The biodoc What Happened, Miss Simone?opens with the middle-aged singer Nina Simone coming on-stage for a come-back concert in the mid-1970s. We see her regarding the audience – and we ask, is she a temperamental artist or is she high or is she unhinged?
Nina Simone led a remarkable life, presented in this documentary by filmmaker Liz Garbus. Growing up as a poor girl in the segregated South, Simone’s talent as a classical pianist led her to Julliard. A racial glass ceiling in classical music, redirected her to earning a living singing blues in nightclubs. Her gifts as a vocalist and as a songwriter earned her a recording deal. Then she became consumed by militant political activism to the expense of her career.
That’s a pretty interesting arc, but the core of What Happened, Miss Simone? is that she was bipolar and long undiagnosed and untreated. The illness made what was already a turbulent life more erratic and self-destructive. Garbus has the benefit of testimony from Simone’s intimates – her daughter, husband, musical director, managers and friends. We even see Simone’s own thoughts through her often heartbreaking journal entries.
What Happened, Miss Simone? is available to stream on Netflix Instant.
There is no narration in Frederick Wiseman’s 2010 brilliant and mesmerizing 2010 documentary Boxing Gym. Nor are there on-screen titles or talking heads. All we see are the owners and patrons of a scruffy Austin, Texas, boxing gym going about their daily routines – conditioning and instruction. Except for a one- or two-second shot of the gym’s entrance, all 91 minutes is shot inside the small gym. The effect is hypnotic.
This is a gym for people of all ages, ethnicities, levels of fitness and genders. It’s unusually welcoming to women, and we see lots of women working out (and never being hassled by the men). There are kids, and even a baby who is moved from workout station to workout station in his carrier seat. Former pro boxer Richard Lord and his wife run the gym, where a membership runs only $50 per month – and that’s negotiable.
This is a sports movie without a climactic Big Fight. We don’t even see a boxing match – just lots of hitting the bags, shadow boxing, jumping rope, footwork on a giant tire and instruction. And more hitting the bags. Everyone is concentrating – getting in a self-isolated zone so they can achieve the rhythmic pattern of footwork and pat-pat-patting the speed bag. Wiseman edits his own films, and Boxing Gym is a masterpiece of editing. He lets us fall into the pace of the place and meet the characters by watching them and eavesdropping on them. He lingers on shots for a reason, skips to another vignette at precisely the right moment and the film is perfectly paced.
There is one extraordinary scene. Near the end of the movie, a man and a woman are sharing the ring as they each workout. In his half of the ring, he is practicing his footwork and throwing punches, simulating a fight. In the other half of the ring, she is doing the same. These are separate individual workouts, and the two never make eye contact. Each is in his/her own bubble of concentration. But their footsteps are rhythmic, they’re both breathing heavily, and the man grunts when he throws punches. If you listen without watching the screen, it sounds like sex. The result is a powerfully erotic scene – perhaps even more powerful because the two people are not interacting with each other at all. Unforgettable. (Wiseman may not have known what he had when he shot this sequence, but he certainly recognized it in the editing room.)
Wiseman was 80 when he made Boxing Gym, his fortieth movie. Since then, he’s directed the critically praised La Danse, At Berkeley and National Gallery. Wiseman was a law professor who made a career change at age 37. His breakout film was the pysch hospital expose Titicut Follies in 1967.
DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD: The Story of the National Lampoon takes us through an engaging and comprehensive history of the groundbreaking and seminal satirical magazine. For those of you who weren’t there, the National Lampoon – ever irreverent, raunchy and tasteless – was at the vanguard of the counter-culture in the early 1970s. Once reaching the rank of #2 news stand seller among all US magazines, it may be the most popularly accepted subversive art ever in the US (along with the wry Mad magazine during the Cold War).
In a few short years, the Lampoon rose from nowhere (well, actually from the Harvard Lampoon) to a humor empire with the magazine, records, a radio show and a traveling revue. And, yes, the title DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD does encapsulate the arc of the Lampoon’s story.
Documentarian Douglas Tirola tells the story so successfully because he persuaded almost all the surviving key participants to talk. We meet co-founder Henry Beard, publisher Matty Simmons, Art Director Michael Gross and other Lampoon staff including P.J. O’Rourke and Christopher Buckley. You’ll recognize the first editor, Tony Hendra, from his performance as the harried band manager in This Is Spinal Tap. We see clips of two Lampoon originals who haven’t survived, co-founder Doug Kenney and resident iconoclast Michael O’Donoghue.
The National Lampoon’s live performance revue featured John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, Brian Doyle Murray, Gilda Radner and Harold Ramis. When Lorne Michaels hired the whole crew for Saturday Night Live, the hit television show instantly surpassed the magazine in cultural penetration. “The Lampoon lost its exceptionalism”, says one observer.
But the Lampoon made its mark on the movies by launching the entire genre of raunchy comedies with Animal House and spawning the careers of filmmakers John Landis and Harold Ramis, as well as the SNL performers. We also see a clip of Christopher Guest in an early Lampoon performance. On the other hand, I hadn’t remembered a less successful Lampoon project from its later era, Disco Beaver from Outer Space.
This is all, of course, major nostalgia for Baby Boomers. Before seeing DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD, I thought, yeah, I’ll enjoy the Blast From The Past, but will younger audience viewers dismiss this humor as quaint? After all, the Lampoon’s success came from puncturing the boundaries of taste, and it’s hard to imagine anything today that would be shockingly raunchy. But, after watching DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD, I have to say that the humor stands up today as very sharp-edged. After all, an image of a baby in a blender with Satan’s finger poised to press the “puree” button is pretty transgressive no matter when it’s published. The sole exception is the Lampoon’s over-fixation on women’s breasts, which comes off today as pathetically sophomoric – or even adolescent.
DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD: The Story of the National Lampoon has also vaulted on to my list of Longest Movie Titles.
DRUNK STONED BRILLIANT DEAD is currently knocking about the film festival circuit, and distribution theatrically or on another platform is unresolved. I saw it at the San Francisco International Film Festival. This is an important cultural story, well-told and it deserves a wide audience.
In the documentary Listen to Me Marlon, we hear Marlon Brando relate his life story in his own words – and we ONLY hear Brando’s words. Director Stevan Riley received access to hundreds of hours of audio tapes – self-recording made by Brando while he was alone – and never heard until now. These recordings, along with recorded Brando interviews and clips, are artfully assembled by Riley, and, together, amount to a deep and apparently truthful self-portrait.
Brando was playful and mischievous and often self-important, and the content of his interviews with journalists aren’t that reliable. But it’s clear that he isn’t BSing in these solitary recordings. He is open about his character flaws and their origin in his family background – a brute of a father and a sweet but erratic alcoholic mother.
Speaking in the third person, Brando describes himself as “a troubled man alone…confused”. Listen to Me Marlon is filled with nuggets:
On his upbringing: “My father is never going to come near that child (his first son Christian) because of what he did to me”.
On his art: “you want to stop that motion from the popcorn to the mouth. The Truth will do that.”
On the womanizing that broke up his first marriage “The beast aspect of my personality held sway”.
On the execrable Candy: “the worst movie I ever made” (drawing knowing chuckles from the audience).
Some of the tapes even record self-hypnosis as he battles obesity. And there’s a VERY COOL digitized talking Brando head; Brando tried out very early scanning technology, resulting in moving imagery of his head in swirling blue pixels as he expounds.
There are also two outtakes where we SEE Brando’s womanizing in action as he comes on to attractive interviewers. We can recognize the instant that, as he says, he starts “thinking with his penis” and launches his flirtatious charm.
I saw Listen to Me Marlon at the San Francisco International Film Festival, where it will screen again this week. Director Riley spoke at the screening, as did noted film historian David Thomson and Brando’s children, Rebecca Brando and Miko Brando.
Rebecca Brando credits Riley for the film’s “humanity” as it treats Brando’s “childhood pain”. Miko Brando pointed out that the flashing lights in some clips came from the bio-feedback machine that Brando used at night. “He went to work as a movie star and came home – not a movie star – just a father”, said Miko, who had just seen the film for the second time.
David Thomson spoke of Brando’s “momentous” and truthful Method as the birth of “genuinely American approach to acting” and its effect on cinema: “the method is made for the close-up” because “if you are agonizing over what to say”, the audience needs to be close enough to see it.
I expect Listen to Me Marlon to get a theatrical release in the second half of 2015 and then play on Showtime.
In the powerful and chilling The Look of Silence, documentarian Joshua Oppenheimer explores the aftermath of genocide in a society that has never experienced a truth and reconciliation process. This is Oppenheimer’s second masterpiece on the Indonesian genocide of 1965-66 in which regime-sponsored death squads executed over one million suspected political opponents. Today, the victims’ families live among the murderers.
The Look of Silence centers on 44-year-old optometrist Adi as he investigates the murder of Ramli, the older brother he never knew. Earlier, Oppenheimer had filmed Ramli’s killers as they describe and act out Ramli’s savage torture, mutilation and murder. They are unrepentant and even nostalgic about their crimes. Their matter-of-fact recollections are sickening. We see Adi watching this video, trying to contain his rage and disgust. Later, Adi – in the guise of fitting them for new glasses – is able to confront those responsible. He faces the actual machete-wielding killers, the leader of the village death squad, the higher-up who ordered the killings and even one of his own relatives.
What makes this bearable to watch (and even more affecting) is meeting Adi’s family: his earthy 80-something mother, his frail and batty 103-year-old father, his giggly 7-year old daughter and his 10-year-old son. There’s plenty of humor in this warm family. But in one scene, the son receives a ridiculously twisted propaganda version of the genocide in public school.
The “Silence” in The Look of Silence is reinforced by the spare soundtrack. We often hear only “crickets” (frogs, actually).
The Look of Silence is the companion to Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing, which made my list of Best Movies of 2013. In The Act of Killing, Oppenheimer got the unapologetic killers to re-enact their atrocities for the camera – even relishing their deeds. The Act of Killing contains some of the most bizarre moments in any documentary EVER, including a cross-dressing mass murderer and a staged Bollywood-like musical number of Born Free, complete with dancing-girls in front of a waterfall, in which the garotted dead reappear to thank the killers for sending them on to the afterlife. The Act of Killing is more of a jaw-dropper. The Look of Silence – because it is more personal – is more powerful.
The Look of Silence stands alone – you can fully appreciate it without having seen The Act of Killing. But what I wrote about The Act of Killing is true for both films: “hypnotically compelling – you can’t believe what’s on the screen, can’t believe that you’re still watching it and can’t stop watching”.
I saw The Look of Silence at the San Francisco International Film Festival before its limited theatrical release slated for July 17. It’s one of the best films of 2015.
Sinatra: All or Nothing At All is a solid and sometimes revelatory biopic of Frank Sinatra now playing on HBO. It’s shown in two two-hour segments. Sinatra fans should watch the whole thing. For everyone else, the middle part is especially strong – focus on the stretch from his affair and marriage to Ava Gardner through the Frank, Jr., kidnapping and the marriage to Mia Farrow.
Documentarian Alex Gibney has an unusual gift for finding the best possible source material, including coaxing interviews from the most intimate witnesses. The strength of Sinatra: All or Nothing At All comes from interviews of Sinatra’s children Tina, Nancy and Frank, Jr., along with audio of Sinatra’s first three wives – Nancy Sinatra, Ava Gardner and Mia Farrow – and girlfriend Lauren Bacall.
Gibney has another strong doc running on HBO right now: Going Clear: The Prison of Belief. He won an Oscar for Taxi to the Dark Side, and he made the excellent Casino Jack: The United States of Money, Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Elliot Spitzer and Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God.
Sinatra: All or Nothing At All is a pretty comprehensive biodoc, tracing the Italian immigrant parents, the humble (but not destitute) Hoboken upbringing, rocketing to pop stardom, the career fade with the Great Comeback – along with his womanizing and friendships with the Mob, the Rat Pack and JFK. There are also some tidbits that I hadn’t seen before, for example, not being able to get an US government security clearance to entertain troops in Korea because of his political associations, plus an awkward performance with Elvis in the 50s. See “Spoiler Alert” below for the movie’s take on how Sinatra got the role in From Here to Eternity that launched his comeback. And, although I lived through it, I had completely forgotten about the kidnapping of Frank, Jr.
Sinatra: All or Nothing At All is playing on HBO and is available streaming from HBO GO.
[Spoiler Alert: By the early 50s, Sinatra’s career was floundering and he was desperate for the acting role of Maggio in the upcoming From Here to Eternity. For years, there has been a legend that Sinatra called on his buddies in the Mafia to put the arm on Columbia Pictures to cast him. This tale is depicted in The Godfather with the horse’s-head-in-the-bed scene. Sinatra: All or Nothing At All persuasively debunks this story, explaining that, instead, his recent ex Ava Gardner pressured the studio filmmakers to cast Sinatra. Another appeal was that Sinatra was also a big name who worked for very cheap. This is consistent with Director Fred Zinnemann’s version .]
Seymour Bernstein and Ethan Hawke in SEYMOUR: AN INTRODUCTION
As Seymour: An Introduction opens, we see an elderly man giving piano lessons to VERY talented pianists. His gentle instructions address tiny details in the performances that we in the audience can’t notice – such as how deeply to press the piano key. Each of his tips is constructive and easy to understand As exacting as his corrections are, his overall demeanor never fluctuates from entirely supportive. This extraordinary teacher is the concert pianist Seymour Bernstein.
Bernstein long ago abandoned a career in the spotlight. We’re meeting Bernstein only because the actor Ethan Hawke met him by chance and benefited from his life advice. Hawke directed this film.
Thank you, Ethan. It’s a deep privilege to meet this gifted and kind man, and spend an hour-an-a-half watching him treat others as he does. When the Wife and I caught a screening, no one left the theater until the end credits were completed.
HBO is airing Going Clear: The Prison of Belief, documentarian Alex Gibney’s devastating expose of Scientology. The indictment of Scientology as dangerous cult is stunning. Gibney is sunshining an amazingly rich reservoir of source material: we hear from several former Scientologists, including the former chief spokesperson, the former top deputy to the Chairman of the Board, along with former believer director Paul Haggis and the John Travolta’s original Scientology handler.
Gibney begins by tracing the journey of Scientology’s founder, L. Ron Hubbard and reviewing the organization’s history. Now I knew about the science fiction writer Hubbard, his book Dianetics and even the E-meter. But I sure didn’t know about the Sea Org with its billion-year employment contracts, the Scientology Navy and the bizarro theology with invisible Thetans, volcanos and H-bombs. Nor had I seen the North Korea-style cult-of-personality spectacles featuring Chairman of the Board David McCavige. And I hadn’t heard about the church’s opposition to same-sex marriage.
Then come the really scary stuff. We hear from former Scientology officials who testify that they have been incarcerated in the Rehabilitation Project Force – a concentration camp on a top floor of the Scientology’s Los Angeles HQ and in what is essentially a prison camp in Florida to “re-educate” suspected heretics and backsliders. And there is testimony about the prisoners being separated from their children, who are shunted off to Cadet Org. One official offers personal testimony of his assignment to break up Nicole Kidman’s marriage to Tom Cruise and to alienate her children from her. It’s horrifying stuff. And it’s a riveting viewing experience.
Alex Gibney is one our very, very best documentarians. He won an Oscar for Taxi to the Dark Side, and he made the superb Casino Jack: The United States of Money, Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room, Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Elliot Spitzer and Mea Maxima Culpa: Silence in the House of God. (He can’t seem to pass up a really long movie title – but Going Clear etc., came from a book title.)
If you’re asking “How can smart, able people fall into this stuff?”, then I recommend finding a film that I reviewed at Cinequest 2015 – The Center. Upon its release, The Center should become the perfect narrative fiction companion to Going Clear.
You have heard these guys play without knowing their names – The Wrecking Crew profiles the legendary Hollywood studio band that played on (perhaps literally half of) the pop music of the 60s. These musicians were extremely skilled and creative – and they were fast, too, which put their services at a premium among music producers with limited studio time. As a result they played on the recordings of Frank Sinatra (and Dino and Sammy), the Beach Boys, the Mamas and the Papas, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, Sonny and Cher, Gary Lewis and the Playboys, ad infinitum. Plus the Hawaii Five-O theme.
You already know about The Monkees not playing their own instruments, but The Association didn’t play on a single track of their first two albums – those were all played by the Wrecking Crew. And Roger McGuinn was the only Bird to play on Mr. Tambourine Man, with the Wrecking Crew knocking out two tracks in three hours; the Birds themselves played on Turn, Turn, Turn, but it took them 77 takes.
Filmmaker Danny Tedesco, made this film to salute his dad, Wrecking Crew guitarist Tommy Tedesco. Glen Campbell and Leon Russell were members of the band (and we get to see a rare photo of the early 1960s Leon without long hair, beard, hat and tinted glasses). Surprisingly, the electric bass player was female – Carol Kaye. In The Wrecking Crew we get to hear the backstories of the standup bass intro in These Boots Were Made for Walking, the El Paso guitar lick in Something Stupid, the bass drum intro for The taste of Honey and the sax part in the Pink Panther Theme.
The Wrecking Crew isn’t a Must See, but I recommend it for those with an interest in the music of the 1960. The Wrecking Crew is now in theaters and is also streaming on Amazon Instant Video, iTunes, YouTube, Google Play and Xbox Video. If you like The Wrecking Crew, I’d also recommend these recent films about other unknown musicians:
Twenty Feet from Stardom (Netflix DVD, Redbox, Netflix Streaming, Amazon, YouTube and Google Play);
Muscle Shoals (Netflix DVD, Netflix Streaming, Amazon Instant Video, iTunes, YouTube, Google Play, Xbox Video); and
Standing in the Shadows of Motown Netflix DVD, Amazon Instant Video, iTunes, YouTube, Google Play, Xbox Video).
In a society with capital punishment, someone must perform the executions. There’s a paradox inherent in the act of killing to punish killing. In Patty Dillon’s powerful documentary There Will Be No Stay, we meet the people who live with that paradox most personally:
a Georgia warden who has given the order to commence executions;
a Texas chaplain assigned to keep the condemned placid on the gurney ;
and two South Carolina correctional officers who have plunged the vials for lethal injections and mashed the buttons for the electric chair.
The effect that capital punishment has had on these men – connected to neither the victims or perpetrators, is profound and thought-provoking.
Filmmaker Dillon (who also narrates) starts with an anti-death penalty point of view, but There Will Be No Stay is anything but a screed. Having the sense to keep the movie focused on these four personal stories makes it stronger stuff.
There Will Be No Stay is filled with chilling statements like “Our eyes would meet…my eyes would be the last he would see on this planet” and “73% of Texas is in favor of execution. I can tell you that 73% of people who have witnessed an execution are NOT in favor”. And there are lots of factoids about the workaday aspects of contemporary American executions. (Alarmingly, South Carolina offers no training in the operation of the electric chair – the guards just have to wing it.)
I saw the deeply affecting There Will Be No Stay at Cinequest 2015.
