Movie City Indie Archive for June, 2013

Trailering ONLY GOD FORGIVES (1’50”)

Gosling speaks.

Trailering Bong Joon-ho’s SNOWPIERCER (1’57”)

Had high hopes: hopes higher now.

Two Stills From THE CANYON That Reassure, Yes, Lindsay Lohan’s In The Movie


[Screenshots via IFC Films.]

Trailering SALINGER (2’31”)


There’s a fine boatload of hyperbole!

happy (0’04”)

Trailering CLOSED CIRCUIT (2’27”)

With millions of cameras on the streets of London…

Trailering THE CONVERSATION (1974) (2’43”)

“This is a world of hidden mics and two-way mirrors. A world where nothing is private. Harry Caul is an expert. The best there is. He can bug anybody. Any time. Anywhere. They’re not people to him. Just voices. He doesn’t know them, and they don’t know him. Be careful, Harry: You’re just supposed to listen. Not look. Not feel. Not care. Gene Hackman is Harry Caul in The Conversation. There is nothing private about… the conversation. Listen…”

BONUS! (Via Joe Dante) The “Trailers From Hell” Commentary by screenwriter Josh Olson.

5 Comments »

Review: FRANCES HA

A romantic comedy without kisses, Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (co-written with Greta Gerwig) is a vest-pocket Manhattan, a monochrome charmer about the mistakes a young striver makes at the elder age of 27, before her true, adult life begins, sometime shortly after the film’s “a-ha” of a final shot that illuminates the cryptic title. (And announces that all we have seen before is mere comic prelude.) Frances is getting past the proper time to be the dancer she intends to be, and the film neatly choreographs her progress toward her true and proper profession. But that’s not to say Frances, and Gerwig by extension, isn’t a creature of physicality. Gerwig’s her own Mabel Dormand to her inner Mack Sennett: there’s good and proper slapstick throughout and she’s electric throughout. Her Frances is self-consciously unselfconscious: a serious person inside a still-young shape. Shooting in restrained black-and-white, and drawing from scores by 1960s Georges Delerue themes from movies including King of Hearts, Promise at Dawn and  Contempt, Frances Ha is post-nouvelle vague, less derivative than richly cinephilic. Influence and citation are there, if you want it, if you see it, but it only enriches the portrait of this young woman whose trials in forbidding, pricey New York City drawn her closer to the woman she will be, the artist she will be, the character she will become.

Gerwig draws upon her well of previously-demonstrated charisma, her ample capacity for twerpitude refined, honed, elevated: what she does so well with the material given to her by Whit Stillman in Damsels In Distress is a dozen-fold more compelling in the hands of Baumbach and herself. The dialogue is quippy but genially barbed and seldom less than telling: the eccentric insult “You judge people who aren’t as moderate as you” tells more than Frances could ever know. As her roommate and best friend from college, Sophie, Mickey Sumner is somnolent but coiled, snappish but attentive, precisely sour. She makes Sophie an ideal counterpoint to the innately dorky Frances, bristling if not precisely hostile to her friend’s teeming Frances-ness. There are men, too, foils and acolytes but none of them the motor of the movie or her life. The jokes are plentiful, observant, irreverent, nonsensical and common sense, and Gerwig bursts out in flights of “Fuck!” as well as anyone working today. Frances Ha is a seriously funny movie.

Typical of its bustling bursts of setpieces, the film takes a fantastic leap in a scene following Frances running at top gait, leaping as the dancer that she is, through Chinatown streets, the laterally tracking camera fixing her as a succession of twenty-first-century Muybridge framings in motion, accompanied by David Bowie’s “Modern Love”—a thrill redoubled for those who have seen Leos Carax’s black-and-white debut, Boy Meets Girl, also a song of apartments and city streets. Her energy, the character’s headlong tumult, the clatter-bang instrumentation of the highly genial song: it’s precious, even. You laugh, you gasp, you love.

Frances Ha expands nationwide Friday.

Trailering Woody Allen’s Drama, BLUE JASMINE (1’47”)

Javier Aguirresarobe! Santo Loquasto!

Movie City Indie

Quote Unquotesee all »

“Ten years ago at Telluride, I said on a panel that theatrical distribution was dying. It seemed obvious to me. I was surprised how many in the audience violently objected: ‘People will always want to go to the movies!’ That’s true, but it’s also true that theatrical cinema as we once knew it has died. Theatrical cinema is now Event Cinema, just as theatrical plays and musical performances are Events. No one just goes to a movie. It’s a planned occasion. Four types of Event Cinema remain.
1. Spectacle (IMAX-style blockbusters)
2. Family (cartoon like features)
3. Horror (teen-driven), and
4. Film Club (formerly arthouse but now anything serious).

There are isolated pockets like black cinema, romcom, girl’s-night-out, seniors, teen gross-outs, but it’s primarily those four. Everything else is TV. Now I have to go back to episode five of ‘Looming Tower.'”
~ Paul Schrader

“Because of my relative candor on Twitter regarding why I quit my day job, my DMs have overflowed with similar stories from colleagues around the globe. These peeks behind the curtains of film festivals, venues, distributors and funding bodies weren’t pretty. Certain dismal patterns recurred (and resonated): Boards who don’t engage with or even understand their organization’s artistic mission and are insensitive to the diverse neighborhood in which their organization’s venue is located; incompetent founders and/or presidents who create only obstacles, never solutions; unduly empowered, Trumpian bean counters who chip away at the taste and experiences that make organizations’ cultural offerings special; expensive PR teams that don’t bring to the table a bare-minimum familiarity with the rich subcultural art form they’re half-heartedly peddling as “product”; nonprofit arts organizations for whom art now ranks as a distant-second goal behind profit.”
~ Eric Allen Hatch