Seattle Film Fest Installment 4: Who's Your Buddy?
No one guards her private life in Hollywood more closely than Jodie Foster does.
By Rebecca Redshaw
Reprinted from NotesFromHollywood.com
Editor's Note: If you're visiting this page for the first time, begin with Installment 1 at the bottom of the page and read the stories in reverse.
Installment 3
“Who’s Your Buddy?”
No one guards her private life in Hollywood more closely than Jodie Foster does. In “The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys,” a film produced by her company, Jodie comes out of the closet not as a clandestine member of the NRA or a contestant on the disgusting television reality show, Fear Factor, or even a stunningly attractive lesbian, the epitome of all that is good both masculine and feminine.
No, Ms. Foster comes out, or rather, into the lives of troubled young Catholics as, of all things, a nun. Sister Assumpta doesn’t look like any nun I’ve ever seen in spite of the severe black habit and sensible shoes. And she doesn’t exactly roar on her putt-putt scooter but in the altar boys’ fantasies, this Sister rides a powerful hog and makes their lives miserable at every turn.
The title, “The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys,” a film by Peter Care, in these times draws images in one’s mind far more disturbing than the angst of misunderstood young teens in the 70’s. Given the current headlines, it might be wise to adopt a new title. As wonderful an actress as Foster is (she is supported ably by Vincent D’Onofrio as the priest you might want your children to spend time with), it was hard separating the triteness of her classroom pranksters with today’s troubled adult victims.
The audience for “Altar Boys” is challenged on two fronts, the first, artistic choices and the second, plot turns.
At first, the film seems like a coming of age story with a few twists and turns. Decked out in dark slacks, white shirts and ties, these thirteenish lads share beers in a secret hangout and draw cartoons in school binders to foil their nemesis, Sister Jodie.
The comic super heroes created by their alter egos are transformed in animation segments throughout the movie. Although initially disconcerting, this technique is well integrated and adds to the progress of the story line. In their fantasies, the cartoon nun is as deadly as the boys are powerful and they have a grand time meeting her head on with cartoon weaponry.
If “Altar Boys” was just a cartoon adventure coming to life it might have worked better. But there are huge emotional leaps required in this film.
The magic of a first kiss and the harmless prank of absconding with a statue of the Virgin Mary and holding it for ransom are countered with incest, alcoholic home life, and ultimately, a gruesome death. The emotional leaps required of the moviegoer are too great.
Emile Hirsch as Francis Doyle and Kieran Culkin as the troubled Tim Sullivan are essentially the stars of this coming of age film, even though they have other youthful partners in crime. Culkin’s screen presence is formidable and it’s clear that he could carry a film in the future, with or without a “buddy.”
Usually “buddy” films are about cool people like Butch and Sundance or Thelma and Louise. Elling, a Norwegian film, takes the genre to a different level by naming only one of the leads in the title. Nothing is amiss. This buddy movie is a gem.
Elling is the epitome of uncool. He meets Kjell, a sex-obsessed virgin and glutton, when they become roommates by happenstance as adult wards of the state. It is never clarified as to the reasons they are institutionalized and as the story unfolds, who cares?
After living two years together in the safety of the institution, Elling and Kjell are given an apartment in Oslo to transition into the real world.
Their liaison, a frustrated and overworked social worker, insists that the roommates venture forth beyond the apartment walls to buy groceries, yet the challenge of dialing the phone for Elling is almost more than he can bear.
Their first step in achieving independence is discovered by the social worker when he receives an outrageous phone bill for phone-sex calls. Not exactly what he had in mind when he advised Kjell and Elling to get involved beyond the four walls of their apartment.
The treat of watching the layers of the characters unfold is similar to unwrapping box within box of a surprise birthday present. The accomplishment of the paranoid Elling, played by Per Christian Ellefsen, to be able to pee in a restaurant men’s room with a finger snap brings our hero closer to being an accepted member of society.
On an overnight camping trip, Sven Nordin (Norway’s answer to Gerard Depardieu), as the oafish but lovable Kjell, begs Elling for his underpants. Alas, the possibility of losing his virginity presents itself and he realizes he hasn’t changed his shorts in days.
As these misfits stumble finding their way in strange territory, we laugh with them, not at them, realizing their foibles are not that far from what we consider the norm.
Usually, movies adapted from theatrical productions are awkward or stagnant or both. Thanks to director Petter Naess, Elling transitions beautifully.
Installment Two
"Right As Rain" and Other Cliches
After screening the independent feature “Rain,” I came away with so many unanswered questions I decided I better answer them myself. Being a Gemini, the sign of the twins, offered the perfect opportunity for me to engage in a one on one interview if not, alas, face to face.
Why did you choose to attend the screening of RAIN out of the more than two hundred and forty films at the Seattle International Film Festival?
Initially, the scheduled time for screening worked well with my travel plans. Since I need to drive an hour and a half to the ferry, crossing the bay adds another half-hour, and then walking briskly up hill to the Egyptian Theatre adds another half-hour, I could manage possibly three screenings in one sitting before retracing my tracks at the end of the day.
But also integral in my plans was seeing independent films directed and/or written by women. RAIN fit the bill with Katherine Lindberg on both counts.
The short blip, written to entice the uninitiated public to attend, foreshadowed the grim plot, so I was indeed warned this was no comedy. Anytime you read words like “American-gothic tragedy” and “deep-buried secrets” the prospect of Meg Ryan being interested in the big money remake is slim. But tragedy is OK by me. It helps the Gemini in me appreciate the flip side of life.
The clincher for me to attend RAIN was the credit listing Martin Scorsese as Executive Producer. I love his work. Goodfellas. The Raging Bull. Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. I even like The Age of Innocence. How bad could it be if Marty was involved?
How would you rate the movie, RAIN, overall?
First of all, I never rate movies. The last time I paid attention to a star I was in the first grade and there was glue on the back of it to paste it to my forehead. If you don’t want to read reviews then take your chances and go see the film like I do. If you want to read a review, then read the review! Don’t skip to smilie faces, or moons, or thumbs up or down to let someone else determine your pleasure activities with a glance. At the least, read a few paragraphs.
Secondly, if I were to rate a movie like this one it would be by “Watch Looks.” If I look at my watch once, a movie is probably too long. If I look more than once, particularly in the first half-hour it probably means one of two things. Either the story has been told a hundred times before and better.
OR it’s trying too hard to be something it isn’t. In the case of RAIN, both are true. Nothing is more painful to watch than someone trying to be deep when he or she is out of their depth before the credits are over.
The script?
Frequently reviewers’ words are taken out of context to boost bogus movie critiques. For instance, “Stupendous” might be lifted from an original review stating “…a stupendous waste of talent.” “Academy Award consideration” might be a partial quote, 180 degrees from the original meaning of “…a far cry from any Academy Award consideration.”
Putting the process in reverse. Let lines lifted from the actual RAIN script testify to its worth. “Ah, shit.” “It’s lousy.” And in reference to staying until the end credits – “You don’t just leave a place like this.”
Were at least the production values worthy of the monies spent?
The acting talent displayed was marginal at best but a mundane script and tedious direction can easily hamper performances. I’d rather not comment on individual actors. The cinematography was dingy but I think purposely so.
Frequently, Indies will run short of money towards the end of a project and music gets the short shift. It appears to be the case with RAIN. If the boring, repetitive guitar lines were intended to be melancholy they succeeded only in sounding amateurly morose.
Worst of all sins, far more than dialogue being so low the old couple behind you keeps asking “What did he say?” is the painfully loud car effects. The young man beside me held his ears as if an ambulance was passing and I quickly followed suit. Wasn’t anyone listening at the mix session?
How did RAIN get accepted by this reputable festival?
My guess is the name Scorsese helped. I discussed this issue with one of the best film festival programmers in the country, Craig Prater of the Palm Springs’ Festival of Festivals and Film Noir Festival, and he confirmed my guess. “The truth of the matter is if I got a film that was submitted by Martin Scorsese, I would probably take it. I would take it knowing that the people and critics in the audience might say, “What in the hell has Scorsese done now?” Another reason I would take the film is that it also shows that no matter who it is and the success and reputation he has he also has the ability to do duds just like anybody else. I mean, have you seen Woody Allen’s latest film? It’s just awful but I’ve seen so many of his that are just genius and I go to his films because it might be the one.”
Did Diane Ladd have nothing better to do?
Appearing in seventy-five movies over a span of five decades, you wouldn’t think Diane Ladd would need to work. Whether she does or doesn’t is irrelevant. She has the dubious distinction in this flick to open a long hidden birth certificate and, upon reading what she must have known all along, actually spills a glass of milk. No use crying, you say? But she does. Throughout the movie her pained expression as the troubled mother rarely changes. Except maybe once when she wears an orange pumpkin colored suit and hideous hat. No doubt she used that costume as motivation for her range of depressed expression.
Who got Martin Scorsese interested? Did he see the final cut?
I’d love to know the answers to those questions. The man’s an icon. His efforts to restore and preserve films are world-renowned. Was he so conscious of letting a new filmmaker tell a story that he wasn’t available to offer guidance? Was he available and his advice ignored? Does he lend his name to other projects? Would he lend it to my film if I had one? ‘Cause I’ll get one if he would sign on as Executive Producer. Why am I asking the questions? Aren’t I supposed to be answering them?
Ah, we’ve come full circle. See RAIN if you want to, or not. It will probably be available on video if you don’t want to plop down the eight bucks or if it comes and goes so quickly at the local Cineplex you miss your chance.
Prelude to the Seattle International Film Festival
The dream of climbing earth’s highest mountain has been accomplished. To conquer space, all you need is a hefty bank account and possibly some N’Sync dance moves. One might think new challenges would be hard to come by. But to make a successful movie, or better yet a good one, seems to be a goal pursued by countless dreamers.
Once a script has been pitched and monies of varying amounts are committed and all the elements of this unique creative collaboration are literally “in the can,” the process of bringing the work to the attention of more than just one’s relatives becomes yet another step in the challenge.
One way to get exposure, and ultimately theatrical distribution, is to enter the entertainment world’s version of the farmer’s market.
Film festivals are everywhere. If you’re a filmmaker, the only restrictions placed on entering a plethora of venues are the varying entrance fees. If you’re a fan of discovering a potential gem of a story or new directing talent, then your restrictions are cost (from $8.00 for a single screening to $750.00 for a Platinum Pass, time (up to three weeks), and travel (anywhere in the world).
The fact is if you want to spend your entire waking hours in a padded seat, in the dark with the ever-present aroma of popcorn in the air it would be entirely possible.
For more than a quarter of a century, the Seattle International Film Festival [SIFF] has offered a venue for filmmakers to screen their work. Starting with only eighteen films in 1976, it has expanded to a twenty-three day event with more that two hundred and fifty films submitted from more than fifty countries.
Some of the films have big name star power. Christina Ricci and Brenda Blethyn star in Pumpkin and Catherine Deneuve is featured in the French/Portuguese production of I’m Going Home. Igby Goes Down is the opening night world premiere and includes Susan Sarandon, Kieran Culkin, and Jeff Goldblum in the cast. This feature is one of the lucky ones entered in the festival with a tentative release date scheduled for August.
Leafing through the program, some memorable film titles seem to jump off the page. Chinatown, McCabe and Mrs. Miller, and Days of Heaven are part of a tribute to the ‘70’s film era. The brilliance of cinematographer James Wong Howe, is available to see free of charge at select times during the festival. Such classics as the 1937 version of The Prisoner of Zenda and the film based on William Inge’s classic play, Picnic (1955) reminds the viewer how vision in the hands of genius precedes the masses.
At SIFF from May 23rd through June 16th there are seminars and tributes, forums and shorts but mostly there are movies. One of the best parts of attending a festival is seeing a film without any preconceived notions. No one has given it thumbs up or down, no amount of stars has been assigned and there are no overnight grosses to sway your predilection of praising or panning a movie before you’ve personally seen it from opening frame to the final credit.
Two films that you probably will not see at your local multiplex anytime ever are Britney Baby, One More Time and Black Picket Fences. Available for prescreening by the press, the former is an amateurish attempt at comedy that lacks imagination. Its only redeeming factor is a length of eighty-two minutes. The latter is a well-intentioned documentary about a wannabe rap artist’s struggles in life and made at least this critic want to rent Hoop Dreams (the Audience winner at Sundance a number of years ago), to see how inspiring this genre can be.
Even though these two entries were disappointing at least the festival offers the opportunity to see them! No one wants a few studio executives to limit our cinematic choices to the Pearl Harbors’ and Godzillas’ of the world.
Two down and two hundred and forty-eight films to go? Doubtful. But with optimism and enthusiasm for discovery, the fans of film attending SIFF, including this one, will look forward to dark theatres and new films with the promise of meeting the challenge to entertain.
