Supermen of Malegaon

Supermen of Malegaon is a tribute to the joy of filmmaking. It is set in a small village in India, where men can scout the copyright laws of the United States and make exact copies of films without much fear of retribution. The poverty-stricken village, like most villages in India, uses film as an escape from the toils of daily living. When a small business owner, Shaikh Nasir, decides to adapt the story of Superman set in his village, the residents leap at the opportunity to contribute. The end results is nothing short of heartwarming and hilarious. Using only the most basic of filmmaking tools, the crew not only utilizes such advanced technologies as a green screen, but also records their own soundtrack (a staple in Indian film). Operating on a minimal budget, the crew innovates to get their perfect shots. Superman is strapped to a bicycle with his arms out, while Nasir trails him tied to the front of a donkey cart. Although their end product is Z-grade in quality, watching the journey was extremely fulfilling.

Sauna

I am very excited about Sauna. Why do foreigners always make the best horror films?

Where I find myself personally mentioned on Indyweek

Mark Maximov posted an excellent article covering the panel discussion led by Thom Powers titled, "Wanted For Review," about the search for new documentary film critics. I was especially amused by Mark's ending paragraph:

Whether film criticism can survive the possible impending death of print media is a question for another panel. But if the long-term growth in audiences at Full Frame over the past dozen years is any indication, perhaps consumer demand will eventually place documentary film on an equal footing with narrative film in the word counts of reviews published, if not in dollars recouped at the box office (or Netflix, or Hulu, or what have you). But all agreed on the best advice for the earnest young blogger seated in the front row, who asked about a career in film criticism: “Don’t quit your day job.”

That earnest young blogger was none other than yours truly. And for the record, I was seated in the second row next to Sons of Cuba director Andrew Lang. I had sneaked away to see the panel discussion, and I had enjoyed every minute. As an aspiring critic, I had never really met professionals in the business. To listen to them discuss the state of the industry was both inspiring and disheartening, for the reasons mentioned in Maximov's article.

When it was time for the Q & A, I asked the panel, but specifically Eugene Hernandez, the CEO of Indiewire, "You say that we should use the internet as a medium to make a name for ourselves, but how do we use that to start a career? And also, as a follow-up question to Eugene, are you hiring?"

My question was, of course, met with laughter from the panel and the audience. Eugene replied, "Yes and no." A hopeful answer. They went on to discuss what Maximov appropriately summarized, that it's difficult to use this as a money-making venture. Thom Powers remarked that even though it isn't a way to make money as a career, people should be reviewing it for the love of film. I wanted to ask him, "Can't we have both?" I was looking up at three people who did exactly the opposite of what Thom was saying: They were making a career out of their opinions of film.

Eugene and I had our paths cross a few times at the festival. We would discuss the films at the festival and the future of film criticism. He eventually asked for the URL to my blog and, with fear in my heart, I provided it to him. My writings usually only are read by some anonymous persons on the internet, and to be handing it out to the Editor-in-Chief and CEO of a major film website was a big step for me. Eugene was a great person to talk to, and I really enjoyed the conversations we had. I certainly hope our paths cross in the future. And, yes, I do hope that one day I can "quit my day job" to make money doing what I love. Isn't that everyone's dream?

Utopia, Part 3: The World's Largest Shopping Mall

When this 13 minute film ended, I wanted more, so much more. There were too many films I'd seen at the Full Frame Film Festival that seemed to drag on forever, and Utopia, Part 3 was like taking a bite out of a ribeye steak. It's delicious, but now your stomach is waiting for the rest of the beef. With quiet shots of empty escalators, yawning employees, and wandering mascots, we are taken on a journey through a failed experiment: To build the world's largest mall in southern China. Having few customers and a handful of stores, the mall sits in it's record-sized lot collecting dust. The film is brilliantly shot, and the humor is drawn through the opposition between gluttony and loneliness. There are a few lines of dialogue, which I hesitated to ask the director about during the Q & A (I didn't want to get thrown out that early!). In my opinion, the film functions much more effectively in silence, letting us draw our own conclusions about this empty space.

Sons of Cuba

I have seen many horrific and saddening events in films. I have seen true loss and heartbreak. I have seen events in some films that would make most people bawl their eyes out, use up a full box of tissues, and be forced to leave the theater. I have seen all of these things, and I've never cried.

Sons of Cuba made me cry.

I've been struggling for the past few days to figure out what exactly I wanted to say about this film ever since it's world premiere on Thursday at the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival. It's safe to say that I enjoyed every minute of it. Sons of Cuba follows the journeys of three preteen males who are part of a prestigious boxing academy in Havana, Cuba: Cristian, Santos, and Junior. The students all have ridiculously regimented schedules, getting up at 4am, meticulously maintained meals and weight, and above all enormous pressures from both their coach, their families, and their government to becomes champions for Cuba. The students who make the cut go on to the national championships and compete for a trophy, one that was taken last year by a rival academy. Cristian, the undisputed star of the film, lost in the finals last year and is working hard to be victorious this year.

The film is richly shot, giving us a glimpse into the life at the school as well as the city of Havana. The genuine thoughts and emotions of the boys spill out onto the screen. They complain, innocently, that the biggest problem is getting up early or having to eat rice. We see them roughhousing. In reality, the coach is one of the few who is aware of the pressures put upon them by the entire Socialist nation to produce Olympic champions. He pushes the boys with a stern hand, but he occasionally lets through how much he truly loves them as sons.

I had a long conversation with the editor of the film, Simon Rose, a day after the screening. He was eager to hear my opinion of the film. We had been discussing the difficulties in critiquing a documentary film. He realized that sometimes it can be difficult to separate the actions of the characters within the film from the actions of the director. If a director simply films what is a brilliant real-life story, is that a good documentary even if no real filmmaking skill was involved? Can a brilliant director take an awfully boring story and make a mesmerizing film? (I would argue yes) He thought that good documentary films should have a nuanced message to them, one that can be read between the lines and isn't used to beat the audience over the head mercilessly. I told him of the nuanced message I read in Sons of Cuba. In a Socialist country like Cuba, citizens are homogenized, and their glory is said to be only in reverence to the fatherland and not for themselves. Sons of Cuba, I told him, appeared to be about youths breaking free from that and attaining glory for themselves and their families. Simon appeared surprised at this revelation. He said that wasn't something they had intended, but it was always good to find new discoveries within your own films. He added that they had tried to remove most of the politics from the film and make it a story about the three boxers. I told him that must have been difficult, because Cuba appeared to be a politically charged environment. He didn't seem to agree. Our conversation ended at that point (not because we disagreed, but he had to catch a film), but I found myself surprised by his confession that they had tried to remove politics from the film. From my own observations, the film began with a reference to Castro's influence over Cuban citizens, and it ended with a note about his well-being. It was, quite literally, surrounded by politics. Perhaps removing the politics from the daily life of Cubans was more difficult than Simon thought.

Politics aside, this film is a champion of the human spirit, and a wonderful story of sportsmanship. Havana and it's rival trash talk each other throughout the film on the way to the championships, but it's all for the sake of competition. It's this love of the competition of boxing which is the heart of the message in Sons of Cuba. Cristian's father Luis, a former champion boxer, watches his son fight his way to the championships. After a match, he embraces his son. Tears swell on the eyes of the former champion and father. For the first time, he is truly proud of his son. For the first time, I found myself in a theater with tears in my eyes. Maybe it was connecting with my own issues of yearning for pride and acceptance from my father. Maybe it was just a great moment of documentary filmmaking.

Mechanical Love

My first film that I saw at the Full Frame Film Festival, and currently my favorite, Mechanical Love is an ambient film from director Phie Ambo about the humanization of mechanical objects. We follow two dual narratives: Hiroshi Ishiguro, an inventor working to create a most realistic robotic version of himself and his family, and Frau Körner, a nursing home patient who receives a theraputic robotic seal named Paro. In these two narratives, we see the drastic differences in human reactions and emotions to robotics.

I absolutely adored the tone with which the director approaches the material. The camera is simply an observer, watching the humans in the film interact with the robots. We notice their facial expressions, their body language, and it's more telling than anything they reveal to us through spoken word. In a particularly telling scene, Frau Körner has her Paro taken away after it becomes too distracting during choir practice. Almost instantaneously, the happiness shown by her throughout the film is gone. She sits quietly through the practice with a sullen look, eagerly awaiting the moment she can spend time with her Paro again. Once she picks up the robot, she nurtures it as if it genuinely missed the time it was gone from her. Although she says nothing during this, it's what she doesn't say that's most important. With Ishiguro, the director takes the same approach. Letting Ishiguro babble on with long-winded dialogue about his endeavor, Ambo allows Ishiguro to reveal his detachment from humanity. Ishiguro jokes, somewhat seriously, about how he wishes his robot could be realistic enough that it could replace his mundane duties at his house where he's "required" to spend time with his family. In a later scene, his wife admits that she would prefer the robot to her husband provided it operated well enough. This quiet, observing camera is accompanied by a barely audible ambient soundtrack. Like these two characters and their relationship to humanity, it is detached, only floating in every few minutes with a few electronic notes, reminding is it's there.

In Ishiguro's vision, we see how having a goal of complete realism can impede the emotional attachment that humans can place on robots. Ishiguro's Gemenoid (as he calls it) is incredibly realistic in it's movement, frighteningly so, and his daughter reveals this by her refusal to interact with it during Ishiguro's test run. He's confused, a testament to his loss of his own connection to his family and by extension humanity while on his obsessive quest. The reason for his lack of success is demonstrated through the Paro narrative. The designer of the Paro, Takanori Shibata, is shown speaking at a conference of his successes and failures when designing the Paro. He originally designed a realistic cat, but it was a commercial failure. Users, already familiar with the actions of a cat, had too many expectations of the robot. They wanted realistic cat behavior and were disappointed when the robot couldn't deliver. Shibata took his design in a new direction, and he created a robot creature that one couldn't have any expectations for: a seal. Since users were unfamiliar with it's behavior, they didn't have any expectations, and were then only seeing the present interactivity of the robot. This was Ishiguro's failure. His Gemenoid was, in fact, too human-looking but not human-acting enough. It was so realistic looking that when it's actions didn't deliver it simply became an uncanny and horrifying likeness of Ishiguro. The Paro, with it's generic movement and vague squeaks, allowed the user to project their own emotions upon the robot. When the Paro is squealing, is it doing it with delight? Is it hungry? Is it yearning for the warmth of it's mother? It's whatever Frau Körner wanted. She pet the robot as it squealed, giving it all the genuine love she had to give. This open-ended action allows the user to identify with Paro in their own way, and this is how it became much more human than the Gemenoid would ever be. It's the reason we all love R2-D2.

Full Frame Film Festival Trip Report - Day 1

Well, it's official. Day one is over, and I am totally exhausted. I woke up at 9am, and I've just now gotten home. I had a great time working my first day at the festival, and I ran into some old acquaintances and met some new ones as well. I want to say, "You're welcome," to Professor Devin Orgeron of NC State University. He was running late for his film, and I held his credentials outside in the rain until he arrived. I also want to say hello to Craig Lindsey. I gave you a thumbs up and then posted that I did to Twitter. There was also an odd event when a gentleman, who I don't believe I'd met before, came up to me and shook my hand and said, "Nice to see you again!" I acted like we'd met, but in reality I had no idea who he was.

I stopped by the Press Lounge and picked up a Media Kit. They are a very nice group of individuals, and I was honored by how well they treated me, despite me being a simple blogger amongst professional journalists.

With all that out of the way, onto the reviews! Some of these had press embargo requests, which means I can't write a fill review of the film. I will, however, attempt to write full reviews for each film that I am able to. I'm seeing upwards of four films a day in addition to working a full volunteer schedule, so it will definitely be hectic.