Interview with Anna Farrell, director of Twelve Ways to Sunday

“TWELVE WAYS TO SUNDAY” COMES TO ROOFTOP FILMS

By Melissa Silvestri

Wednesday, September 22nd, 2010

In this time of economic peril, many Americans have begun to shed frivolous spending for small but rich pleasures. With less nights of take-out or cineplex movies, they’ve learned that it’s the homemade things that count in this world. Filmmaker Anna Farrell portrays a tight-knit community in her documentary Twelve Ways to Sunday, one that always knew about the basic and organic things in life. Fixing up motorcycles, dishing up meals at the local diner, and canning fruit preserves, the people of Allegany County, New York, have always sustained through the good and bad times. Playing this Wednesday at Rooftop Films as part of their extended 2010 Summer Series in NYC (in part with IFP‘s Independent Film Week), Twelve Ways to Sunday shows that in the leanest years, people in rural America have always known how to persevere with strength and know-how, and that a different kind of wealth can be appreciated: self-sustainability, good conversation, rich stories, and getting to know your neighbors.

The beauty in Twelve Ways to Sunday is the unique and interesting cast that Farrell and co. have assembled for this film. A pastor who enjoys making peanut brittle that is hard and mixed with chocolate; Fred, a grizzled rough-talking old man who hangs out at the local diner and is friends with the co-owner, a hearty and witty young woman; an elderly couple who ride motorcycles and have tattoos, and a young woman who is an avid hunter, yet appreciates the beauty of the woods and its inhabitants.

Farrell had previously been a 2009 IFP Documentary Lab Fellow with Twelve Ways to Sunday, showcasing her film at last year’s Rooftop Films / IFP Lab Selections screening last year. She was co-director of the accompanying documentary with Opus Jazz: N.Y. Export, and has recently worked on both Tiny Furniture and Twilight.

I spoke with Farrell via email this month, in preparation for the screening.

Twelve Ways to Sunday features many memorable characters who instantly become endearing and interesting to an audience, and with a wide diversity. How did you develop the film project?

TWTS developed out of a desire to create a multi-character portrait piece about life in rural New York. My brother [Samuel Farrell, assistant producer] and I grew up in a relatively small town upstate, but I wanted to go further out in the state to find “our town” for the film. Allegany County stood out because of its poverty levels (one of the poorest in the state) and its deer harvesting statistics (one of the highest in the state). Self-reliance is one of the defining characteristics of all of my subjects. We basically started driving west and when we found this small town, Bolivar, NY, it really felt right, and people seemed willing to give us a chance. We ended up filming in a few adjacent small towns: Bolivar, Richburg, Friendship, Cuba, Scio. The “story” then became about the people we found there.

The townspeople are very emotionally open and blunt in front of the camera, telling their stories. How did you find your subjects, and how did they come to trusting the film crew and telling their stories?

We worked hard early on to make ourselves very visible in the community—we ate at the diners, went to the harvest festivals, went to church on Sunday, went to the football games. We followed up with everyone. Most of the time we were with our subjects we were not filming—instead we were helping cook dinner, cut firewood, hiking in the woods, sharing our stories too. I think being brother and sister made us immediately accessible, people trust and understand family dynamics and we were allowed to be ourselves. In the end, the tone of the film is very intimate and very honest because the subjects were talking to someone they knew on the other side of the camera. I am really proud that we were able to maintain that trust throughout the entire process and that it reads to the audience as well.

What was the financing like for the project?

Financing this project was rather tricky. When we began fundraising, I was a 20-year-old first-time director writing and budgeting a documentary that wasn’t a social issue film, so it was difficult to attract grant money. Most of the financing came either in the form of out-of-pocket expenditures or individual and in-kind donations. IFP supported the project early on through fiscal sponsorship, which encouraged giving on many levels. NW Documentary, a non-profit in Portland, Oregon offered me an artist-in-residence position during post-production, and having an edit station, office space, and other creative minds with whom to share the process was invaluable; however, without formal funding, we had to constantly find creative ways to keep our costs low and remain patient. It was a healthy challenge.

In some filmmakers’ hands, they would present the people of Allegany County as either folky simpletons, or backwards country folk, or even look on them pitying for being working-class. Twelve Ways to Sunday does not take that pretense at all, celebrating the characters and uniqueness that the people are, and how gorgeous their home is (which is shot in wide panoramic shots). What do you think it is about the county that brings out the strength and humility in its people?

When we began filming, I was expecting to tell a story about a disappearing community. The Americana story that examines poverty and hardship and perhaps is full of romantic idealism for rural life. However, good documentary filmmaking is less about hunting down the story you have from the start and more about gathering the story as it unfolds before you. It requires patience and the ability to be surprised. What I found in Allegany County was an overwhelming sense of life, humility and self-reliance. Despite the economic depression in the area, I was met with a generosity that I had never before encountered. In the end, TWTS is more of a celebration film than anything else. I think that if you spent time in any small town you would find people that amazed you, inspired you, people that saw life if a poetic way, it’s just a matter of taking the time to get to know those folks.

Rooftop Films in NYC has been such a great showcase for independent films for the last 14 years. How did you become involved with them? Was it through IFP’s 2009 Documentary Filmmaker Lab, or did they contact you separately?

I met Mark Rosenberg, Artistic Director of Rooftop Films, last year during Independent Film Week. Rooftop hosts a preview screening of clips from that year’s Filmmaker Labs, and my trailer screened underneath the Brooklyn Bridge during that showcase. I actually gave Mark Rosenberg a jar of homemade jam (my budget marketing campaign!) that evening. I was already a big fan of what Rooftop is able to accomplish and I thought my film would find a welcome home with their programming. He checked out our rough cut through the DVD library at Independent Film Week and jumped on as an early supporter of the doc. We couldn’t be more ecstatic to be premiering with them.

On your blog, you mentioned that you became inspired by Mary to be more self-sufficient, and canned your first jar of preserves. What else did you take away from the filming, and what do you hope audiences will learn as well?

I drew much inspiration from the Foxfire book series, an anthology of oral histories that “promotes a sense of place and appreciation of local people, community, and culture as essential educational tools.” (The Foxfire Fund, Inc. Mission Statement, http://www.foxfire.org) I am hoping that the finished film will encourage and inspire discussions about rural America as well as celebrate living people as sources of disappearing knowledge.

What projects are you currently working on now?

I am currently developing a feature documentary examining the physical and physiological effects of shift work on body and mind. It is a character-driven film that follows the life of a nurse who frequently rotates between night and day shifts. I’m also working on a script for a narrative feature. It is about a young Chinese woman who has the opportunity to immigrate to the U.S. after her sister passes away during childbirth. She moves in with her sister’s widower to help raise her newborn niece. They live in a fairly small town in (surprise) upstate New York. The film is about being a novice, new life to the world, new immigrant to a country, and new outsider in a small town. I’m really excited by both non-fiction and fiction formats, and it seems organic to want to direct in both genres.

Interview with Kings of Pastry directors D.A. Pennebaker and Chris Hegedus

This story originally appeared in Filmmaker Magazine.

D.A. PENNEBAKER & CHRIS HEGEDUS, “KINGS OF PASTRY”

By Melissa Silvestri

Wednesday, September 15th, 2010

D.A. Pennebaker is a legend in the world of documentary filmmaking. A pioneer in the art of cinema verite, he first made his mark with the 1967 classic Don’t Look Back, chronicling Bob Dylan’s final acoustic tour in the U.K. He met his partner (in directing and matrimony) Chris Hegedus in the 1970s, and they have co-directed nearly 30 films together since 1977, including the Oscar-nominated The War Room and the Sundance entry Startup.com. Their latest collaboration is Kings of Pastry, a whirlwind peek into the M.O.F. competition, a French pastry chef contest in which 16 of the world’s best pastry chefs compete by making nearly 40 different kinds of pastries, including elaborate and often fragile sugar sculptures, all to be named the Meilleur Ouvrier de France, or the Best Craftsman of France. Kings of Pastry tracks the journey of French pastry chef Jacquy Pfeiffer, a world-renowned chef who runs the French Pastry School in Chicago, and dreams of joining the ranks of his elite mentors.

But Kings of Pastry is far from a Top Chef competition, where amateurs bicker and fight with one another only to create sub-par meals and win celebrity attention. These chefs are the best and know it too. They share a sense of camaraderie and respect with each other. The way that Pennebaker and Hegedus capture this collegiality is so palpable — whenever a delicate sugar sculpture is in danger of crumbling, or a judge shoots a critical glance, tension fills the screen.

Filmmaker spoke with Pennebaker and Hegedus in their New York office earlier this month. Kings of Pastry opens at the Film Forum in New York City today.

Chris Hegedus & D.A. Pennebaker. Photo by Kit Pennebaker

Filmmaker: What was the genesis of this project?

Hegedus: Well, this project really came about because a friend of mine (Flora Lazar, co-producer) decided to move to Chicago. She went to the French Pastry School and really wanted to be a pastry chef. She told me about Jacquy Pfeiffer deciding to compete in this famous M.O.F. competition, and how his partner at the school, Sebastien [Canonne], had already competed [and won], and it just really sounded intriguing. So we flew out and met them. We met Jacquy and Sebastien. Once we heard about the competition, and the extreme nature of it, [we were] fascinated.

Pennebaker: [Jacquy] was sort of older, and he kind of had to do it. I liked him right away, and I thought, “This is the kind of person I’d like to film doing this.” So we just went to France with him and from then it was just hanging on and trying to figure out what we were doing.

Filmmaker: Was it difficult to obtain rights to film the M.O.F. competition?

Pennebaker: Well, in France, in August, nobody answers the phone. So no matter what you have in mind, you could call the police and get no answer! [laughs].

Hegedus: It was really through Sebastien, since he was already a M.O.F. and knew the organization, and had contacts there, and Jacquy knew them as well. But it was through his encouragement that we were able to contact the head people. And basically, we just had to convince them that we weren’t going to interfere, which is why at the end of each day, they would have to re-convene to see if we’d be allowed to shoot the next day [laughs]. It was a very risky situation, but they liked us.

Filmmaker: From the outside, the film seems like it would just be about a baking competition, but it really is about artisanship in general.

Hegedus: Yes, that’s basically what it is — an artisan field to an extreme degree. There are aspects in the pastry field where people start doing this elaborate artisan ornamentation to embellish their art form. And the chefs that they want at this level have to be able to do both, to cook perfectly, to be artistic to the degree of making sculptures, and make things that taste delicious, which is kind of an odd combination. Most people that work as glass sculptors don’t have to make something that tastes good [laughs].

Pennebaker: The competition between chefs here [in the U.S.] is quite different. It has to do with speed, and a certain kind of aspect of food, which is what you see on television. But at the M.O.F.s, it was like a club that you wanted to get into. You didn’t just win. A number of people got selected based on their abilities, and the rest would have to come back another time.

Filmmaker: The film keeps the audience in suspense, from the judges’ intense scrutiny to the precariousness of the fragile sugar sculptures. Was that kind of tension there while filmmaking?

Hegedus: Well, we really didn’t have any budget on this project because our access was at the last-minute. It was at a very low level, and because no one had ever been allowed permission to even look at it or film it, they were very nervous that we would do something that would cause something to break in any way. So we couldn’t use any booms or radio mikes. We basically had our cameras, no lights or anything. It was restricted filming, and by the third day, when everyone was going to be carrying their beautiful displays, they drew little boxes around each of the tables and the kitchens, and that’s where you could stand.

Pennebaker: Our camera equipment is like any home movie camera. In the competition, we didn’t do any sound, because wireless microphones would distort the readings on their little scales, which is very crucial to them. But it was a very simple kind of filming. I don’t think anybody really noticed us after the first ten minutes.

Filmmaker: Chris, you grew up with a baking legacy, between your grandfather’s tea rooms in the 1920s and making chocolates and ice creams, while your great-grandfather was a highly respected chef and cooked for the Roosevelts. Did you find a kinship with the chefs?

Hegedus: It was interesting to me because my grandfather, who came from Europe, apprenticed to a baker, and then came to the United States and created these pastry confectionary stores. But I think my real connection to the chefs is less from my grandfather, because he died before I knew him, but from my Hungarian grandmother, who was just such an exquisite chef. For me, that was interesting, because at a time when I grew up in the ’50s, cooking in America had turned away from the cooking roots of people’s families. It was the blossoming of all TV dinners and fast food. We almost lost the idea of cooking. [laughs] I did have this side of my family that was involved in this really exquisite cooking, where I would get these elaborate cakes. I never saw them anywhere else.

Filmmaker: How do you get subjects to be natural and comfortable in front of the camera?

Hegedus: I think for both people [famous and non-famous], it’s a matter of getting them to trust you. And if they see that you’re genuinely interested in what they do, that you take the time to really find out about what they do, they’ll slowly let you into their lives. But it’s a privilege, it’s not something that is given. And definitely, when things are going well, and however they envision the movie of their life, they’re happy to have you there. But when things aren’t going as planned, then it’s not the happiest moment to have you around. And I think in those moments, it’s very nice to have a partner. You feel very un-loved, you don’t know what to do, and it’s nice to have someone when you’re making a film at this point. It’s an adventure and a risk on both of our parts. I think that kind of bonds you in a certain way.

Pennebaker: The thing is, if people are uncomfortable in front of your camera, you better stop filming them. That’s why you don’t sit them down in a chair and ask them questions. It’s boring for everybody, so you try to avoid it. What you want to do is find out everything you want to know by seeing it happen. You don’t want to have them tell you about it, or have someone tell you about it. It’s kind of how documentaries began, because everybody couldn’t be there when the action took place. But if you work on it and think about it before you film, you sort of know how people are going to act, and that’s when you want to be filming. You want to be in the War Room when they win the election, not afterwards when they tell you about it.

Filmmaker: The chefs seem to hold more of a camaraderie with each other rather than a rivalry, and it was uplifting to watch. As well as the judging M.O.F.s who showed support to the contestants.

Pennebaker: Well, they all know each other. I mean, these are the best chefs in France, which is something. They were already working in restaurants that were heavy-duty, so it’s not like they’re trying to break into the [business]. They’re already there. It’s the kind of single effort on the part of a Frenchman to join a special group, like the Knights Templar. Anybody who was a Knights Templar was like the king, meaning he had access to the king. And this is back in the 1300s, and it’s prevailed, so it’s kind of like that.

Hegedus: It was incredibly supportive. I think they (the M.O.F.s) recognize that anybody who made it to that level of the competition, they’re all pretty good chefs. They know they should be part of their club, and it is an interesting club, these chefs who have the red, white, and blue collars. The idea of the M.O.F. was started 100 years ago to encourage excellence in the manual craft field, so a lot of it is about giving back. The chefs say that the hardest thing is that after you get the M.O.F., you have to be this role model for people and give back. I think that’s why the chefs came up to [the contestants] when they were having a hard time — that kind of mentoring and encouraging thing is part of what the M.O.F. is about, and I think that’s wonderful.

Filmmaker: Your documentaries have featured politics, music, and entertainment figures, like Carol Burnett, Al Franken, Bill Clinton, and Bob Dylan. Do you feel like you choose your subjects, or do they choose you?

Hegedus: I think most of our subjects come to us. Someone says, “I’d think it’d be good if you did a film about this, would you be interested?” If somebody has access, that’s the most important thing, but yes, people come to us, or hear about things that we’re interested in. When I did Startup.com, I was interested in the Internet, it seemed like this Wild West in front of us, and everybody wanted to be a part of it.

Filmmaker: Your films often have your subject in the middle of a project, be it a Broadway show, an election, a concert tour, or recording an album. Do you feel these situations reveal their personality more than an interview would?

Pennebaker: If you want to know what somebody’s like, if you want to get a sense of their character, you’ve got to get them when they’re going around a corner. In an election, that’s easy, because the corner is the election, but sometimes, it’s like with [the band] The National, they want to do a concert at BAM, which would go online. I thought it sounded like a marvelous idea — I’ve never done a live concert. So we all find out something, and it was a marvelous thing to do.

Filmmaker: How has finding funding changed over the years?

Hegedus: Funding was more difficult in the beginning because getting started on a major film was expensive. A roll of film had to be processed and a print made from it. A 10-minute roll cost two hundred and fifty dollars when you finally got it out of the lab. This meant that it was often necessary to try and sell the project before beginning it, which required a script or outline. It also meant that whoever put up “front” money really owned the film and could edit it as they saw fit. Not a good arrangement for filmmakers.

Most of our funding early on was borrowed, either from friends or relations, and of course they had to be paid back so it was almost obligatory that the project be salable not to TV that had little interest in independent filmmakers, but to theatrical distributors, or in most instances to theaters as a first run self-distributed film which was very hard to carry out. You certainly didn’t get rich. Don’t Look Back and Monterey Pop were examples of this, and while they were both extremely popular and each played theatrically for well over a year it was difficult to get the theaters to pay. The film of Steve Sondheim’s Company was never sold to a network but had to be parceled out to individual stations and paid for by piecework sales to sponsors. I don’t know if the producer made much money but we certainly didn’t.

Switch now to present: A serious project like The War Room or Kings of Pastry can be started with relatively little investment other than a small video camera and the time of the actual filmmakers. A simple video camera records high quality sound and picture and can be operated by a single person. Both of those films were shot without lights or an expensive crew. Filming over long periods of time, which is almost always required, is expensive but the film generally ends up belonging to the filmmakers, and much of the money to pay for it raised through funding organizations that give tax benefits to donors instead of promising profits from subsequent distribution.

Filmmaker: What are you working on next?

Hegedus: Next project, well, we’re never quite sure what’s next until we actually pick up a camera and start to shoot, but there is some talk about doing a film with Steve Sondheim, whom I have known for some time but not really well so it offers a chance to know him better and to do a musical film which of course we would really like to do. Ask us in a couple of months and let’s see what brews. We are also following the activities at CERN and the possibilities for a film coming out of there or connected to it.

Review of Lixin Fan's Last Train Home

This review originally appeared on IONCinema

Last Train Home, the directorial debut of documentary filmmaker Lixin Fan, has had an impressive streak at the past year's major film festivals. An official selection of Sundance Film Festival, and winner at several festivals including the Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival, San Francisco International Film Festival, and top tier docu festival IDFA (International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam), this chronicles two years in the lives of the Zhengs, a working-class Chinese family who are separated for economic reasons. The parents are two of the 130 million Chinese migrant workers who currently work in the factories of China's major cities, leaving the countryside for opportunity and economic growth. They are only allowed to go home once a year, and that is for Chinese New Year in February. But with that many workers, it is practically impossible that all will be guaranteed a train ticket home to see their families.

Fan uses a hand-held camera to capture intimate yet bleak panoramic shots of the mass hysteria that ensues when millions of people are struggling to gain a ticket, then trying to even find space on the overcrowded train. In each scene, everybody is worried that they won't be one of the lucky ones, that they will be left behind and miss the chance for a nice holiday. Spending their days and nights hunched over sewing machines in loud, congested factories, this is an escape into the comfort of home traditions. People being pushed and shoved, loaded down with luggage (often carrying quite heavy loads practically on their heads) presents a dystopian image of low-income workers in overpopulated cities with all the same dreams and hopes, but not everybody will be rewarded with a rags to riches life.

The elder Zhengs work down to their fingers sewing clothing to be sent to America. It's a sobering reality for Western audiences to see the faces behind the "Made in China" label, and how there are real people struggling to provide better lives for their children. Fan's narratives with the family members depicts a unit that is broken, emotions running high from immense guilt from the parents, to seething resentment from their teenage daughter, who lives out in the country with her grandmother and younger brother. The traditional rural life is abandoned by the young people, migrating to the cities, leaving the children and elderly folks to try to maintain farm life. City life is intensely competitive, and young adults starting at 15 quit school to assert their independence working in the factories. They're working long hours for low pay, but it's something they can call their own.

The Zheng family are split, not just by distance, but by familial strain. They are missing out on their children growing up, and their daughter is frustrated and angry at them for leaving her. She takes the risk in leaving school and going to work in the factories, despite her parents' protestations. Her stance is brave and strong, wanting to take control of her own life at 17. Tensions run high during a uncomfortably raw moment where father and daughter are at each other, hollering and snarling at one another. It not only rips through all the niceties that they've been giving each other (and the audience), but breaks the fourth wall, the threads of their family coming undone. It's a sad example of the circle of industrial life in the world, the parents who worked hard to provide a better life for their children only to see their children go the same route out of instant results instead of the long-term results of education.

Last Train Home shines a light on people who would normally not be seen in the media eye, anonymous workers who toil for hours creating clothing for consumers who don't question the distance that it traveled to their shops, and whose livelihood hangs on a factory's supply and demand. Already, these factories will have machines replace humans, increasing output, and leaving millions jobless and lost.

Zeitgeist Films releases Lixin Fan's Last Train Home on Friday, September 3rd.

Review of Emilia Menocal and Jauretsi Saizabitoria's East of Havana

This review originally appeared in Venus Zine.

'East of Havana' review

This documentary offers a rare glance into the rap scene of a younger Cuban generation

By Melissa Silvestri
Published: February 28th, 2007 | 5:33pm

East of Havana is a fascinating documentary about contemporary rap music in Cuba. The film follows three local rappers: Magyori, Mikki, and Soandry, who are members of the rap collective El Cartel and rhapsodize about the fallen Cuban economy of the '90s and the anger it has fueled their generation (blackouts, no money, poor housing). The three are charismatic, intriguing individuals as they talk about what rap means to them and how they express their emotions and life stories in the strength and purity of their rap verse.

The three youths grew up in an impoverished part of Havana; Magyori sells her belongings and others' stuff for a daily profit, Mikki lives with his grandfather and does odd jobs, and Soandry is his parents' last remaining child; their older son left Cuba during the 1994 exodus when 33,000 Cubans fled the island to the United States, and he hasn't been able to return home since. A heartbreaking moment occurs when Soandry's older brother, living in Seattle, sees pictures of his parents and brother for the first time since he left, and the shock of seeing their aged faces breaks him down into tears.

The film was co-directed by native Cuban Jauretsi Saizabitoria, and co-produced by her longtime friend, actress Charlize Theron. The idea for the film came from a 2001 trip the two took to Cuba and a drive to show the island beyond images of Castro, Scarface, and 80-year old Buena Vista Social Club-type musicians. This film shows the inherent strength of the young generation, and their determination to change Cuba into a more economically diverse, rich nation. East of Havana is a small but unforgettable film that gives an American audience a rare eye into the everyday life of Cubans living under Castro's government.

Review of Craig Brewer's Black Snake Moan

This review originally appeared in Venus Zine.

'Black Snake Moan' review

Christina Ricci shocks and shines in her return to the big screen

By Melissa Silvestri
Published: March 9th, 2007 | 9:12am

This March, one of the most controversial films of 2007 premiered, after being buzzed for months about its alleged misogyny and racism. Black Snake Moan, a parable starring Samuel L. Jackson and Christina Ricci, is a unique and individual film that, while weak in some parts, is a tour de force for Ricci';s performance as a sex-addicted Mississippi runt who is enslaved to transform under the watchful eye of Jackson'sbluesman-turned-farmer.

The selling point of the film has been the farmer's unethical way of taming the promiscuous girl of her "demons" (locking a 40-ft chain around her waist and keeping her housebound for days), but it is a drastic measure for a girl who has used sex to mask being sexually abused as a child, taking back power in an aggressive and emotionless manner. The girl, named Rae, frequently suffers fits and spells, mentally revisiting her past abuses with her current sexual situations of overtaking a man or letting a man have his way with her, practically using her as a toilet.

The film suffers by garnering a lot of unintentional laughs from the audience for what would be an intense story. The chain scenes are made to be hilarious instead of disturbing (as it would be for anyone in that situation), and Jackson's cult popularity for Pulp Fiction and Snakes on a Plane gives the audience a smug knowingness, laughing at the way he says "motherfucker"; or rolls his eyes in disbelief at another. In addition, the subplot of Rae's Iraq-bound boyfriend is unnecessary, a ploy to make Rae more sympathetic by showing her in loving coitus with her man and having him for stability in her turbulent life. The boyfriend is dead weight and Rae was enough of a fleshed-out character without him.

The glue of this film is Christina Ricci as Rae. Recovering from a career slump (her last critically-acclaimed role prior was in Monster, and in The Opposite of Sex five years before that), she reveals herself physically and emotionally naked, a feral animal ripping herself for the audience to gaze upon both in titillation and sympathy. A standout scene is her Pentecostal-like dance to the blues classic 'Stackolee,' releasing herself of her sexual demons and feeling free and exhilarated for the first time in years.

The film was directed by Craig Brewer, best known for the Oscar-winning Hustle & Flow. This continues the same style of using music to complement a Southern lifestyle, and it works superbly, enriching the film with the blues music of R.L. Burnside and Scott Bomar's raw instrumentals, and covers sung by Jackson himself, evoking the style if not the technical proficiency. The title is derived by Blind Lemon Jefferson’s 1920s number, and it evokes comparisons to PJ Harveys 'Long Snake Moan.'

Black Snake Moan is a flawed piece, but the blues-numbers scenes and Christina Ricci’s performance will rivet you and get under your skin.

Review of Craig Gillespie's Lars and the Real Girl

This review originally appeared in Venus Zine.

Getting real

Ryan Gosling finds a lady friend in Lars and the Real Girl

By Melissa Silvestri
Published: October 21st, 2007

Just as the film Lars and the Real Girl was set to be released, a British documentary premiered this year. Love Me, Love My Doll chronicled the relationships that several men have had with their Real Dolls, an 21st century upgrade of the blow-up dolls of the past. The documentary starkly presents these men as lonely, socially awkward, sad people going into great detail about their "girlfriends" and all the relationship troubles they've faced, which would seem more genuine if the girlfriend wasn't made of plastic and rubber. It could be argued that the men preferred the dolls to real women because of their being sexually attractive yet not speaking or arguing with them.

Lars and the Real Girl dramatizes a typical life of one of these men. Lars Lindstrom (Ryan Gosling) is a reserved individual living in the garage of his brother, Gus (Paul Schneider). Gus' wife Karin (Emily Mortimer) tries to engage him in going out on excursions with them, having dinner with them, and trying to draw him out of his shell. His co-worker Margo (Kelli Garner) is interested in him, but he is merely polite to her. Lars seems like a giant man-child at 27, possibly autistic and sensitive to touch. It seems like there isn't any point to socialize Lars into the world, that he is content to live alone in his garage home and pay no mind to anybody.

Several weeks later, Lars introduces his girlfriend, Bianca, to Gus and Karin. Bianca is a Real Doll, resembling Angelina Jolie. Lars gives Bianca an entire backstory (she is a Brazilian wheelchair-bound woman who wants to work as a missionary). Though it seems like Lars has completely lost his mind, his devotion to Bianca as a real person (Karin even unconsciously sets a dinner plate for Bianca upon first meeting her) touches the rest of the town, and Bianca is accepted as a new member of the community, being spoken to and cared for as if she were real. Lars' relationship with her, where he is the only one who can hear her responses, brings up comparisons to Harvey, where Jimmy Stewart joyfully speaks to an invisible six-foot-tall rabbit and his family fears him being mentally ill. The psychologist (Patricia Clarkson), tries to give therapy sessions to Lars under the guise that she is "treating" Bianca, but he keeps his emotions locked up as to whether he believes that Bianca is real or that he knows that she's just a doll.

Lars is idealistic and a bit of a fantasy, but it is an interesting movie to see how a whole town will rally around one of their own and accept somebody's odd behavior - even learning something new about themselves along the way. The audience even starts to believe in Bianca's presence as much as the townspeople do, thanks to the convincing acting, led by Ryan Gosling's childlike performance, and the compelling script, written by Nancy Oliver.

Review of Michel Gondry's Be Kind Rewind

This review originally appeared in Venus Zine.

Indie filmmaking in the extreme
Michel Gondry's Be Kind Rewind takes DIY directing to Hollywood

By Melissa Silvestri
Published: March 5th, 2008

Be Kind Rewind is the latest from music video auteur Michel Gondry, known for his childlike imagination and use of cardboard cutouts a la Where The Wild Things Are. Be Kind Rewind’s art imagery borrows from Gondry’s past videos for Björk and the Chemical Brothers, but has a DIY aesthetic that attracts the audience into the small world of Passaic, New Jersey. The audience reminisces back to the days before DVDs and Netflix, when the tattered format of VHS ruled.

The film follows Mike (Mos Def) and Jerry (Jack Black), two schmoes living day-to-day without a bright future. Jerry is an auto mechanic and lives in a trailer by the power plant. He’s the main customer at Be Kind Rewind - an old video store in a building that, though a place where Fats Waller once lived, is in danger of being demolished and replaced by a condominium, sending the video clerk Mike and his boss Fletcher (Danny Glover) into the projects.

While Fletcher is out of town, Jerry (having been electrocuted while trying to sabotage the power plant) becomes a “human magnetic field,” inadvertently erasing the films in the video store. As a last-ditch effort to appease the elderly and loyal Miss Falewicz (Mia Farrow) when she wants to rent Ghostbusters, Mike and Jerry decide to re-do the film as a 20-minute abbreviated version, shot in 2 ½ hours, using vacuum cleaners on their backs, a miniature Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, and streamers to imitate the rays from the laser guns.

Their homemade recreation becomes a hit with her nephew and his friends, and they receive requests to re-do other pop-culture classics like Robocop, Driving Miss Daisy, and 2001, calling their style of film “Sweded.” For the female roles, they recruit Alma (Melonie Diaz), a bored dry-cleaning employee, who quickly grasps their enthusiasm and becomes a part of the local phenomenon.

The film drags when the video store is sued by the movie studios for copyright infringement (with Ghostbusters' Sigourney Weaver as the studios’ attorney), and the guys find themselves at a crossroads. It gets a little cheesy and Capra-esque at the end, but the majority of the film is pleasant and enjoyable.