Notes on the Culture
Image from Open Screen
Convergence is often an unconscious, happy thing, and so it is this week, as I find myself wonderfully indundated with film-related joys and wonders. I routinely bloviate about indie/arthouse/foreign-language film to such a tiresome degree to friends, family, and strangers on the street that I sometimes stop and doubt my sanity. But January has been shaping up as a fine time to get all different kinds of odd, sometimes great, sometimes inept, sad, and funny cinematic experiences all over the city and in your home.
I start with a disclosure, however. The most fun thing in the immediate horizon is a monthly event called Open Screen, which is having its best-of special at the Brattle tonight. My humble admission is that the two guys who have run it for more than five years, Jeff Stern and Zak Lee, are good friends of mine—but don’t hold that against them. I can vouch for the fact that Open Screen is unlike anything else you can do around town—and this is the month to give it a try.
The concept is simple: Open Screen is literally an open-mic night for local filmmakers, who may range from professionals to students to out-and-out freaks. The show is held monthly—usually in the Coolidge’s screening room, but not this month, because of the best-of show—and what happens is that people just arrive with their self-made films, sign in, and there you go. Films are shown in the order in which they’ve been brought in and must be less then ten minutes long.
I could go on about how Open Screen is emceed with serene wit by Stern and Lee, but that would be too smoochy (ed. note: But not Death to Smoochy). What I will say is that they both teach film—Stern at Bentley, and Lee at Fitchburg State—and they’re practically evangelical about encouraging people to pick up cameras and express themselves.
Of course, this can lead to some hideous work, but for every flat bathroom-humor comedy or impenetrable angst-filled freakout, there are plenty more accidental masterpieces, accomplished experimental films, excerpts from professional documentaries still in production, and more. Best of all, the filmmakers come from all over Massachusetts, so it’s fascinating just in itself to see our region through varied creative eyes.
Though tonight’s Open Screen won’t be in its usual Brookline venue, it is definitely the best opportunity for newbies to enter into the weird world of Boston underground film. There’s always at least one knockout or very fun film a month, and so appropriately the best-of show will compile the best dozen from the year. Budgets may be low, but you’ll be pleasantly surprised about how the quality is high. There will be awards handed out and a Q&A with the filmmakers at the end.
Most importantly, you’ll discover that there are plenty of serious film folk supporting each other and trying to build a scene here in Boston, and that deserves outside support too. After all, there’s another big college town in America with tons of film students who have supported each other from their earliest efforts, and it’s flourished as an indie mecca for the past two decades: it’s called Austin, Texas—look it up. There’s no reason not to believe that events like Open Screen can’t help do the same here.
But hey, perhaps I’m biased…
Best of Boston Open Screen shows tonight only at 7 pm at the Brattle Theatre in Harvard Square. Tickets are $9.50 for general admission, $7.50 for students.
Redemption is bloody sweet: Well, I didn’t plan it this way—convergence again—but I saw the movie The Wrestler Sunday afternoon, mere hours before Mickey Rourke won the Golden Globe for best actor. Seeing him win so soon after seeing the film was like having cake with your ice cream, instant gratification.
I had been feeling behind in my Oscar-preparation homework recently; I’d only seen Milk and had been somewhat disappointed. Perhaps I’d been expecting too much, but I found it more well-executed than emotionally engaging. As usual, Sean Penn perfectly disappeared into the role, and the actual story of Harvey Milk is fascinating and inspiring…but for me at least, the movie just couldn’t escape the dreaded BBB syndrome—broad biopic blandness. I realize that this is not a popular position to take with Gus Van Sant’s film, but frankly I’d rather see footage of the real guy, say, in the 1984 Oscar-winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk.
I digress because the scattered plot of Milk merely whetted my appetite for an acting role in a sustained focused atmosphere, a movie where the little things grab you and where the lead can chew scenery way down deep—Milk’s problem was that it tried to do too much over too large a canvas.
In contrast,The Wrestler takes place over a few winter weeks in New Jersey and follows the claustrophically failing life of Randy “The Ram” Robinson (ne Robin Ramzinsky), a former star and now beaten-down grappler working the last dregs of the wrestling circuit. Along the way he tries to woo a stripper with a heart of gold and tries to reconcile with the daughter he abandoned.
Okay, that may sound terrible to some, and to be honest, the script’s main flaw is its predictability. But despite that, the film’s a masterpiece. Darren Aronofsky (Pi, Requiem for a Dream, The Fountain) is perhaps the most downbeat, unclassifiable, skin-searing director in America, and this film follows that pattern. But where Aronofsky before followed science fiction or hallucinogenic themes, the surprise in his latest is that it’s all shot simply (or with the appearance of simplicity), handheld and grainy. Such lack of flash gives the raw story real verity and allows the actors breathing room to express their characters in varied shades of recognizable emotions. By the end, you know and feel for these people.
And if all this still sounds like not your cup of cocoa, just go see it for Rourke. While I can’t say I was ever a huge fan in my ’80s movie-going days, looking back I can’t deny that he was fundamental to many of my favorite films from those years: Diner, Rumble Fish, Angel Heart, Barfly. He’s definitely a better screen presence in those films in hindsight.
But here he’s an immediate revelation, with his face battered by a real-life boxing career (he was apparently terrible, hence the damage), hard living, and botched plastic surgery–he not only inhabits the role, he is the role. Indeed much has been made of how this self-destructive actor has found stardom again in this cathartic role of playing a self-destructive wrestler. And therefore, I’m sure some will cast doubt on whether it’s acting or just living the part, and say that the plot is hackneyed, so there.
These people will also have no soul. Look for the small touches in Rourke’s performance, how he puts on his glasses and hearing aid, or how he greets his dreary-looking loyal fans with openhearted appreciation. Such subtlety makes the big emotions later on hit even harder, so that at the end I was left shaken and yet thankful for the rare performance I’d seen. Thanks, Mickey Rourke, for coming back, at least to make this movie. Now go get that Oscar.
My monthly DVD pick: Speaking of my ’80s movie-going days, the digital video disc I’m most excited about this month is coming out next week, Gregory Nava’s 1983 immigration saga, El Norte. One reason why I’m so excited to see it again is that it’s been at least 20 years since I saw it last.
It was my high school Spanish class, and I had one of those hipster language teachers that brings in movies to help the kids relate. There were Spanish films belatedly criticizing Franco, as well as Argentinian adaptations of Borges’ short stories that featured artsy full frontal nudity–always a good thing (if not the most appropriate) for grabbing teenagers’ attention.
Believe or not, though, everyone’s attention was most captured by El Norte, about two Guatemalans fleeing their violent country, trekking through Mexico, having a “coyote” get them across the U.S. border, and then finding life working odd jobs in L.A. almost as hard, if not as dangerous. Oppression has been replaced by humiliation. Its tone was dictated by its two humble leads, quiet and dreamy, but with a firm eye on harsh reality. This portrayal of the struggle to maintain human dignity and the desperate search for happiness has haunted me ever since.
Really, anyone concerned about the immigration debate—from either side—would be highly encouraged to learn from this film. I can’t wait to get reacquainted with it.
The roundup: And any column devoted solely to film must also urge you to go out this weekend and support our local arthouses:
- Top of the heap is the MFA, which is having its Human Rights Watch International Film Festival all weekend, featuring seven features from around the world addressing issues such as land mines and immigration.
- The Brattle is launching its David Lean retrospective—forget DVDs, if you haven’t seen Lawrence of Arabia on the big screen, you haven’t lived.
- The Coolidge continues its partnership with the Goethe Institut in bringing new German films to Boston, with Christian Petzold’s Jerichow.
- The Harvard Film Archive is highlighting Youssef Chahine, who passed away last year after decades spent spearheading Egyptian film.
