Tony: So the first week of the Seattle International Film Festival’s 2015 iteration has SIFFted its way into history. I’ve seen quite a few movies already, and am pretty surprised at the overall quality of what’s crossed my peepers. Of the 13 festival features I’ve seen, only two outright disappointed me. How about you, Josh?
Josh: As usual, some were less than spectacular, but so far I’m nine for nine in terms of non-disappointments.
Tony: Our viewing itinerary intersected on a couple of occasions in the last six or seven days, beginning with Spy, SIFF’s Opening Night feature. I’m very curious about your take.
Josh: While you might blame the afterglow of the always-fun opening night party, I’m coming in decidedly pro-Spy! While it probably won’t make my top movies of all time list, I think it’s definitely among the better SIFF opening night selections of at least the last decade: expertly made, never boring, incredibly funny throughout, while deftly avoiding so many landmines that could’ve made it a complete embarrassment.
Tony: Spy is the kind of flagrantly mainstream snack that the snob in me would dismiss, but the junk food junkie in me found guiltily enjoyable in places. I’ll admit it: I laughed way more than I thought I would. I’d never pay money to see it again, but it amiably diverted me for 90-something minutes and I didn’t resent it when it was over. That, in and of itself, surprised me.
Josh: Right, even though I’d seen the reviews, surprise was definitely a factor in my enjoyment. In particular, the previews for this movie are terrible — as if they don’t trust comedy fans to show up at a theater unless the humor is cringeworthy and that the main joke is the mere existence of Melissa McCarthy looking like Melissa McCarthy. I hope it finds an audience on the basis of the Bridesmaids connection alone. I give Feig et al enormous credit for not going for the easy fish-out-of-water route by and making McCarthy an incredibly competent operative who’s regularly underrated. Plus, it never stopped making me laugh, often with the jokes — verbal, physical, and visual — hitting so fast that I ended up missing some because the room was still cracking up.
Tony: OK, I take it back: If someone put together a loop of just the scenes featuring Jason Statham (indulging in some howlingly funny self-parody) and Morena Bacarin (as the super-spy equivalent of a too-perfect prom queen), I might pay money for that.
Josh: The strength of the cast overall made this sing. I agree that Statham in particular was a joy, and you got the feeling that they all very much enjoyed globe-trotting to locales far more exotic than you’d expect from a comedy. (4⭐️)
Tony: Another film that we both crossed paths with, The New Girlfriend, took me by (pleasant) surprise. The usage of the term ‘Hitchcockian psychosexual drama’ to describe French maestro Francois Ozon’s newest film in SIFF’s printed guide led me to expect something much more menacing than I got. Rather than a thriller, The New Girlfriend turned out to be a subtle and surprisingly adroit comedy that (for me, at least) sported some nice performances and a really interesting meditation on the fluidity of human sexuality and intimacy. It’s the kind of premise that an American director would, more than likely, completely screw up, but Ozon and his cast make it work with unforced ease. The only major liability for me came in the last 15 minutes, during which Ozon’s screenplay descends into what feels like a clumsy lurch at melodrama–an uninspired excuse to force lead character David’s big reveal to a head (then again, this could be an inbuilt fault with Ruth Rendell’s source material book, which I haven’t read). Up until then, though, I was really entertained.
Josh: Yes, I kept waiting for something truly terrible to happen! But it was sort of thrilling to see relationships develop and revelations unfold in uncomfortable fits and starts from the regularly confused and challenged characters. At my screening, it felt like the audience wasn’t sure how to react to [spoiler?] Duris dressed in women’s clothing, which, in a way mirrored the reaction of his [spoiler?] dead wife’s best friend as their relationship evolved in surprising but relatable ways. It did feel like the plot boiled over toward the end, and I found the final scenes not entirely conclusive, but it worked overall like a Very French take on Transparent. (4⭐️)
Tony: Every SIFF, there’s at least one horror movie/thriller that counters deeply disturbing fucked-uppedness with enough artistry to force civilians to acknowledge its quality (even as they peek at it through sweaty, knotted fingers). My favorite intersection of arthouse and grindhouse so far this fest is Goodnight Mommy, an Austrian film directed by Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala. It’s got two creepy pre-teen twins (well-played by real-life sibs Elias and Lukas Schwarz) dealing with a flawed mom (Susanne Wuest) whose psychological and physical abuse of her sons leads to, well, some deeply disturbing fucked-uppedness. The movie shares DNA with a couple of other horror movies, particularly (modest sorta-spoiler alert if you’re a horror nerd like me) the 1972 shocker The Other–no relation to the Nicole Kidman film–and Audition, but it also carves out (pardon the pun) its own distinctive identity with a languid, dreamlike pace that renders the deeply unsettling bits all the more impactful. Franz and Fiala did such a good job of diverting audience sympathies and focus that the ending genuinely surprised me.
Josh: Google Translate tells me that the original title of the film (Ich Seh Ich Seh) means, “I see, I see”. Which is appropriate, given how early in the film I spotted the “twist”. However, I agree that the glossy style carried it a long way and the immaculate shots and small creepy moment lulled me into such complacence that I was truly repulsed by the horrifying gore of final act. I’m not sure that I would classify my response as “enjoyment”, but I can’t argue that the film didn’t work on its own terms. I’m just glad that it wasn’t part of the midnight program; seeing it in earlier in the evening gave me some time to process before being haunted by the nightmarish imagery. (3.5⭐️)
Tony: Before I elaborate on the rest of the movies I liked or loved, let’s just get my disappointments off the table first. As a rabid midnight movie-holic, I was underwhelmed with SIFF’s second Midnight Adrenaline entry, The Hallow. I was intrigued by the premise (Irish family moves to a house just outside a reputedly-enchanted forest rife with strange beasts), and the mostly-practical effects were surprisingly effective, but it ultimately wore my patience down with its lack of character development and way too much reliance on hand-held camera fuckery.
Snow on the Blades represented another wolf in sheep’s clothing a la The New Girlfriend, thanks to consignment in the Thrill Me! portion of the SIFF Guide. Alas, it’s nowhere near as interesting as the latter. It’s basically Les Miserables samurai-style, as a disgraced samurai chases down the surviving assassins who took out his boss thirteen years previous. You know you’re in trouble when the climactic confrontation between the samurai and his single surviving quarry culminates with both parties blubbering like simpering milksops. And when said samurai meets his dewy-eyed wife for another good cry in the final scene, I was sure I was watching a Funny or Die parody where someone mashed up a Kurosawa film with a touchy-feely chick flick.
I ended up missing a couple of films that were high on my must-see list–Me and Earl and the Dying Girl and the Brian Wilson biopic Love and Mercy. How did those fare?
Josh: I’m sorry that you missed those — they’re currently near the top of my rankings! Love and Mercy was an almost radical take on the Great Artist Biopic in that it seemed to argue that the only fascinating aspect of Brian Wilson was the music that he created. And on this front, it works brilliantly in large part due to the score by Atticus Ross woven together from a hard disk full of recordings from the period surrounding the recording of Pet Sounds. Acoustic limitations of the Egyptian aside, I found the synthesis of these outtakes and the final versions of Beach Boys hits to be revelatory (and somewhat heartbreaking to think of how much less Wilson would’ve suffered if he’d had access to modern computer recording techniques). This is not to say that Paul Dano and John Cusack don’t give interesting performances as an increasingly withdrawn Wilson, but what they’re mostly portraying is a person who’s barely present in his own life. As the only character approaching three dimensions Elizabeth Banks nearly steals the spotlight as a 1980s Cadillac saleswoman, love interest, and advocate; elsewhere Wilson cousins and Paul Giamatti as a nefarious and controlling psychiatrist approach cartoonish levels of villainy. (4⭐️)
I can totally see why Me and Earl and the Dying Girl swept the hearts of Sundance audiences and juries while opening distributor pocketbooks. It’s likely to be an instant classic in the “creative teenage guy navigates perils of high school under the cover of faux disaffection but discovers feelings” genre, one that also happens to be in my wheelhouse / relevant to my arrested development interests. Although the motivating incident of story doesn’t entirely hold up under scrutiny — the parent-prodded meet-up of Greg (the “Me”, played amazingly by Thomas Mann) and “the Dying Girl” is as out-of-the-blue in the script as it is on screen — the other elements of the film are so successful and propulsive that it’s easy to be pulled along by the evocative camerawork, clever humor, an increasingly heart-tugging story, and an amazing soundtrack (a lot of Brian Eno, and some strategically perfect and emotionally devastating deployment of Nico Muhly and Explosions in the Sky). On top of all of that, there’s the matter of Greg and Earl’s filmography: a Criterion-Worthy library of astutely hilarious film-geek parodies of classic films. I’m hoping that when the film hits wide release next month, that their collection gets its own microsite or YouTube channel. They’re too perfect to not deserve more time to savor than the quick flashes throughout the film. (5⭐️)
Tony: There’s a lot of great music-related stuff on the SIFF 2015 docket, but the only music-related movie I’ve seen so far is Breathe Umphefumlo, a South African adaptation of La Boheme (AKA the opera ripped off by Rent). Slow Americans likely won’t be able to get past the mouthful of a title and the fact that, clever title cards and some introductory dialogue aside, it’s in un-subtitled African, but I was captivated. If you’ve seen Boheme or Rent, the plot’s easy enough to follow, with the original’s tragic love story cannily transposed against South Africa’s current TB epidemic. Puccini’s original music is performed by the cast with full operatic singing, only the instrumentation incorporates steel drums, marimbas, and other regional instruments. The weld shouldn’t work but does, wonderfully.
What about the rest of the stuff you saw, Josh?
Josh: Let’s see … I caught a couple of basically OK indie comedies. The first, and slightly more successful was Andrew Bujalski’s Results — loosely structured around a love triangle featuring two personal trainers (Guy Pearce, with dreams of a motivational empire; and Cobie Smulders, his all-business fitness star) and a newly-wealthy, freshly-divorced, marijuana-smoking, dadbod client (Kevin Corrigan). I’m a huge fan of his earlier mumblecore/new-wave/experimental catalog; so it was at least meta-fascinating to see him working in the framework of a more conventional rom-com — vaguely akin to looking at medieval paintings of lions by artists with only secondhand knowledge of the major features of the big cats. (3.5⭐️)
I also saw Manson Family Vacation, in which a successful attorney (Jay Duplass) gets dragged, often against his better judgement, on a makeshift tour of Charles Manson sites on a surprise visit from his adopted brother (Linas Phillips). Fittingly for a Duplass Brothers production, its a bit rambly, but successfully conveys the uncomfortable experience of spending an extended period of time with a semi-estranged family member who’s unhealthily obsessed with a serial-killer. (3⭐️)
In an entirely different genre, John Maclean’s Slow West finds mysterious traveler Michael Fassbender taking payment to escort poorly-prepared teen (Australian Kodi Smit-McPhee plays Scottish) across the dangerous post-Civil War Continental Divide. Scenic New Zealand stands in for Colorado and the initially languid pacing picks up as they encounter various characters on the road and culminates in a high-stakes finale. The whole thing is a fool’s errand, beautifully shot. (4⭐️)
Tony: Both of the docs I saw maintained the festival’s high standards for documentary programming. Personal Gold: An Underdog Story told the involving saga of the Women’s Track Cycling Team in their 2012 quest for an Olympic medal. The movie hits all the requisite inspirational notes that a good sports doc needs, while also touching on the Lance Armstrong doping scandal, the financial struggles endured by most Olympic athletes to compete, and modern technology’s evolving role in human health. Good stuff.
Even better was Listen to Me Marlon, a doc about Marlon Brando constructed from hours of Brando’s own audio-taped musings and decades worth of stock footage. The end result is a haunting paean to the iconic actor in his own words, and the most fully-rounded portrait of Brando that we’re likely to see. You get all phases of the man’s life–from his early-career passion for pursuing unprecedented honesty and realism in his craft, to the actor’s perpetual discomfort with international fame, to his painful issues with his abusive jerk of a father: In a clip from a 1950s TV show, all of the tension and dysfunction between Brando and his dad seethes just beneath the surface, and it’s especially harrowing to watch after hearing Brando’s frank dialogue about their relationship. As deeply as it goes, though, Listen to Me Marlon deftly averts tabloid-style gawkery. If we weren’t already hitting Guttenberg-Bible length on this roundtable, I could kibbutz about this one for hours. It’s that good.
Josh: Listen to Me Marlon was incredible. I’m not quite sure that I’ve ever seen anything like it before. On one hand, it’s almost a counterpoint to Montage of Heck in terms of creating a biography entirely from an artist’s own ephemera. On the other, it reminded me of HBO’s The Jinx, in that the whole thing hung on the impulses of an old man to make a taped confession. But the depth of its ability to interrogate an epic career using almost entirely the artist’s own voice (and digitized head!) puts it in a category of its own, with the director’s pairings of existing footage and subsequent diary entries truly illuminating each other in unexpected ways. I’m hardly a Brando scholar, so many of the clips alone were worthwhile for their ability to chart a career arc and the stuff about his perspective on Method acting and his involvement with social justice issues was definitely interesting. (4.5⭐️)
Tony: The Hallow aside, SIFF 2015’s also been scratching my cult movie itch most ably. Deathgasm, the inaugural Midnight Adrenaline selection, delivers everything you could want from a midnighter and then some. A slacker teenage headbanger happens upon some parchments containing ancient sheet music, and when he and his bandmates play said music, it unleashes, well, Hell on Earth. You get plenty of warped giggles, gouts of blood and pus, and metal up the ass (metaphorically and literally), but filtered through an almost John Hughes level of teenage empathy. Who’da thunk that a movie featuring gut-munching, bloody projectile diarrhea, decapitation, demons, and heavy metal kids beating down zombies with dildos could be so, well, sweet-spirited without losing its punch?
The Old Dark House, meantime, proved that even a 1932 thriller about reluctant strangers trapped in a houseful of oddballs and psychos could maintain satiric bite over 80 years after its original release. Director James Whale went on to hone his MO of mordant chuckles and monstrous chills to perfection in 1933’s The Invisible Man and the 1935 masterpiece, Bride of Frankenstein, but the seeds of that style were already sown here. The cast, including Melvyn Douglas, Charles Laughton, and an archly-funny Ernest Thesiger, take to their roles with relish, and Boris Karloff manages to be unerringly creepy as the house’s scarred and mute manservant. Best of all, the print (restored by the Library of Congress) is clear and darkly lovely. This is one of those rare old horror movies where even a jaded modern audience laughs with it, not at it.
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