Girls Night Out

 A cool double-bill last week at Sister Bar:

Snail Mail, led by Lindsey Jordan, headlined a night of mildly edgy music in downtown Albuquerque. But Snail Mail was overshadowed by a much more lively set from opening act Water From Your Eyes, a band that debuted on Matador Records this year. 

Water From Your Eyes -- Rachel Brown and Nate Amos -- have the pop pout of Wet Leg, the dance grooves of Siouxsie and the Banshees and a general metal edge. Amos, who worked a lot of foot pedals, slashed at his guitar throughout the set. With his shaggy blonde hair and adventurous chord progressions, he came off like Kurt Cobain learning how to play guitar. Brown -- dressed like a seventh-grader headed out for a field trip -- tossed out stream-of-consciousness banalities and awkward stage banter. 

At one point, Brown insisted on complaining to us how difficult it is to play 18 shows in 19 days. By this, Brown meant having to play a half hour of music once a day. Brown also complained about being under the weather but had time that day to traipse through the volcanoes on the west side of town. So having to play music for a half hour a day isn't that exhausting, after all. 

Brown seemed to struggle at times to sing on key, but it was more a matter of talking than singing much of the time, and Amos and a second guitar player really brought the noise. Here's a highlight, "Barley":

Matador darling Jordan also was feeling feverish when she took the stage with a full band just before 10 o'clock. She warned that she might "spew," which was considerate of her to those up front.

 

I love her music -- she gets tossed into that vague category that includes Jessica Lea Mayfield and Soccer Mommy -- but her stage act just never electrified the crowd, especially in the shadow of Water From Your Eyes' reckless abandon. There were occasional flashes of Kristin Hersh fronting Throwing Muses, but at half speed. At one point, Jordan kicked the band off the stage to do an acoustic set, and she struggled to hit some chords, as if she was taking the opportunity to just practice her playing while the paying audience looked the other way.

Let's leave Snail Mail on heavy rotation via disc and streaming and not expect a killer show from them in the future.

BONUS TRACKS

Here's a pair from Snail Mail. First, "Pristine" from 2018:

And a three-song set from those early years via a Tiny Desk performance:

We missed opening band Dazy and its power pop. Here's a fun song:

Godard Lives: '80s and '90s

  In this occasional series, every once in a while we will view and re-view the films of Jean-Luc Godard, who died in September 2022.

HAIL MARY (1985) (B-minus) - Jean Luc Godard's take on the Catholic virgin origin story starts out flat and never really fills the screen in a compelling way. It was also confusing to watch it on DVD, because it started out with a half hour film by Godard's companion, photographer Anne-Marie Mieville, "The Book of Mary," about a precocious child acting out while her parents' marriage corrodes. 

That first film is a fascinating study of an 11-year-old (Rebecca Hampton) who seeks sanctuary in books and music while sometimes navigating the evolving relationships with her parents (including Aurore Clement ("The New Girlfriend") as the mom. "Hail Mary," at 72 minutes, pales by comparison. This Mary -- a different one or the same as the girl in the short? -- works at her father's gas station (that sort of plot was considered blasphemous in itself three decades ago) and becomes pregnant even though she has never had sex with her boyfriend, Joseph.

Mary (Myriem Roussel) plays volleyball in college and often is vexed by her dilemma of biblical proportions. she claims to be perplexed by Joseph's grumpiness and frustration -- at not only how she got pregnant but by his inability to touch his own girlfriend. Godard distracts us with seemingly unrelated B-plots (one includes a young Juliette Binoche; another includes a woman named Eva (Eve?) who is sleeping with her married professor). 

But he continually circles back around to the endless loop of Mary and Joseph. In the second half, the curiosity about the young actress overcomes Godard, and she starts unleashing regular full-frontal nudity. It happens often enough that it feels exploitive of Roussel (in her early 20s at the time), who doesn't really show much flair for performing on screen.

Godard flings around some philosophical musings. He cuts away to a lot of shots of the sunset, the moon, flowers and flowing water. He wraps things up with a flash forward, but by then, nothing can rescue this from mediocrity. 

HISTOIRE(S) DU CINEMA (1998) (B-minus) - Do you wonder what angst the boomer artistic class was going through at the end of the millennium? Here comes Jean Luc Godard to empty his brain onto the screen for four and a half hours. Good luck sifting through it.

As you might expect, this attempt to chronicle the early days of cinema -- including the heyday of the French New Wave of the 1950s and '60s -- isn't really so much about movies as it is about the traumatized psyche of a postwar auteur. Godard wallows in images of the Holocaust for most of the run time here, which is divided into a 90-minute two-part introductory segment and then six more half-hour pieces.

As Godard liked to do, especially late in his career, he assaults the viewer with words -- both written on the screen and spoken. Add in subtitles, and it often is too much to comprehend. There were times when words flashed on the screen and subtitles tried to keep up with two or three voices. Words sometimes go untranslated. I gave up trying to follow all of it, or most of it -- especially when he starts to lapse into Latin.

Godard wallows in "an industry of masks," and his common themes are sex (or beauty) and death. He pays homage to early films (he argues that Elizabeth Taylor's career would not have taken off without the scut work of 16mm pioneers). He dedicates each segment to various people, many I've never heard of; Section 1B is devoted to John Cassavettes. By section 3A, Godard asks "What is cinema?" (Nothing.) "What does it want?" (Everything.)

The images flicker and flash. Colors bleed and figures fade in and out. Halfway through it is apparent that Godard is as enamored of art and photography as he is in cinema. Even deep into the run, we get transported back through Nazi symbolism and death-camp horrors. Section 3A ends with a collage of war atrocities alternating with shots of pretty women. In 3B we get a glimpse of Jerry Lewis in clown makeup from Lewis' infamously unreleased Holocaust movie. It takes that deep into the run to finally start acknowledging the New Wave that Godard was central to. By the final segments, Alfred Hitchcock is raised up as a deity -- we are told that the master of suspense succeeded where despots failed. Clips from American Westerns also hint at the French auteurs' key influences.

In the final reel, Godard heaps a final few scoops of scorn on the "peddlers" of the multiplexes. He laments at the "inexorable decline" of western civilization. We are doomed to corruption and chaos. Our leaders are fools and totalitarians. Cinema is an escape. "It is the end of the world," he intones. "But the sun (son?) returns."

BONUS TRACKS

Previous takes on Godard's oeuvre:

• Contempt
• Band of Outsiders
• Masculin Feminin
• 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her
  
• Goodbye to Language
  
• Film Socialisme
• The Image Book

Visual Math

 

I have always struggled with remembering the names of and distinguishing between Emily Blunt and Rose Byrne. I file this placeholder so I don't have to wrack my brain each time this dilemma comes up. I can just do a quick search. Brain space freed up

So, the problem is: Rose Byrne (Australian) vs. Emily Blunt (British).

 The solution is: Rachel McAdams (Canadian).

That '70s Drift: Retro Kitsch

 

PAINT (B) - What silly fun. Owen Wilson does that thing of his, and he takes a ridiculous premise and somehow makes it work, in this surprisingly funny riff on the Vermont life of a frizzy-haired artist inspired by PBS legend Bob Ross.

Wilson stars as Carl Nargle (the goofy name is the first of many red flags you must ignore to make it through this), who has carved out a niche as a hack painter at the local PBS affiliate in Burlington, where he has assembled a stable of female admirers who jockey for the right to be invited into the pullout bed in the back of Nargle's upholstered van. But when a rival comes along -- young, beautiful Ambrosia (Ciara Renee) -- Nargle's star power quickly fades toward obsolescence. 

Ambrosia not only takes over part of Carl's screen time, but she also makes a play for his ex, the meek director Katherine (Michaela Watkins). This all plays out with the goofiness of an Afterschool Special. It takes place in the present day (Carl is flummoxed by Uber), but the styles and the soundtrack are stuck in the 1970s. Sappy singer-songwriters of the day -- John Denver (the cloying "Annie's Song" makes several appearances) and Gordon Lightfoot -- dominate the soundtrack. Some songs land, such as Jerry Reed's "When You're Hot You're Hot":

Other oldies, like Heart's "Barracuda" and Dolly Parton's "Coat of Many Colors" are clunkier and fall flat. (Maybe it's the misogynist milieu.) The movie itself -- from the mind of writer-director Brit McAdams, who cut his chops with B-list comedians like Katt Williams and Daniel Tosh -- is such a mish-mash of ideas and gags that there is no reason any of this should work as well as it does. Part of that is Wilson's commitment to such a ridiculous character. Carl is comically zen but also lacks self-awareness; while watching an old clip of his show he scoffs at the shirt he was wearing, only to realize he is still wearing the same style. He is chronically stuck in the '70s, and it's amusing to watch women fall all over him (until, of course, Ambrosia starts siphoning off everyone's attention). The supporting cast of mostly character actors helps sell this. Watkins, abnormally subdued, makes the most of her deadpan deliveries, and Stephen Root does what he can as the inept station manager.

Part of the time I was rolling my eyes and wondering why this was much longer than a TV sketch. But the rest of the time, I was laughing out loud. Perhaps the best shorthand explanation is to point out that Chekhov's gun here is a salon-grade hair dryer that looms in the background until just the right time to deploy it for comedic effect. 

"Paint" is even downright sweet at times, and again, give credit to Wilson's subtle skills as an actor and comedian. McAdams wrings actual emotion from the scenes between Carl and his barber, in spite of the goofy premise that entails to begin with. Wilson also wrings some pathos out of this emotionally vacant yet yearning pseudo celebrity. Carl barely bothers to diversify his portfolio; he likes to paint the same mountain over and over again. He smokes a pipe unironically. And he thinks his viewers are traveling to a "special place" with him every episode. How do Wilson and McAdams manage to wrap this up with some authentic sentiment? 

Even John Denver wrote a good song once in a while. Some things just inexplicably work.

BONUS TRACKS

The references to John Denver brought to mind Monty Python's takedown of the chipper popster:

The final credits kick in to a nugget from one of the '70s' would-be New Dylans, Steve Forbert, with "Romeo's Tune":

And that segues into one of my favorite cheesy country tunes from the era, Don Williams' "I Believe in You":

Ennui

 A pair streaming on Mubi:

ACTUAL PEOPLE (B-minus) - Every generation gets the Mumblecore touchstones it deserves. Kit Zauhar writes, directs and stars as a college philosophy senior who can't be bothered to pass her last class before graduation, letting her jumbled love life get the best of her.

Zauhar stars as Riley, an attractive 22-year-old whose mind is just not in the game and who seems distracted by random micro-aggressions, to the point where she must eventually explain to her parents why she won't be graduating in a few weeks. Her main distractions are men and sexual politics. Maybe she can't pass her last class because she flunked the Bechdel Test. Zauhar's debut has all the hallmarks of a student film and presents herself as an antiquated anti-feminist. 

She sleeps with her roommate once and then wonders why he's bothered to the point of not wanting to renew her lease. She's hung up on her ex -- who cheated on her -- and then crushes too much on a hunk from her hometown of Philadelphia. Several times she is seen wincing from a yeast infection. She has a wry habit of gulping glasses of water. 

Riley's friends come and go so quickly that it is hard to keep track of them. Some of the men also seem indistinguishable. A few adults show up -- a teacher, a therapist -- and they highlight Zauhar's awkward weaknesses as an actor. She can be quite appealing, especially with little quirks, but a couple of emotional episodes really stretch her talents. (Zauhar's sister shows up as Riley's younger sister, and she has much more pizzazz.)

Visually, she has a fondness for shaky hand-held camera shots and uncomfortable close-ups. She provides occasional interludes, showing characters out of context, usually splitting the screen three ways. In sum, this is a bit of a mess, but it's not without its charm. Zauhar has a decent ear for dialogue, and she captures the angst of a young adult on the brink of graduation, torn about which direction she should take -- which describes Zauhar and Riley alike.

ZERO FUCKS GIVEN (B) - Adele Exarchopoulos ("Blue Is the Warmest Color") stars as a screwed-up flight attendant who can barely keep her life together as she soldiers through her thankless job at a low-rent airline. Her Cassandre is an expressionless hedonist who cares about little other than surviving from moment to moment.

That involves a lot of alcohol (often in tiny bottles) and zipless sex without strings attached, as she flies from city to city all over the world. Exarchopoulos manages to convey a range of feelings via this emotionally stunted character. She isn't so much dead inside as comfortably numb. Cassandre has her moments of joy and human connection; it's just that it never leads to anything lasting.

The script seems to leave room for improvisation, and that gives the movie a lived-in feeling. Newcomers Julie Lecoustre and Emmanuel Marre (with an assist from co-writer Mariette Desert) create a narrative arc that gradually builds to a grounding of Cassandre, where we finally get a glimpse of her family life -- and somewhat of an explanation for the state she is in.

Without Exarchopoulos, who has a face made for the big screen, this could have been dull and listless. But she brings depth and warmth to a character whose outward expression tells the rest of the world to fuck off.

BONUS TRACK

From the end credits of "Actual People," Lightning Bug with "October Song, Pt. II":

And from the final scene of "Zero Fucks Given," Viyolin with "Faded."

Uh-oh: A.I.!

 

M3GAN (A-minus) - Sometimes a movie comes along whose plot or trailer might make you roll your eyes, but which captures the zeitgeist and finds just the right wavelength or carry you through its improbable premise. It's tough not to love this horror story about a robot girl who starts to outfox her creators. "Frankenstein" just never gets old.

Allison Williams, with that flat affect of hers, is kind of perfect as Gemma, the scientist who suddenly takes custody of her tween niece after Gemma's sister and brother-in-law die in a car crash. Little Cady (Violet McGraw) inspires Gemma to graduate from making robot pets to reviving her idea for a robot girl. Thus we get M3GAN, a creepy humanoid who "pairs" with Cady and instantly becomes her best friend, confidant and tutor, all in one.

The problem is that Gemma hasn't really fully beta-tested M3GAN (it's an acronym), so it's not hard to see this all falling apart quickly. M3GAN is synced with Cady, which means she not only lends a sympathetic ear to her charge but also is imbued with the killer instinct of a feral mother in the wild. Because she is programmed to protect Cady, M3GAN will stop at nothing to protect this broken little girl. You can get a sense of her ferocity in the trailer.

But the movie -- directed by journeyman Gerard Johnstone and written by TV veteran Akela Cooper and story specialist James Wan -- meticulously builds its story piece by piece. M3GAN often sits in the background, as obedient as a choir girl. She reads to Cady and is much more effective at grief counseling than the child's therapist is. But, gradually, the bot's "personality" starts to emerge. Her eyes deepen and narrow with the seeming flip of a switch. The first time she talks back to Gemma -- like a typical kid but with obvious menace -- it's subtly chilling.

The movie has a coy sense of humor. M3GAN gets dressed up for an outing in a prim winter coat and gloves. She recruits the home computer system (a Siri clone) into her schemes. Her spaghetti-armed dance moves are instant memes. Gemma's co-workers provide a Greek chorus of skeptics back in the lab, which is under pressure to produce the next big toy, under the thumb of an obnoxious tech bro who is too greedy to let the A.I. program take its natural course. A side story of an office assistant who might be stealing company secrets weaves in perfectly during the film's climax.

Meantime, the suspense feels earned throughout; this is not a lazy or cheap horror story. Johnstone keeps you alert, and the storyline carries the viewer along through every turn of the tightly compacted narrative. There's not a wasted moment, and the inevitable violent climax is satisfying. The film winks and nods at other films -- either overtly or covertly -- ranging from the Chucky films to "Terminator" to "Fatal Attraction." But in the end, it is its own satisfying night at the movies.

BONUS TRACK

Maybe the producers could not afford the rights to the full, original version of David Gueta and Sia's "Titanium," but we get a sample of the song, and it would have been perfect over the final credits.

Mission Control

 

THE BLIND MAN WHO DID NOT WANT TO SEE TITANIC (A-minus) - From Finland comes this brutally honest and gripping account of a handicapped man embarking on a mission, by himself, to finally meet his online soul mate.

Petri Poikolainen, who himself suffers from the maladies (including blindness) that his character does, plays jovial Jaako, a fervent movie buff for whom movies are now mostly a memory -- and a defining character trait. He's the kind of persnickety film connoisseur, present company included, who turns up his nose at uber-popular box office darlings like "Titantic" (and the rest of James Cameron's over-the-top oeuvre). Marjaana Maijala plays (mostly the voice of) Sirpa, whose phone communications have the regularity of Groundhog Day, as she lovingly likes to point out.  Every day is a struggle for him, let down by his own useless legs, whom he refers to as Rocky and Rambo; he constantly dreams of running, only to wake up severely cramped.

Sirpa is ill (perhaps dying), and Jaako insists on heading out in his wheelchair and taking a train to visit her, but his assistant is unavailable. So he daringly maps out a strategy that relies on the kindness of strangers to help him in and out of trains and cabs. What could go wrong? Exactly what you think. Thugs exploit his helplessness, and we worry ourselves sick over whether this hero will overcome his obstacle.

The film by Teemu Nikki grabs you from the start with its elegant dialogue and its urgent cinematography. Until the final shot, the entire movie is filmed in close-up on Jaako, either head on or behind his ear, in a way that turns the rest of the frame out of focus. It's a clever device to immerse the viewer into Jaako's blurry world. The narrative ricochets along, and the movie is like a great novella you just can't put down.

There are times when this chronicle of Jaako's daily, endless struggles to get through each moment veers toward torture porn. That might be a little too much for some. But it can't be denied that Nikki, with his brave leading man, has crafted a powerful, assured story, with an ending that will grip your heart.

LINOLEUM (C) - Imagine the movie pitch here. A middle-aged astronomy nerd runs into his doppelganger, a much brasher and more successful former astronaut who is as rotten as the shlub is nice. Comedian Jim Gaffigan stars -- and there is most of your problem here -- as both characters, mainly Cameron, the affable husband and father who hosts a sarcastic science show on local television.

The movie takes places during an indistinct olden time -- we see station wagons and saddle shoes -- and that's a hint to the convoluted trickery that casually unspools over the movie's creaking 101 minutes. Bizarre events occur, and relationships are not always what they seem. Some characters don't talk, and others don't get named -- and it's all in the service of a late swerve, an unconvincing reveal in the movie's final minutes. Rather than knock us out, the concluding sleight of hand just feels like a big cheat and a waste of an hour and a half.

Gaffigan, a wonderful standup comic, just doesn't have what it takes to carry a film. He is paired with Rhea Seehorn (TV's "Better Call Saul"), who is distractingly flat as Cameron's wife, Erin, who used to co-star on his TV show but who now is in the process of divorcing him and maybe moving on with her own career. Katelyn Nacon steals the show as their daughter, Nora, a bright, brash teenager who slips into a sappy friendship with the new kid in town (Gabriel Rush), the mopey son of the doppelganger who happens to move in across the street from Cameron's house. A movie devoted to Nora might be worth seeing.

The tone here is erratic. The humor is subdued and gets overwhelmed by the mawkish melodrama, which keeps adding layer upon layer of treacle from scene to scene. The hook here is that the middle-aged nerd is going to build a rocket from the parts of an Apollo 10 craft that has crashed into his backyard. (So is it 1969? Unclear.) The regular-guy-builds-his-own-rocket story was done much better (and funnier) in 2007's "The Astronaut Farmer," and that movie boasted Billy Boy Thornton and Virginia Madsen -- you know, movie stars. 

This version is earnest and occasionally affecting. Newcomer Colin West, who wrote and directed, poured his heart into it. He came up with a clever idea, but it tied him up in knots. "Linoleum" (that's a lousy title, too) is not really a bad movie; it's more of an unsuccessful one.

BONUS TRACK

From the closing credits of "The Blind Man," Pekko Kappi and KHHL with "Ikoni":