Movie City Indie Archive for June, 2010

Trailering Somewhere

Neko Case addresses an unruly audience member (strong language)


Seriously, whoever threw that, come up here and I will fucking fight you.

Video: Collapse (2009, ****)

collapseruppert.jpgLet’s see… just as I was about to press “publish” on this entry, what’s the latest deadly headline? Oil recovery efforts on the demolished well in the Gulf were stopped: lightning set a ship on fire. The oilspill persists. Follow the wrong feeds, you’re not reading Twitter, but “Grimmer.”
In the modern world, information wants to be freely deconstructed and recontextualized. You could make a case from disparate strands that journalists and politicians and military leaders are hapless or the future is hopeless, as does Michael Ruppert, the single solitary figure in “Collapse,” (on DVD, VOD, download) a documentary by Chris Smith. Smith is best known for “American Movie,” which, with its post-”X-Files,” post-Errol Morris, post-9/11, mid-paranoiac fashion, could also be the name of this enterprise. Ruppert is a well-spoken former cop, wearing a blue shirt over a white T-shirt, with a sandy not-quite-comb-over, his assured cadences sounding a little like Billy Bob Thornton’s. If Ruppert were fiction, he would be a brilliant invention, rather than a feat of self-invention, twirling strands of the DNA of the most stalwart aspects of the pissed-off American character. Think Chris Carter’s conspiratorial miasma meeting James Ellroy’s moralism.
In an empty warehouse, chain-smoking for the film’s 82-minute duration, Ruppert insists, “I don’t deal in conspiracy theory, I deal in conspiracy facts,” that his life’s work has become “placing the dots close enough so that they can be connected.” He has a charming smile under his brushy ’stache. The chosen setting suggests a place where you’d tie James Bond to a chair for a few tender lashings, or the portent of horror movies, but the horror’s not “Saw,” but “Seen,” what Ruppert’s aggregated in his trawling of data and deception.
It’s worth transcribing a typical Ruppert passage, from early on, in full. “Basically my life disintegrated because I was betrayed by a woman who worked for the CIA, who was my fiancée, and when I said I wouldn’t get involved in [trafficking] drugs, she disappeared and people started shooting at me. And then it was a matter of saving my life and the tools which I acquired to save my life then, which were writing letters to Congressmen, getting on the record, those were survival skills but it was also part of learning how things were. I was a, a mapmaker, a cartographer if you will, going out and trying to map how the world really worked rather than the way we were told that it worked.” He’s neither purple nor panicked but his command of his chosen details is seductive. Words—sentences, paragraphs!—reel like an “infernal radio,” as Gaspar Noé described the form of the internal monologue narration in his study of rage, “I Stand Alone.” Ruppert aggregates, argues, seduces: this end of the world is not a whimper.
Smith gently prods him about his surge of sentiment and conviction. Ruppert shakes his head. Or takes a draw. Or fires a fresh one. He grows impassioned at times, but mostly, won’t be flummoxed: “It’s axiomatic that if you take the oil away you must take the population away as well.” “Collapse” turns into “George A. Romero’s Prelude of the Dead.” All he’s hoping, he says, is “to separate the ice cream from the bullshit.” He’s even willing to invoke Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’ five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. But Ruppert’s not an accepting kind of guy. Still, the ultimate lesson is as much Christian as alarmist: if systems fail, “you will fail as a rugged individualist, you will survive as the member of a tribe or a family.”

Random EbertTweet for the morning

eberttwitterverse6.jpg“In the Cities of the Future of the past, there were never satellite dishes.” [Link.]

A cryptic hint about Tree of Life

Jeff Nichols is shooting his untitled followup to Shotgun Stories in Ohio, with Michael Shannon. malick1912750.jpgNotable, but so is this odd description of what sounds like a dual role in Terrence Malick’s latest: “Jessica Chastain, 29, recently costarred with Brad Pitt and Sean Penn in the upcoming Terrence Malick movie “The Tree of Life.” She plays Pitt’s wife in the film, and the mother of the character who is played by Penn as an adult. She has also appeared on television in “ER,” “Veronica Mars” and “Law and Order: Trial by Jury.”

Daniel Clowes event this Sunday in Chicago

CLOWES.CHICAGO.jpg
At the Printer’s Row Book Fair, Dan Clowes and I will be talking about his latest book, and a little about filmmaking as well.

Trailering Scorsese's "Boardwalk Empire" (preview 3)

At Amoeba Records, what's in Die Antwoord's bag?

HBO's For Neda, in its entirety


In its 78-minute entirety; the documentary about the slain protester, is also available in Farsi and Arabic, with the hopes of it getting seen widely in Iran. It’s described as “The true story of Neda Agha-Soltan, who became another tragic casualty of Iran’s violent crackdown on post-election protests on June 20, 2009. Unlike many unknown victims, however, she instantly became an international symbol of the struggle: Within hours of Agha-Soltan’s death, cell phone photographs of her blood-stained face were held aloft by crowds protesting in Tehran and across the world. With exclusive access to her family inside Iran, the documentary goes to the heart of who Neda was and what she stood for, illuminating the larger Iranian struggle for democratic freedoms through her powerful story.” Directed by Antony Thomas.

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David Mamet's Lost Masterpieces of Pornography, with Kristen Bell and Ricky Jay

Shot by Robert Elswit.

Movie City Indie

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“Film festivals, for those who don’t know, are not exactly the glitzy red carpet affairs you see on TV. Those do happen, but they’re a tiny part of the festival. The main part of any film festival are the thousands of people with festival passes hanging on lanyards beneath their anoraks, carrying brochures for movies you have never and will never hear of, desperately scrabbling to sell whatever movie it is to buyers from all over the world. Every hotel bar, every cafe, every restaurant is filled to the brim with these people, talking loudly about non-existent deals. The Brits are the worst because most of the British film industry, with a few honourable exceptions, are scam artists and chancers who move around from company to company failing to get anything good made and trying to cast Danny Dyer in anything that moves. I’m seeing guys here who I first met twenty years ago and who are still wearing the same clothes, doing the same job (albeit for a different company) and spinning the same line of bullshit about how THIS movie has Al Pacino or Meryl Streep or George Clooney attached and, whilst that last one didn’t work out, THIS ONE is going to be HUGE. As the day goes on, they start drinking and it all gets ugly and, well, that’s why I’m the guy walking through the Tiergarten with a camera taking pictures of frozen lakes and pretending this isn’t happening.

“Berlin is cool, though and I’ve been lucky to be doing meetings with some people who want to actually get things done. We’ll see what comes of it.”
~ Julian Simpson 

“The difference between poetry and prose, and why if you’re not acculturated to poetry, you might resist it: that page is frightening. Why is it not filled? The two categories of people who don’t feel that way are children and prisoners. So many prison poets; they see that gap and experience it differently. I’m for the gap!”
~ Poet Eileen Myles