The Expectations Game

Two highly anticipated new releases are good but not great.

THE EAST (B) - You can't spell Brit Marling without "It Girl."

She's a talented writer and actor, and at times she is mesmerizing on the screen. She has exceeded expectations in the engaging dramas "Another Earth," which she made with Mike Cahill, and "The Sound of My Voice," a collaboration with Zal Batmanglij. Here she's back with Mr. Batmanglij, and they are again exploring the world of cults, as Marling here portrays an employee of a high-brow security firm who infiltrates a group of environmental terrorists.

Where "The Sound of My Voice" was fresh and unnerving in all the right spots, "The East" here rarely rises above a very good episode of "Alias." That's not bad, but it's not cutting-edge cinema. Everything here (with the exception of Marling) is just a little off, mostly with the players. Alexander Skarsgaard is not quite convincing as the group's charismatic leader. Ellen Page is flat as the pestering radical. Patricia Clarkson seems to be on auto-pilot as Marling's ice-cold boss, with a reveal you can see coming a mile away.

The anarchists' high-concept hit jobs on corporate targets are mostly clever, but also nothing really that the audience couldn't have come up with if they had a few weeks to sketch out a screenplay. In the early scenes, Marling too often has to play the improbable superhero (picking locks, faking injuries) in order to get in deep with the group.

"The East" is entertaining, at times riveting, and it's smarter than most mainstream pulp that tackles similar capers. A shot of one of the fallen group's members lying dead in a grave is beautiful and haunting. But by the time the fairly predictable ending rolls around, it's time to give up rooting for this film to be the summer breakthrough it could have been. This just doesn't stick with you like Marling's previous two gems did, and still do.


BEFORE MIDNIGHT (A-minus) - This one could probably never live up to the expectations set by its iconic predecessors, "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset." Richard Linklater is back with his stars, Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke, to check in again with Celine and Jesse, who had the memorable all-night first date in 1995, passed through each others' lives again in 2004, and, right on schedule in 2013, now are living together in Paris with twin daughters.

I'm being a little generous with the grade here, because much of the first two-thirds of the film often feels like one big set-up for the epic third act. But what a final act it is -- "recriminations" is an inadequate word to describe the showdown between these two. It is only then that Hawke, belatedly, catches up with Delpy's energy and swordplay.

The movie opens with Hawke escorting his 14-year-old son to the airport, to send him back to America after a summer with his dad in Europe. It's a tender scene, with good writing, but Hawke is wooden, as if the movie were filmed in exact sequence and the actor was still getting warmed up and trying to figure out his character at age 40. Things don't get better for him when he finally goes up against Delpy, who is a compelling life force. The first act essentially consists of a long conversation in the car as they drive through the Greek countryside and bicker while their girls doze in the backseat. It's a smart set-up for what's to come, but again, Hawke just can't quite find his voice.

The second act is a long dinner party hosted by one of Hawke's writing colleagues, a wise elder. They are joined by a randy middle-aged couple and by a wide-eyed younger couple. The dialogue is a tad too precious at times, and again, to whatever extent they're engaging in improv, Delpy trash-talks the others under the table. It's just not a fair fight. And I'm not just falling victim to her irresistible French accent (if you've ever lived in Chicago you'll likely swoon); she's quicker and smarter than the rest of the room.

The older couple treat Celine and Jesse to a night in a swanky hotel room, complete with a bottle of wine and complimentary couple's massage. But before they can get past second base, everything from earlier in the day and from the two previous movies bleeds to the surface. He has been passive-aggressive about wanting to spend more time with his son, and because of his crazy ex, that would require at least entertaining the idea of dragging Celine and the girls to SHEE-caw-go, just as Celine is re-establishing her career with a new job in Paris.

The argument that ensues is titanic. Hawke, finally, rises to the occasion. He gives as good as he gets. It's all disturbingly real. And when one of them storms out of the hotel room, the high dudgeon is fully earned. In its wake, we're treated to a coda that will split viewers between "touching" and "cop out." And then, Delpy delivers one of the most perfect final lines in the history of cinema (or literature, for that matter). I wish it were appropriate to print it here; it almost has the cadence of an existential haiku. And while it's asking too much to expect this trio of filmmakers to recapture the magic of the first two films (and to recapture their and our youth) and to meet those impossible expectations, you'd have to be a total cynic or just a jerk to not recognize the brilliance of the fight scene and the sentiment and wordplay of that final sentence. Including that riveting penultimate scene -- worthy of the heavyweight bout in "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" -- the entire third act is quite an achievement. I just don't know what more a person could expect from cinema or from drama in general.

Linklater, Delpy and Hawke are at the height of their powers at that point. And you can pretty much forgive them for spending the first two acts clearing their throats.

One-Liners

RABBIT HOLE (2010) (B) - Another second viewing here. Nicole Kidman (Becca) and Aaron Eckhart (Howie) are as sharp as they come as a couple grieving the loss of their 4-year-old son. It's been eight months, and the resentments have piled up substantially. The revelation here is Miles Teller (from the upcoming "The Spectacular Now"), who strikes the perfect note as Jason, the teen who was driving in the wrong place at the wrong time when the boy darted out into the street chasing his dog. When Becca drops out of their grief group, she befriends Jason, an aspiring comic-book artist; meanwhile, Howie is drawn to another solo member of the group (Sandra Oh). Howie also misses the dog, who has been shipped off to a relative's house. John Cameron Mitchell ("Shortbus") moves this along nicely, not worrying if it all feels often like a stage play. David Lindsay-Abaire's script (based on his play) is often compelling, but it never quite crescendos, and Jason's comic fantasy can't quite deliver the emotional impact we need, although the final scene is quite satisfying.

FRANKIE GO BOOM (C) - This comedy about brotherly rivalry starts out clever and then gets so broad that it eventually falls apart.  For a keen indie take on this topic, try the Duplass brothers' "The Do-Deca-Pentathlon." Here, poor Frankie (Charlie Hunnam) has been terrorized his whole life by his hack of a filmmaker brother, Bruce (Chris O'Dowd, yet again). The two haven't talked since Bruce filmed Frankie slugging his cheating bride at their wedding and setting it viral online. Frankie reluctantly returns to their parents' house from his Death Valley exile to attend Bruce's graduation from rehab. Soon, Bruce is somehow filming Frankie having an ED moment with Lassie (the always welcome Lizzy Caplan) and putting the video on the internet.  Craziness ensues, with Chris Noth nearly vaudevillian as Lassie's substance-abusing, gun-waving pulp-filmmaker dad. Once the obviously middle-aged Noth struts in nothing but a jockstrap (not quite as luscious as Caplan in an edible bra), things have gotten away from writer/director Jordan Roberts. By the final scene, we get Nora Dunn (playing the boys' naggy, sassy mom) showing up in one of Bruce's films -- a bad comedian trying to portray a bad actor. The early raunch eventually descends into an intolerable mess.

Odd Couples, Part II

BADLANDS (1973) (B-minus) - Maybe I'm just not Terrence Malick's type. This might have been bold during its time, but this rebel yell featuring bad-boy Martin Sheen and shy young Sissy Spacek feels dated -- a '70s movie set in the late '50s, based on a real-life killing spree across South Dakota. Malick enhances the age difference from real life and makes Kit (Sheen) 25 and Holly (Spacek) 15.

After a slow build-up, the first shooting is rather shocking. Kit takes Holly on the road, and she's scared but giddy to be on the lam with her handsome lover. Living off the land is fun for only so long. In the end, Sheen is rather wooden, and we don't get a true enough sense of fear coming from Spacek (in her early 20s at the time).

Was it a mistake to ignore Malick the past few decades, missing out on his genius in the moment? "Tree of Life" was my introduction, and it didn't go well. Do we give him one more chance? Or has his time (and our time together) passed?

DANS PARIS (2006) (B) - Here we have brothers as the odd couple. One has just broken up with his single-mom girlfriend. The other is our narrator and a casual observer about life.

Christophe Honore (we reviewed his more recent "Beloved" in January) brings his typical bittersweet melancholia to the proceedings.  He uses the musical format more sparingly here -- unlike the overdone stylings in "Beloved" -- especially during a lovely key scene between estranged lovers. Scruffy Romain Duris is reliable as ever as the mopey heartbroken Paul. Louis Garrel -- whom we last saw in his dad's "A Burning Hot Summer" -- doesn't add enough as brother Jonathan, the more free-spirited brother. 

Joanna Preiss is fierce in a bold naked-breakup scene. Alice Butaud is charming as more of a puppy dog trying to figure out Jonathan.

If you have the patience to watch Duris brood at his father's house for the first hour, you'll be rewarded by the rekindling of a brotherly bond, and the stirrings of a three-way relationship that seems innocent but fulfilling.

One-Liners

SYNECDOCHE NEW YORK (A-minus) - Rewatched this one, though I vowed after seeing it in the theaters, "I loved that, but I don't think I ever want to see it again." I still wouldn't advise watching it on video just before bedtime. Whoosh. Philip Seymour Hoffman shoulders this one while at the top of his game. But just look at this lineup of female co-stars, which I would put up against Carl Hubbell any day: Catherine Keener, Samantha Morton, Michelle Williams, Emily Watson, Jennifer Jason Leigh and Hope Davis. If you have the patience for Charlie Kaufman, you'll be rewarded in the end.

AMERICANO (C-minus) - A rather pointless exercise and a listless effort both behind and in front of the camera by Mathieu Demy, the son of French film royalty. Demy plays Martin, who would be a mopey Frenchman even if he wasn't growing apart from his girlfriend and his mother hadn't just died. Martin goes to Los Angeles to tend to his mom's affairs, and it's there that he's informed by her friend Linda (Geraldine Chaplin) that his mom had a young female friend. That friend is Lola, who, it turns out, headed for the border not knowing Mom bequeathed her apartment to Lola. Martin hijacks Linda's classic Mustang, points it toward Tijuana, and hunts down Lola. Poor Salma Hayek is stuck with the same thankless role that Marisa Tomei had in "The Wrestler" -- soccer-mom stripper with a sad streak. None of this works. Hayek, like Tomei, has kept her 40-something frame in shape. Unfortunately, Martin is such a cipher that he drags everyone down with him, and by the end we just don't care enough how it all turns out.

RIP: James Gandolfini

The Los Angeles Times has a smart appreciation of James Gandolfini and, by obvious extension, "The Sopranos." Check it out here.

In tribute, try the overlooked gem "Romance and Cigarettes." Directed by John Turturro (Aida's brother), Gandolfini is fantastic as a guy in Bensonhurst who must choose between his wife (Susan Sarandon) and his mistress (Kate Winslet). It's a bizarrely entertaining musical. (Four stars from the late Roger Ebert.)

Here's a clip

I consider "The Sopranos" to be the greatest TV show ever. It was cinematic in its depth and scope. As a writer/critic at the Albuquerque Tribune in 2007, I recapped the series finale.

"A big 'Sopranos' finale? Just you  fuhgeddaboudit." (It goes without saying that if you haven't finished catching up on the series, you should not read this analysis about how it all ends. The piece even includes a "snitch alert"; get it?) Here's Tony's final scene with Uncle Junior, discussing "this thing of ours":

New to the Queue

Joss Whedon's new take on old Shakespeare, "Much Ado About Nothing."

Jeremy Scahill's documentary rant about the war on terror, "Dirty Wars."

The French pulp prison flick, "The Prey."

A documentary profile of the fascinating proto-provocateur of early talk TV, "Evocateur: The Morton Downey Jr. Movie."

A brutal Russian slog, which we're kind of into these days, "In the Fog."

A documentary about female backup singers, "20 Feet From Stardom."

A documentary about the exiled children's book author and artist, "Far Out Isn't Far Enough: The Tomi Ungerer Story."

And still awaiting the Albuquerque arrival of "The Bling Ring" and "The East."  "Before Midnight" is in town and will be viewed and reviewed soon.

Imagine

Is there a name for that phenomenon, the one where you hear of something for the first time -- a name, a place, a trend, a TV show -- something you've gone a long time never hearing about, and once it lands on your radar you then keep crossing paths with it?

For instance, until last year, despite being a well-read adult and having traveled to New York multiple times, I had never heard the city's corner shops referred to as "bodegas" before. Now the word crops up regularly.

Back in late April, in San Francisco, I witnessed a jazz jam session on a street corner in the North Beach area, and it featured an upright piano. Rolled out right there in the middle of the public walkway in the middle of the day. I'd never seen busking on a piano.

Now, there's that other phenomenon, cute and clever outdoor city displays (like the art cows in Chicago from back in the day), courtesy of a group called Song for Hope, which is scattering 88 rehabbed pianos around the streets of New York. (Here's a story about it with a BAD headline.)

And then this morning, there's this from earlier this week amid the protests in Turkey:

The soothing sound of a grand piano drifted across Taksim Square last night, bringing a welcome calm a day after violence rocked the area.

*** 
Hundreds gathered around German musician Davide Martello as he clinked away late into the evening. They were mostly silent while he played John Lennon’s Imagine, some Bach, and his own composition “Lightsoldiers.”

After playing for an hour at the edge of the square, Martello enlisted the help of his new fans to drag the grand piano closer to the centre, beside Gezi Park.

Martello built the piano himself, attached lights so he could play in the dark, and pulled it on a trailer from his hometown Konstanz, Germany, to play to protesters in Taksim Square. 

The evening passed without incident any major incident. Some protesters even had time for a game of football in the square. 

After his performance, Martello wrote on Facebook: "Good night Istanbul, tomorrow I will playing again on the square for freedom and our rights."

So there it is. It's the summer of the outdoor piano.

Odd Couples

Two touching films about mismatched people:

MADEMOISELLE CHAMBON (2009) (B+) - A sullen would-be masterpiece about a man who falls for his child's teacher. Every scene drips with aching and longing, underscored by pensive classical music. Jean (Vincent Lindon) lives a perfectly contented life with his lovely wife and son, until he falls for his son's homeroom teacher, Veronique Chambon (Sandrine Kiberlane). His wife suggests inviting the teacher over for a meal (because apparently they do that in France) but instead Jean ends up offering his construction skills to Veronique and replaces a drafty window.

While he's there, Veronique serenades him with a pensive violin piece. That melody and thoughts of Mlle. Chambon begin to haunt Jean. Turns out, she's pining, too. She later supplies him with CD versions of the music. (Edward Elgar's "Salut d'Amour, see below)

Veronique tends to hop from school to school each year, so her days in town seem numbered. Will that looming deadline push them together? Lindon and Kiberlain are understated here under the direction of Stephane Brize -- nearly to the point of letting the flame between them flicker out. But their mostly platonic flirtation turns out to be a clever slow burn and is quite refreshing. Our leads are not glamorous: Lindon has the mug of a Saint Bernard, and Kiberlain is rather plain and gawky.

We're left with two rather ordinary folks who have developed an improbable attraction. The result is a pleasing melancholy, as we're drawn to these lonely souls and ache along with them, wondering if such a sweet love story will have a happy ending.


LONDON RIVER (2009) (B+) - Speaking of melancholy ... This film wants to be hopeful and happy, it really does. And you root for it throughout. Will it succeed?

In another simple storyline, two strangers head to London -- Elisabeth (Brenda Blethyn) from the countryside, Ousmane (Sotigui Kouyate) from North Africa -- to search for their adult children in the wake of the 2005 train/bus bombings. Elisabeth, frustrated about not being able to reach her daughter by phone, goes to her daughter's apartment. She is out of her element in the multi-ethnic neighborhood, and her fear and paranoia slowly build, especially when she learns that her daughter was studying Arabic at the local mosque. That, of course, is where Ousmane's missing son worships.

What happened to these young people? Were they victims on one of the buses? Were they possibly in on the attacks? Did they just happen to run off somewhere on that fateful day?

Blethyn is heroic as a mother fearing the worst and who is alternatively frightened and fascinated by this whole nother world. Kouyate is regal as a father who abandoned his son at age 6 and now is on a mission to make sure the boy is OK. Kouyate has the build of Bill Russell and an unforgettable face as long and craggy as a continent. (This apparently was Kouyate's final film. He died in 2010.)

The two parents slowly start to warm to each other as their missions merge. (She speaks some French, which helps.) But that haunting question won't go away: Where are those damn kids, anyway? This is an elegant mood piece that works no matter what the outcome. It's full of heart.


Bonus Track
Here's the sweet musical piece featured in "Mademoiselle Chambon":

A 'Ha'

Here's my favorite movie of the year so far:

FRANCES HA (A) - This is what movies are supposed to be. Funny, clever, real, insightful, a mix of dread and playfulness, full of sharp performances. Just like life itself. And here, it's all resting on the shoulders of the eminently capable Greta Gerwig, who emerges as the physical comedienne of her age.

"Frances Ha" -- a play on Gerwig's character's name, which only fully reveals itself in a memorable final shot -- is joyous, disconcerting, and just a little heartbreaking. Relationships come and go and curl back again, and connections are often missed. Characters end up in cities and situations in which they don't belong. Frances represents her fellow 27-year-olds making their way through the world. Here, that world, like in "Girls," is in New York and has its privileges (mostly, parents with money). Ask any New Yorker, and you'll find that it's not easy to meet people and make connections in a teeming metropolis of 9 million people.

The relationship that holds this movie together -- and it's a marvel -- is the friendship between Frances and Sophie (Mickey Sumner), college pals who are still rooming together when the movie opens. It's a complicated relationship, with obvious lesbian undertones that play out in anything but an obvious way. Credit Noah Baumbach, who directed and wrote the screenplay with Gerwig, for not taking this story anywhere near the place that more two-dimensional films venture into. Sophie is crushing on Frances, and when Sophie moves on (with other female friends and with her fallback fiance, Patch), we're not sure what Frances is thinking or feeling.

Meantime, Frances -- who is struggling to hang on with a dance troupe and to make enough money to pay the rent -- seems to be going through a painfully gradual nervous breakdown. She is socially awkward, and a lousy roommate. She makes sarcastic comments, mostly for her own comprehension and amusement, and then quickly points out that she's not serious. It's like a nervous tick of someone existing in her own protective bubble. Her observations reminded me of a "Saturday Night Live" character played by Kristen Wiig, a fast-talker who follows every sentence with "Just kidding." But whereas Wiig and a few other gifted physical and verbal female comics (such as Melissa McCarthy, Patricia Heaton or a young Amanda Bynes) play things broadly and to a TV audience weaned on Carol Burnett, Gerwig adds an extra layer that commands the big screen. This is a performance more worthy of Isabelle Huppert than of Jennifer Aniston.

There is definitely a masculinity to Gerwig and her character. Besides the obvious situation of being the target of another woman's affections, she is also accused at one point of walking like a man. (I wouldn't go that far, but she does have an amusing loose-limbed galumph.) I'm sure Baumbach's perspective looms large here. We saw a similar social pariah in his last film, "Greenberg," in which Gerwig played a key supporting character. Here, there's still hope for Frances, and we cheer for her to succeed and to avoid ossifying into the hardened misanthrope that Ben Stiller's character withered into. Will Frances make it? Thanks to Gerwig and Baumbach, we care deeply about that question, and "Frances Ha" zips along toward an ending that matters.

Baumbach's career has built toward this moment, finally producing a flawed masterpiece -- after a career full of efforts that merely passed as brilliant films. "Frances Ha" has more depth than those other films that earned A grades, such as "Kicking and Screaming" and "The Squid and the Whale." He pays black-and-white homage to his forebears, principally Francois Truffaut's "Small Change," classic Jim Jarmusch, and Woody Allen's late 1970s output. Gerwig certainly helped him capture the cadence of 20-something-speak, and she and Baumbach have created an awkward verbal environment, part smart writing and part improvisation worthy of Cassavettes.

The screenplay is full of seemingly mundane but deceptively insightful millennial-speak. Describing a random guy she doesn't care for, Frances says, "He's the kind of guy who buys a black leather couch and is, like, 'I love it.' " Or, stuck working a demeaning job that involves following a rich patron around at an event and pouring wine for her, Frances finally deadpans, "She's my ward." Of course, these lines work better in context. You can hear the connection to Lena Dunham (who had her own older man to collaborate with, Judd Apatow), but I can't imagine any "Girls" episode that I would want to last 90 minutes. (Speaking of "Girls," we're treated here to Adam Driver's alternate take on that show's Adam character, and we wish there were more scenes with his Lev, a winning riff on Richard Edson's hipster from "Stranger Than Paradise.")

The film isn't perfect. A few lines clunk (I'm thinking of Grace Gummer's throwaway line at the dinner party), but no one bats 1.000 in the big leagues. Scenes don't always flow gracefully into the next, but the herky-jerk editing adds to the jangle that is Frances and her neuroses and her friends.

I went into this movie with unfairly high expectations, and I was prepared to watch a smug vanity project unspool and unravel. Instead, I savored this lovely character study throughout, and I walked out of the matinee and into the sunshine with a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. Ha!

ABQ Confidential

Coming to a theater near you: Some of the indie darlings of spring/summer are starting to arrive, just in time to escape the heat. Who's in?

* Noah Baumbach's "Frances Ha" plays Downtown, starting Friday.
* Sarah Polley's biographical documentary "Stories We Tell" also shows up Downtown.
* On Monday, the Guild hosts Michel Gondry's "The We and the I" for a five-day run.

The following weekend, the Guild gets retro, with a matinee of Orson Welles' "Chimes of Midnight" and late-night screenings of "This Is Spinal Tap."

Life Is Short Dept.

An as-needed series chronicling those times when we pull the plug on a film by walking out or halting the video:

NEIGHBORING SOUNDS - This debut film is apparently supposed to instill dread while weaving together various stories of residents on a block in a town in Brazil. I couldn't click with any one character. I was mildly entertained by the bored housewife who uses a vacuum to cover up her pot smoking and who humps her washing machine for pleasure. But the plot -- involving a series of car break-ins that draws a security team that might be worse than the bad guys -- plods.

Running time: 2 hours, 11 minutes
Plug pulled: 1 hour

New to the Queue

Fresh releases on the horizon:
 
The psychosexual French drama "Augustine."

Brit Marling and Patricia Clarkson? No further questions. "The East." 

A documentary about the journey of a school bus from the United States to a recycled life in Guatemala, "La Camioneta."

Janet McTeer alert: A biopic of the New School philosophy professor and Nuremburg chronicler, "Hanna Arendt."

The relationship psychodrama "Nancy, Please."

I'm trying not to get too excited about Noah Baumbach's latest, his collaboration with Greta Gerwig, "Frances Ha."

Also tempering my enthusiasm for Richard Linklater's critically acclaimed third entry in his series of French adventures with Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke, "Before Midnight."

Alex Gibney's take on the WikiLeaks phenomenon, "We Steal Secrets."

A period piece about Ireland's IRA movement, the conspiracy thriller "Shadow Dancer."

Doc Check

BEIJING TAXI (B+) - A thoroughly moody, contemplative study of China undergoing a massive cultural shift on the eve of the 2008 Beijing Olympics -- all filtered through the eyes of three cabdrivers. Miao Wang channels their charming grumpiness and frustrations with their jobs and society in general. The generation gap is acutely felt; all three cabbies -- two middle aged men and a struggling mom -- make frequent references to their age, including health challenges. Teenagers are viewed as a source of consternation, oblivious to the good fortune that capitalism is bringing them.

But the film is only partly about our three protagonists. The director lets the camera wander to city at large, in particular the extensive scrubbing of the city and the elaborate preparations for the Olympic Games on the world stage. The camera lingers on graffiti. Meanwhile, each driver will at some point give up his or her cab, at least for a while. Interestingly, we rarely see passengers. I'm guessing that's intentional, not merely to illustrate the drivers' struggles to make money but also to exaggerate the ghost-like eeriness of the city's history as well as the inherent loneliness of life in the big city.

The cabdrivers come off as humble working stiffs, but some of their commentary borders on the profound. "China is like this," one intones, observing a construction site.  "First they destroy, then they regret, then they repair and build again." Haunting.

INVISIBLE WAR (B+) - Kirby Dick crafts a harrowing examination of the sexual abuse and assaults against women in the military. Heroic women sit for the camera to relate the horrors of the traumas they endured in all branches of the military. This is often excruciating to watch. A layer of outrage develops as Dick and collaborator Amy Ziering recount the history of this problem going back decades to such scandals as Tailhook. To add insult to injury, one of them, Kori Cioca, struggles to navigate the bureaucracy of the Veterans Administration's health service. You can sense early on that her struggle to obtain full coverage for her injuries will not fully succeed.

The documentary, released last year, is particularly timely, considering President Obama, during a speech to military personnel around Memorial Day, acknowledged the black stain of sexual abuse, according to the New York Times.
Viewed on "Independent Lens" on PBS.

YOGA IS (C-minus) - The main thing wrong with this 64-minute documentary that tries to define yoga is the woman who conceived the idea, produced it, stars in it and narrates it. Besides the annoyance of Suzanne Bryant, this is actually a quite serviceable introduction to the practice and its most notable practitioners. Bryant frames this as a journey aimed at grieving over her mom, who succumbed to cancer. She likes to film herself walking in slow motion, looking off toward the horizon or up to the sky (how spiritual !).

The practitioners, each thoughtful and well-spoken, rescue the narrative. Bryant throws in two celebrities -- hip-hop producer Russell Simmons and model Christy Turlington (confession: she was the reason I even considered screening this) to add some pizzazz to the proceedings.