Movie City Indie Archive for January, 2012

WES ANDERSON: FROM ABOVE (0’41″)

Handy.

No Comments »

THE GREY’s number one fan?

Joe Carnahan (@carnojoe) retweeted from admirer Jacob Saunders (@JakeBSaunders).

No Comments »

Trailering Julianne Moore In GAME CHANGE (1’45″)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=IPhh7mch5zo

“How else do you think a man with no major life accomplishments is beating an American hero?”

“She’s a great actress, right? Why don’t we just give her some lines?

Ed Harris, Woody Harrelson, Julianne Moore… Jay Roach…

No Comments »

Postering Elle Fanning In France For TWIXT

[Via IMP Awards.]

No Comments »

Trailering Bobcat Goldthwait’s GOD BLESS AMERICA (NSFW) 2’15″

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=-1-NRmuXTls

The under-utilized Joel Murray, he of the keen reaction shot, lashes out.

No Comments »

Two Bingham Ray Videos

RJ Cutler’s Secrets and Lies-era look,  seen at Sundance closing night, 29 January 2012.

Plus: 5 minutes after his recent installation at the San Francisco Film Society.


No Comments »

Trailering Keanu Reeves’ Filmmaking Doc, SIDE BY SIDE

Camera porn!

“The documentary investigates the history, process and workflow of both digital and photochemical film creation. We show what artists and filmmakers have been able to accomplish with both film and digital and how their needs and innovations have helped push filmmaking in new directions. Interviews with directors, cinematographers, colorists, scientists, engineers and artists reveal their experiences and feelings about working with film and digital—where we are now, how we got here and what the future may bring.”

1 Comment »

HBO Behind The Scenes Of Dunham’s “Girls” (1’42″)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLxhacjnI4k

“How do I get him face-to-face if he won’t text me?”

No Comments »

“If Greece is to die, she’d better do it quickly”: RIP Theo Angelopoulos

Το βλέμμα του Οδυσσέα … Το βλέμμα του Αγγελόπουλου.

Photograph © 2012 Ray Pride; All Rights Reserved.

No Comments »

Sundance Review: NOBODY WALKS

NEW YORKERS IN LOS ANGELES with Italian filmmaking on the brain: that would be director Ry Russo-Young and her co-writer Lena Dunham, with Nobody Walks, a tactile, tensile minor-key successor to Pasolini’s Teorema. Martine (Olivia Thirlby) is a 23-year-old New York photographer with an upcoming one-woman show and she’s come to stay with a Silver Lake family while finishing sound work on a film. Rosemarie DeWitt plays an old friend of Martine’s mother, and John Krasinski her husband. DeWitt’s character is a therapist and mom to a 16-year-old daughter from a first marriage and a younger son with Krasinski’s; he’s the sound designer who’ll help finish the film. A house, a home, perching comfortably on the side of a hill. Martine enters the movie as a passenger, hair pixie-short, looking left and right, big 1960s-style sunglasses, a movie star in the French film in her Brooklyn mind. Think Jane Birkin: Martine is. But there’s more afoot than admiring a Holga-toting dewy kewpie.

“It’s a small town, at least the parts that we inhabit,” a character says in one of the story’s many seeming and actual seductions, and while the characters are shown at their work, there is an air of L. A. lassitude spun with the centripetal force of the arrival of a stranger. Russo-Young and cinematographer Chris Blauvelt never strike the most apparent of notes—no golden-hour backlit bits of down on exposed skin, say—but most every member of the cast has a moment that involves touch, down to the odd moment when the small son gently touches a patch of uncovered hipbone. It’s like a series of ticklish hints of the fevers transmitted through the Eames-like home like a quiet, localized Santa Ana. And the way the characters toward each other! (DeWitt gets a number of sublime reaction shots.)

Russo-Young and Dunham’s script works by suggestion and inference, tipping in the lightest strokes of backstory. You can imagine the consternation of an elderly member of its premiere audience Sunday midday at the Eccles, worrying about “sympathetic characters” and the like, even as a big chunk of the film’s text and action insists, open your ears, open your eyes. Martine’s wardrobe changes from scene to scene, offering in each detail a new clue to her self-image, and there’s telling detail thought the exquisitely perfumed fabric, from the 16-year-old poetess perched, legs folded on a couch, with a Field Notes steno pad; in a montage demonstrating how sound design is made, a close up of Thirlby’s pooling brown eyes with the slowed sound of Coca-Cola poured into a glass; and Krasinski’s young blond sound assistant whose retro-boat Oldsmobile Starfire bears antique gold-on-black license plates. And, too, his choppy haircut and his sustained double takes: as in several other smaller roles, you can readily draw a strong picture of where he stands in this world.

The title Nobody Walks is an ominous variation on the bromide, “Nobody walks in Los Angeles,” along the lines of “no one gets out of here alive!” And fuck-freighted as the film is frrom the top, edgy with currents of want, the title plays. As do apparently straightforward lines like “are you a free set of hands,” which in retrospect, seems to punch on-the-nose on the nose. (As does the most unlikely character quoting a poet over dinner to the effect that you can understand a poem without knowing what it means.) Of course, these threads of active and possible and prehensile and hoped-for and dangerous and just plain wrong have spun out of control through the agency of Martine’s arrival. While Russo-Young gently dandles the line in a number of instants, there’s no mistaking the angry ghost of Pasolini’s Teorama nodding down at the story.

These characters are exceptionally self-aware and conscious of what’s in the wind, which sets a simmering mood, if not the expected narrative tension. There’s a slower burn: the characters deliberate before turning reckless. A few scenes erupt: an older Italian tutor’s banter with, then anger toward the 16-year-old seems like a tacit acknowledgement of the debt to Pasolini, especially in the arguments in Italian, which are also subtitled. A small stretch would suggest that Martine’s 16mm black-and-white film borrows from Buñuel in images of ants criss-crossing the landscape of a young female face as if it were limitless desert. (Russo-Young cites the early photographs of Francesca Woodman’s as an example of art she showed Thirlby as indicative of Martine’s kind of subject matter.)

But moment to moment, smile to smile—there are an uncommon number of gentle smiles, and many of them are Thirlby’s—from emphatic sound design to precise framings, Nobody Walks is decidedly a movie about variations (and variables) of feeling and sensation. It leaves a bittersweet bruise.

Below, For Sundance, Russo-Young talks process.

No Comments »

“Sh– ‘New Yorkers’ Say” (2’42″)

“Directed and Edited by Matt Mayer.
Produced by Seth Keim.
Written by Eliot Glazer. Featuring Eliot and Ilana Glazer, who are siblings, not married.”

No Comments »

Picturing Sundance 2011


Sooner than later… Sundance 2012…
Read the full article »

1 Comment »

French TV (1980) Memorializes Passing Of Tex Avery (3’43″)

“The YouTube account associated with this video has been terminated due to multiple third-party notifications of copyright infringement.The YouTube account associated with this video has been terminated due to multiple third-party notifications of copyright infringement.”

Très belle. [Via Cartoon Brew.]

1 Comment »

Movie City Indie

Quote Unquotesee all »

“I am just grateful I am still around. I would love to be Steven Soderbergh, but I am lucky to be Joe Swanberg. Actors want to work with me, people want to give me money, and my nightmare scenario remains: Getting in bed with a studio, spending years on a movie, and it turns out horrible, but now I’m rich.”

Actually, by Hollywood standards, you’re right, I said. That is unambitious.

“It is, and yet, if you can go to bed happy at night, doing what you want, isn’t that ambition for a lifetime?”
~ Swanberg On Swanberg By Borelli

“In retrospect, nothing of that kind surprised me about Philip, because his intuition was luminous from the instant you met him. So was his intelligence. A lot of actors act intelligent, but Philip was the real thing: a shining, artistic polymath with an intelligence that came at you like a pair of headlights and enveloped you from the moment he grabbed your hand, put a huge arm round your neck and shoved a cheek against yours; or if the mood took him, hugged you to him like a big, pudgy schoolboy, then stood and beamed at you while he took stock of the effect.”
John le Carré on Philip Seymour Hoffman