Coming of Age
The Philadelphia Film Festival breaks out on its own during the 18½ fest.
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Earlier this year, drama hit the Philly cinephile scene when the Philadelphia Film Society split from TLA Entertainment. In the ostensibly amicable divorce, PFS retained its name (while TLA launched CineFest) and moved its film festival to the fall. Rather than wait a year and a half to stage a full-fledged festival, PFS put on a mini-fest — the 18 Philadelphia Film Festival — cherry-picking movies from Sundance, Cannes and Toronto. But can the city sustain two large film festivals? PFS Artistic Director Harlan Jacobson hopes so. "The average choice on any given Friday or Saturday night ... is a lot of junk," he says. "A well-spread fall table of serious, provocative, engaging films can only be a good thing."
—Molly Eichel
Antichrist | Bronson | Dare | A Film With Me In It | Fish Tank | Good Hair | Law Abiding Citizen | Mammoth | The Men Who Stare at Goats | The Messenger | Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire | The Private Lives of Pippa Lee | Red Cliff | Rembrandt's J'Accuse | The Silence Before Bach | We Live in Public
Born out of Lars von Trier's bout with clinical depression (which, to judge from recent interviews, he's not quite over), this harrowing two-hander is an ordeal by design. After therapist Willem Dafoe and academic Charlotte Gainsbourg lose their son in an accident, they face their grief by retreating to a secluded cabin they call "Eden," at which point the movie explodes into a cross between Don't Look Now and The Evil Dead. Seeing it with an unprepared audience is key, so avoid spoilers and know that you're in for a series of shocks as conceptually audacious as they are viscerally unsettling. Like most of von Trier's movies, it wavers between inspired and insufferable, but it's too nervy to simply dismiss. —Sam Adams (10/16, 7:45 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Bronson
Bronson
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A violent, operatic character study that's equal parts Derek Jarman and A Clockwork Orange, Nicolas Winding Refn's movie treats the story of "Britain's most famous prisoner" as an antihero origin myth. The previously unremarked Tom Hardy gives an incandescent performance as Charles Bronson (née Michael Peterson), a feral, uncontainable beast of a man whose ferocity seems boundless. Heedlessly assaulting prison guards with no apparent regard for his own well-being, he lives in a state of constant rage, his energy matched only by that of the film itself. Vicious and deliberately amoral, Bronson is hardly a crowd-pleaser, but there's a fierce and passionate cult audience just waiting to discover it. —S.A. (10/17, 5 p.m., Ritz Bourse; 10/19, 9:15 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Written by local David Brind and shot at his alma mater, Friends' Central, this high school ménage-à-trois stars Emmy Rossum as an overachieving actress; Ashley Springer as her light board-running BFF; and Zach Gilford as the brooding bad boy. The types as the movie lays them out initially are purposefully generic, but Dare, directed by Adam Salky, promptly sets out to undermine them. Polymorphous perversity aside, the movie isn't doing much new with the form, but it has moments of insight and intrigue. —S.A. (10/17, 5 p.m., Prince; 10/19, 9:45 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Although it's impossibly grotty-looking and generally in shambles, Ian Fitzgibbon's mordant comedy still has a ragged charm. Written by Time Trumpet scribe Mark Doherty, the movie stars Doherty as a hapless aspiring actor and Black Books' Dylan Moran as his would-be screenwriter best bud. A daisy chain of unfortunate events results in a string of grisly accidental deaths, which all transpire in such a way as to suggest that the unemployed wasters are a pair of homicidal maniacs: Imagine Weekend at Bernie's as a Sean O'Casey play and you'll be halfway there. The movie eventually runs out of steam, but it's good, bloody fun while it lasts. —S.A. (10/16, 5 p.m., Ritz Bourse; 10/17, 10 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
A tiny flat in a British housing project provides the titular fish tank in Andrea Arnold's (Red Road) raw, riveting second feature. It's where 15-year-old Mia Williams (amateur Katie Jarvis in a stunning debut) lives and argues with her mom (Kierston Wareing) and younger sister. Desperate to escape, Mia thinks dancing may be a suitable career opportunity. She's not very good, but when mom's dreamy new boyfriend, Connor (Michael Fassbender), encourages her, Mia responds. And, not unpredictably, Connor seduces the underage Mia. While Fish Tank flirts with melodrama — especially in its overwrought final act — Arnold shrewdly avoids disaster. Instead, the film focuses on the palpable tensions between parents and children, as emblematized in a quietly powerful scene of the Williams women dancing together. —Gary M. Kramer (10/16, 12:30 p.m., Ritz Bourse; 10/18, 4:45 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Inspired by his daughter asking why she doesn't have "good hair," Chris Rock tries to comb through the knotty subject of African-American women's hair — or the stuff on their heads, whether it's actually theirs or not. The comedian traces weaves from salons back to tonsure ceremonies in India and talks about the chief ingredient in relaxer with a chemist befuddled by the thought that anyone would put the stuff on their bodies. But the lazy, scattershot approach taken by Rock and director Jeff Stilson hints at the impact of white-centric standards of beauty and the ridiculous expense involved, but stops short of actually taking a stance. The celeb interviews, from Raven-Symoné to Ice-T, badly need a trim. —Shaun Brady (10/16, 7:30 p.m., Prince; 10/17, 9:45 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
As the cool, ethically challenged mayor of Philadelphia, besieged by an apparently unstoppable vigilante, Viola Davis is remarkably restrained, even mesmerizing. This even though she’s called on to say out loud, "There must be a provision of the Homeland Security Act that we can activate." Still, she has her work cut out for her. Not only must she try to look sane inside a nutty premise, in which ambitious prosecutor Nick (Jamie Foxx) lets a singularly ugly home-invader plead out after killing the wife and young daughter of Clyde (Gerard Butler). It's not clear how he survives the assault, but he's mightily pained and pissed off at the outcome of the case, making it his mission in life to punish the guilty, system representatives and anyone else who even thinks about getting in his way. His elaborate scheming draws from Hannibal Lecter, Jigsaw and Dirty Harry, with Nick several steps behind — until the movie finally must end. Director F. Gary Gray (who’s earned more than one pass for making the sublime video for Outkast's "Ms. Jackson") knows how to make action both brutal and poetic, but Kurt Wimmer's script is utter nonsense, leaving far too much scenery for Foxx and Butler to chew. Besides, the movie was better the first time, when it was called Ricochet and Ice-T had to save the day. —Cindy Fuchs (10/15, 6 & 8 p.m., Prince)
A colossal waste. Lukas Moodysson’s overlong, underwhelming drama chronicles the lives of businessman Leo (Gael Garcia Bernal), his surgeon wife Ellen (Michelle Williams), and their Filipino nanny Gloria (Marife Necesito). Ninety minutes pass before anything truly dramatic happens, and when it does, it’s the inevitable tragedy each character is trying intensely to prevent. Moodysson fills his superficial drama with messages about how fragile life is, but there’s no value in investing in these bored, lonely, miserable people. Moodysson’s moralizing about class and family gets downright offensive when Gloria’s son learns — at the local dump — that he should appreciate his mother working for a better life. The characters may virtuously seek to help others, but they can barely help themselves. —G.M.K. (10/16, 7:15 p.m., Ritz at the Bourse; 10/19, 4:30 p.m., Ritz at the Bourse)
The Men Who Stare at Goats
STOP STARING: George Clooney and Ewan McGregor star in Grant Heslov’s goofy The Men Who Stare at Goats.
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Based on Jon Ronson's implausibly nonfictional book, the directing debut of Good Night, and Good Luck. writer Grant Heslov finds reporter Ewan McGregor on the trail of a covert U.S. program to train psychic spies, harnessing the paranormal for God and country. Given the outrageousness of the premise, the only smart thing to do is play it cool, but instead Heslov goes for clumsy gags and overstated performances, especially Kevin Spacey's as the sneering snake in the psychic garden. George Clooney gives his twitchy best as an ex-spook, but the movie is far too broad to draw blood. —S.A. (10/17, 2:30 p.m., Prince; 10/19, 7:15 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Woody Harrelson and Ben Foster play soldiers assigned to notification duty in Jesus' Son writer Oren Moverman's directorial debut. Given the subject matter, it's hard to imagine the movie could take itself too seriously, but Moverman's clinical direction and Foster's constant crazy eyes make tough going, although Harrelson's comparative ease lends warmth to his scenes, especially those with hardened widow Samantha Morton. The Messenger is an easy movie to respect, but ultimately a tough one to get close to. —S.A. (10/17, 7:30 p.m., Prince; 10/19, 9:30 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire
A GEM: Gabourey Sidibe stars in Philly native Lee Daniels' Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire (read Sam Adams' review on p. 34).
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Stylistic excess and barbed-wire performances enliven Philly native Lee Daniels' second feature, which has been raking in audience awards since its Sundance debut. The story of Clareece "Precious" Jones (newcomer Gabourey Sidibe), an obese Harlem teen pregnant with the second child conceived by her abusive father, Sapphire's novel is, practically speaking, unfilmable, but Daniels cushions its blows without softening them. Precious' violent and monstrous mother (Mo'Nique) still demands sexual satisfaction from her own daughter, but her desires are fulfilled offscreen. While the film's camerawork approaches hysteria, Daniels draws strong, grounded performances from virtually his whole cast, including Paula Patton and a pallid Mariah Carey. —S.A. (10/18, 5 & 7:30 p.m., Prince)
Rebecca Miller's fourth feature is a disappointment, a detour into chick-flick territory from a writer-director who has excelled at telling women's stories without resorting to formula. Adapting her own first novel, Miller opts for an insufferably quirky tone as she relates the story of Robin Wright Penn and her marriage to graying author Alan Arkin (so miscast it seems unfair to blame him for his off-key performance). Flashbacks to Pippa's upbringing by bipolar mom Maria Bello only heighten the self-consciousness, although Blake Lively does solid work as Penn's pre-neurotic self. —S.A. (10/16, 5 p.m., Prince; 10/17, 4:45, Ritz Bourse)
John Woo returns to China after a run in Hollywood that started out promising (Face/Off), then voided the director of his auteurist flare (Windtalkers). Here, he chronicles the titular 208 A.D. battle: Prime Minister Cao Cao (Fengyi Zhang) sought to unite China by conquering the Wu and Xu kingdoms, which must band together to beat their common enemy. Brilliant strategist Zhou Yu (Tony Leung) orchestrates the campaign for the underdog kingdoms. Red Cliff is an epic, surely, clocking in around three hours and with a second part already released in China, but it never feels overly long. In true Woo form, battle scenes are expertly shot and choreographed, and Woo seems reinvigorated by his return home. —Molly Eichel (10/16, 12:15 p.m., Ritz Bourse; 10/17, 9:15 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Peter Greenaway's provocative documentary is a sumptuous "art mystery" — an art history-cum-criminal conspiracy. Analyzing Rembrandt's painting The Night Watch, Greenaway argues/narrates "33+1" interconnected details that reveal how the artist indicted his patrons who were looking to ruin him. Whether viewers are persuaded by the evidence may depend on their patience for the filmmaker's dense style and overlapping images and narratives. Greenaway dramatizes his points using excerpts from his film Nightwatching along with portions of Rembrandt's canvas. It's a clever conceit and it works best when he connects the financial, social, political and religious dots. While he aptly takes viewers to task for valuing text-based culture over visuals, one could accuse Greenaway's lecture of teetering on aridity as much as erudition. —G.M.K. (10/16, 2:30 p.m., Prince; 10/17, 7 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Eschewing a linear, or even coherent narrative, this cinematic etude by Pere Portabella boasts absolutely hypnotic sequences — such as a roving camera capturing a subway train full of cellists performing one of Bach’s Suites for Unaccompanied Cello, or a lengthy tracking shot of a player piano’s perforated roll unspooling as more of the glorious music of J.S. Bach fills the soundtrack. Even a glimpse of a piano being dropped into a body of water is a virtuoso moment. But the discordant episodes that comprise The Silence Before Bach will be nails on a chalkboard for those viewers not attuned to the atonality of this 79-year-old avant-garde Catalan filmmaker. Portabella’s vignettes, which include Bach imploring his son to “find the pureness of the music,” or a trucker playing his bassoon, are filled with feeling and significance — if one reads between the lines of music. —G.M.K. (10/18, 5:15 p.m., Ritz at the Bourse)
Ondi Timoner collected 5,000 hours of footage over 10 years to create this fascinating if sensational chronicle of Internet pioneer Josh Harris. A super-rich, insane party clown who finds guidance in Gilligan's Island, Harris created the "kooky cult kingdom" known as "Quiet." Part endless party, part social experiment, Harris was God — feeding, housing and filming 100-plus people in an underground lair/bunker. When things get out of hand, the mad scientist retrenched and became the lab rat, publicly living his life with his girlfriend on home surveillance cameras. This concept also backfired, eventually forcing Harris to reinvent himself again in a most peculiar way. We Live in Public provides an eerie and ultimately haunting message about overexposure. —G.M.K. (10/16, 10:15 p.m., Ritz Bourse; 10/19, 7:30 p.m., Ritz Bourse)
Philadelphia Film Festival, Oct. 15-19, $10-$275, Ritz at the Bourse, 400 Ranstead St.; Prince Music Theater, 1412 Chestnut St.; pff09.org.
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