Director David Cronenberg, whose latest cinematic provocation “Crimes of the Future” recently opened nationwide, is getting the retrospective treatment with a six-film series playing the Bill Cosford Cinema in Coral Gables over two weekends in July.
The retrospective is curated by former Miami Herald film critic Rene Rodriguez, now manager and programming director for the Cosford, affiliated with the University of Miami School of Communication. The series opens July 15 with “A History of Violence,” and will be followed by “The Fly” (July 16), “Crash” (July 17), “Shivers” (July 22), “Dead Ringers” (July 23) and “Videodrome” (July 24).
Rene will introduce each of the screenings. All are at 7:30 pm except for “Crash” and “Videodrome,” which will play at 7 pm.
New to the movies of the Canadian filmmaker? Prepare for some mind-bending, sometimes squirm-inducing film trips and strikingly original cinematic visions that are unlike those of any other filmmaker. And best not to watch on a full stomach.
For more details on the Cronenberg retrospective, and to buy tickets, click here.
David Cronenberg‘s latest head-twisting journey into the universe of the bizarre takes us to a place located in the not-distant future — or simply untethered from time? who can really say? — where the denizens of a mysterious unidentified land certainly appear to look like us.
But these characters behave like a species from another planet, and the trip offers more than a bit of cinematic deja ju for fans of the Canadian filmmaker.
Got body horror, as in fears about an indescribable thing growing inside of you that might kill you or someone else? Check. How about the melding of flesh-and-blood life forms with non-human entities, as a next step in mankind’s evolution? Yep. Sexual desire triggered and fulfilled by pain, or at least, from extreme discomfort? Naturally. Technological advancements as conduits to human salvation? Of course. Unintended consequences of medical manipulation gone wild? Gooey, slimey, oozing objects that may or may not have something to do with body parts? Folks who sometimes move about as if sleepwalking, have dead-eyed stares, and frequently speak in an affectless manner? Check, check, and check.
“Crimes of the Future,” released six years or so after the provocation-minded director, now 79, suggested that he was considering retiring due to the difficulties of obtaining financing for his productions, is perhaps even more grim and gruesome than many of the Cronenberg films it directly references, particularly including “Videodrome,” “eXistenZ,” “Crash,” “Dead Ringers,” “The Fly” and “Scanners.” On the other hand, the new one doesn’t pack nearly the same emotional wallop punch as did some of those movies.
Is that because viewers are less disturbed by these types of images? Or is it because self-consciousness has crept into the approach of a film artist who appears to be recycling his own tried-and-true themes? Is the law of diminishing returns at work here?
Cronenberg, working from his own original screenplay for the first time in more than 20 years, knows how to construct a strikingly original, wildly creative setting that doesn’t remotely resemble anything else that’s likely to flicker across the big screen this year. His new tale, shot in Greece, appears to be set in a vaguely European, oddly underpopulated seaside village, with winding cobblestone streets and ancient buildings, the exteriors of which are defaced with graffiti. Everything in this vacuum-sealed universe is grey and dark, and vast warehouse-size spaces and cramped offices alike look as if they’re located in some isolated, mostly forgotten Eastern Bloc burg. Bright colors are few and far between. Spiritual and emotional oppression seem to reign. What kind of fresh hell is this, anyway?
Cronenberg gives no mercy in the opening act, immediately throwing viewers into a bit of dramatic action that transpires between a boy (Sozos Sotiris), playing at the shore, and a young mother (Lihi Kornowski), calling to him from the balcony of a nearby home. Shortly later, the kid is in a tiny bathroom, furiously chewing up a plastic wastebasket. And then comes a disturbing sequence that won’t be described here (no spoilers). The filmmaker seems to be issuing the first of several similar dares: If you can stomach this, then maybe you’ll hang on for the oddities and horrors to come.
Soon, enough, the protagonist arrives, in the form of Saul Tenser, played by Cronenberg regular Viggo Mortensen (A History of Violence, Eastern Promises, A Dangerous Method). Frequently seen hunched over, writhing in digestive pain — it’s all tense, per his surname — and hiding behind a black hooded cloak, he’s enmeshed in a long-term sexual and business relationship with Caprice (Lea Seydoux), a former trauma surgeon. The two are performance artists whose specialty is live surgery on stage, where she uses a fleshly controller to guide instruments that cut into the torso of her partner, who lays inside a contraption called a Sark (variation on “sarcophagus”?). Nearby, a screen flashes “Body is Reality.” A hush settles over the crowd as the grisly proceedings unfold.
For its audience of entranced cool-kid viewers, some of whom later thrill to the dancing of a man who has sewn — grown? — human ears all over his body, the act is artistic and erotic. “Surgery is the new sex,” exclaims one believer. But for the performers, it’s also pragmatic: Saul inexplicably is regularly growing new organs. Rather than waiting to see what might unfold if a new system of organs were to develop on his insides, he chooses to excise the invader from his body. He simultaneously views himself as simply the nearest available warm body in the duo’s shows and also as a first-born creature, an accidental messianic figure whose biological transformation points to the shape of humans to come: “I’m just a mechanic,” he explains. “I install doors and windows into the future.” Later, he describes his unsolicited gift in terms that a pregnant woman might use: “I do have something cooking (inside), maybe a few things.”
Saul is able to go under the knife, without anesthesia, because humans who occupy this era have lost their capacity to feel pain. For fun, they practice surgery on one another in the open streets. These images suggest nothing as much as glazed-over young people shooting up with heroin or other drugs — surgery may be the new sex on this planet, but it’s also the new high.
And growing organs is the new pregnancy, available to males, females or the sexes in between. As ever, though, the government has a vested interest in all the bodily comings and goings. Thus the existence of the National Organ Registry, located in a dingy office staffed by a couple of maybe loveable oddballs played to near-perfection by Don McKellar and Kristen Stewart. The two, who practically melt in Saul’s organ-star presence, are the source of some of the most lighthearted moments in a film that benefits from some well-measured injections of dark comedy.
The film’s narrative is also driven by the a “New Vice” police detective’s (Welket Bungue) investigation into a cult of plastic purple-bar eaters led by Lang Dotrice (Scott Speedman), the father of the boy seen in the opening sequence.
If “Crimes of the Future” (not to be confused with Cronenberg’s hourlong 1970 movie of the same name) is classified as a genre film, it might best appreciated as a multi-genre effort, a potentially combustible blend of sci-fi and horror, with a crime story and psychological drama tucked into the mix, heavily sprinkled with social commentary about human evolution, sexual variations, and environmental catastrophe.
While neither as accomplished nor as riveting as the filmmaker’s earlier work, and fitted with an abrupt ending that feels as if Cronenberg simply couldn’t settle on a satisfying conclusion, “Crimes” stands as another quite striking vision from a veteran innovator and provocateur whose film art is unlike that of anyone else making theatrically released feature films. That’s no mean feat.
Movies are rated from 0 to 5 stars. Follow me on Letterboxd
Czech-born filmmaker Ivan Reitman‘s work as a producer (“Animal House”) and director (“Stripes,” “Ghostbuster,” “Meatball,” more) was integral to my moviegoing life as a teen/20something. I remember going with a bunch of college buddies to see “Stripes” (’81) while I was an undergrad at University of Florida. If I recall correctly, we saw it at the old Royal Park Cinemas (now Regal Royal Park) in Gainesville. We all thought it was a laugh riot. Sad to hear of Reitman’s passing, at age 75. That’s a fact, Jack! Good obit on Reitman in Variety, by Chris Morris. Read it here.
EIGHTH GRADE: Stars Elsie Fisher and Josh Hamilton; written and directed by Bo Burnham; 93 minutes; R. Critic’s rating: A-.
As singer Edie Brickell once asked, not terribly long ago, “What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what?” Silly wordplay in a too-catchy pop tune, maybe. But certainly the type of question that a young teen, experiencing what once was called an identity crisis, might ask her reflection when looking into the mirror, obsessing over perceived imperfections and social-media traumas: “What you see is what you get. But who am I, really?”
Personal identity, as might be recalled about those days of acne wars, puppy love, and self confidence that waxed and waned with the bell schedule, could be entirely wrapped up in what others saw in you. Or what you imagined they saw in you.
So for the sake of emotional self-defense, you locked yourself into your bedroom and used a journal – paper? on a laptop? on an audio device? — to create the façade of a more confident you. And it all vanished, of course, the moment you walked into the birthday party of the nominally best looking and most popular kid in school.
So it goes in “Eighth Grade” with Kayla, the middle-schooler brought to life via Elsie Fisher‘s remarkably lived-in performance. All imperfect skin, blue fingernail polish, introversion, moods that are sometimes silly and sometimes pouty, and unpolished social skills, she’s forever wrapped in a digital cocoon. Her earbuds are plugged into an iPhone blaring teenypop, and she’s forever scrolling through Instagram and firing up snapchat.
Kayla’s always making YouTube-bound videos of confessional-style inspirational talks, spiked with plenty of “likes” and shot in not always flattering close-ups, that belie her own insecurities. “The topic of today’s video is being yourself,” she says during the movie’s opening sequence, staring straight into the lens as the camera gradually pulls back to reveal her butterfly-decorated shirt, dark sweater, and makeshift bedroom TV studio. Later, she titles another clip “How To Be Confident.”
At home, Kayla suffers through life with loving single dad Mark (Josh Hamilton) who, you know, just doesn’t understand, asks too many annoying questions, and further bugs his daughter by encouraging her to “put yourself out there.” It’s a message that she later co-opts for one of her video chats.
In one of the film’s most affecting sequences, set in the backyard of the family’s modest home, Mark quietly offers his own glowing assessment of Kayla’s personality and talents. It’s just the right antidote, at the right time, to her frequently misguided if overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. And, as directed and written by remarkably assured 27-year-old filmmaker Bo Burnham, these scenes are not overly saccharine or drenched in sentimentality.
At school, Kayla suffers the indignities of sitting through a your-body-is-changing video featuring an instructor who says things like “it’s gonna be lit.” She’s also stuck taking on cymbal-crashing duties in the meagerly talented school band, navigating mean girls in the hallways, and melting in the presence of Aiden (Luke Prael), a handsome, trim boy with smoky eyes and, as it turns out, a dullard’s personality.
Outside of school, there are bright spots, including the attentions of a nerdy but attentive nice kid (Jake Ryan) and a friendly high-school girl (Emily Robinson). And, in a harrowing if sensitively shot sequence, there’s an older guy who attempts to take advantage of Kayla, and, when rejected, tacks on some gaslighting for extra measure.
Burnham, who sparked his own career as an actor and filmmaker via a series of comic YouTube videos, takes an approach to his young characters that’s neither dumbed down nor overhyped. It’s a bit reminiscent of the young heroines of last year’s “Lady Bird” or 1995’s “Welcome to the Dollhouse.”
Unlike the blemish-free kids in Nickelodeon and Disney fare, and most network sitcoms and family dramas, these teens come with imperfections and believable challenges, and conflicts that are never resolved. That authentic vibe is heightened by an indie production style that’s clean, direct and unshowy, and the antithesis of high-gloss Hollywood.
No, “Eighth Grade” is not remotely a documentary. But Burnham’s coming-of-age comic drama sometimes points in that direction, particularly via the videos within the movie — scout around, and you’ll see some that look and feel exactly like those in “Eighth Grade.”
It all strikes closer to middle school reality, or ordinary, middle-class, middle-America anything, than practically any other recent film or TV production. It’s a fresh and funny surprise gift, driven by Fisher’s revelatory performance. We won’t soon forget Kayla, her typical teen trials and tribulations, her evolving sense of self, or her supportive dad.
Opens Friday, Aug. 3 at Tampa Theatre, Cobb Grove 16 & Cinebistro Wesley Chapel, Goodrich Riverview 14 GDX Gibsonton, and GTC Beacon Theatres 12 Brooksville.
Why redo Straw Dogs, Sam Peckinpah‘s controversial 1971 tale of domestic horror and revenge?
The Miami Herald‘s Rene Rodriguez, one of the first critics to see and write about the remake by Rod Lurie (Nothing But the Truth, The Contender), left the screening with mixed emotions and, mostly, curiosity about how the film will be received when it’s released Sept. 16.
“I’m extremely curious to see how modern audiences react to the movie, which is exceptionally well-acted and shot, but still uses violence as a way to bait the viewer’s bloodlust and thirst for revenge, then leaves you with an ashen, queasy aftertaste,” Rodriguez writes in a short piece published today (and tweeted by Lurie himself).
“Peckinpah’s picture was a product of the Vietnam era; Lurie’s comes after a protracted war in Iraq. Both films were made during a time of tumult and tell a near-identical story, yet they send you home in radically different moods. Sometimes, remakes make sense.”
The great French filmmaker Eric Rohmer has passed away at age 89, according to the L.A. Times.
Best known for such films as Claire’s Knee and My Night at Maud’s, he was a longtime world-cinema favorite who began making movies in the early ’50s. He started out as a journalist and served as editor of influential film journal Cahiers du Cinema, essentially the house organ of the French New Wave film movement, from 1956 to 1963.
Rohmer in March 2008 told journalist Kaleem Aftab that The Romance of Astrea and Celadon could be his final film. “I haven’t got plans to make another film, it’s not easy for me to make films now,” he said. “These days it takes me much longer to prepare a film then when I was younger.”
Precious director Lee Daniels has become the first African-American nominee for a Director’s Guild of America award.
Daniels was one of five directors nominated for awards this morning, including James Cameron for Avatar, Jason Reitman for Up in the Air, Quentin Tarantino for Inglourious Basterds, and Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker.
Surprisingly absent from the list: Veteran director Clint Eastwood, whose Invictus has picked up glowing reviews and wound up on several year-end Top 10 lists. Eastwood previously received three DGA nominations; he won for Million Dollar Baby and Unforgiven.
Cameron won in 1997 for Titanic. This year’s other DGA nominees are first-timers. All except Daniels were nominated for Golden Globes, along with Eastwood, and all are expected to land Oscar nominations.
Bigelow, Cameron’s ex-wife, is the seventh woman to land a DGA nomination.
I’m clueless about how the winners of the People’s Choice Awards are determined, and I’m not sure I really want to know. Not unlike the American Music Awards, the whole thing comes off as little more than the entertainment world’s version of a high-school popularity contest.
But the film industry can always learn lessons when these shows come along.
A few takeaways, aside from that whole no-accounting-for-taste thing:
Four wins for Twilight: New Moon — 1)Even long past those ginormous box-office returns, “Twilight” fever remains in full force, meaning no end on the horizon for the movies and tie-in products; 2)The teenybopper crowd has the power to break a movie big; 3)Vampire fever lives.
Breakout Actress: Miley Cyrus (for Hannah Montana: The Movie, over the likes of, oh, never mind) — See No. 2, above.
Actress: Sandra Bullock & Comedy Movie: The Proposal — 1)Time to bid adieu to that whole notion about actresses of a certain age no longer getting the good roles or pulling in filmgoers (also see Meryl Streep, but not in these awards) and 2)When it comes to second acts in the lives of American actors, determination and persistence sometimes pay off big.
Independent Movie: Inglourious Basterds — 1)You can always count on a Nazi to make a good villain, even more than 60 years after Hitler’s atrocities and 2)Celebrity can help even the most independent-minded directors (like Quentin Tarantino) find audiences for their movies.
Actor: Johnny Depp (Public Enemies, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus) — See No. 2, above, and substitute “actors” for “directors.”
Action Star: Hugh Jackman (X-Men Origins) — Some (handsome) guys have all the luck.
Family Movie: Up — Sometimes even high-quality animation wins out.
Comedic Star: Jim Carrey (A Christmas Carol) — Go figure.
Jason Reitman‘s comic drama Up in the Air has landed top honors in this year’s Florida Film Critics Circle (FFCC) Awards, with prizes for best picture, Reitman’s direction and George Clooney‘s performance as a corporate axeman.
Precious, the FFCC’s other big winner, a disturbing inner-city drama directed by Lee Daniels, won two top acting honors — Gabourey Sidibe, best actress, and the group’s Pauline Kael Breakout Award, in the title role; and hip-hop star and TV personality Mo’Nique, for best supporting actress.
The complete list of winners:
Picture: Up In The Air
Actor: George Clooney, Up In The Air
Actress: Gabourey Sidibe, Precious
Supp. Actor: Christoph Waltz, Inglourious Basterds
Supp. Actress: Mo’Nique, Precious
Director: Jason Reitman, Up In The Air
Screenplay: Scott Neustadter and Michael Weber, (500) Days of Summer
Cinematography: Mauro Fiore, Avatar
Foreign Language: Sin Nombre
Animated Feature: Up
Documentary: The Cove
Breakout: Gabourey Sidibe, Precious
Golden Orange: No Award
Founded in 1996, the Florida Film Critics Circle is comprised of 17 writers from state publications. Dan Hudak of hudakonhollywood.com has served as chairman since March 2008. For more information on the FFCC, visit floridafilmcriticscircle.webs.com.
Larry David, creator of “Seinfeld” and star of HBO’s “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” is the star of Woody Allen’s new Whatever Works, slated to open this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.
The cast of the film, scheduled for a limited U.S. opening on June 19, also includes Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson, Kristen Johnston and Ed Begley Jr.
Whatever Works marks the quintessential New York filmmaker’s return to NYC after going to Europe to shoot several movies, including last year’s Vicky Christina Barcelona.
“A lovely idea of showing my film in a film festival in my own city,” Allen told festival publicists. “It’s very exciting.”
The festival runs April 22-May 3. For more information, click here.
The cast of the film, scheduled for a limited U.S. opening on June 19, also includes Evan Rachel Wood, Patricia Clarkson, Kristen Johnston and Ed Begley Jr.