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2001, Japan, 103 Min, color, in Japanese w/ English subtitles

Masahiro Kobayashi’s Man Walking on Snow (2001), aka Aruku, hito, is the third feature film from Kobayashi and was an Un Certain Regard candidate at the 2001 Cannes Film Festival. In this indelibly subtle drama, we follow an aging widower who lives the quiet life in a snow-covered town in Northern Japan. The old man, Nobuo (Ken Ogata), finds joy in working at a salmon hatchery, a job where he works alongside that of an attractive coquette, Michiko (Sayoko Ishii). At heart, this hushed story considers the confinement of ones atmosphere, the suppression of ones emotions, loneliness, foreseeable daily routines, and the longing for something new. Kobayashi creates an enjoyably realistic and minimalistic atmosphere that is nuanced with notes of irony and unexpected moments of excitement.

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The first movie to successfully copy the poster for The 40 Year-Old Virgin, but one of Soderbergh’s weaker films

By Jack Kentala

Yet another disclaimer: This is not your typical film review. I spend half of it talking about cinematography and name-dropping the past ten years of Soderbergh films. I also may or may not reveal the ending. That said, you’re still allowed to read it. If you want.

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Love it or hate it, you can’t ignore a new Quentin Tarantino film

By Jack Kentala

To disclaim: This isn’t a bog-standard review. There won’t be a plot summary. There won’t be any spoiler warnings; said spoilers will be applied liberally, probably within the first paragraph. And I won’t even attempt to provide a fair-and-balanced, point-counterpoint view.

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Sci-fi action movie that aspires to be…something with aspirations?

By Jack Kentala

Before I begin: This is not a review. I won’t summarize the plot; that can be found elsewhere. I’ll talk about many plot points, including the end of the film, so for those who wish to avoid those sort of things, shield your eyes.

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A film by Götz Spielmann, In German with English subtitles, 121 min, Austria

By Andrew Rosinski

Nominated for a 2009 Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, Götz Spielmann’s Revanche is a dark allegory of the human mental fight — distinctly European; distinctly vanguard — an incisive influx of erotica, existentialism, optimism, pessimism, and, best of all, it’s told in a neo-realist fashion, so the film is tragically human and admirably perceptive of human nature and all its polarities.  It certainly is an emotional piece; the surface of the film is painted morose, but under all that gloom is an indescribable and beautiful universal truth that’s (more…)

A film by Storm De Hirsch, 1965, 8 mins, 8mm

Filmmakers never have a valid excuse not to make films — you don’t even need a camera to make a film — nor a computer.  Storm De Hirsch, a film avant-gardener of the ’60s, didn’t have a camera — she definitely didn’t have a computer — all she had was old, unused film stock and a few rolls of 16mm sound tape.  Throwing aside the animation conventions of the ’60s (usually frame-by-frame photography of drawings on paper or transparencies), De Hirsch successfully created a trilogy of films by painting directly on old film stock, cutting, and etching the (more…)

A film by Louis Malle, 1981, 110 minutes

By Maria Bazhlekova

“All I thought about was art and music, now all I think about is money,” says Wallace Shawn in his narration at the start of Louis Malle’s My Dinner with Andre.  Wallace Shawn is a clear-eyed, pragmatic New Yorker who has been roped into having dinner with an old friend named Andre Gregory.  Gregory is an uninhibited, idealistic, experimental theater director.  The conflict of the film, which almost entirely takes place during a dinner conversation between these men, arises from the differences in these men’s personalities.  Andre Gregory is the last individual on the planet who would ever say that all he thinks about nowadays is money.

Since both men play characters (more…)

Bruce Conner was many things — filmmaker, photographer, sculptor, culture jammer — he was a prolific and influential artist, whose work plied many territories, but was never dull.  Primarily known for his innovative filmmaking, Conner built entire films from scraps of found footage that he culled from newsreels, public service announcements, B movies, and other forms of preexisting media.  A Movie (1958), Conner’s best-known work, was built soley of pre-existing footage, which he manipulated through kinetic editing, heavy repetition, and image juxtaposition.

Stan Brakhage, a fellow experimental filmmaker and friend to Conner, writes of Conner in (more…)

Careful(1992), Guy Maddin’s third feature film, draws inspiration from such films as The Cabinet of Dr. Calighara (1920) and A Trip to the Moon (1902).  Upon its release, some critics classified Careful as a neo-german-expressionist film — visually, this is true — however, Careful’s candy-eye visuals occasionally serve as artifice that sets the viewer up for an unexpected comdedic round-house kick.  Wild humor and sound considered, Canadian Expressionism is more suitable — it’s a wildly original film that sits next to The Saddest Music in the World (1996) and Sissy Boy Slap Party (1994) as Maddin’s best work to date.

In Careful, Guy Maddin’s third feature film, Surrealist visuals run amok and the mise en scène recalls A Trip to the Moon (1902) or that of a German Expressionist film like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). There also is a heavy dose of Bunuel influence, too, for there are many moments that call to mind Un Chien Andalou (1929) and L’Age D’or (1930).

The film begins with a washed out sepia tint and fluctuates between black/white and hyper-stylized coloring throughout.  At times the pairing of red and green lighting gels resemble the set of a Dario Argento movie, specifically Suspiria (1977).  Maddin shot the film on super 16mm and blew it up to a 35mm print, therefore the picture is noticeably grainy, and Maddin probably did this (more…)

Many see the 1980s as the launch-pad for the computer animation movement, but this is not the case for pioneer filmmaker John Whitney, whose work as a motionographer, visual fx artist, and an inventor, would garner him worldwide acclaim, awards, and the preservation of several of his films.

Many overlook the fact that Whitney — both god and father to (more…)

A Film by Chris Marker & Mario Ruspoli (1972, France, 17 min)

If you’re in Chicago today (4/15/09), don’t miss Chris Marker’s documentary Three Cheers for the Whale, a 17 minute film that will preface Deborah Stratman’s O’er the Land.

Everyone is welcome, the event is free, and the seating it limited.   Please pass the word to those who enjoy obscure documentary gems.  Here is the viva doc event schedule for today:

5:15 Three Cheers for the Whale

5:45 O’er the Land (on 16mm!)

7:00 Open discussion with filmmaker Deborah Stratman (discussion may start 5-10 minutes earlier than expected)

“Whales, I love you.”

Synopsis: Three Cheers for a Whale, the 17 min. documentary from Chris Marker (Sans Solei, La Jetee), is a melancholy ode to the whale —  part of Marker’s Bestiary series, the majority of Whale is driven by still images and mixed with sparse, but violent, live action footage of Whalers spearing whales.

Pondering the slaughter of this majestic giant is a female narrator whose voice resembles an NPR host on Mescaline; awash with meditative voiceover, metaphor, and abstractions — signature elements of a Chris Marker film — Three Cheers for the Whale recalls some of his best poetic moments in a film he would later make, Sans Solei (1982).

In Order Not to Be Here is the inspired, award-winning vision from Chicago-based experimental filmmaker and artist Deborah Stratman. Rife with creepiness, In Orderfeels like a bad-dream—or a leaked surveillance video from a lurking shadow government—it’s a dreamy, objectively-haunting, quasi-surveillance video. It’s also a film that poses many questions, one being the inevitable query of categorization: docudrama or experimental narrative?

In Order opens with an aerial, infrared intelligence video of a k9-team, who is in the midst of a hunt; following radio command from a offscreen surveyor, the dog-team slogs through darkness to capture an unknown figure.

A more subdued middle-passage succeeds this gripping opening, shifting focus to an indexing of familiar suburban imagery (e.g. fast-food, fences, street-lights); alas, we confront the bleak reality of our consumer-driven milieu—and, yes, it’s also a reminder that we know the characteristics of a McDonald’s building far too well (!).

A memorable chase scene book-ends this and, again, Stratman experiments with the aerial point of view camera. In fact, Deborah employs a handful of experimental film techniques throughout, including modified usage of the Kuleshov Effect, which proves to be sharply effective in a small number of instances, the most notable being audio from a news report (or quasi-news report) detailing a fire, which plays over this concluding chase, and, in turn, bestowing new meaning upon the image—altering a unknown runner into a fleeing arsonist, adding a sense of suspense and story.

Subversive and soigne, subterraneous and shadowy, In Order Not to Be Here is trenchant proof that Deborah Stratman is a trail-blazer clearing her way to the forefront of contemporary experimental film. ▲

Deborah will screen and discuss her newest work, an 55 minute experimental doc, O’er the Land (2008), on 4/15/09, part of Viva Documentary’s Winter Film Series. Deborah’s doc, The BLVD (’99), examines Chicago’s the subterranean street-racing culture, and will screen at viva doc on 4/7/09).

Deborah Stratman’s website, Pythagoras Film

Chris Marker’s Bullfight in Okinawa is a bizarre, 4 min documentary that introduces viewers to Japan’s subterranean past time of bullfighting. Part of Markers five-film “Bestiary” series, Bullfight employs observational documentary techniques and, in particular, Marker’s camerawork is impressive — tight framed shots, free-hand pans, and quick zooms all contribute to the film’s urgent sense of tension — and, if it weren’t for the suspense inducing music, this short-gem would be damn close to pure objective documentary cinema.

Be sure not to miss this short, hidden-gem — it’s only four minutes long, and is quite the bizarre spectacle — witness the primal rage of two seemingly bull-trainers as they shout at fighting bulls.

This film is part of the Viva Documentary 2009 film series.

Playing with  (2008).

Tuesday, April 7th

5:15pm @ the Michael Rabiger Center for Documentary Film.

1104 S. Wabash RM 407, Chicago, IL

A Film by Albert Maysles, David Maysles and Ellen Hovde, 16mm, color, 28 mins

Two years ago, a Christmas gift introduced me to a photograph of a giant, orange curtain:  The curtain spoke to me with its warm aura and summery temper, seducing me, raising questions, generating fantasies, and leaving me wanting more.  This was more than just an ordinary curtain — it was the valley curtain, a grand idea turned community-art-project from Bulgarian-born New York artist Christo, whose bold vision verified the positive effects art has on community, society, and the human spirit.

Hanging a big curtain has a big impact.

Bridging the quarter-mile valley of Rifle Gap, Colorado, Christo’s self-funded Valley Curtain project, put a small community to work by providing paying wages to the jobless.  Cristo’s project was quite ambitious, considering the project cost $775,000 and the curtain was only to hang for a mere 24 hours.

Nevertheless, it’s safe to say the Valley Curtain project was worth every penny.  In a cooperative effort to drape nine tons of orange, nylon-polymide fabric from four steel cables, suspended at 365 feet, completion was met with glowing achievement.

Nominated for an Academy Award, Valley Curtain is a compelling twenty-eight minute documentary from renowned documentarians Albert and David Maysles, whom authentically capture the enthusiasm of all individuals involved with the curtain.  Shot on 16mm film, Valley Curtain is composed of warm imagery; sunlight floods through and illuminates the orange fabric as it flaps in the wind against a vibrant, blue-sky backdrop, successfully preserving the timeless beauty of the valley curtain, and, accurately archiving the sunny moral of the artist and his workers during a generally cheerful experience.

Inherent pacing prevents the film from ever lagging and allows Valley Curtain to move along briskly.  Truly a visual story, the Maysles Brothers allow the story to unfold by way of Christo’s enthusiasm, and, through the candid behavior of the participants, who experience significant changes stemming from being part of creating art.  Accompanied by strong, blossoming imagery, Valley Curtain is a flawless portrait of an artist that is not to be missed.