Con Jobs

 

ANOTHER SIMPLE FAVOR (C-minus) - A fun romp from 2018 didn't need a sequel and certainly not this spectacle. At least director Paul Feig and his cast got a free extended trip to Capri to rekindle the story of mommy influencer Stephanie and the mysterious, reckless Emily.

 

"A Simple Favor" had juicy performances from Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively and was clever enough to keep a viewer tuned in. It was incoherent in spots but entertaining and worth the effort. This sequel is a hot mess, and a cynical one at that. The same writing team from the original (with help from a third) churns the dialogue darker and nastier, a group of women trying to out-bro their writing colleagues.

The body count is higher and the blood flows more freely as Stephanie (Kendrick) tags along to Capri with Emily (Lively), who is marrying an Italian mobster with a secret. He has a mean mother, and Emily is confronted with her own acidic aunt (Allison Janney, in one of those horrible roles she just can't resist) from the family's convoluted past. A sister of Emily's will show up (Lively doing a ditzy turn as a dimwit), and poor Elizabeth Perkins mugs through the sunset of her career in a bad wig as Emily's addled mom. 

This is the kind of movie in which a father/ex-husband will be brutally murdered but the wedding will go on the next day, with barely a shrug from his adolescent son. On three different occasions characters are given needle injections, including a scene of Kendrick enduring a "truth serum" that turns her giddy, straight out of an episode of "Get Smart." Janney holds a gun to the kid's head, who rolls his eyes at her antics. LOL!

The original had a tenuous grip on reality and struck a balance between mean and playful. But this barrage of putdowns, with a plot that plays with incest and foul-mouthed children, is dark and disturbing. Feig shows off his epic drone-shot skills and drools over the scenery. But there is no joy in paradise. 

THE SUN CHILDREN (2020) (A-minus) - A confident child actor anchors a whipsmart story about street-hustling kids in Tehran who enroll in a school in order to gain access to a purported treasure underground. Acclaimed writer-director Majid Majidi nails every beat of this taut neo-realist thriller (streaming on DailyMotion).

 

Rouhallah Zamani (above) is beyond intense as 12-year-old Ali, the ringleader among his four-boy crew of petty thieves and little scammers, all of whom survive on the streets to provide for their families, having lost their fathers mostly to addiction, prison or death. Ali is a combination of aspiring entrepreneur and seasoned mobster, and he has earned the trust and respect of Hashem (Ali Nasirian), who keeps pigeons and runs a shady chop-shop operation. Hashem convinces Ali to enroll in a school that takes in troubled youth so that Ali can dig a tunnel under the neighboring cemetery in order to access what Hashem merely refers to as a treasure that will enrich them all.

Ali displays wiles and grit in surreptitiously accessing the bowels of the school to carry out the physically draining task. He also looks out for his pals, including Abolfazl, an Afghan immigrant who excels at math, and Reza (Mani Ghafouri), who dreams of making Iran's national soccer team. Ali also befriends Abolfazl's cute sister, Zahra (Shamila Shirzad), who hawks trinkets on the city's transit system.  And he skillfully navigates the school's administration -- itself a shell game of manipulating funders to keep the lights on -- finding at least one ally who believes in fighting for the futures of these exploited children.

Majidi, known for his late '90s coming-of-age tales "Children of Heaven" and "The Color of Paradise" (and co-writing with Nima Javidi), crafts a narrative as taut as a '70s crime caper. He packs a lot of plot development in 99 efficient minutes. His young star, Zamani, comes off as a scruffy young Tom Cruise intent on carrying out his mission impossible. Majidi fills in the boys' back stories with side plots about Ali's shell-shocked mother and another boy's meddling alcoholic father. Zamani and Shirzad are like a miniature Bogey and Bacall, finding each other attractive and respecting each other's grift.

It all builds to a shrewd, devastating conclusion. What is to become of the youth besieged by the inept and corrupt adults dominating their lives?

BONUS TRACKS

"Another Simple Favor" has the gall to borrow Spaghetti Western icon Ennio Morricone for its soundtrack, the lush touchstone, "C'era una Volta il West":

 

 The trailer for "Sun Children":

That '70s Drift: Listen Up

 

THE CONVERSATION (1974) (B) - Having finally gotten around to this touchstone of '70s realism, prompted by the death of Gene Hackman, I was surprised how sloppy this post-"Godfather" feature from Francis Ford Coppola is. Hackman plays Harry Caul, an audio-surveillance specialist who is overwhelmed by guilt over his role in what he suspects is a plan to kill a young couple.

 

Caul is cautious to the point of paranoia in guarding his own personal life and protecting his personal safety from the shady characters who pay him handsomely for his services. He becomes obsessed with his latest recording, of that couple (Cindy Marshall and Frederic Forrest) having a random conversation in San Francisco's Union Square. That conversation will recur in various loops throughout the movie, just like it might run through a person's mind, over and over again. 

Caul's own life will become jeopardized as he seeks to withhold the finished enhanced tapes, which then get stolen. Hackman will take his character through a spiral into mental instability, as he discovers the true motives of the couple and the mysterious man (the Director) who hired him -- as his own fears of being targeted become more justified. 

Hackman is surrounded by a fine cast -- in particular John Cazale as Caul's tech partner. Harrison Ford is the assistant to the Director. Teri Garr and Elizabeth MacRae are delightful as prostitutes whom Caul takes up with. A climactic scene between Caul and MacRae's Meredith is scored to a finished recording of the conversation, and it's a feverish scene that stands out in an otherwise frustrating visual palette. There is too much repetition of snippets of the conversation, and too much of the verite dialogue is muffled -- it's not clear whether that is intentional or ironic. Hackman saves this in the end, but it too often seems like a missed opportunity at key moments.

BEING THERE (1979) (A-minus) - Peter Sellers is mesmerizing as an improbably exalted simpleton, in the capstone to director Hal Ashby's perfect decade-long run, a parable about politics and media from Polish novelist Jerzy Kosinski.

Sellers is Chance the gardener, who for the first time ever leaves the cloistered estate he has served his whole life after the wealthy old man dies and the man's lawyers dismiss the staff. Having only the knowledge of the world he has learned from his television set, Chance wanders the gritty streets of D.C. before falling in with another rich old man, Ben Rand (Melvyn Douglas), and his soon-to-be-widow, the much younger Eve (Shirley MacLaine). Ben, Eve, and others would never assume Chance -- now misnamed Chauncey Gardiner -- is an illiterate man-child, and so every interaction with him is misinterpreted as Chauncey dispensing mystical wisdom steeped in bland gardening metaphors. Background checks prove fruitless, as Chauncey is untraceable.

 

Ben is connected to the president (Jack Warden), and before long Chauncey -- these days we would call him mentally challenged -- is hailed as a straight-talking political pundit, a breath of fresh air in the cynical beltway. Ashby juggles the concepts of suspended-disbelief and magical realism throughout, maintaining a momentum that must never pause the conceit even for a second, lest the narrative completely fall apart. The dialogue is off just enough to be amusing but not too far off to be ridiculous.

It's an incredible feat pulled off by Kosinski and screenwriter Robert C. Jones (Ashby's regular editor who penned "Coming Home" the year before). But none of it works without Sellers, who developed a flat vocal affect, blank visage and halting gait for the lead role. His demeanor as the calm in the middle of the storm is a master class in restraint and character creation. MacLaine is delicious as the deathbed spouse who falls for Chauncey's raw appeal. In her early 40s at the time, she is at the top of her game. When Chauncey, who shows little interest in or knowledge of sex, tells her he "likes to watch" -- he merely is talking about television -- she is aroused to the point of self-gratification, writhing on a bearskin rug next to Chauncey's bed.

Ashby turns this into a sharp critique of elite society and a bold political statement. (He also takes an early swipe at the idea of white privilege.) He is blessed with the other-worldly talent of Sellers, who would die months after the movie's release.

Let the Mystery Be

 

TRENQUE LAUQUEN (B) - It takes a certain level of confidence to slowly unfurl a four-hour story, edited into shifting time loops, with a central mystery that does not get fully resolved or even explained. But if you have a fondness for serpentine storytelling with a small-town "Northern Exposure" vibe, then you might not mind spending time with this charming Argentine curiosity.

 

The film begins in the middle. Botanist Laura (Laura Paredes) has vanished, and her boyfriend Rafael (Rafael Spregelburd) and her colleague Ezequiel/Chicho (Ezequiel Pierri) begin to track her to the inland town of Trenque Lauquen, where she was in pursuit of an elusive flower and hung out as part of the cast of a radio news show hosted by the charming Juliana (Juliana Muras). In fact, the radio sessions, appealingly authentic, are perhaps the best part of the film, an entertaining Greek chorus helping the convoluted plot get straightened out.

Nested within the main narrative, in the first two hours, is an erotic correspondence between two lovers discovered by Laura hidden in books from the town's public library. She shares the letters with Chicho, and he falls hard for her, though they do nothing more than share a fleeting kiss. Throughout the film, Pierri, as Chicho, has a schnauzer-like beard and a puppy-dog longing for his crush. Just before disappearing, Laura sneaks into the radio station and records a rambling explanation of much of what led her to go off on her own, and Juliana shares the recording with Chicho, who helplessly falls further for the woman he cannot have.

Director Laura Citarella (who co-wrote with her star Paredes) -- as you'd expect in a four-hour stemwinder -- is in no hurry to explain herself here, and you can break this into anywhere from two to eight pieces (like half-hour episodes of a mini-series) and you won't sacrifice any momentum or understanding of Citarella's motivations. The second half is dominated by Laura's interactions with Elisa Esperanza (Elisa Carricajo), the frustrated lead investigator of a supernatural incident at the lake involving a beast variously described as a wild boy or an alligator. Laura is taken in by Elisa and Elisa's partner, but that storyline doesn't really lead anywhere. I'm not sure, but it seems Laura believes that Elisa might be the reincarnation of the woman from the erotic correspondence. Carricajo has an arresting presence, playing up her big pregnant belly and eviscerating Laura with sharp side glances.

The sci-fi angle can be a bit much; thankfully, Juliana and her zoo-crew have fun with the tabloid news angle, and I could watch (or listen) to them for four hours. Citarella finally wraps her tale by following Laura as she sets off on her journey to wherever. A brilliant visual tracks Laura walking and the screen morphs from standard ratio to a wide-screen format. A final shot sweeps slowly like a pendulum, landing on an image that will either explain everything to you or leave you even more nonplussed. Whether you have the patience to make it past the first half hour is your call; if you make it to the end you might end up haunted for days. 

[Note: The film is leaving Criterion streaming at the end of the month, and good luck finding it somewhere after that.]

BONUS TRACKS

The film's music is quietly appealing A good sampling of the techno twist to Spaghetti Western music on the soundtrack:

 

This jangly '70s-style folk song "Los Caminos" is by Miro y su Fabulosa and Orquesta de Juguete:

 

Our title track, unrelated, from Iris Dement:

Young at Art

 

JANIS IAN: BREAKING SILENCE (B+) - I've led a fairly charmed life, free from trauma or even much struggle. But one of the toughest years of my life fell during the lonely existence of junior year of high school -- brooding over how long it would take before I kissed a girl or had a close friend. At 17.

I was a sucker in the 1970s for sensitive singer-songwriters, like Jim Croce and Paul Simon. And I learned from watching this documentary about their cohort Janis Ian that her most famous song can still feel like a sock in the gut, stirring feelings that to this day bring a tear to my eye -- "At Seventeen." As one talking head here observes, just about any one of us has moments of darkness and doubt. No song has captured that human vulnerability like Ian's 1975 smash. It was from "At Seventeen" that I learned the truth.

 

I watched her perform it on the first episode of "Saturday Night Live," when I was about 13. and it hit home four years later, an anthem for social outcasts. But Ian, of course, was much more than that one song. 

She was an accomplished songwriter in her early teens, and had a hit in 1966 at 15 with "Society's Child," a sophisticated song about race relations ("She called you 'boy' instead of your name"). And this documentary certainly allows her story to unfold, mostly through archival footage and narration by Ian, now in her 70s, who is mostly hear and not seen in present form. We also visit with talking heads, including contemporaries Joan Baez, Lily Tomlin and Arlo Guthrie; fans like actors Laurie Metcalf and Jean Smart; and fatherly former producers, George "Shadow" Martin and Brooks Arthur, all of whom put Ian's long career in perspective.

Ian comes off as a dynamo and a survivor during her various life cycles and musical phases (which, unfortunately, included a disco-era collaboration with Giorgio Moroder). Her first adult relationship was with a willowy woman who broke her heart. She would then marry an abusive alcoholic, a brute who once held her at gunpoint, before late in life finding her true life partner. Her longtime accountant left her broke in the 1980s and in debt to the IRS. She eventually reinvented herself by moving to Nashville, where she rediscovered the roots of songwriting and collaboration, penning hits for others.

Throughout, her deeply personal compositions -- she would have a career revival and fully come out of the closet in 1992 with her dark, layered album "Breaking Silence -- provide the through-line from teenager to senior citizen. (She had to cut short a farewell tour a few years ago when she lost her singing voice.) There are joyful stories throughout. She recalls getting upstaged in the late '70s, at her peak, by her opening act, an up-and-coming Billy Joel, after which she vowed never to phone in a performance again. 

The main problem with the movie is the oppressive use of re-enactments. Director Varda Bar-Kar, who styles herself as an "activist" filmmaker, assembles an entire cast of players to portray Ian and others throughout her life, and at least half the movie involves scenes scuffed up to resemble archival footage. It is amateurish and distracting. It almost ruined the film for me at several points. It was only the power of the songs and the charming tenacity of Ian that got me through the nearly two-hour running time. 

The re-enactments are especially annoying because we rarely get to view a contemporary Ian -- only at the very beginning and very end. Otherwise, she is the unseen narrator. Maybe that was Ian's choice -- why distract from the story being told with repeated visuals of a 70-something white-haired woman. I'm not a fan of biopics, especially of musicians, but Bar-Kar certainly had the material that would justify scrapping the documentary and going full tilt into historical fiction; instead, she slaps together a mixture and does neither genre justice. (She also has a curious habit of pulling back from her talking-head interviews to show the microphones, cameras and fake backgrounds, taking the viewer out of the moment.)

It is to Ian's credit that her life story weathers this artistic assault. She displays a knack for withstanding life's challenges and making a meaningful impact with her music decade after decade. It unmoors her from the gritty '70s -- and those ugly-duckling teen years -- and fleshes out her catalog. In the end, she is the star of her own biopic.

BONUS TRACKS

Ian's breakthrough, at age 15, "Society's Child," got the stamp of approval on TV from Leonard Bernstein:

 

She was influenced by English folk songs, in the era of Fairport Convention. An example is "Tea and Sympathy":

 

Ian wrote "Stars," which we previously featured in this review of a documentary about Nina Simone, after being inspired by Don McLean's "Vincent," one of those perfect compositions:

 

"Stars" plays over the closing credits, in a version by Bettye Lavette, but I couldn't find a version online.

Ian always had a jazzy side to her. Here's is a duet with Mel Torme on her song "Silly Habits"

 

Here is a song Ian wrote for a Nashville waitress who thought her average life didn't have an impact on the world. It is the lovely "Some People's Lives" (which Bette Midler covered as the title track to her 1990 album):

Enhanced Models

 

COMPANION (C-minus) - What a lackluster attempt at a sci-fi AI thriller. A flat no-name cast sleepwalks through a cobbled together idiot plot and commits the ultimate sin here -- it's boring.

 

Sophie Thatcher plays Iris, a very lifelike sexbot, who accompanies Josh (a duller than dull nepo baby Jack Quaid) on a weekend at a rich man's mansion, where the crooked millionaire (Rupert Friend doing a bad Russian accent) will end up dead, thrusting a bunch of young adults into a tale of intrigue that will involve trying to steal his stash of cash. Iris, clad in old-fashioned girl-next-door clothes, will be manipulated into helping carry out the heist. Will she be sentient enough to fight back?

Iris reveals in the opening scene that she ends up killing Josh; it's a clever device, but it does give away the ending too much. (Though the choice of murder weapon is an inspired touch.) Things get very sloppy in the end, as another AI bot shows up to raise the stakes. But things get way too sloppy, and some plot twists just don't make sense. The debut filmmaker, Drew Hancock, seems to have a bunch of ideas, but few are original. (See, for example "M3GAN," which is due for a sequel this year, or go back to "The Stepford Wives.")

Thatcher has her moments, and the idea borders on thought-provoking in the way that it plays with the idea of how couples manufacture their origin story or use it as a weapon against each other. But it gets tiring to have to figure out why some bot reboots go back to the factory setting but others don't, solely for the convenience of the narrative. The supporting cast adds no oomph, and it all leads up to an exceptionally bloody ending, as you'd suspect. Some relationships are just not meant to work out.

CAROL DODA TOPLESS AT THE CONDOR (B) - This is a breezy nostalgia tour of the phenomenon of the 1960s when Carol Doda made a splash in San Francisco and ushered in the mainstream era of nude dancing and outlandish silicone breast injections. Throw in a bunch of goombah club owners and a mob-related slaying, and there is plenty of pulp here to justify 100 minutes of documentary time.

 

Credit to filmmakers Marlo McKenzie and Johnathan Parker for their deft weaving together of archival footage with contemporary interviews of colorful characters who are good at storytelling. Doda, who died in 2015, is seen through old interviews. 

The film captures the buzz of the early '60s North Beach scene, especially glitzy Broadway Street, just as X-rated movies and stage shows were coming out of the shadows. The timeline here is consistent, as the decadence morphs into the permissiveness of the hippie scene and San Francisco's Summer of Love in 1967. Old club owners, bartenders and strippers are on hand to wax on about the era and fill us youngsters in on the phenomenon of Doda emerging from the ceiling, standing on top of a piano, being lowered to the ground and unveiling the famous fashion design of the day -- the breast-exposing monokini. 

Doda would go on to get a ridiculous number of silicone injections, eventually swelling her breasts from a B-cup to double D's. A fellow stripper tells the horrifying tale of doing the same and suffering a bout of post-natal gangrene that cost her both breasts. It was a wild time, and Doda gets some credit for trying to stand up for herself amid the exploitation -- she eventually got a stake in a club and could be seen as a pioneer by future generations of sex workers. 

The footage is fairly tame at first, but it doesn't take long for the nudity to go wall-to-wall for the final two-thirds of the film. It eventually becomes beside the point, and you're able to appreciate a bunch of old pals spinning war stories from a classic era.

New to the Queue

 Let the countdown begin ...

 

We have high hopes for the teaming of Tim Robinson and Paul Rudd in a debut film about how men become pals, "Friendship."

From the team behind "Buzzard," two losers try to reconcile their pasts during a trip into the woods, "Vulcanizadora."

A light-hearted look at an old R&B singer-songwriter, "Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted."

A documentary about New York's 1975 financial crisis, with a title riffing on the famous New York Daily News headline, "Drop Dead City."

Anna Kendrick and Blake Lively are worth revisiting as they return to their 2018 tale of intrigue, from Paul Feig, "Another Simple Favor."

High Point of the Lo-Fi Movement

 

LOUDER THAN YOU THINK: A LO-FI HISTORY OF GARY YOUNG AND PAVEMENT (B+) - We'll eventually get to see Alex Ross Perry's experimental history of the '90s indie darlings Pavement, but until then, it's good to have this straightforward mainstream tick-tock of the Stockton, Calif., good guys, even if it's done here through the filter of the band's bonkers original drummer, Gary Young.

In the headline to Richard Brody's review of Perry's "Pavements," the group is referred to as "big in the nineties and bigger in memory." One of the joys of "Louder Than You Think" is seeing all the band members participate and placing into perspective (and the historical record) the brilliance of "Slanted and Enchanted," the band's buzzy 1992 debut album that helped put the boutique label Matador Records on the map. Sometimes with a documentary, like a good song, all you have to do is to hit all your spots and have a catchy hook. Young (below, center), an unrepentant alcoholic and drug abuser up until his 2023 death at 70, makes for a fascinating character study while we celebrate a truly innovative indie band.

Young was of a different generation than the youngsters who knocked on his door wanting to record their first songs -- Scott Kannberg (above left) and Stephen Malkmus (right). Young was a Boomer, born in the early '50s, while the band members were born in the mid-'60s. In fact, Malkmus, the laconic songwriter and lead singer, just might be the quintessential Gen X person. His interviews alternate between ironic detachment and exasperation in recalling how Young's antics -- insisting on doing headstands during song and sometimes showing up in no condition to perform -- earned the drummer a following of his own. 

Malkmus and Kannberg (along with Bob Nastanovich, who would arrive later and serve as Young's backup and baby-sitter) had a near-phobia about being popular rock stars, while Young wanted to be Buddy Rich, Ringo Starr and Ginger Baker rolled into one. One great story from the road highlights Young's showmanship -- he was partial to tossing a drumstick in the air and catching it (ta-da!) -- while the normie front men cringe with hipster embarrassment. As Malkmus put it, Young favored "prog-rock extravagance" while surrounded by "unconfident dudes who are worried about being cool or something." A classic generation gap.

That tension would lead to Young's exit after their first big tour opening for Sonic Youth. By the end of 1993, about a year into their popularity, Young made crazy financial demands and parted ways with the band. Young seems to have few regrets about flaming out -- though you certainly can detect a catch in the voice of his long-suffering wife, Geri, as she recounts those days with a sigh. Young made some solo recordings, which have an outsider-artist feel (to be charitable) and went back to relative obscurity as a recording engineer. Pavement would release a solid sophomore effort (1994's "Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain") and a collection of their early recordings before the magic wore off; by 1996's "Wowee Zowee" (which I panned in the Chicago Sun-Times) Malkmus' lyrical well would run dry, and after two more tepid releases the band broke up in 1999, a perfect capstone to a decade. (An academic article could be considered comparing Pavement's drop-off in quality following the loss of Young to the Replacements' slide after firing alcoholic guitarist Bob Stinson. Discuss.)

Young, hunched over from scoliosis and slurring his words because of his booze-soaked brain, sits for hours of interviews, recounting the band's early days and never hiding his ongoing drinking problem (he boasts of ingesting "a quart of whiskey" a day). When asked about Young out-drinking the other band members, the band's tour engineer says, "He usually outdrank himself." Young apparently was hyperactive his whole life; his brother observes that it must have been "energetically demanding to be him," which helps explain the self-medicating. He claims to have dropped acid more than 300 times when he was 16 years old.

Debut director Jed Rosenberg, with co-writer Greg King, balances a light-hearted approach with a, er, sober analysis of the band's early years leading up to the "Slanted and Enchanted" success. They use jangly marionettes (in the style of "Team America: World Police" and "Pee-wee's Playhouse") to re-enact some of Young's antics. Talking heads include Young's brother, other band members, and Chris Lombardi, who founded Matador in his New York apartment in 1989.

It was around that time that Kannberg and Malkmus reconnected in their hometown of Stockton, found Young at his Louder Than You Think home studio and put out a series of raw EPs and singles (most on Chicago's Drag City label), culminating in 1991 with their signature tune "Summer Babe." The recordings were fairly crude, in the mode of the era, though Young here bristles at the labeling of "lo-fi" -- he insists he was making quality recordings. He became their drummer by default, in the recordings leading up to "Slanted" and on tour

There is a nostalgic rush in the telling of the band's emergence in 1992. Tapes of "Slanted" circulated, and Spin magazine, the mainstream taste-maker of the day, reviewed the album from a cassette copy, giving it a five-star rave and launching a phenomenon. I still remember spinning the CD for the first time and feeling like a new genre had opened up. It was obtuse and clever and fresh.

Kannberg is listed as an executive producer, and you can appreciate his input, which must have helped the filmmakers walk the line between presenting Young as a clown vs. as a serious influence on '90s independent music. It's an admirable study of art and addiction. And it's a valentine to the Heyday of the Planet of Sound, when possibilities seemed endless across many genres of music. Young was a key contributor, and he gets his due here.

BONUS TRACKS

From "Slanted," the propulsive anthem "Two States":

 

Here is the Wedding Present's more hi-fi cover of "Box Elder," from Pavement's first EP:

 

And Young's memorable drumming on the timeless pop masterpiece, "Summer Babe":