Drudge Work

 

DRUGSTORE JUNE (B+) - If the title "Clueless" hadn't already been taken, it would have perfectly suited this manic romp about a would-be social-media influencer who helps investigate a break-in at the drugstore where she works (to use the term loosely). Esther Povitsky, who co-wrote the script, is very funny as a hare-brained 20-something whose existence is stitched together by a continuous series of perceived microagressions against her.

Povitsky carries the film by her sheer energy, as she finds a troubled soul within her airhead persona to make us care about June's frivolous life. The one-liners fly by (June says, "I don't like the word 'horny,' so I say 'hot 'n' ready' instead because it sounds cuter and it reminds me of pizza"), and the plot zips along with an amusing wit. June, a junk-food junkie and struggling video wannabe (she is constantly performing for her June Squad), is stuck emotionally on Davey (Haley Joel Osment), her ex-boyfriend from their shared land of fast-food joints. She slacks off as an assistant to the drugstore pharmacist (Bobby Lee), and she annoys the detectives when she insists on trying to solve the break-in.

The supporting cast is top-notch, including Jackie Sandler and Al Madrigal as the detectives, Beverly D'Angelo and James Remar as June's parents, Brandon Wardell as her slacker gamer brother, and Matt Walsh as a hoodlum. But it is Povitsky who terrorizes the screen as the entitled millennial whose mind is warped by the modern internet world. Director (and co-writer) Nicholaus Goossen rides this bucking bronco and corrals it all into 91 entertaining minutes. Like June, turn off your brain and enjoy the ride. It's a lot of fun.

UNREST (B-minus) - It often feels like this period curiosity is on the brink of being profound or revelatory. But the polemic about workers just kind of plods along while staying just fascinating enough to lure you through to the end. It's the first full-length feature from Swiss writer-director Cyril Schaublin, who spends too much time trying to be artsy, at the expense of telling a consistently compelling story.

Set in the late 1800s, "Unrest," which borrows that term from watch-making, tells the story of a Russian map-maker, Pyotr (Alexei Evstratov), who visits a small Swiss town that is home to a watch factory. At the factory, workers are radicalized in the era of open anarchism, as their work is hyper-scrutinized by bosses literally standing over their shoulders wielding stopwatches as the workers meticulously assemble pocket watches. The workers mostly speak French, and management converses in German, which suggests an us-vs.-them mentality.

The main worker is Josephine (Clara Gostynski), and she will cross paths with Pyotr. There are some interesting ideas at work here, especially the various aspects of technology of the time that echo into our modern world. The use of the telegraph parallels our use of email; Pyotr is essentially a beta version of Google Maps; and a new compact alarm clock is unveiled as if it were the latest iPhone. 

But Schaublin's visual choices are perpetually frustrating, especially his insistence on shooting scenes from a long distance. In some scenes you can't tell which small figure in the frame is talking. At times the "action" in the frame gets dwarfed by subtitles. It's annoying, and it trips up the narrative, which never really coheres. 

But there is something here, and "Unrest," fractured as it is, stakes a claim in the pantheon of films about workers' rights. If you are willing to put in your own effort and help stitch the ideas together, it's fun to watch a moment in history that seemed to be on the brink of a modern world of technological marvels.

Gone Girl, Part 2

 

KAREN DALTON: IN MY OWN TIME (2020) (B) - A couple of Art Department veterans team up behind the camera for the first time to explore the sad tale of Karen Dalton a blues and folk singer who never broke big in the '60s or '70s and sabotaged her own career by abusing drugs and alcohol. 

Dalton was part of the burgeoning folk scene in New York's Greenwich Village in the early 1960s, along with Bob Dylan and the gang. But her sound was much more bluesy -- with even a tinge of gospel -- than the Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore" crowd offered. She sounded a lot like Billie Holiday (though she apparently did not like that comparison), with a raspy voice dripping with melancholy.

Dalton made some poor life choices. She got married and had a child as a teen and chose her relationships poorly; one of them led to a knocked-out front tooth, which certainly didn't help her come off as photogenic. She recorded albums in 1969 and 1971, and Woodstock's Michael Lang tried to break her out with another album, but Dalton didn't finish it. She instead eventually ended up in upstate New York near Woodstock, where she lived out her years quietly, eventually dying of AIDS.

Apparently a lousy mother, Dalton struggled to have healthy relationships with the children she had young. Her daughter Abbe is the main talking head here, providing an important perspective. Nick Cave shows up to convey the dramatic impact that Dalton's music had on him. Writer-directors Richard Peete and Robert Yapkowitz march through the story chronologically, and they pause the proceedings whenever one of Dalton's recordings is featured, giving each one a title card and a respectful playing time. It is not until the end that they finally reveal one of Dalton's own original compositions, an effective technique after filling the movie with examples of Dalton's diary entries, which early on are compelling but gradually grow less coherent in later years. 

It would be nice if Dalton wasn't such a pathetic figure. It's hard to maintain interest in a junkie as a main subject. This is a woeful tale, but Dalton's troubled soul can generate empathy at times. And the music is haunting.

BONUS TRACKS

A beautiful song, written by Dalton's third husband, Richard Tucker, about leaving New York and heading back to a life of poverty in Colorado, "Are You Leaving for the Country?":

 

Here is Tim Hardin's "Reason to Believe," which Dalton was one of the first to record:

 

Nick Cave singles this song out as altering his musical universe, "Something on Your Mind":

Perhaps a fitting epitaph, "A Little Bit of Rain," written by frequent collaborator Fred Neil:

Gone Girl, Part 1

 

SAM NOW (B+) - A true labor of love, this decades-spanning documentary project tracks half brothers and their relationship with one of their mothers who abandoned her family years ago. It is powered by clips from director Reed Harkness' youthful insurgent videos and an urgent garage-punk soundtrack.

Harkness was nearly a decade older than Sam, who was 14 when Sam's mother, Jois, abandoned him and brother Jared. Harkness made numerous videos of Sam when they were kids, especially silly superhero films, and he uses that momentum to start filming this documentary about 20 years ago when Sam was about 17 and wondering about the whereabouts of his mother.

Harkness turns this into a gonzo road movie, slapping together those vintage clips and goosing them with stop-action graphics and those nerve-jangling psych-rock tunes on the soundtrack. Sam ages into adulthood, and the story deepens as the subject works through his emotional baggage. We see Jois in clips, and she'll eventually surface, and it's interesting to see that while this is a classic tale of abandonment, it's also a tribute to how families cope with whatever curveballs are tossed their way.

It's not a Shakespearean tragedy, but the film earns a place among the best of the Ordinary People genre that I identified with trailblazer Doug Block and his family chronicle "51 Birch Street." Harkness has a big heart and a true gift for visual collages. This homage to his troubled brother never feels self-indulgent, and it's often a joy to watch.

BONUS TRACKS

The Sonics are the star of the soundtrack. Here is "Psycho":

And the Sonics again with the '60s garage classic "Shot Down":

From Oregon, Dead Moon with their lo-fi grunge-era "D.O.A.":

 

Mid-Nineties Japanese punk band Teengenerate with "Dressed in Black":

 

A palate-cleanser, Smog's spare, plaintive "Rock Bottom Riser":

Best of Ever, Vol. 11: Living the Dream

 The night I saw this film, I had a dream about having long ago invented, with some friends, a martial-arts throwing star that had one of its point fashioned as a phillips-head screwdriver, which we had used to break-ins in the name of civil disobedience. It struck me that I had a dream that created a false memory. Conversely, this film starts with a false memory that creates a dream for the title character.

MORVERN CALLAR (2002) (A) - This film has haunted me since I first saw it at the 2002 Santa Fe Film Festival. In the opening scene, Morvern Callar (Samantha Morton) is near-catatonic in an apartment ominously lit by Christmas decorations while her boyfriend lies dead on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood, a suicide. We, as viewers, are initially as discombobulated as she appears to be; Morvern goes off to a Christmas party and otherwise wanders around town for several scenes, before she finally deals with her devastating situation.

When she finally deals with the tragic scene, Morvern not only scrubs the apartment but she also reviews her boyfriend's suicide note, which directs her to the latest novel he has written. The note asks her to submit it to a publisher, and she does so -- except first she strips his name from it and puts her own on it, and then sends it off.

Morvern works a dead-end job at a grocery store in her small seaside hometown with her ditzy best pal, Lanna (Kathleen McDermott). With a little cash bequeathed to her from the dead man's bank account, Morvern, who is keeping the boyfriend's death a secret (she lies and says he left her), suggests a warm-weather getaway to Ibiza. Off she and Lanna go, with Lanna unaware that her friend's actions will be skewed by grief, guilt and a distorted sense of freedom. When a publisher shows interest in the book, it begins to dawn on Morvern that she might be able to truly escape the doldrums of her existence.

"Morvern Callar" is one of the earliest films from Socttish master Lynne Ramsay ("Ratcatcher," "We Need to Talk About Kevin"), whose stories always feel a little off-kilter and spurred by a sense of urgency. This is her best film, She shoots guerrilla-documentary style as the young women let loose in paradise. But Morvern is haunted the whole time -- not only by death but by the hope of ultimate escape -- reminded of her relationship by the mix tape that she listens to on an old-fashioned Walkman. This is the first film I can recall that toggles between presenting the songs as full sound (as if we had the earbuds in our own ears) and the tinny version we hear whenever Morvern takes her earbuds out. It's a jarring metaphor for us being in Morvern's head, as well as a reminder of her struggles between recognizing the recent past and letting it go.

Morton, in her early 20s at the time, hints at endless layers of emotion and angst. At the time she was on the verge of breaking through with "In the Bedroom," though she's had a rather quiet, steady career. Here she is the perfect vessel for Ramsay's fascinating, meandering narrative, which plays out angularly, as if the filmmaker is as curious as we are about where this story will end up. There is a surprising amount of dark humor throughout. At times this feels like a slapstick buddy-road movie, with clever sight gags and callbacks. 

It's not all gloom and doom. It can be arch and thought-provoking. In the end, this bruising film is about a small-town young woman disoriented by trauma but, like a Sofia Coppola heroine, lured by a glimmer of hope of privilege that sudden success might bring her way. It's riveting from beginning to end. I won't reveal the final song on the mixtape that Morvern listens to, but know that it is perfect.

-------

* Note: This time I watched the film (via Criterion streaming) with subtitles in order to catch all the nuances of the heavy brogues by most of the characters. The first time I saw it, in a packed theater in Santa Fe, we didn't get subtitles. My favorite moment of the film-going experience came when -- as most of us were obviously struggling to pick up the dialogue -- a guy behind me leaned over to his date and whispered, not "What did she say?" but rather "What's a 'fortnight'?"

BONUS TRACKS

The soundtrack is full of cool sounds, a truly wonderful classic mixtape of bangers, as the kids say. There are a bunch of songs by krautrock pioneers Can. Here is "Spoon":

 

 Sharing a vibe with the music of Mum, here is Aphex Twin with the hypnotic "Nannou":

 

Never pass up an excuse to spin Lee Hazlewood (with Nancy Sinatra), "Some Velvet Morning":

 

Another coincidence, like the dream: The day after I watched the movie, a friend randomly sent a video of a band once touted by a mutual friend, Boards of Canada. I'd never heard of them. I later went back to check the "Morvern Callar" soundtrack, and there they were. Spooky, like this track, the trippy "Everything You Do Is a Balloon":

 

And this one's pretty, "You Can Fall" by Broadcast:

Dangerous Liaisons

 

THE INNOCENT (B) - Writer-director Louis Garrel stars as Abel, a young widower who grows concerned after his mom, who teaches acting in a prison, marries an inmate, who starts acting shady after his release. Abel indulges his anxiety by surveilling Michel (Roschdy Zem), only to get caught up in Michel's criminal shenanigans.

There is an air of melancholy and gloom that pervades this otherwise light-hearted French farce. That includes Abel's mom, Silvie (Anouk Grinberg), who has finally found true love and resents Abel's interference in her relationship. Then there is Abel's friend Clemence (Noemie Merlant), who lords her love of casual sex over Abel's mournful celibacy. 

Some of this doesn't quite add up, and the shifts in tone can be annoying, but the four principal actors (Zem especially) create nuanced characters whose interactions are cleverly shape-shifting, building a momentum that helps this zip along at 98 minutes. A twist halfway through -- drawing Abel and Clemence into a play-acting scenario that serves as a therapeutic breakthrough to their relationship -- provides a narrative spark that revives the film and draws us in to a sober but fun organized-crime caper. Garrel, the son of celebrated filmmaker Philippe, shows an easygoing style and an ear for minor-key storytelling.

AVA (2017) (B+) - Ava is 13 years old and starting to lose her sight, mostly her night vision. And then along comes a boy, and she seems determined to seize the opportunity to lust for life while she still can.

Noee Abita, with an engaging pout, resembles a young Adele Exarchopoulos, and her big eyes are expressive and a bit judging. Her feisty mother (Laure Calamy) urges Ava to indulge her budding desires. Ava meets the troubled young immigrant, Juan (Juan Cano), on the beach and flirts with him but also covets his dog. When she learns that Juan has been injured and is hiding out on the beach, she tends to his wound and falls for his rugged charms. She is thrilled to go on a solo mission to retrieve Juan's ID card to help him stay ahead of the law.

This coming-of-age rage tale comes from Lea Mysius, who co-wrote the fascinating "Paris, 13th District" and more recently directed Exarchopoulos in "The Five Devils." She has great confidence behind the camera, and a looseness to her narrative flow. Abita (riveting in "Slalom"), was nearly an adult while playing a 13-year-old girl, and she struts ferociously at times, especially during an inspired scene in which Ava and Juan paint their nubile bodies in mud, wield sticks and a shotgun, and rob beachgoers in broad daylight, like a feral bare-chested update of Bonnie and Clyde. 

That jaunt typifies the danger and dread which permeates the film, even though the movie overall can be quite sweet and insightful. Mysius crafts a climax that would sit well in a typical action film. We watch wide-eyed, knowing that our hungry young heroine someday will lose the opportunity to fully experience such exploits.

Doc Watch / Rock Watch: Harkin' to the Heartland

 We tracked down two obscure documentaries about two obscure bands, via Night Flight Plus:

OUT OF TIME: THE MATERIAL ISSUE STORY (B) - Material Issue was one of those bands that had every element necessary to break big, and but for a few cups of coffee on MTV in the early '90s, the big break just never came. This detailed and earnest documentary tells the story of the rise and tragic fall of the power-pop band's leader, Jim Ellison, and the mates he left hanging. 

The first third is an origin story of a hard-working and talented trio who met during their college years in Chicago. Ellison wrote the songs and fronted the band, which also featured Ted Ansani on bass and Mike Zelenko on drums. They were regular guys from working class families, putting out their early songs on their own label run out of Ellison's suburban home. By 1990 they were featured on MTV's hip Sunday night show "120 Minutes," with the irresistibly catchy "Valerie Loves Me" and "Diane." Former host Matt Pinfield shows up here as an ardent fan to this day.

Talking heads (including Ansani and Zelenko) unwrap the history of the band, whose second and third albums produced diminishing returns, eventually leaving them without a recording contract. Producer Mike Chapman (Blondie, Sweet, the Knack) was working with the band on a fourth album when that tragedy struck. He, too, to this day gets emotional over how things turned out. Chicago bigwigs who give props include Steve Albini, Joe Shanahan (the club Metro), and newspaper critics Greg Kot and Jim DeRogatis (they still host "Sound Opinions" on radio). Stories and footage of Cheap Trick's Rick Nielsen showing up in the studio to expertly lay down guitar tracks add a jolt to the movie.

This clocks in at barely an hour, and the tight running time allows for a patented VH-1 "Behind the Music" three-part arc. Director Balin Schneider, an L.A. journalist, does his homework, spending time with Ellison's family and with Ansani and Zelenko, who disappear from the film after the tragedy unfolds, as if they didn't want to talk about it on camera. What shines through, though, is the music, smart and shimmery and infused with hooks that should have spawned years of hits.

WE WERE FAMOUS, YOU DON'T REMEMBER: THE EMBARRASSMENT (A-minus) - Sometimes dismissed as cheeky DIY pop pranksters, Wichita, Kansas' the Embarrassment had some serious chops that could have carried them the career that R.E.M. had. Instead, they burned hot on the fringes of the indie scene for a few years in the early '80s and then burned out after releasing a bunch of singles and one album, never to record again. Instead, their brand of "blister pop" leaves them just fondly remembered legends of the old Lawrence college-town music scene.

This documentary, by newcomers Daniel Featherston and Danny Szlauderback, is so much more than history lesson about a cult band from 40 years ago. It is a celebration of a special moment in time and a paean to ingrained emotions that are implanted in our youth and quietly cherished over the decades. Author Thomas Frank (What's the Matter With Kansas?), as usual, articulates this concept the best in a few talking-head interviews. It's that idea of treasuring the memory of that one band you loved that nobody has ever heard of except for those few people who were there. Other contributions come from contemporaries and admirers Grant Hart of Husker Du, Freedy Johnston and Evan Dando.

Two of the band members grew up as childhood buddies, and the core group formed in 1979 in the vast wasteland of the nation's heartland. Each man shows a degree of wistfulness in contemporary interviews -- singer John Nichols, guitarist Bill Goffrier, bassist Ron Klaus, and drummer Brent "Woody" Giessmann, who would land on his feet banging the snare with the Del Fuegos out of Boston. It's a shame that they broke up, but each man seems to have had a fulfilling career since.

The music itself stands on its own, and you could put it up against any post-punk release around the turn of the '80s, and the band's arch chord structures closely echo those of R.E.M., which broke through with its first album right after the Embarrassment called it quits, as if there was a soul transfer from Wichita to Athens. Footage from a concert at their headquarters -- a funky old bank next to the train tracks -- is threaded throughout the documentary, and it is a repeated reminder of how infectious their music was and how charming the band could be. One observer struggles to come up with a simple description of the music and ends up calling it "propulsive, danceable, jangly, angular goof rock." 

I didn't discover the Embarrassment until their compilation album "Heyday" was release in the late '90s, so I can't claim any connection to that magical Wichita/Lawrence heyday. But I can appreciate what Frank and others experienced, how the songs soaked into their DNA, and how they can honor that burst of creativity and joy without sounding like pathetic nostalgia whores. It was a special time. This movie makes you wish you had been there. And it reminds you that, even if you weren't there, you were somewhere, and if you can conjure up your own former zeitgeist moments, then you are lucky to be able to revisit that happy place.

BONUS TRACKS

Let's start with Material Issue's first hit, "Valerie Loves Me":

"What Girls Want" live on the Dennis Miller talk show:

My favorite Embarrassment song is "Elizabeth Montgomery's Face":

 

One-upping Wire on their debut single, "Sex Drive":

 

And we can't forget Art Carney -- "Celebrity Art Party" (R.E.M. came up with the same ringing guitar riffs out in Athens, Ga., around the same time):

That '80s Grift: Crooked Cops

 

THE BIG EASY (1986) (A-minus) - Movies don't get much more fun than this deep dive into Cajun high jinks. Dennis Quaid and Ellen Barkin are a lot of fun as a local homicide lieutenant and district attorney, respectively, who are on opposite sides of the law but have an undeniable attraction.

Quaid is Remy McSwain, who counts police corruption as a heritage. Barkin is Anne Osborne is a fish out of water trying to keep track of the corruption that is rampant in the New Orleans police department. Remy has a boyish charm that is hard to resist, even if he is forever on the take and looking the other way as mobsters massacre each other. Anne is determined to get to the bottom of the cause of the pileup of bodies, but she tends to be distracted by Remy and his washboard abs.

The supporting cast has a blast wallowing in the Cajun culture. Grace Zabriskie is captivating as Remy's mom; Charles Ludlam as the rascally pint-sized defense attorney; John Goodman as a detective who carries an arsenal of weapons; Ned Beatty as the retiring cop who dates Mama; and soul singer Solomon Burke as one of the gang leaders. And then there's the soundtrack. I'm pretty sure I wore out my CD back in the day. From the Dixie Cups' "Iko Iko" to Buckwheat Zydeco's "Ma 'Tit Fille," plus Professor Longhair, Aaron Neville and BeauSoleil, the sounds are infectious and embedded in the narrative. 

You might argue that the local references to New Orleans culture is a tad overdone, as Hollywood likes to do. And the carpet-baggers do lay the accents and Mardi Gras references on thick. But the story is a juicy one, with nods to classic corruption capers, and everyone has so much fun chewing on the dialogue. It's funny and has heart. And Quaid and Barkin are hard to resist. This comes from writer-director Jim McBride ("David Holzman's Diary," "Breathless"), who co-wrote the snappy script with Daniel Petrie Jr. ("Beverly Hills Cop") and Jack Baran ("Great Balls of Fire").

BONUS TRACKS

Some samplings from "The Big Easy" soundtrack, starting with Buckwheat Zydeco:

 "Iko Iko":

Professor Longhair with "Tipitina":