boseman's character, Andre Davis shuts down all 21 bridges connecting the island of Manhattan to find the suspects, while trying to understand the unfolding conspiracy involving him. Directed by Brian Kirk and produced by the Russo Brothers, this film is a fast-paced thriller that keeps the audience drawn to the characters as their morals and values are in question. When it is difficult for the characters to communicate their thoughts, the captivating film score by Alex Belcher and Henry Jackman tells the unspoken complexities of both the protagonists and antagonists.

With credits on many fan favorite projects such as Captain America: Civil War, Kingsman: The Secret Service, and the Netflix sci-fi thriller IO, Alex Belcher is a storyteller that uses music as his medium. Recently, Alex granted us an opportunity to have ask him some questions.

What approach did you take to compose for 21 Bridges? Did you have any inspirations for the score?

Yes, quite a few. [We listened to] Bernard Herrmann's score for Cape Fear, Quincy Jones’s score for Money; [the score for] The French Connection; the David Shire score for The Taking of Pelham One Two Three; as well as Taxi Driver -- an American classic -- all of these films from an era that we [Henry Jackman and I] love. We weren't trying to completely imitate the score from these films. We wanted it to be a nod in that direction while still putting our own spin on it because we're not those legendary film composers, and we don't write exactly like they do. We had a blast writing the score because it is music that you don't get to write a lot.

Howard Shore, a composer for The Lord of the Rings, once mentioned that some of his favorite moments to score were the heartfelt moments between Frodo and Sam. Were there any dynamics between certain characters in any of your projects so far that you adore the most?

In 21 Bridges, there was a very captivating dynamic between Andre [played by Chadwick Boseman] and Michael [played by Stephan James], the two main characters. One of them is a cop, the other is a bad guy. It’s a very generic relationship but within that there is so much more. They are both two people who are in something that is over their head, they're trying to make sense of it all, and they're against each other. That to me artistically was a lot of fun because of the good guy versus bad guy dynamic, and we all know that type of music, but relationships like that of Andre and Michael are more nuanced than that.

Chadwick Boseman, 21 Bridges

They're both interesting to each other. They both have really developed characters and intricate personalities, and the way that those two characters play off each other on screen really allowed us to write some music that dived into that existential being. This is a lot of fun because you're not just playing what you see on screen, you get to play music that fit their emotional depth. It really opened up a lot musically as to what we could do and write in a way that you may not be able to do for other films.

You've worked with Henry Jackman on many projects such as 21 Bridges, Captain America: Civil War, and the two Kingsman movies, and many more. Can you talk a little bit about your work relationship with Henry Jackman? Is there a story behind how you started collaborating?

Henry and I met almost 10 years ago. At the time, his career was just starting out and I had just moved to LA and started working here at Hans Zimmer's place. He was looking for someone that could help him out and make some noises, mess around with some synths, play some guitar here and there. That's really where our professional relationship began.

We had a shared love of a lot of the same films like I talked about with 21 Bridges. A lot of our inspirational aspects come from that era, so we bonded over that and our professional relationship snowballed to where it is today as collaborators [...] I was a young guy starting out and he taught me a lot. I made a lot of cool sounds, he liked what I was doing, and we worked well together. We've both been very lucky in our careers, and I'm very lucky to have a mentor like him because that's critical [when you're getting] yourself through that door and establishing yourself as a composer here in Hollywood.

What sparked your interest to become a composer?

Growing up, I worked at a theater as an actor while also pursuing music, so at a pretty young age it was pretty quick for me to combine those two loves for storytelling and writing music. I stumbled upon the profession in college when I was studying composition and realized that it allowed me to sort of hang on to the feelings of theater that I loved so much.

Are there any exciting upcoming projects that you would like to talk about?

At the moment I am doing Made in Italy, which is a film by the actor James D'Arcy, and it is his directorial debut for Lionsgate. It's a wonderful film. Henry [Jackman] has a long relationship with the Russo Brothers, and through that we will be continuing to work with them on Dhaka, which we’re doing right now. This is a really intense film, and we are super excited for the audience to watch that and hear our score.

21 Bridges is now in theaters.

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Music for a Story Running Out of Time: A Conversation with Simon TaufiQue

Isabella Huang — Mon, 11 Nov 2019 21:55:36 +0000

Music for a Story Running Out of Time: A Conversation with Simon TaufiQue Isabella Huang November 11, 2019 - 16:55

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documentary

The latest offering from Independent Lens, PBS's weekly documentary television series, is Andrés Caballero and Sofia Khan's The Interpreters, a hard-hitting chronicle of what happened to three of the 50,000 local interpreters the U.S. military employed during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and then mostly left behind, unprotected by the government that promised them a rosy future.

As the filmmakers have noted, "Making this film made us feel a little less hopeful in humanity despite having good outcomes. The reality is that most interpreters are still out there, in hiding, being targeted and killed as they wait for their visas."

As Sgt. Paul Braun notes in the documentary:

"The interpreters were considered traitors to their country . . . traitors to their religion. They either had to wear a mask over their faces or use fake names. But after a while, people found out who they were."

So how does one tell the story of people in time-crunch of their lives? And how does one find the right musical notes to accompany such fear and bravery?

Co-producer and composer Simon TaufiQue rises to the task, masterfully enriching the tale of these heroes who put their lives at stake. The British-born, award-winning TaufiQue, who has 53 credits for the scores he wrote for various features features and shorts, took a moment off to sit down for a phone chat with us last week.

You've have worked on quite a variety of projects such as Jesus Henry Christ, She's Lost Control, and Are You Glad I'm Here. How did you get involved in this project?

This is through filmmaker Sofian Khan, the director of this movie. I met him when I was the program director for the South Asian Film Festival 11 years ago . . . . [T]he festival [was] inspiring to young south Asian filmmakers. One of those was Sofian Khan. He was the director of photography for a film called Ramchand Pakistani. . . . [W]e became friends from that point on. . . and we just stayed in touch. When he had some projects that matched my style of music, we started working together. After I produced Imperium [with Daniel Radcliffe], we connected and discussed this project. I was so moved by the story and the mission of The Interpreters . . . that I offered whatever I could do to help. I wasn't thinking musically, but as a producer, a fan of his work, and as someone that wants to help tell this story. Along the way I became the composer of the film. That was a couple years ago, meeting for coffee trying to catch up and being swept away by the story. Khan was just shooting it because he wanted to highlight stories that weren't being told.

How did the soundtrack of The Interpreters evolve?

We realized that the story is a very much a real-life thriller. These are people that put their lives on the line to help the US troops and coalition forces, and they are being seen as traitors by fellow countrymen because they are helping the "invaders." They believed in the mission of democracy and changing their country for the better with the help of the United States and other countries. So they took that chance, and then when their turn came to leave the country, when the Americans left, and they knew there'd be a bullseye on their back, they were promised a chance to leave, and the promise wasn't kept.

We were trying to tell the story of how these people survived and made sense of that, and how the Americans on the other side were trying to get these people out. It's a ticking-bomb scenario type of film because you don't know how it's going to end or if the people will find their way to safety. That was the impulse behind creating the music for this film. Not just telling the story of Iraq or Afghanistan but telling the story of people who are in a very scary place. They are in a pressure cooker, so they don't know if they'll make it out in time. That sense of urgency, anxiety, but also the story of kinship and love between the Interpreters and their American partners who wanted them to be safe were the impulses behind the music of the film.

How did you start composing and how did you recognize you wanted a career in composing?

Both by accident. I didn't realize that I could be a composer for film until I was asked to write music for film. I got into music by chance, and the thought of having a career in music was a fantasy, and not something I never thought I could be.

As a first generation immigrant and first in my family to go to college, there were a lot of expectations that I would have a very stable and secure career, and so I was pursuing political science and economics, double majoring in NYU with the intention of going to law school or graduate school for a career in foreign service. I wanted to be a diplomat, an ambassador, and change things for the better.

Along the way in my undergraduate studies, I became really good friends with a young filmmaking student. It turns out he was M. Night Shyamalan. We just were best friends, and he would take me to his film classes, and introduce me to his composer and his team of collaborators.

While that was happening, I was becoming more immersed in music as a hobby. I was writing songs; I was playing in band just for fun. Along the way, he asked me to write a song for one of his films, and I got to see how tangible creativity could be as a long-term goal. I thought then that "if I saved enough money, if I got to practice enough, I could someday record some songs and maybe an album or something." Then [Shyaman's] career took off, and we stayed friends; I got to visit his sets. I got to visit the post-production. I got to see how his composer was doing stuff. So just because of being a supportive friend and just being really excited for him, I, by accident, was soaking up all these lessons about creativity and collaboration.

Seeing his trajectory from doing stuff that was small scale and easy to digest, and seeing all that catapult and explode into very large scale stuff, but still seeing the same person, creativity, and root source behind it all was very inspiring to me. When I was asked to write music for a friend's film, I jumped at the chance even though I didn't know what I was doing. But because of all of that exposure, I knew what I needed to do. I knew what the film needed, and I somehow was able to cobble together music that made that film a better story.

I've read that one of your methods of composing is muting the television and playing your guitar along with it. Russian composer Mussorgsky did something similar for his piece "Pictures at an Exhibition." According to Leonard Bernstein, Mussorgsky "tried to compose music that would describe them, in other words, do what a painter would do with paint." How would you compare that to your experiences composing along muted TV Shows?

I didn't know that. That is fascinating to hear! It's really inspiring because I was not doing it with the intention of scoring a TV show. I was just practicing guitar and the TV was on, and it was interfering with what I was hearing, so I turned down the volume and just played my scales or chords while looking at the TV, and it influenced what I was playing without me knowing it.

So the creative influences and spark of painting a visual with sound is what I ended up doing without real understanding of how to do it or what I was doing in that moment, and then when my now wife came into the room, she said, "Wait! That's not coming from the TV? You're doing that?" That's when I got the idea that something was going on here that I was not aware of; I was channeling some inspiration there that I wasn't aware I had the ability to do. I think we will always try to channel that raw instinctive impulse, and our technique allows us to shape it into a form that makes sense but without that spark. I don't think the technique can ever make up for that. I think that it's just the shaping of the initial idea. -

(The Interpreters first airs on PBS this Veteran's Day at 10 PM EST.) Check out the trailer here: PBS

Miss Huang is a student of Macaulay's Honors College at CCNY and an online writer. This is her first article for CultureCatch.com.

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It's incredible to see a…

It's incredible to see a professional musician's creative process incorporate something as commonplace as TV! It makes me think of what other activities in my daily routine I can use as a source of inspiration in my writing. I look forward to your future articles, Ms. Huang!

This was an excellent…

This was an excellent article on a very sad central issue. The ability for a composer like Mr. TaufiQue to convey to the viewer the genuine fear, tension, anxiety, and stress felt by these Interpreters as their new reality of being ostracized by their own neighbors and community members dawned on them is pivotal to the show's mission of bringing the world's lens on their plight.

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Trump's Mentor

Dennis Rohatyn — Thu, 31 Oct 2019 19:43:28 +0000

Trump's Mentor Dennis Rohatyn October 31, 2019 - 15:43

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Film Review

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documentary

If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, no recent film could be more congenial to anyone with a heart or a brain than Where's My Roy Cohn? (2019, dir. Matt Tyrnauer). Tyrnauer, whose repertoire includes Citizen Jane: The Battle for the City, Studio 54, and Valentino: The Last Emperor, presents us with a disarmingly simple thesis: Donald Trump was made in the image of Roy Cohn (1927-1986), the "sinister" sidekick of red-baiting Sen. Joseph McCarthy, who was as "evil" as he was brilliant, both as an attorney in high-profile cases and in his private life. I will not argue about Cohn, because the point of the film is not that Cohn was a sleazy, corrupt, no-holds-barred bastard (he was), but that he and he alone taught Donald Trump everything that Mr. Trump knows about lying, cheating, stealing and (for the most part) getting away with it without the slightest remorse or shame. That is the thesis of this documentary -- indeed, the only one. The analogies are certainly there, and are worth examining. But the thesis is so one-sided, so formulaic, and so reductive that it invites refutation.

For one thing, it leaves Trump's father out of the picture (sic) entirely, yet everyone knows, and Trump himself admits, that his father had a formative influence on him, both as a person and as a "builder" in the real estate construction industry (see Mark D’Antonio, The Truth About Trump [2016] and Never Enough: Donald Trump and the Pursuit of Success [2015], for all the relevant biographical details).

For another, it doesn't deal with the fact that Mr. Cohn was a gifted lawyer, notably erudite, exceptionally well prepared, armed with a photographic memory (which only deserted him in the last stages of his life, when he was dying of AIDS) and a rapier-like wit, plus a keen ability to reason from premises to conclusion without committing non sequiturs that even Mr. Spock might envy.

Whereas, Donald Trump has none of these (or any other) mental attributes, or else he keeps them well hidden. Which raises the question, how (if at all) did Roy Cohn manage to teach Donald Trump anything besides being a jerk? Or was that somehow innate in both men -- all in their respective genes? Trump's greed and rapacity seem downright instinctual, whereas Cohn's were acquired (as the film shows) as a consequence of diasporic exile, re-enacted in the Bronx, where Cohn grew up, and within the walls that imprisoned him at home, like Kafka's wandering fly, darting every which way to avoid being swatted. Trump was to the manor born; Cohn was from an upper-class family whose wealth he squandered. How could a bad businessman serve as an exemplar or role-model for someone who constantly boasts of his wealth, and calls everyone who is not quite as rich "losers"?

The similarities between Cohn and Trump are strained to the breaking point, before they are even drawn. Instead of insight, we get interviews with important people who knew Cohn when, observed him for many years, were wronged (or appalled) by him, scarred by him, are still (rightly) embittered, and see clear resemblances between Cohn and Trump, which leads them to issue dire warnings, echoing a Greek chorus, even as they prophesy about the past -- that is, things Trump has already done. The problem here is not one of bias: or, if it is, I share it. Rather, it's that you can't connect all the dots when there aren't that many to connect, and they veer off in ways that defy Rubik to erect a new cube -- a high-rise, open only to lawyers for Cosa Nostra and their sleazy clients.

What's left isn't even a polemic, but a rant -- an a priori judgment, based on scant evidence mixed with spite. It is not propaganda, but something far worse: shoddy journalism, which plays right into the dirty hands of ideology. The search for "Citizen Cohn" is both fascinating and undeniably important. But you need a search warrant, or else the whole project is bogus and invalid.

Lest I be accused of doing the same (vague generalities, as opposed to making specific criticisms supported by verifiable claims), I present some pertinent items for public inspection. Here are some of the many errors of omission and commission that mar this film, and make it unworthy of being called documentary, except in a fanciful or Pickwickian sense:

1. No mention is made of Cohn's touchy and troubled relationships with the two Kennedys, dating from his appointment in 1951 as McCarthy's chief aide, when Hoover chose him over Robert Kennedy, to his censure by the Senate in 1954, on a date when Senator John Kennedy was hospitalized and therefore conveniently unable to vote. RFK disapproved of Roy Cohn's methods but liked him personally, as did so many others. They worked out an uneasy truce; Bobby never disavowed him openly, nor refused any assignments. They were seated together at most of the televised sessions of HUAC, in 1953-54. JFK did not wish to appear “soft” on anti-Communism, nor to betray a fellow Irish Catholic, and risk alienating both church officials and his Massachusetts followers. His operation for Addison's disease was behind him by the time that McCarthy came up for censure, but he lingered in the hospital to avoid having to appear on the Senate floor and cast a ballot. As Eleanor Roosevelt said of him in 1957, "he needs less profile and more courage." A concise synopsis of the man, and of the book he didn’t write (as Sorensen confessed, much to the dismay of Jacqueline Onassis, when he could no longer keep it a secret).

2. Cohn helped Ronald Reagan defeat John Anderson in the 1980 NY State Primary. But Anderson's campaign had problems of its own, from start to finish. No money, poor showings in various states, a trip to Europe to burnish his foreign policy credentials that cost him precious time at home, wooing voters who didn't care about that, and didn’t even know his name.

The idea that Cohn was responsible for Anderson's downfall is ludicrous. Anderson would be the first to admit it -- and he did. Similarly, the idea that Cohn was the "fixer" who was instrumental in getting Ronald Reagan into the White House is preposterous, not because Reagan deserved to win, or because he had clean hands, but simply because it didn't happen that way. Cohn's role in Reagan's victory was minimal. Jimmy Carter was the architect of his own defeat: he beat himself, from OPEC to the Iranian hostage crisis, and from Bert Lance and Hamilton Jordan to the ill-fated "malaise speech." No further analysis or explanation of the decisive phase in Reagan’s ascent to power is necessary.

3. Geraldine Ferraro had IRS woes, a loose tongue (racist remarks), and purported connections to organized crime. Her boat sank as it left port. Again, whatever Cohn did to her is nothing compared to what she did to herself.

4. Thomas Eagleton was a victim of prudery and prejudice (against psychiatry). McGovern lost his nerve, and his senses -- he should have gone to a shrink. Eagleton was not "improperly vetted," as some allege; but Robert Novak's column tarred him with a broad brush ("amnesty, abortion, acid"). Unfortunately, Eagleton handed Novak the brush, thinking it was confidential and "off the record." Yet he was more sinned against than stupid: replacing him with Sgt. Shriver was the height of absurdity. So was doubting his mental state or stability, compared to Richard Nixon. Roy Cohn was not the issue. The chaos within the party (left over from 1968) was.

5. The lawsuits involving Trump's apartment houses were settled between 1975 and 1978, not (as shown in one piece of footage) 1982. This is a very minor point, but it illustrates the sloppy editing and lack of diligence that are apparent throughout.

6. Photographs of Cohn during various phases of his life always show him in an unflattering, unfavorable, hideous and threatening light. Granted, he wasn’t a matinée idol, but the mugshot approach is overdone. Alas, poor Nixon: only the five o'clock shadow knows how hideous (and damning) the aberrant lens can be, even when it reflects upon its own refractions, rather than distorting by default, let alone, demonizing us by design. If Cohn stepped from the grave to complain about his close-ups, he would have a very compelling case. It is obvious that he was framed -- but the audience is still a captive.

7. G. David Schine wasn't in the military, but (as was customary among select and privileged post-war peers) he wore crisp, neatly pressed uniforms to appear both authoritative and patriotic. In a nation of images, be it I Love Lucy, the Kefauver hearings or the Army-McCarthy trials, it was already imperative to have one that was spotless, all-American, and therefore above reproach. Unlike Donald Trump, Schine was not a con man or (as Holden Caulfield would say) a spoiled and vapid prep-school "phony," devoid of taste and bereft of character and intellect. But the regalia was part of his act, and (like the Music Man, minus the trombones) it did work, at least as a shield -- now there's an idea that Trump may put to defective use. Pity he didn’t think of it when he was of draft age -- or was Cohen unavailable to guide him through the Vietnam era, in such style that he might have faked it "perfectly," all the way from a Marine landing on China Beach to being "first responder" on 9/11, and on to being "chosen" to play (sic) the Messiah, coming to a resurrection near you.

But then, Trump only went to the Wharton school at U. of Pennsylvania. (Cohn went to Columbia. He got his law degree at age twenty -- as the film recounts, he was too young to apply for admission to the NY State bar! Young Joseph McCarthy was smart, too, as all of his biographers attest.

Smart in conventional terms: so is Trump, which is why he outsmarts himself -- every day of the week. If he weren't such a fool, it might be fun to watch. Since we pay for his mistakes, we're the "morons," not Trump. How dim-witted can you get? Ask George Bush, but don't wait for an answer).

Like Alger Hiss, who typed his epitaph when he "Whittiered" Richard Nixon's ravenous appetite for vengeance (or blood sport), Schine was a Harvard man, class of 1949, and (like Roy Cohn) part of the old echt Jewish Borscht Belt bourgeoisie. Is that why they hit it off, and became such good friends, if not more than good friends?

Like Cohn, whom the film all but denounces as a "self-hating Jew" (an accusation hurled at any number of individuals, including Karl Marx, Noam Chomsky, Daniel Barenboim, Rosa Luxemburg, Emma Goldman, and me), Schine was eager to assimilate, given the Hiss case, not to mention the Rosenbergs.

He married a Swedish woman in 1957, a former Miss Universe (echt gentil), fathered several children, and became a prominent movie producer as well as an accomplished musician. He and his wife died in a private airplane crash in 1996, in a plane piloted by one of his sons, who died in the same accident.

He never discussed his involvement (if any) with Cohn after 1957. Was he gay? Some say yes, others say no. At the very least, he was, uh, bisexual. My guess is that his relationship with Cohn was asexual, but had homoerotic overtones, analogous to (e.g.) Leopold and Loeb, or (as a fictional archetype) Billy Budd and John Claggart. Indeed, if Cohn's malignity is the master trope, Melville is your main man-- no need to chase after white whales, "self-hating Jews," or Machiavellian masterminds.

8. Finally, what about Dora? As it happens, Dora was the pseudonym of one of Freud's most famous patients. But the film makes her out to be the mother of Satan -- or Adolf Hitler, to be precise (doting mother, an indifferent father, spoiled from an early age, yet insecure, lonely, sexually ambivalent).

But let's not exaggerate those parallels, either, or jump to absurd conclusions.

Where is Mr. Spock when we need him? In his absence, I must rely on my all too human logic, which tells me that there's no equivalence -- only some coincidences.

The difference is, Hitler was . . . poor. Hence his hatred of the rich . . . Jews, in particular. However, Hitler has a lot more in common with Donald Trump than with Roy Cohn. But that is not the point. Rather, the depiction of Dora is a textbook case (sic) of literary misogyny, posing as historical fact. I am sure she had flaws, and was in denial about many aspects of her son's life -- not just sex, but what he did for a living, how he 'earned' his money, and who all his friends were.

But from the moment she is introduced, we hear nothing but bad things about her: ugly, unattractive, overbearing, can't get or hold a man except through parental intervention (and extortion), bad marriage, more or less frigid, and saw or heard no evil, especially where her only child was concerned. Is there nothing about this woman that is even slightly redeeming? Did anyone bother to ask, or find out?

Is this a documentary or a film noir, with cherchez la femme as its classic: sexist signature?

And what of the (absentee) father, the judge whom we dare not judge, lest we be judged, too?

Add it all up and what do you get? A film that is half-baked, half-done, and totally bad.

Not only does it raise more questions than it solves, but it indicts itself more than it succeeds in portraying Donald Trump as the protégé of Roy Cohn. Trump may be many things, but when it comes to being a political sorcerer, he was never a mere apprentice, even to his own father. It is tempting to reduce a complex individual to a simple formula. In Trump's case, there is only one formula that fits him: he wants to be all things to all people, because he is no one, even to himself.

Roy Cohn was a despicable individual, but his battered, bartered and bruised soul was his own. Trump has no soul, no heart, and no brain: only the will to power, and an abiding faith that there is a sucker born every second, waiting to be cradled in the arms of a con man. The question is, will we make a liar out of him before the sad truth sets us free?

Mr. Rohatyn is a retired philosophy professor in California who writes poems, plays, essays, and is now meditating on a book about Descartes.

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Under-Stated Portrait of Genius and Loneliness

Mark Weston — Sun, 06 Oct 2019 15:26:03 +0000

Under-Stated Portrait of Genius and Loneliness Mark Weston October 6, 2019 - 11:26

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Film Review

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biopic

It could have been an over-the-top disaster. Or a cheeky send-up. It could have been a snooze. Instead, it is a devastatingly under-stated portrait of genius and loneliness.

What stays with you in Renee Zellweger's fearless embodiment of Judy Garland in "Judy" is the eyes - the fire that burns in them when she is on stage in front of an adoring (or at times not-so-adoring audience) and the weariness in them when she is not. What the film and that performance do is something quite unexpected, they peel away the star trappings and reveal the fragile person inside. And that is quite unlike most biopics that bounce off the glassy surface of their celebrity. Here, the camera is unmercifully close to the eyes of its subject, and lingers there. And we experience the emotional injuries, the terrible loneliness and the harrowing fear of what it is like to be an icon.

You will hear a lot about how this is an Oscar worthy performance by Zellweger. But what most critics won't tell you - focused too much on the horse-race handicapping of the award - is why. The why is in the bravery of a performance that is so vulnerable as to be an open wound. Yes there are moments of thrilling triumph in the London stage performances, but they are no match for the pain of watching Renee/Judy pluckishly trying to overcome a broken life in full view of a tabloid world.

Judy Garland was not a great singer, a great dancer, a great actor or a great beauty. What she had was a great big heart. And when she sang that big heart of hers was full to bursting with raw emotion -- thrilling and exhausting and completely devoid of artifice. And Zellweger uncannily captures this -- the raw genius that fueled Judy's stardom.

Other parts of the film are not as successful, falling into many of the traps of the celebrity biopic, with incomplete relationships, ancillary characters and too much pop psychology. But these are quibbles next to Renee Zellweger's career-defining performance. It's in those gorgeous eyes. Those haunting, gorgeous eyes.

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3 Gay Films

Brandon Judell — Thu, 12 Sep 2019 17:49:44 +0000

3 Gay Films Brandon Judell September 12, 2019 - 13:49

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Film Review

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LGQBT

Three of the Year's Best Films So Far Are Queer

Argentina, Brazil, and France over the past several months have served up some rather hard-hitting, astutely directed films, each with a distinguishable personality, each exploring varied aspects of the homosexual in modern times. Although, surprisingly, their plot lines, all situated in the now, wouldn’t feel out of place in several other decades with just a few alterations.

The Blond One (Un Rubio) is Marco Berger's sixth feature, no doubt the reason for its assured unhurriedness and its ability to make the most commonplace conversations (e.g. "Was it you who fixed the bathroom tap?") and actions (e.g. drinking yerba mate) rife with tension.

The simple setup has the amber-locked Gabriel (Gaston Re) subletting a room from his co-worker Juan (Alfonso Barón) in the suburbs of Buenos Aires. They, both hard-bodied and in their thirties, are employed in a wood-cutting factory. Gabo, as he's called, is a widower with a young daughter in the second grade. She lives with his parents in the country.

Marco Berger’s “Blond One” showcase Love Brazilian Style

The brunet Juan, an unequaled womanizer, has numerous guy pals popping in regularly for beer chats and to watch soccer games on TV. When not ranting about their machismo conquests, one chap might spout, "I'd kick this dyke's butt so hard she'd be flying over Buenos Aires" or "weak fathers bring up queer sons."

How come then, as the days and night swiftly fly by, is Juan adjusting his crotch in front of his new roomie, posing at the door, and walking about nude in the hallway, especially after his female conquests have left?

What follows is a half hour of one of the most erotic seductions you have experienced in filmdom. The innocent Gabo is confused but seemingly intrigued. Is he himself gay? He certainly waters plants a lot. But as Juan appears to be moving in for the kill, pouncing to and fro like a boxer ready for the kill, the blond seems to be looking forward to being KO'd.

Finally, there's the touch of the crotch with one daring finger, a few more digits go past the waistband, and so forth. A night of passion arrives, but what follows is never quite what you might expect. Was Gabo just a conquest? Can Juan commit?

As John Lennon, among others, have noted:

"Life is what happens to us while you're busy making other plans."

Differentiating this tale of two guys searching for completeness within each other, besides its several unexpected twists and its Argentinian take on homophobia, is the stellar acting by Re, Barón, and the rest of the cast, plus the finesse of the production.

Clearly, these last few years have been a robust time for imposing LGBTQI moviemaking, and writer/director/editor Berger, with his deliberately observant scenes that are often unafraid to be dialogue free and that are all beautifully shot by Nahuel Berger, has extended this blissful run. His message? A subtle take on "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

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Alexandre Moratto's feature debut, Socrates, which was created in conjunction with the UNICEF-supported Querô Institute in Brazil, a non-profit that aids teens from low-income communities through filmmaking. With a crew of 16 to 20 year olds, which includes the co-writer Thayná Mantesso, you're not surprised then by the overpowering vistas of the slums of Sao Paolo as depicted and the aching emotions they provoke.

The film, which made an impressive showing at this year's Indie Spirit Awards, including nominations for Best Male Lead and the John Cassavetes Award, immediately opens with the death of the mother of 15-year-old Socrates (Christian Malheioros). From that moment on, we can only hope the young man’s tale will avoid high tragedy, causing him to follow in the steps of his namesake.

But how can Socrates earn a living when the minimum age for hiring is 18? Will he be evicted? How can he avoid being sent to a home? Where is his next meal coming from? Will the young man he falls in love with respond in same? Why is Socrates avoiding contact with father? What is it to be young and gay in a religious, heteronormative society with absolutely no one trustworthy to lend a helping hand?

To reveal more is to ruin your "Socratic" experience. This brave little film, a tale of an uncomprehending hero whose every step seemingly is a misstep, is not unlike the best offerings of Italian neorealism of the post-war years. Socrates rubs all of your senses raw. Malheioros and Tales Ordakji, who plays his love interest, are quite extraordinary as is Moratto's helming.

SOCRATES (CHRISTIAN MALHEIOROS) MOMENTARILY FORGETS HIS HUNGER PANGS WITH THE ENIGMATIC MACON (TALES ORDAKJI).

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There's been quite a few memorable films about male prostitution. John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969), Paul Morrisey's Trash (1970), and Greg Araki's Mysterious Skin are prime examples. Joining their ranks is writer/director Camille Vidal-Naquet's Sauvage.

Félix Maritaud, who was last seen on these shores as a French AIDS activist in BPM (Beat Per Minute) (2017), plays Leo, a 22-year-old hapless street prostitute, who's looking for love in all the wrong places. Basically illiterate, a habitual drug user, often homeless, he's surprised when a doctor says he should change his ways. "Why would I?" he wonders aloud.

As Leo wanders the streets, with his winsome looks, like a battered kitten left to fend for himself, we meet the young man's clientele, a cornucopia of gents showcasing the fact that some homosexuals can be bastards like anyone else, while others can give St. Francis of Assisi a run for his money. Or didn't we know that already?

The film is erotic, shocking, tender, brutal, funny, and bears repeated viewings. Four times so far for me. Just watch Leo cuddle up with a septuagenarian widower while a photo of the man's wife looks on kindly. Then there's the barbaric gay couple trying to stiff our hero of his wages after violating him brutally. And so forth. Sex for survival. Sex for bliss.

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After screening all three, you can't but wonder whether Leo's back story is Socrates' future, or whether either of these young men will ever meet a Gabriel, who will cherish them, hopefully before they are too broken to love him back.

(The Blond One is ended a week's run in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Music Hall on September 12th. Socrates is now on DVD and VOD. Sauvage/Wild has also made it onto DVD.)