Wednesday, 20 April 2016

NATIONAL CANADIAN FILM DAY - 4/20/16 - Greg Klymkiw's Best Bets for FREE MOVIES, eh


NATIONAL CANADIAN FILM DAY 2016
GREG KLYMKIW'S HALLOWED PICKS FOR
FIVE FABULOUS FREE SCREENINGS

Steve Fonyo in HURT, a Canadian Hero.
He ran across Canada on a prosthetic leg.
He raised millions of dollars for cancer research.
He was subsequently disgraced by loser bureaucrats
in the GOVERNMENT OF CANADA.

1. HURT - My pick for the Best Documentary of 2016 is the brilliant biographical portrait of Canadian Hero Steve Fonyo. If you go see the movie for FREE in Cambridge, Ontario then you're going to be in luck because director Alan Zweig will be there in person to introduce the film and take your questions. Read my full review of Hurt at Electric Sheep Mag UK, HERE. If you're too lazy, you can read my Film Corner capsule review HERE.

Idea Exchange library and the Grand River Film Festival have teamed up to present the picture Wednesday, April 20, 7pm at the Clemens Mill library branch, located at 50 Saginaw Pkwy in Cambridge, Ontario.


THE BEST SONG OF 2016
"My Derriere" by Sparks
THE FORBIDDEN ROOM

2. THE FORBIDDEN ROOM - My pick for one of the very best films of 2016 is Guy Maddin and Evan Johnson's astonishing phantasm of desire. See Udo Kier being lobotomized for his unholy desire for derrieres. Also: the best cameo performance of 2016 - Geraldine Chaplin cracking a mean whip. The movie is playing for FREE in Regina, Saskatchewan at the Regina Public Library (RPL) Film Theatre on Thursday, April 21, 9pm. The RPL is playing great canadian movies all week for FREE. Read my full Film Corner review HERE

ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT
ENVIRONMENTAL DOCUMENTARIES
EVER MADE

3. HAIDA GWAII ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD - My pick for one of the very best films of 2016 is the award winning documentary masterpiece by Charles Wilkinson who has directed some of the most important environmental documentaries being made in the world. You can see this for FREE April 21, 7pm at The Arts Station, 601 1st Ave, Fernie, British Columbia. There are also screenings of the film in Victoria, BC + Dawson, Yukon + Lunenberg, NS. Read my full Film Corner review HERE.


4. THE NINTH FLOOR - Mina Shum's powerful documentary about racial hatred against Afro-Canadians in Montreal academia, the activism against it and the mysterious aftermath was one of my choices for best Canadian and best documentary films of 2016. You can see this film for FREE April 20, 7pm at NIFCO, 40 King's Road, St. John's, NL. Read my full Film Corner review HERE.


5. GOIN' DOWN THE ROAD - By Donald Shebib - THE GREATEST OF THEM ALL - Greatness in any work of art is distinguished as something or someone achieving the highest, most outstanding levels of magnitude, significance and importance. Based on this, there is simply no question that Donald Shebib's Goin' Down the Road is a great movie. Its tremendous force, power and lasting value is one that is achieved by very few amongst so many. The picture, on so many levels, represents the quintessence of greatness, but must also be regarded as a work that expresses a wholly indigenous cultural representation of a country that has lived in the shadow of the cultural and economic dominance since its very inception.

Plays April 20 7pm at Vancouver Film School 151 W Cordova St, Vancouver, BC and 11am at the Lunenberg Library, 19 Pelham St, Lunenberg, NS.

Read my humungous personal history, appreciation and review at the Film Corner HERE and learn why nothing touches the purity of this true masterpiece of Canadian Cinema. And HERE is my review of the Union Pictures Blu-Ray double feature of Goin' Down The Road and it's lovely sequel Down The Road Again.

Of course, there are 100s of choices for National Canadian Film Day, so take a gander and pick your pic at the official NCFD website HERE.

Thursday, 14 April 2016

ACROSS THE LINE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Hockey, Crime and Racial Divides in Halifax

Two brothers. One's a pimp. The other's a new NHL star.

Across the Line (2015)
Dir. Director X
Scr. Floyd Kane
Starring: Stephan James, Sarah Jeffery, Shamier Anderson,
Lanette Ware, Steven Love, Denis Theriault, Cara Ricketts

Review By Greg Klymkiw

In the movies, racial violence and hatred has almost always seemed like the domain of urban concrete jungles in cities like New York, Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles and, among others, Detroit.

But in Halifax, Nova Scotia?

We're talking a big, old small town in Eastern Canada with fiddle players on every corner. The bustling metropolis of Metro Toronto has seen several Canadian films (like the classic Rude) dealing with the African diaspora in the land of Mounties and Beavers, but it's never seemed as mean-spiritedly infused with the kind of roiling racism just looking to explode in violence as the burgh detailed in Across the Line.

The picture focuses on Mattie Slaughter (Stephan James), a hot young hockey forward on the verge of a major N.H.L. deal whose rise to the top is affected by said racism in the seemingly quaint seaside Halifax Harbour and surrounding environs. Add to this a pressure cooker of challenges, many of which are placed in the path of any young man on the verge of sports superstardom, but for a Black kid in a tough school in a backwards backwater, they're exponentially multiplied.

Floyd Kane's script nicely balances a group of engaging characters in a setting that's not only wholly, indigenously Canadian, but is one we're not familiar with (yet feels altogether real). Mattie's brother Carter (Shamier Anderson) brings shame to the family as he pimps out teenage girls from the high school. The relationship between the Slaughter brothers, though not without precedents in the sports movie world, has enough touches of darkness to deliver the sibling strife not unlike Foxcatcher (though nowhere near the twisted Bros in Scorsese's Raging Bull).

Our hockey hero's peer group, Black and White include his friend John (Steven Love), who is dating the mixed-race beauty Jayme (Sarah Jeffrey). In spite of the friendship twixt the two lads, John always feels like Mattie's eye is roving towards the woman he loves.

He wouldn't be wrong about this either.

So suspects the venal, rich boy Todd (Denis Theriault) who is always quick to hurl racial epithets and instigate fisticuffs and/or bullying against Black students in the school. In a nutshell, tensions are running high and a race riot twixt Black and White seems inevitable.

One of the nice things about the movie is how we're pulled into a setting so antithetical to the cliches of other gangland warfare pictures about African-Americans/Canadians pitted against Whitey. No high-rise projects on view in this setting - the families live in Haligonian bungalows in the burbs and the parents are hardworking working stiffs (Mattie's Dad is a self employed cement finisher, Jayme's pops is a uniformed beat cop and John's Mom is a weary nurse).

At times Across the Line reminded me of Charles Burnett's classic of African-American "normal" life To Sleep With Anger, but also, it manages to seethe even a bit closer to Burnett's Killer of Sheep where a working stiff eventually questions the future quality of life for his family due to the overwhelming pressures of daily life amongst his fellow African-American friends and neighbours.

If Charles Burnett made a movie in Halifax, it might feel a lot like this one. Alas, there are moments where Across the Line doesn't quite work as well as it should. The film flip-flops between gorgeously observed, almost Neo-realistic touches to some semi-klunky, seemingly shoehorned-in TV-issue-of-the-week shenanigans. In a sense, the screenplay, which is full of terrific writing, also betrays itself by feeling a bit too worked and polished. There is, for example, a clumsy subplot involving one of the teachers, played by Cara Ricketts, whose experience with racial tensions in her past informs her teaching ethos in the present. This makes sense, but a very strange, near-breakdown sequence she has during a White vs Black school riot just doesn't ring true, except maybe on a CBC Sunday Night made for TV movie.

What does ring true, though, are the elements of the story involving Mattie needing to "keep his nose clean" to ensure himself an NHL spot. Each moment that threatens to upset this apple cart adds considerable conflict to the story which increasingly feels so unfair that we're open-mouthed at how racist the world of pro sports is - especially one so "white" and "Canadian" like hockey. It is implied constantly and even stated very clearly that because Mattie is Black, he's got to tip-toe around every eggshell.

Luckily music video director, Director X, has a decent eye and good sense of rhythm. Working in tandem with cinematographer Samy Inayeh, editor Dev Singh and a first-rate cast (Stephan James, Shamier Anderson and Sarah Jeffrey all deliver sprightly, star-making and camera-loves-them performances), much of the picture pulsates and sparkles with the stuff of real life and bigger conflicts which pull the picture out of its occasional TV-movie-like toe-dipping.

And hell, the picture's main backdrop involves hockey.

It doesn't get more engaging and Canadian than that.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***½ Three-and-a-half Stars

Across the Line opens theatrically in Canada April 15, 2016 via A71 Entertainment.

Wednesday, 13 April 2016

I SAW THE LIGHT, MILES AHEAD, BORN TO BE BLUE - Reviews By Greg Klymkiw - Why so many music Biopics all of a sudden? 3 movies about 3 musicians released within 2 months. Go figure.

Top: I SAW THE LIGHT ***
Bottom right: MILES AHEAD **
Bottom left: BORN TO BE BLUE *

Born to Be Blue (2015)
Dir. Robert Budreau
Starring: Ethan Hawke, Carmen Ejogo, Callum Keith Rennie,
Stephen McHattie, Janet-Laine Green, Dan Lett, Kevin Hanchard, Tony Nappo

Review By Greg Klymkiw

If you've seen Let's Get Lost, Bruce Weber's haunting 1988 feature-length documentary about the sad, sexy, tragic genius Chet Baker, there's no reason to see Robert Budreau's dreadful biopic misfire Born to Be Blue. Weber's documentary succeeds because it harrowingly focuses on Baker's drug addiction as much as his turbulent life and extraordinary music. Rather than obviously charting tried-and-true rise-and-fall beats in Baker's life, we get subtle glimpses into just how Baker's demons were as much a part of his art as they were what ultimately destroyed him.

Born to Be Blue is a fruit-loopy, simple-minded fantasia on Chet getting his musical mojo back after having his teeth knocked out by some scumbag dealers. Writer-Director Robert Budreau's film reduces Baker's life to some kind of Brian Grazer-like "winner" story dappled with plenty of fake dark touches. Amalgamating all of Baker's wives into one convenient punching bag/inspiration (Carmen Ejogo) feels horribly by-the-numbers and on-point.

Hello, my name is Ethan Hawke.
I can be tortured, eh. Just like Chet Baker.
I'll concede the film could not have possibly shoehorned Baker's whole existence into ninety-or-so minutes, but why it felt the need to concoct so much nonsense and avoid even a smattering or pie-slice of the man's genuiely fascinating life as a microcosm of the whole, is beyond me.

Ethan Hawke is a fine actor when he's in good movies, but he seems to take on a lot of garbage. He must know when it's crap, but sometimes, how's a fella to really know? I'm sure he thought the role in Born to Be Blue would have been a supreme challenge and maybe even Oscar bait, but aside from bearing an occasional resemblance to Baker, his performance is never more than skin-deep. We see no demons in Hawke. All we experience is an actor pretending that they're there and working overtime to prove it.

Most of all, though, Baker is presented as a man on the road to self-discovery, hence "success". Neither the film nor Hawke let us forget it. Give me a break.

Skip this. Just watch Let's Get Lost again.

Born to Be Blue is an IFC Films picture in very limited theatrical release.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: * One-Star

Shaft? Superfly? Nope. Don Cheadle as Miles Davis.

Miles Ahead(2015)
Dir. Don Cheadle
Scr. Steven Baigelman & Cheadle
Starring: Don Cheadle, Ewan McGregor, Emayatzy Corineald

Review By Greg Klymkiw

As jazz legend Miles Davis, there's no denying Don Cheadle's charismatic work as an actor. Veering from the afro-and-shades-adorned 70s cocaine addict to the suave, dapper young man in the 50s flashbacks, Cheadle is never less than engaging and his performance comes close to capturing the genius of this great musical artist.

Unfortunately, we have to put up with the film. Reducing the 70s Davis to some kind of participant in a lame, TV-movie version of a Blaxploitation programmer, then clumsily flashing us back to Davis's loving, but ultimately abusive treatment towards his wife (Emayatzy Corineald), the picture is all over the place and rife with dullsville cliches.

STARSKY and HUTCH? Nope!
The Miles Davis Story as Cop TV show
melded with supremely lame 70s Blaxploitation.
Worse yet, we have to put up with the increasingly insufferable Ewan McGregor. Here he plays a scruffy freelance writer pretending to be a Rolling Stone journalist. Far too much of the movie is Cheadle and McGregor verbally jousting, and not too convincingly at that. What really begins to pale, though, is an endless subplot involving the disappearance of Davis's master tapes to his new album and McGregor helping him retrieve them. The whole movie turns into an endless episode of "Starsky and Hutch", replete with a supremely lame car chase and gunplay action.

Cheadle's direction is, at best, mildly competent and at its worst, barely competent. That said, his performance, especially during his coked-up crazy-ass scenes, is never less than a blast. There was probably a terrific movie with Cheadle as Miles Davis - somewhere out there. Miles Ahead, sadly, is not it.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ** Two Stars

Miles Ahead is currently in theatrical release via Mongrel Media.

Tom Hiddleston as fine a Hank Williams
as Gary Busey's Buddy Holly was.

I Saw the Light (2015)
Dir. Marc Abraham
Starring: Tom Hiddleston, Elizabeth Olsen, Maddie Hasson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Marc Abraham's Hank Williams biopic might not go too far beneath the surface, but it hits key points in the life of the famed post-war American country crooner with a spate of lovely performances and an evocative attention to period detail. With only enough manipulation of the facts and compression of the events to make approximately 10+ years of Williams's life pass by amiably and entertainingly in a surprisingly breezy 123 minutes, this is by far the best of the recent trio of musical biopics.

Abraham's screenplay for I Saw the Light is based upon the book “Hank Williams: The Biography” by Colin Escott, George Merritt and William Macewen and as such, it seems less concerned with exploring the ennui which contributed to the singer's unique renderings of hits like the title track, “Why Don’t You Love Me,” "Move it on Over" and among others, “Lovesick Blues”, as it is with charting key events in Williams's life. We go from his romance and marriage to first wife Audrey (Elizabeth Olsen), when he was a local radio performer and follow him on his endless gigs in smoky honky-tonks until he eventually achieves the necessary chops to headline at Nashville's "Grand Ole Opry".

The story doesn't shy away from his Jekyll and Hyde-like transformations from kind, loving and charming to mean-spirited, hard-drinking and philandering. He's both a good father and a negligent father. He's as caring as he is violent. As he rises to the top, we see him abandon his first wife (who insisted too strongly upon performing with him - her voice was, at best, spiritedly competent and at its worst, bordering on caterwauling) and eventually settling down with second wife, Billie Jean Jones (Maddie Hasson).

Husband and Wife Duet
One Sings, The Other Doesn't
Abraham lets the narrative plane touch down on Hank's squabbles with the record company and promoters, his debilitating back pain and his eventual reliance upon highly addictive painkillers. A good chunk of the film is imbued with a pleasing sentiment and basks in the warm glow of Dante Spinotti's gorgeous cinematography.

The real star of the picture is the music. Leading man Tom Hiddleston (Loki in the Thor movies) is nothing less than compelling when voicing Williams's work and much of the running time is pleasingly toe-tapping. If anything, I Saw the Light shares a great deal with Steve Rash's Buddy Holly biopic with Gary Busey - it's old fashioned and goes down easy.

The picture's like a nice, mellow moonshine. It cuts through the dust in the throat, clears the pipes, the senses, the raw emotions and finally keeps us glued to the proceedings just long enough to leave the cinema satisfied, but also compelled to whip out our own vinyl and CDs of Hank's music, so we can keep our toes a tapping and the tears a flowing.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: *** 3-Stars

I Saw the Light is in national release via Mongrel Media.

Thursday, 7 April 2016

SLEEPING GIANT - Review By Greg Klymkiw - One of 2015's best films opens theatrically across Canada via D Films. If you dare miss this film on a big screen, I hereby utter the immortal words of Liam Neeson: "I will find you and I will kill you!"

Preamble to Review: For years I've been blowing chunks in the direction of Canada's Cineplex Entertainment for their continued non-support of Canadian Cinema and indie cinema in general. When I say Canadian Cinema, I am not referring to grotesqueries like Hyena Road and Passchendaele, nor am I referring to fake-Canadian international co-productions that are not Canadian in any way shape or form (yet are supported with funds from the Canadian government and even championed by them as Canadian).
No, what I mean are bonafide, culturally significant Canadian films like Sleeping Giant. Cineplex Entertainment has bestowed an opening weekend upon the film in its flagship Toronto cinema, the Varsity. Personally, I believe it would have been a supreme embarrassment for Cineplex if they'd NOT played the film. That said, the exhibition of Canadian cinema is not solely incumbent upon major exhibitors, but requires commitment and ingenuity from Canadian distributors. Luckily, Sleeping Giant is being handled by D Films in Toronto and they have stepped up to the plate marvellously with first-rate publicity, magnificent marketing and an excellent theatrical opinion-maker preview prior to the opening day. Exhibition and Distribution go hand-in-hand, BUT exhibition of Canadian Cinema at the level of major chains like Cineplex seems to only garner their support and commitment when they feel like it (Flopperoo Hyena Road, anyone?). Why, oh why, oh why, are there not Sleeping Giant one-sheets (which are excellent) up in every Cineplex cinema across the country and why, oh why, oh why have there not been Sleeping Giant trailers (also excellent) playing on way more Cineplex screens coast-to-coast? The P.R. commitment Cineplex made to flopperoo Hyena Road was ridiculously substantial. I have seen nothing on a similar scale for Sleeping Giant. For those living in Toronto, see Sleeping Giant this weekend. This is a movie that deserves to hold on at the Cineplex Entertainment flagship for many weeks.


Sleeping Giant (2015)
Dir. Andrew Cividino
Scr. Cividino, Aaron Yeger, Blain Watters
Starring: Jackson Martin, Nick Serino, Reece Moffett,
Katelyn McKerracher, David Disher, Erika Brodzky, Rita Serino

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Most teenage boys have experienced dull days in cottage country - so dull, so sleepy, so quiet, that often, extreme measures need to be implemented. Sleeping Giant is a skilfully directed, gorgeously written and nicely observed slice of life that most of us from the male persuasion - young, old and those who never quite grew up - will be deeply affected by. It also has a terrifically unique Canadian flavour in that it eschews the usual sentimental sweetness of most coming of age films like the sickening tweeness of The Kings of Summer and the nostalgic goo of Stand By Me.

There's plenty of tough North Western Ontario hoser-speak and the kind of swagger that can, more often than not, lead to danger. (My own Canuck adolescence was so pathetic, we'd think nothing of driving eight hours from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay, where Sleeping Giant was shot, to hang in the heavy metal watering hole The Inn-Towner to simply ogle all the amply-bottomed-and-bosomed hoser chicks with big hair that seemed to glow like radiation in the fluorescence of this dank monument to Canuckian redneck-ism.)

The three young lads at the centre of the film don't even get to hang at the Inn-Towner. They're stuck in a cottage community overlooking Lake Superior where the massive Sleeping Giant (so named by the area's indigenous peoples because the humungous outcropping of turf in the lake looks just like some Brobdingnagian creature keeled over on its back) consumes all views upon the water. The Sleeping Giant is also the name of an insanely dangerous hunk of rock exploding upwards as a beacon for all strapping young men to idiotically dive from the top of it.


Director Cividino has a great feel for the lives of these young men: their wrasslin' bouts, hanging around, stealing beer from the local vendor, zipping around in a golf cart, tear-assing along the rural asphalt on skateboards, watching pathetic fireworks and hitting the noisy arcade. The central figure of the trio is a bit of a dull, pampered rich boy from the city with a Dad so liberal he preaches the healthy sowing of wild oats (while secretly boffing the babe-o-licious hoser chick checkout girl behind his wife's back).

The other two boys are your garden variety country cousin trailer park dwellers living with their raspy-voiced, plain-spoken, chain-smoking Grannie. One of the two white trash laddies is a handsome, young rake who looks to the rich boy's Daddy with a mixture of envy and yearning for a father figure in his life, whilst the other is a deliriously foul-mouthed, mean-spirited misogynist full of bilious utterances about sex.

Most interesting of all is the fact that our rich boy hero takes on so many of the properties one can ascribe to an almost historical stylistic trademark in Canadian cinema. He's the semi-mute observer. He takes it all in passively and the notion of overt action is a rare thing for him to choose. Pretty much every film from the late 80s to mid-90s Golden Age of English-Canadian film, most notably in work by Atom Egoyan, Guy Maddin and John Paizs, is happily populated with leading men of this variety. The difference here though, is that Cividino's style, unlike the near-expressionist qualities of the aforementioned, is rooted in the kind of neo-realist perspective one would more often experience in early Donald Shebib works.


There's also a point when some of us might be thinking, "Hey, as great as this is, are we really going to be staring at nothing but guys? Hell, they're all nice looking young bucks with distinctive qualities, but where, oh where, are the babes?"

Well, Cividino does not disappoint. When a hot young teenage babe enters the picture, loyalties become strained, if not divided.

And, getting back to one of my favourite topics, our burgeoning young fellas experience even more division and tantalizing temptation when the film's smouldering homoerotic qualities wend in and out through the picture. Sadly, said homoeroticism is never requited to the degree one of the characters (and some audience members, including moi) would have hoped for, but there's plenty of smouldering in the movie to keep our eyes glued to the screen.

There is, you see, that dangerous sleeping giant cliff. It's a rite of passage that's claimed more than a few lives over the years and the film is charged with a slowly mounting and creepy sense of malevolence tied both to the land and the burgeoning machismo of our three young heroes.

Something bad is going to happen. You can't help but feel it and it's the very thing which adds to the ample qualities of the picture's compulsive form and spirit.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4 Stars

Sleeping Giant opens in Canada on the following dates:
April 8th - Toronto
April 15th - Vancouver, Montreal
April 22nd - expansion to rest of country

Wednesday, 6 April 2016

HARDCORE HENRY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Russian Vid-game-as-movie delivers the gore


Hardcore Henry (2015)
Dir. Illya Naishuller
Prd. Timur Bekmambetov
Starring: Haley Bennet, Sharlto Copley, Danila Kozlovsky,
Tim Roth, Andrey Dementiev, Dasha Charusha

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Though it's nowhere near as funny, original, audacious and intelligent as Zachary Ramelan's Dead Rush, the no-budget first person POV Canadian zombie horror feature, which had its premiere at the 2016 Canadian Film Festival in Toronto, Russkie musician-turned-writer-director Illya Naishuller still manages to serve up some wildly entertaining first-person POV ultra-gore with Hardcore Henry (which premiered in TIFF's 2015 Midnight Madness series and which, is now theatrically unspooling across North America).

Working with producer Timur Bekmambetov (a great producer, but woeful director), the whole affair is a goofily stupid non-stop amusement park ride (which would definitely make for a fine shooter game) and will especially appeal to girlfriend-bereft 20-45-year-old nerd fan-boys living in their parents' basements.

Without wasting too much time, the picture begins with Henry waking up in a sterile white lab to find his babe-o-licious scientist wifelet (Haley Bennet) putting finishing touches to his Robocop-like cyber-body. Alas, she doesn't quite get around to fitting our hapless hero with a voice.

At this point, the lab is almost immediately besieged by a passel of killer Russkies attempting to snatch Henry for a crazed albino (Danila Kozlovsky), bent upon the nefarious goal of (what else?) world wide domination. Henry is rescued by a quipping Brit-accented spy (Sharlto Copley) who keeps our hero alive to rescue babe-wifey from the clutches of the mad albino.

That's pretty much the plot, save for a couple of obvious and predictable twists you'll sniff out almost from the beginning of the movie. No biggie, really. What drives this nutzoid picture is the non-stop first-person POV action as Henry kills hundreds of Russkie henchmen. Aside from the admittedly enjoyable and often hilarious blood splashing violence, the best reason to see the movie is the nuttily engaging performance of Copley. His character keeps getting blown to bits and he's perpetually resurrected in different guises (he even delivers a first-rate musical number, expertly crooning Cole Porter's "I've Got You Under My Skin".)


Add a trio of superb elements to the mix: a cool Tim Roth cameo, a first-rate propulsive music score by Dasha Charusha and a genuinely superb action set-piece in a Moscow brothel (replete with a seemingly endless supply of nude Russkie babes, many of whom eventually cradle firearms which they fire ever-so sexily).

Naishuller also offers a ludicrous number of nods, homages and references to classic and contemporary actioners, many of which will offer fan-boys something to do if they get bored/exhausted with the proceedings (and, no doubt, deliver far more masturbation fantasies than the aforementioned Slavic hookers). The first-time Russkie director even features a prominently displayed poster of Robert Montgomery's 1947 POV grandaddy The Lady in the Lake which will give major movie geeks mega-hard-ons.

Ultimately, this is what a movie like Hardcore Henry is all about: Hardcore hard-ons for fan-boy losers. But hey, the fellas deserve some solid meat to beat and I will not deny them their meagre pleasures. You might even enjoy it, too.

It's fun for the whole family.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: *** 3-Stars

Hardcore Henry is in wide theatrical release via VVS Films.

Monday, 4 April 2016

BATMAN v SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - ***** 5-Star Snyder


Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)
Dir. Zack Snyder
Scr. Chris Terrio, David S. Goyer
Starring: Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Jesse Eisenberg, Diane Lane, Laurence Fishburne, Jeremy Irons, Holly Hunter, Gal Gadot, Scoot McNairy, Callan Mulvey, Tao Okamoto, Kevin Costner, Jason Momoa, Ray Fisher, Ezra Miller, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Soledad O'Brien, Anderson Cooper, Nancy Grace, Charlie Rose

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There is an absolutely breathtaking and dynamically nightmarish sequence about 90 minutes into the 151-minute theatrical version of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice which had me gripping the armrests of my front-row-centre chair as I experienced mega-shocks of joyous gooseflesh. The synaptic charges coursed through me with such acute ferocity, that I gasped repeatedly. There's not a single cut employed here - just superb choreography and dynamic cinematography. I sat there in awe. Once again in this (and so many of his films), director Zack Snyder's virtuosity as a filmmaker battered me senseless into glorious submission.

He is the real thing and then some.

Without spoiling the context of the aforementioned sequence, let's just say that its centrepiece involves one single shot of Batman (Ben Affleck) leaping into action against a veritable army of deadly soldiers adorned in steel helmets and uniforms not unlike those from Nazi Germany, whilst flocks of winged demons descend upon the Earth from the sky. (One can't go wrong with the picture's blend of Totalitarianism and monsters.)

Of course, there was plenty to admire in the picture prior to this gorgeous dazzler of a sequence, plenty! However, it was here where I marvelled how easily Snyder crushes his competition in the action/fantasy sweepstakes. There isn't a single sequence to top it in any of the action films non-directed by the "visionary" poseurs or by-the-numbers hacks who've been assaulting cinema for the past fifteen to twenty years with their supreme mediocrity.

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is a dazzler! Beginning with a concise and powerful re-imagining of the Batman origins, Snyder offers a stunning evocative shot of Mom and Dad Wayne's coffins being led in a slow procession into the Wayne Estate's crypt (eerily resembling a crumbling family resting place straight out of a Hammer Horror and/or Amicus picture). This is followed by young Bruce's mad dash into the woods, and then, an astonishing "God"-shot flashback of Bruce and his family making a similarly-timed procession on a sidewalk beneath a movie marquee boasting the upcoming opening of John Boorman's Exclalibur. (There are so many gorgeous, breathtaking cuts like this in Snyder's stunningly edited film.)

This dates the murder of Bruce Wayne's parents some 35-years before the events of Snyder's film (happily eradicating/ignoring the existence of Tim Burton's dated, overrated  DC toe-dips into the Batman mythology and Joel Schumacher's subsequent grotesqueries) and places Affleck's (superbly realized) Batman firmly in his mid-40s. Snyder has made this universe all his own with only the tiniest passing nods to the previous efforts of Christopher Nolan.

Though the 1981 date of the murders is not without merit in and of itself (especially given that it's the horrid beginning of Ronald Reagan's presidency and during Margaret Thatcher's fascist rule of UK), what's especially evocative here is how Snyder, with screenwriters Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer, let us know immediately that we're in the realm of myth as it relates to 20th century political realities and beyond. The Batman mythology is as attached to our contemporary consciousness as any of the great historical myths of yore and certainly not excluding those of the Arthurian legends as mediated through John Boorman's great film. The filmmakers cannily choose to invoke this detail in the flashback as it places us firmly in the sword and sorcery world of Sir Thomas Mallory's "Le Morte d'Arthur" which Boorman adapted so stunningly.

We all know what happened in the horrific origin story of Batman, but never have these events been so hauntingly captured as they are here - the horrifying murder of Bruce's mother and father is simply, effectively juxtaposed with Bruce's fall into the mysterious cave of bats who then surround the grieving child who witnessed his parents' snuffing-out on the dirty streets of Gotham City. Even more throat-catching are the images of the bats lifting young Bruce up to the Heavens, arms outstretched like a Holy Christ-child ascending to the glories of eternal life as his bitterness-tinged adult voice intones:

"In the dream, they took me to the light, a beautiful lie."

A beautiful lie, indeed, as the white light of "Heaven" dissolves into the white light of the clouds overlooking Metropolis, the dominion of The Super Man (Henry Cavill), a world in which an older, more grizzled, more pain-infused Bruce Wayne descends from the heavens and we're shuttled back to the closing minutes of Snyder's Man of Steel. During the climax of that tremendously dark and stylish film we witnessed the brutal duel (pas de deux) to the death between Superman and General Zod (Michael Shannon), both beings driven by hatred and vengeance as their deadly battle extended to massive collateral damage of Metropolis and its citizens.

This time, though, we are privy to the collateral damage from the perspective of humanity and Batman himself as the aliens cause thousands of human deaths and the massive destruction of buildings (including that of Wayne Tower in nearby Gotham City - both cities not unlike a bay-separated San Francisco and Berkeley). The reality is that Superman is indeed driven by hate, revenge and the need to rescue his lady love Lois Lane (Amy Adams), but most importantly, he must destroy General Zod at any cost in order to save the Earth. (Perversely, Superman/Clark Kent is obsessed with taking down Batman. He fussily believes the Bat's penchant for branding sexual offenders so their time in prison will be a living Hell, is, to his way of thinking, conduct most unbecoming of a gentlemanly crime fighter.)

This won't change the minds of those caught in the collateral crossfire, nor will it assuage Bruce Wayne's hatred-infused desire to destroy Superman, the entity that's "murdered" so many for reasons Bruce perceives as strictly personal.

And this is what sets Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice apart from any previous film versions of the DC comic book legends. Hatred, in a world already driven by hatred and terrorism, is the wedge driving these entities apart when we desperately need them to be on the same side. From a contemporary standpoint, this film and Snyder's previous foray into the world, not only provide a perfect mirror's eye view into the post-9/11 ennui, terror and the overwhelming sense of New World Order dominance over everything, but will, I suspect, have far more resonance as cinema, not just now, but in future decades. I'd argue this approach does, in fact, encompass the full scope of human-inflicted horrors of the 20th and now 21st centuries and by rooting the comic book legend (albeit subtly) in Arthurian legends, is what brings us smack into the Judeo-Christian realm of Man, God and the Devil - a world where man must battle real monsters, but also the monsters within. (And yes, Snyder eventually delivers a big banana of New Testament imagery much later in the film, invoking the sadness and "joy" of Christ's Passion and extermination upon Calvary/Golgotha.)

Yes, this is a comic book on film, but whoever said comic books could not be infused with depth?


Snyder's film is certainly rich with details and one suspects its 151-minute running time might well be too slight to encompass all the narrative and thematic details it needs. (A much longer version will happily be available when the film is released to the home entertainment market.) That said, everything we need for now, is on-screen, but it's also worth noting that Snyder's immeasurably dense visual style also creates a wholly sumptuous and integral level which, we must ingest, nay: embrace wholeheartedly to see the considerable layers beneath.

For a tentpole studio blockbuster, this is unheard of, yet Snyder has somehow fashioned a multimillion dollar art film - one which offers everything great cinema requires to have lasting, as opposed to, ephemeral value.

Yes, we get all the details a DC film adaptation might need, but ultimately, its heroes are anti-heroes, not unlike those so prevalent in both 40s/50s film noir and American cinema of the 70s. If anything, both Superman and Batman are, to put a fine point on it, presented here as major-league pricks. No matter what their "noble" intentions are, they are still driven by old hatreds and the machismo of vengeance.

It's a beautiful thing, really.

And yes, we get to have our DC cake and eat it too with the inclusion of the megalomaniacal psychopathic villain and New World Order/Bilderbergian represented so delectably in Lex Luthor (as brilliantly, hilariously and creepily rendered by Jesse Eisenberg). For good measure, we get plucky "girl-reporter" Lois Lane and the grimly monstrous Doomsday creature created from the alien DNA of General Zod and the foul, diseased human blood of Luthor. Also on hand is Bruce Wayne's loyal manservant Alfred, delightfully rendered by the dryly witty Jeremy Irons. Hell, we even get Jimmy Olsen, though represented in a completely shocking and unexpected fashion.

However, we also get added elements like middle-eastern arms dealers, dirty Russian mobsters and double-dealing politicians looking to feather their own nests by jumping in the sack with powerful villains like Luthor. "Good" politicians are represented by the well-meaning "Liberal" senator, gorgeously played by Holly Hunter (with her still-sexy overbite/lisp). Of course, those with "good" intentions in the world of the film (as in our own world), are far more doomed than those who are either purely infused with evil or, like our superheroes, pricks muddled with ambiguity.

Another gorgeous touch in the picture is the notion that a race of "super" aliens exist, waiting to rear their heads. Will they be heroes or villains? Or, better yet, both?

Even cooler is that we not only get to meet Wonder Woman (Gal Godot in a perfectly fine rendering of the role) but she is presented within the context of being so "immortal" that she's seen in early photographs from the First World War.


Ultimately, what drives the film in terms of content is its sheer darkness and political context. The narrative exists, but is ultimately a coat hanger by which Snyder and team can dazzle and provoke us. That Superman and Batman are "unlikeable" is a huge point in the film's favour. In fact, who cares if we "like" them or not? What we respond to is their humanity, the Jekyll and Hyde nature of their personae. Hell, even Satan was God's most beloved, then sadly, His most fallen Angel.

Something I'll never forget from my childhood is that the first season of the immortal, long-running "Superman" TV series (starring the doomed George Reeves) was one nasty, post-war noir-infused piece of work and if anything, both Man of Steel and now Batman v Superman invoke the joys inherent in that pitch black of darkness. Curiously, my prime time for discovering and religiously reading comic books was between the mid 60s to mid 70s and while I was primarily a Marvel fan (notably Captain America, The Incredible Hulk, The Silver Surfer and Spiderman) I was occasionally drawn to D.C. I don't recall Superman and Batman being quite as dark as the Marvel material, but they still seem, in retrospect, plenty dark to me.

Speaking of Satan, and via Lex Luthor's character, Batman v Superman portends the greatest darkness of all. He is on His way, along with His minions. The giggling, manic, totally wacko, richie-rich man-boy so gorgeously etched by Eisenberg points out that the Devils and Demons do not come from below, but from the skies, the Heavens above (like aliens/superheroes). I have no problem with this. I accept it wholeheartedly and look forward to more of the same, and then some.


Finally, what I especially love about Snyder and this film, is that he genuinely is a film artist with cinema hard-wired into his very DNA. There are seldom any shots in any of his films which are less than painterly. Best of all, even though he might employ a myriad of shots designed to be cut lighting-quick, they are never boneheaded masses of celluloid Play-Doh mushed together the same way most of Hollywood's current breed of hacks and poseurs slap their pictures together with. The cuts in Snyder's films are always designed and driven by VISUAL cues whereas many of the aforementioned non-filmmakers set up as many shots as possible without even knowing what precisely they're shooting (unlike the bonafide genius inherent in mega-shot, multi-camera masters like Sam Peckinpah or George Miller). The new breed leave their poor editors adrift to create forward movement within the cuts by using sound cues to almost always drive them forward, rather than relying upon the important and far more saliently appropriate elements of visual storytelling.

When Snyder needs to create visual and aural cacophonies, we know he's doing so intentionally. It's not there to hide his lack of filmmaking artistry as in the case of so many of his contemporaries.

Thankfully, one of the upcoming DC pictures will have another real filmmaker at the helm and I'm chomping at the bit to see it. Though I'd be happy if Snyder did ALL the DC movies, one respects he might wish to move on. Suicide Squad, however, is directed by one of America's great contemporary filmmakers, David Ayer, and this is happy news indeed. He's generated some of the most evocative, stylish and deliciously-dark crime pictures of recent years and though I imagine he'll bring his own unique approach to the proceedings, I'm predicting it will have the same power to dazzle us as Snyder has brought to the fore here.

Another thing worth noting about Batman v Superman is that it's available in several different formats in the theatrical marketplace. I've seen them all.

I highly recommend seeing it in the rich 70mm (yes, real FILM) which is happily without 3-D of any kind. Regular 3-D and 2-D digital should be avoided at all costs - especially the Real-D 3-D. The 3-D just gives one a headache and the digital 2-D lacks the obvious richness of the 70mm (whether or not one sees it in the overrated Ultra AVX or the lesser auditoriums).

If you get a chance to see the film in The IMAX Experience, know that the IMAX experience is NOT consistent. In the city of Toronto, for example, the IMAX in the Cineplex Entertainment Scotiabank Theatre is phenomenal and replete with the gorgeous sense of height true IMAX should have, whereas in the Cineplex Entertainment Yonge and Dundas cinema, the IMAX is a pale imitation and barely more watchable than than the Real-D Ultra AVX presentations. Also, though I prefer the IMAX Experience sans 3-D, the IMAX 3-D used in Batman v Superman is not as egregious as I thought it would be.

I have not wasted my time seeing the film in D-Box. I've seen other films in the shake and bake format and all I can say is that it's easily the most moronic cash-grab yet invented for the movies. None of the motions ever seem wired realistically into the action and are little more than a novelty for the feeble-minded.

While writing this piece, I have refused to read any reviews of Batman v Superman. All I know is that the critical consensus is on the lowest possible rung. I'll be curious to read these reviews, if only to bolster my belief that mainstream film criticism is utterly dead.

I also know that the CinemaScore audience response to the picture is extremely low. I'm not sure where or whom or when these paragons of taste are polled, but each public screening in Canada that I've enjoyed has been packed to the rafters and upon the final, exhilarating cut to black at the end, the picture was met with thunderous applause.

As for myself, I've been compelled to applaud each and every time. It's so seldom one sees this degree of craft, artistry and intelligence in contemporary blockbusters - especially in super hero movies, most of which I find intolerable (save for Sam Raimi's Spider-Man films), that I'm completely and utterly without shame in admitting my undying love for this great picture - one I will see many more times and a picture that I strongly suspect will be seen, loved, studied and appreciated, long after all of us are little more than food for maggots.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is playing everywhere in the world via Warner Brothers.

Friday, 1 April 2016

DEAD RUSH, JACKIE BOY, HOW TO PLAN AN ORGY IN A SMALL TOWN: 3more2C@CFF2016 Reviews By Greg Klymkiw:

The ALL-CANUCK hits keep-a-comin' during the 2016 Canadian Film Fest (CFF) at Toronto's Royal Theatre. Cleanse thine palates of the disgraceful wins for fake, non-Canadian co-productions at the 2016 Canadian Film Awards and the fact that Telefilm Canada and a whole lot of government agencies made the taxpayer-financed investments in the non-Canadian co-pros in the first place. Here's a brief look at three more fine ALL-CANADIAN feature films during the 10th anniversary of the CFF: an adult-diaper-required original horror film, an early-Neil-LaBute-like macho masticator and a sniggering Canuckian sex-rom-com in the grand tradition of 70s Brit-sex-coms. All three reviewed below.
Ads/Posters for first-person POV zombie picture
need to take a cue from MGM in 1947.
Dead Rush (2016)
Dir. Zachary Ramelan
Scr. Gavin Michael Booth, Raven Cousens, Zachary Ramelan
Starring: David Michael Moote, Raven Cousens, Timothy Paul McCarthy,
Charlie Hamilton, Caleigh Le Grand, Rich Piatkowski, Austin Duffy

Review By Greg Klymkiw

If your conspiracy theorist Dad constantly calls you to check outlandish stuff online, sometimes it might actually be a good idea not to blow the old bugger off. Such is the mistake made by David (David Michael Moote) whilst boinking his mouthwateringly scrumptious and gorgeously BBW-preggers wifey Megan (Raven Cousens).

As David continues to dip the wick fantastic into the soft, warm beeswax colander of quim, Pater Dearest (Timothy Paul McCarthy) is begging his sonny boy to watch a conspiracy video that's just breaking on the worldwide web. Our couple, however, have more important things to do in their cozy boudoir. One can't really blame them since they are in mid-hump and have not been privy to the shocking (and clever wraparound) preamble to Dead Rush which tips us off to the horrors about to follow.

And damn, horror almost immediately follows the coital gymnastics with a vengeance.

There is, you see, an infection. Horror movie fans understand this word all too well. Infection means one thing and one thing only: there will be zombies knocking their pus-cushioned knuckles upon your door to gain entry and eat your ass good (and I don't mean a pleasurable rim job, here).

Sheer terror explodes and we follow our protagonists, including David's loyal bro-mantic partner Wayne (Charlie Hamilton) on a journey into survival hell, eventually hooking up with a motley crew of well-armed evangelists led by crazed TV preacher, the most Reverend Patrick Rock (Rich Piatkowski) and a stunningly hot kick-ass babe (Caleigh Le Grand). The scares are relentless and the violence mounts exponentially, all resulting in an eventual shocker of a climax.

We've all seen horror movies like this before, but what separates Dead Rush from the pack is the solid writing (tersely appropriate dialogue, decent swathes of character detail), first-rate performances across the board, astonishingly effective cinematography by ace Canuck camera maestro Karl (The Hexecutioners) Janisse, who utilizes a variety of imaginative neo-realist lighting touches and smartly composed herky-jerky shots, all of which go a long way to dishing out first-rate footage for director-editor Ramelan to edit with appropriate ramrod aplomb.

All this and then some is, of course, to the good, but I've yet to mention the most wonderful slice of originality to infuse the picture.

The first fully first-person POV picture in movie history
and still the most utterly insane
(though DEAD RUSH is a pretty close second).

In 1947, two legendary film noir pictures made motion picture history.

In Delmer Daves's Dark Passage, we never see Humphrey Bogart's face until his character has successfully undergone plastic surgery. Until the point where the bandages come off, we see the action of the gritty noir crime drama via first-person point-of-view. For me this is the most successful partial use of the technique amongst the films which subsequently employed it.

However, the most completely, utterly and clearly insane use of first-person POV is Robert Montgomery's film adaptation of Raymond Chandler's novel Lady in the Lake. MGM's brilliant ad campaign stressed star-director Montgomery's desire for audiences to experience the story completely immersed in it through the eyes of private dick Philip Marlowe.

Only occasional glimpses of Montgomery occur via mirrors - the rest of the time we see the endless shot-glasses of rotgut headed towards the camera lens to be ingested via Marlowe's thirsty maw and, just as often, Marlowe's hands opening doors, holding guns and his tight closed-fist cold-cocking of bad guys. And, of course, as the ads proclaimed: YOU and Robert Montgomery solve a mystery together. Best of all, there's no real reason to do this other than the fact that it's cool (something shared by Ramelan's zombie extravaganza).

Well, fast-forward six decades later. Dead Rush presents a slight variation upon MGM's come-hither ad copy, inviting YOU to split a zombie's skull open with an axe. Indeed, welcome to the 21st Century and feel free to thoroughly enjoy this deliciously fresh take on the zombie genre that puts YOU in the post-apocalyptic persona of a leading man attempting to avoid the non-pearly-white teeth of a zombie, a few centimetres away from tearing off his face.

Needless to say (but I will anyway), Ramelan's picture is a compulsive, propulsive, sickeningly scary and darkly hilarious roller coaster ride infused with genuine filmmaking bravado and originality. You don't actually see that everyday - most certainly not in expensive studio genre efforts. Thank God for indie no-budget Canucks!

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4-Stars

Dead Rush enjoyed its World Premiere at the 2016 Canadian Film Fest (CFF).

Men will be Men, some men will always be boys.

Jackie Boy (2015)
Dir. Cody Campanale
Starring: Alino Giraldi, Shannon Coulter, Edward Charette,
Andrew Di Rosa, Chloe Van Landschoot, Christina Bryson

Review by Greg Klymkiw

This grim, powerful slice-of-life exploration of male bonding and misogyny is the best feature film of its kind since 1997's In the Company of Men and is, in fact, far more aesthetically whole and bereft of the quick, easy moralistic turns taken in Neil LaBute's foray into manly meanness. Though it lacks LaBute's satirically-edged humour, this is not a problem at all since writer-director Cody Campanale is clearly burrowed into the kitchen sink realism of mannish hatreds (not unlike films from the 60's British New Wave such as This Sporting Life, Room at the Top and Look Back in Anger).

Here we find three layabout buddies in their late 20s, living aimlessly in the dreary post-war suburbs of Hamilton. The group's Alpha-Male is Jack (Alino Giraldi), the strikingly handsome and sexy cocksman who lives in a morass of drugs, booze and one night stands in the clubs. After finding out that one of his female conquests has a boyfriend, he snaps a bunch of nude provocative photos of her and uploads them to social media, just to humiliate her and brag to his buddies about how badass he was. Kal (Edward Charette) might even harbour deeper feelings of hatred towards women and we get considerable clues that he is, in fact, repressing his homosexuality. Tony (Andrew Di Rosa) is a major loser with a hot life partner who puts up with his general untidiness, unemployment and increasing weight gain, but she's near the end of her charitable rope.

These men are pigs. They have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. This is a good thing. Campanale seeks not to explain away their behaviour, nor does he attempt to falsely attribute positive aspects to their foul personae. Watching the film is uncanny - sickeningly so. I know these men and even recognize (to my shame) bits and pieces of myself. Campanale's sense of observation is masterly and he's offered considerable support to this end from his cast, cinematographer and an outstanding score.

However, watching these guys be pigs for a whole film would be too much and Campanale's deft screenplay realistically provides a spanner in the works. Jack meets Jasmine (Sharon Coulter), a smart, funny and unbelievably sexy young woman who refuses to succumb to his bullshit. This makes him want her even more - so much so, that the unthinkable happens and he begins to fall in love with her. Having normal feelings for a woman pisses off his buds mightily and the film creepily edges to a shocking climax.

Unfortunately, I wish Campanale had trusted in the inevitability of the story's actions and had not succumbed to working a "surprise" sub-plot in to deflect attention away from the said (and sad) inevitability. It's the one false note in a movie that is refreshingly without them (and keeps the picture from attaining masterpiece potential). Still, it's a terrific film and to its undying credit that this one glaring flaw doesn't keep the movie from sinking too deeply into a quagmire of disappointment.

Ultimately, Jackie Boy is the real thing. So is its director.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4-Stars

Sidenote: Campanale's film weirdly reminded me of a short film I made for the now-defunct OMDC Calling Card short film programme in 2000 called Zabava. The short swam about in the bucket of piss known as Ukrainian-Canadian man-boys treating women like shit. Though not derivative of my film in any way, there are narrative elements in Campanale's feature that are strikingly similar to my short, proving only that misogyny carries over in similar ways from generation to generation.

Jackie Boy plays the 2016 Canadian Film Fest (CFF) and opens theatrically via A71.

Katharine Isabelle & James McGowan steal the orgy.

How to Plan an Orgy in a Small Town
Dir. Jeremy LaLonde
Starring: Jewel Staite, Ennis Esmer, Lauren Lee Smith, Katharine Isabelle,
Mark O’Brien, Jonas Chernick, Tommie-Amber Pirie, James McGowan,
Kristian Bruun, Gugun Deep Singh, Natalie Brown, Lauren Holly, Zoe Cleland

Review by Greg Klymkiw

There are plenty of mild laughs to be enjoyed in this Canadian throwback to the sniggering British sex comedies of the 70s. While far more risqué than the Carry On pictures, it doesn't begin to hold a candle to the immortal Confessions series and ultimately feels a touch too moralistic than either of the aforementioned would ever dare to be. That the film goes so far as to allow all the characters nice happy endings which might lead to the sort of self-satisfied monogamy the picture purports to skewer (or at least dangles as a carrot for those seeking some saucy impudence), is both what drives it and ends up being its biggest disappointment.

There are considerable pleasures to be had, however, in the milking of small-town stereotypes (all of which have some deep roots in reality) and on the surface, there's a high concept which will attract audiences to the picture. Basically, it's the story of a young woman who was unconscionably tarred and feathered as a slut and has become a successful big city writer. Upon returning to the town of her greatest humiliation for her Mother's funeral, she's forced by a horrendous twist of fate (related to the slut shaming of her youth) into providing orgy counsel to the repressed, but game townsfolk and hopefully deliver solid material for a new book. Along the way, she (ugh!) finds herself, finds romance and manages to be the moral leader/compass for the whole town.

The cast is sprightly (the lovely Katharine Isabelle in particular), the script dishes out quite a few decent lines of sit-com-like ribaldry and I'll admit to having far more dreary experiences at the movies than this one. Most of all, though, the real treat here is a magnificent performance by James McGowan as a hot middle-aged gent with a hilariously relaxed sense of sexuality. The movie comes to life whenever he's onscreen and both his performance and the material he's given to work with suggest how terrific the film might have been if it had been imbued with the far more joyous qualities of the libidinous abandon that he brings to the picture.

All this said, I suspect the film will prove to be a huge on-demand hit based solely on its title. I also suspect most of on-demand's undiscriminating audiences will also feel like they got their money's worth.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **½ Two-and-a-half Stars

How to Plan an Orgy in a Small Town plays the 2016 Canadian Film Fest (CFF) and opens theatrically via Northern Banner Releasing/Raven Banner.

Friday, 25 March 2016

BICYCLE THIEVES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Quintessential Neo-Realism on Criterion


Bicycle Thieves (1948)
Dir. Vittorio De Sica
Scr. De Sica, Suso Cecchi D’Amico, Gerardo Guerrieri, Cesare Zavattini
Starring: Lamberto Maggiorani, Enzo Staiola, Lianella Carell,
Gino Saltamerenda, Vittorio Antonucci, Giulio Chiari

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The sheer weight of a great film's importance can often be incalculable and this is certainly the case with Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves, a movie that never ceases to render its emotional wallops with the force of a battering ram no matter how many times one sees the picture. It is the quintessential drama about poverty and easily the preeminent work of neorealism from post-war Italian Cinema.

The picture is untouchable.

Like the best neorealism, De Sica uses a cast of real people instead of professional actors (not a single person in the film seems out of place, delivering performances that are nothing less than pitch-perfect) and he shoots the film in locations where the story is actually set; so real and immediate to the period that we can still see the rubble of bombed-out buildings from WWII. There are moments when (and again, no matter how many times one sees it), that it's impossible to feel like you're watching anything other than the real thing, a story with the force of a cinéma vérité documentary; its drama so cleverly, brilliantly constructed that one does not see a single seam, not even a stitch.

First and foremost, De Sica and his clutch of writers trust in the simplicity of great stories. Bicycle Thieves, on its surface can't be more simple.

Antonio (Lamberto Maggiorani), his family living in the dank, paint-peeling impoverishment of a slum walk-up, finally gets a job in the utter destitution plaguing post-war Italy. The job requires him to have a bicycle. His loving wife Maria (Lianella Carell) sells all the sheets from their beds to pay for a pawn ticket to get hubby's bike out of hock. On his first day of work, Antonio's bicycle is stolen.

No bike. No job.

He has a day and a half to find his stolen bike before his next shift. With the help of son Bruno (Enzo Staiola) and best friend Baiocco (Gino Saltamerenda) a long, desperate and frustrating search leads to bupkis. Not even finding the thief (Vittorio Antonucci) yields fruit. Fraught with anguish, Antonio appears to have only one choice, a choice that will lead to salvation or (especially given the relatively recent and proper translation of the film's title from "The" Bicycle Thief to Bicycle "Thieves") even more pain and humiliation.

That's it.

Of course, there's so much more. Great storytellers realize that a clear, simple narrative is what's required to render a film that yields complexities extending well beyond the simplicity of the story itself. It's the springboard by which the film keeps us glued to the screen and then keeps us thinking about what we've seen (and often weeping) long after the word "FIN" hits the final title card.

From the beginning to the devastating end, De Sica places us deep in the heart of a world where the divides between rich and poor are so glaring, one feels just how prescient the film is (in spite of being set in Italy over 50 years ago). The divides we witness are not unlike those facing the world even now.

The film is populated with a multitude of the poor, yet there is one shot after another wherein someone of considerable privilege enters the frame, strutting through without a care in the world; a primly-dressed young fop blowing bubbles in the blazing sun, a vile upper-crust pedophile attempting to lure Bruno with the promise of a bicycle bell, a wealthy family dining in a restaurant with such manners and delicacy that Bruno is almost ashamed to eat his fried mozzarella sandwich with his hands, and most notable are the bureaucratic clerks behind windows to disdainfully serve the great unwashed.

There's even a strange sense that anyone with a job is endowed with a certain degree of entitlement, though wisely, the picture also includes those workers who display a near-resigned (though genuine) commitment to helping those in need. When Maria attempts to hock the family sheets, the pawn clerk argues that her sheets are used, but the look of desperation in Maria's face when she explains that three of the sheets are brand new and Antonio's noble discomfort when he asks for a bit more money are enough to change the clerk's mind and he generously offers extra cash he really shouldn't.

A glimpse into the hock shop's storage room is another exceptional example of De Sica's use of real locations. From Antonio's POV we see a huge wall piled high with bedsheets and, one of the many times during the picture in which we're reduced to tears, is when we (and Antonio) realize that the sheets indeed garnered a fair price as a worker climbs a heaven-touching ladder to deposit them near the top with all the other sheets of "lesser" value.

Another phenomenal use of locations is when Antonio visits a tiny vaudeville-styled theatre in which his friend Baiocco is directing an "unsophisticated" musical number and we're greeted with a faded backdrop on the stage, a handful of gaudily-attired performers, a few rows of decidedly uncomfortable seats and a group of poverty/labour activists (seemingly the real thing) demanding access to the theatre for their meeting. And, of course, the next day, we witness the kindness of Baiocco and his fellow water-truck labourers as they stop work on their paid jobs to help Antonio find the bicycle.


De Sica's overall direction is masterful. There are moments of dread and suspense which are so harrowing that I continue to be on the edge of my seat, each and every time I see the picture. After Antonio gets his bike back, there are a series of shots showing that Antonio's bicycle appears unattended as his attention is drawn to a few other matters. The first time I saw the film, these shots had me squirming. Given that I knew the title of the film and the manner in which the shots are framed, I still remember the dread I felt that the bicycle might be stolen here (it isn't, not yet).

Even more astounding is how I continued to feel queasy upon seeing the film just recently (and in spite of the fact that I've watched the movie once or twice a year over the course of forty years). One scene after another displays moments of situations similar to the aforementioned and my initial feelings from my very first viewing never dissipate. I think I get sick to my stomach even more. It's not unlike seeing superbly constructed set-pieces in a Hitchcock picture. I find myself thinking, "Oh God, no! Please, not that!"


And, you might ask, why is a bicycle so important to Antonio's new job? First and foremost, the job itself offers generous monthly wages (relatively), a monthly family bonus and other assorted benefits. This is because Antonio is working for a film exchange specializing in the shipping and distribution of Hollywood movies and P.R. materials. Antonio is armed with a clutch of posters, a brush, a bucket of glue and a ladder to tool all over a wide city route on his bicycle in order to put the glossy adverts up. It's not just a job, it's a great job.

And I reiterate: No bike. No job.

Though I don't think De Sica is overtly heavy-handed in doing so, it's clear that we're meant to think about the kinds of films being publicized; films representing the American dream factory, far removed from the kind of film De Sica himself has made and most of all, representing the kind of hopes and dreams the post-war poor can't even begin to imagine for themselves. Antonio is putting up a poster featuring the dazzling Rita Hayworth when his bicycle is stolen. Sadly, it's not gorgeous Rita who is literally distracting him, but his job. (Curiously, David O. Selznick even considered an American remake of Bicycle Thieves starring Gary Cooper which, thankfully, never saw the light of day. I'm sure it would have been a great Hollywood picture, but I can't imagine it would have represented the honest emotion De Sica is clearly going for.)

There are two sequences in two different public marketplaces that Antonio and Bruno find themselves in, desperately looking for the stolen bicycle. In the first, Antonio thinks he's found the frame of his bike at one of the stands and demands to see the serial number. The proprietors claim they run an honest business and insist they do not deal in stolen merchandise. We don't believe them for a second, but even though they do deal in stolen goods, De Sica shoots the entire series of shots comprising this that we understand why they would.

The second sequence involves Antonio and Bruno desperately searching the other market as rain pounds down torrentially. If it wasn't for the rain, we might even see tears and in one shot, Bruno's eyes appear moist beyond the mere rain pelting upon them with a gale force.

Herein and throughout, De Sica has us swimming in the turbulent sea of humanity.

And the humanity: Oh! The humanity, Oh! The humanity.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars

The new Criterion Collection release of Bicycle Thieves comes replete with a new digital restoration (4K on the Blu-ray), with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray; Working with De Sica, a collection of interviews with screenwriter Suso Cecchi d’Amico, actor Enzo Staiola, and film scholar Callisto Cosulich; Life as It Is, a program on the history of Italian neorealism, featuring scholar Mark Shiel; a 2003 documentary from 2003 on screenwriter and longtime Vittorio De Sica collaborator Cesare Zavattini, directed by Carlo Lizzani; an optional English-dubbed soundtrack; and a booklet featuring an essay by critic Godfrey Cheshire and reminiscences by De Sica and his collaborators.