Grrrls on Top: Harmony Korine's Spring Breakers

Spring break is the epitome of excess. In the movies, this yearly ritual lends itself to simplistic depictions of the sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll variety. It also raises the shackles of us feminists who don’t want to see another exploitive film about girls. Until now. Harmony Korine in Spring Breakers toys with these conventional trappings to the point of spinning this genre on its head. The result is oddly exhilarating in a completely unexpected way: Korine creates a film that I can only describe as uncomfortably brilliant.

Spring Breakers follows four young women (the girls) who go to Florida to “find” themselves. Old story, new reality. While the cast is populated by former Disney princesses (Selena Gomez, Vanessa Hudgens), this group is unmistakably contemporary. With Ashley Benson and Rachel Korine rounding out the cast, they are more of a gang than a group of buddies on a road trip. Selena Gomez’ character, Faith, is perfectly aligned as the foil to highlight the difference: a church-going innocent, she protests with genuine bewilderment when she is warned about getting involved with the others. Korine accentuates further visually: Faith is the only brunette, while the others simply meld into an indistinguishable blonde blob.

So the blondes devise a plan to get the money for the trip. It is dangerous and illegal, of course, and not the least bit surprising. Not in today’s world, where girls will gang up and beat another one senseless; not in this film where their tough grrrl dynamic rules.

And Spring Breakers does create its own microcosm. Korine hits on realistic notes but never caves in to realism. But it’s not a dream or even a fantasy gone awry. The opening sequence was exactly what the feminist in me was afraid of. It was even too much. Even a clothed crotch shot becomes too much to handle under Korine’s form of manic repetitive editing.

But then, I took a step back to analyze my reaction, only to recognize the stereotypical spring break imagery. Then I realized that the sequence lasted far too long and was so over the top that, for me, it became more like satire than an act of exploitation by Korine himself.  

Pushing past the limits of any reasonable lengths of endurance, this filmmaker made me squirm: conjuring and then subverting my expectations as he did, I was overwhelmed by the suspense. In Florida, Korine begins to summon cinematic cues and conventions and then warps the hell out of them. All the gratuitous nudity, the crotch shots, the boys outnumbering the girls and all that booze and drugs contributes to the tension I felt. In other films, these are the stereotypical cues for male physical domination: rape scenarios just waiting to happen. But in Spring Breakers they don't. The grrrls maintain their power. It’s like a new style of anti-heroes has been born.

Until they get arrested of course. But even that is a minor glitch in their path to empowerment. When a stranger, the local thug, Alien (James Franco), bails them out of jail, he does not overpower them. He tries to seduce Faith in a hyper-tense moment that has often worked in the man's favour (where the "girl" surrenders herself to him; I thought of Killer Joe in this regard) but it doesn't work here. She walks away shaken but relatively unscathed when we think of what could have happened. She does maintain her dignity.

The other grrrls establish their equality and even superiority over Alien using his own weaponry: guess who’s blowing  whom now? He's happy to do it and there is no retribution. In fact, he then shows his "sensitive" side as he calls it and they act out a gloriously pink fantasy number. With Britney Spears music no less. A reference to a powerful and famous woman who used those womanly wiles that make many of us feminists uncomfortable and even angry (especially Madonna too). But look at how powerful they are.

So, Korine is exploring the notion of female empowerment. These are women we may not like as role models but the reality of their existence and their authority cannot be denied. Korine is presenting the question of whether violence perpetrated by women is more acceptable because they are women. Makes me think of Tarrantino. Not my favourite filmmaker but his is a world where violence is acceptable. More filmmakers are exploring this side of humanity. Why not include women in that equation? Think: Kill Bill.

In the end, the bikini-clad gangsters get what they want on their own terms in Spring Breakers. Again, those are not my terms but the film made me think and rethink all the cinematic conventions mentioned above. The women explored the darker side of their sexual influence and now seem ready to move on. Maybe to something I’m more comfortable with, maybe not. But even that is a further subversion of my expectations.

Summerworks review - Artaud: un portrait en decomposition

Artaud: un portrait en decomposition
Written by Adam Paolozza, Michelle Smith and Antonin Artaud
Directed by Michelle Smith
Featuring Adam Paolozza and Coleen MacPherson

Photo Credit: Ellen MacPherson

Deceptively simple in concept but mystically charged, Adam Paolozza and Michelle Smith’s production of Artaud: un portrait en décomposition stimulated both mind and spirit. It was delightfully visceral for such a seemingly dark-themed play.  Bare bones yet meaty, this was the type of theatre that got under your skin, hitting both hard and fast. In fact, this play reminded me of the essential elements necessary for great theatre, budgets notwithstanding.

The play wove together Artaud’s letters and writing as well as those of colleagues and friends, with bits of fictional stitching thrown in. Antonin Artaud (1897 – 1948) was active in theatre, literature and cinema in France in the 1920’s and 30’s as actor, playwright and advocate. Described as the surrealist that the Surrealists disavowed, he waged a never-ending battle to be seen and heard. Probably best known for championing the Theatre of Cruelty, Artaud insisted that emotional truths drive each play. Despite the logistical nightmares present in both his treatises and practices, he is cited with influencing the later movement of Absurdist Theatre and, specifically, masters such as Ionesco and Pinter.

Adam Paolozza gave an exhilarating and vitally dexterous performance, carefully balancing nuanced meditations with Artaud’s infamous outbursts. At the same time, his acting created a crescendo which operated in conjunction with the play’s movement from passionate intellectualism to wrenching biography. No small feat, Artaud: un portrait en decomposition became the theatrical actualization of Artaud’s inner world. As Artaud’s mental health began to fail he became a desperate individual crying in an increasingly isolated wilderness, a mere shell of the original artist/genius self.

With its stark lighting, minimalist design and deliberately precise tempo this play was not only true to the spirit of Artaud’s work but practically conjured his ghost. The play’s few meagre props were continually transformed over and over again with magical ease. The central piece, a rocking chair, became an ever increasing visual symbol of the menacing turns that were about to take place. Artaud: un portrait en décomposition was truly a haunting experience.

Killer Joe: William Friedkin at his finest

Raucous, raunchy and funny as hell, Killer Joe is a deliciously twisted thriller/crime drama. Veteran director, William Friedkin (The Exorcist, The French Connection), not only flourishes in familiar territory but skillfully flips his favourite schematic inside-out and on its head. Even die-hard fans will be surprised by this film’s truly jaw-dropping mix of sadism and hilarity.

Based on the play by Pulitzer and Tony Award winner Tracy Letts, Killer Joe follows Chris (Emile Hirsch), a young drug dealer in dire straits, who hires Joe Cooper the crooked cop (Matthew McConaughey) to kill his mother for her insurance payout. He’s not a bad kid, really – Mom stole his drugs before he could sell them and now his boss wants the money or his life. It seems like a simple enough plan to hire Joe, who’s well-known for moonlighting his off-beat gig. The trouble is, the titular detective wants his money up front and the kid doesn’t have it. So Joe sets his sights on Chris’ hauntingly innocent sister, Dottie (Juno Temple), as collateral. When this Stockholm Syndrome subplot slams into the Cinderella myth, Friedkin makes your hair stand on end.

Matthew McConaughey‘s riveting turn as the amoral killer cop infuses just the right splash of menace and charm to drive the upheaval in the film’s trajectory. His intimidating presence is all the more unnerving because of Joe’s Southern gentlemanly manner. While Popeye Doyle was obsessed with the rules of being a ‘good cop’ in The French Connection, Joe Cooper demands his clients behave with an old-fashioned sense of decorum. He may be unethical as a cop but he’s still an oddly principled killer.

Killer Joe moves with lightning speed as Friedkin juggles and weaves the various subplots and styles. Gorgeously grim noir aesthetics underpin this journey into the darker core of human existence. But the bleak comedy consistently hovers in the wings, generally activated by Thomas Haden Church’s deadpan delivery as Chris’ father Ansel. As a foil to the manic killer-cop, Ansel provides the necessary tension for the film’s pitch black jokes to land and even jab at times. It’s a perfect combination.

Friedkin’s genius lies in the manner in which the explosive shocks in the action mingle with the subtle and nuanced nods to noir. The menace is always present, the relief is often shrill and the comedy is ominously understated. This fusion is key. One laughs often despite oneself. Even in the downright sadistic moments, one marvels at the film’s originality.

Focus on Alan Zweig at Hot Docs 2011: Why you should see it

Whether he’s talking about his fears and insecurities, even his obsessions, Alan Zweig lays all his cards on the table. No wonder his interview subjects do the same. Plus, there is more to these deceptively simple observational films than is evident on the surface. This is not some outsider surveying his surroundings and the people populating it. Zweig’s planted himself in the middle of the action, speaking right to the heart of the matter.

Mind you, when Zweig chooses topics such as vinyl music collecting, endless dating and being perpetually (and and often publicly) grumpy, there are more than a few of us that can relate. Much credit goes to the subjects willing to speak on camera but just as much goes to Alan. It’s not easy getting people to open up and it’s just as difficult to organize and balance your thoughts with theirs. What’s even more interesting is the decidedly casual way that Zweig seems to allow these conversations to go off course.

In Zweig’s first three features, known as the “mirror” trilogy, (Vinyl; Lovable; I, Curmudgeon), he speaks into a mirror as if confronting himself. Although he invites us into his private thoughts during these sequences, Zweig maintains a respectful but sympathetic distance with others. It’s a strictly maintained balance despite its tenuous underpinnings and thankfully he escapes the dangers of imposing himself all over these films. The techniques remain restrained while the topics flourish. Even when speaking to himself (and confessing to us), Zweig maintains an apparently unedited style – sometimes babbling, often fussing with the technology, and certainly allowing a raw edge to prevail. Because the truth is that sometimes that’s just how it happens.

Then there’s the fourth feature, A Hard Name, in which Zweig narrows his focus and leaves himself out. We certainly hear the same sympathetic interviewer but now plays the supportive role as he asks his middle aged subjects to speak about transitioning from life in prison to life on the outside. Before we know it, we are going deeper and deeper into the pasts of these people, people who eventually reveal vulnerabilities that go beyond most people’s experiences. There is a unique raw honesty in this film as each subject breaks though prescribed comfort levels to be painfully direct. And there’s a lot of genuine pain in this film. But in that modest setting familiar to those of us who have watched Zweig’s previous films, this is not a place of judgement. It just simply is.

As a filmmaker, Zweig is that surreptitious master of understatement who maintains an uncanny balance, a fascinating push-pull dynamic that manages to encompass and even expand our understanding of cinema vérité. The camera rests patiently while the filmmaker confesses all and just as easily turns outward to allow others to speak of their experience. Looks quite naturalistic, actually. I know that’s why I am consistently drawn in to all of his films.

Alan Zweig reminded me in a chat we had on CKLN that this is part of an illusion. Everything, after all is happening within a frame, has been set up however loosely and has quite possibly been edited. Of, course I know that – but I do like hanging on to the illusion.

Those masters of direct cinema, the Maysles Brothers, taught me that lesson long ago – and opened up the possibilities for this style of filmmaking. A famous reflexive cinematic moment if there ever was one: There they sat, with Rolling Stones no less, in Gimme Shelter, discussing how to present the Altamont stabbing. “How to present” I wondered, “but you simply show it as it happened!”

Well not necessarily, as we’ve all learned since. Part of vérité is maintaining that illusion – the sense that ‘this simply is the way it happened’ – and it’s vital. Run of the mill film theory, I know, but I think it’s important to be reminded of the essentials sometimes, and how subtlety of style is an art form no matter which genre a director is working in. That’s the sign of a master filmmaker. That’s why you should go to this retrospective.

*Hot Docs run April 28 – May 8, 2011 in Toronto*

1st post: Rave review of Incendies

Nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar, Incendies is an unequivocal marvel. Like the consuming flame suggested by its title, Incendies (Scorched) is a harrowing event. Adapted from the acclaimed play by Wajdi Mouawad, director Denis Villeneuve magically mixes myriad details of plot, emotion and metaphorical nuance, his corresponding film evokes such startling honesty and raw humanity as only the best art can convey. Even Incendies’ thematic mix enthrals: part detective story, part political thriller and part civil war investigation, the film distils these grandest of elements into the most personal of journeys. To dub this experience a triumph of the spirit may be a cliché but it is nonetheless the film’s badge of honor.
A dead mother issues a posthumous request in the form of two letters which must be delivered. A set of twins, brother and sister, embark on a journey to uncover the cryptic truth beneath this far-from-simple charge: they must find a brother they never knew existed and a father whom they assumed no longer did. In their quest for their kin, their expedition leads them to a nameless Middle Eastern country, which only a couple of decades before was fractured by civil war. The path to the answer to any query about this past is now a twisted one. In fact it’s an enigma, one that unleashes a string of fragile connections that lead not only to the answers they seek but also to vital revelations about their mother, themselves and the identities they must find. Their mother’s secrets slowly disentangle in the process: this mild mannered secretary was not at all whom she seemed.
Plotlines conjoin and converge to mix past, present and future while the brutally violent backdrop invades and envelops. This wider nameless Middle Eastern conflict shatters family connections even as it connects, and it mercilessly invades personal history to indelibly scar a woman and her innocent family.
As much as director Villeneuve likes to explore extremes in his work, this is the film in which everything meshes. Light clashes with dark as the desert sun blinds; dirty jail cells meld with stark bleached landscapes and Villeneuve’s signature roaming, often thrashing, camera movement reveals pure emotional truth as it often strays alarmingly close to its subjects. Contrasting this is the staccato rhythm of overly long shots which, together, create the perfect balance between poetry and realism. It is only this type of combination that can capture the unbelievable scope of this story.
This is why Villeneuve’s strategy is vital to the success of this film. As Incendies flows seamlessly between past and present, it unravels mysteries that compounds into one and split again. This is a central dramatic hinge that takes on eerie dramatic dimensions.
It’s what remains after the conflict that is crucial here. Anchoring these wildly contrasting concerns in a final message of forgiveness and reconciliation, Villeneuve creates a poetic vision that surpasses all strides of the familiar time travelling trope. This film unsettles as much as it transcends.