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'CROSSING OVER'
CRASH IN L.A. ONCE AGAIN
By Sean Chavel
The multi-ensemble intersection drama Crossing Over is scattershot with contrivances but strong on hard-edged authentic dialogue. Yet another L.A. story with a social message purpose, this film concentrates on illegal immigrants and the process to earn green card citizenship as seen through the tribulations of Salvadoran, Guatemalan, Bangladeshi, Korean, Japanese and Chinese families. You got Harrison Ford, Ray Liotta and Ashley Judd as the star power with each of them playing characters who are immigration officials.
Harrison Ford is the top name in the cast but for perhaps the first time in many years he is not the primary character. Nor are Liotta or Judd - but part of an ensemble which gives equal screen time to minorities. Writer-director Wayne Kramer ("The Cooler") deftly lays out the episodes that involves a Mexican factory worker deported without her child, an Islamic high school girl who empathizes with the 9/11 hijackers that brings trouble to her family at home (she defends that her class presentation viewpoints was misunderstood), a young Bangladeshi woman whose non-traditional liberation causes revolt within her family, a British musician learning Hebrew for the sake of a green card, an Australian actress forced to prostitute herself, and a young misguided Korean teen inducted into a gang.
Many of the portrayed families are seeking to assimilate themselves into Western culture but are impeded by road blocks of one kind or another. Road blocks in the figurative sense, that is. Judd's character, an immigration defense attorney, is caught up in two different subplots that are imbued in the compassionate. First, she is drawn into the case of an orphaned Northern African girl held in a detention center with limited prospect of being adopted and so she considers becoming a surrogate mother. Second, she takes on the case of the Islamic high school girl whose oral essay at school not only violated the Patriot Act that issues her removal from school but also jeopardizes her parents' residency in the States.
Judd's character is a liberal crusader - and certainly the film as a whole is making a sympathetic plea to hard-pressed illegal immigrants - but the film also is testing the subject of bureaucratic misconduct. Judd's husband is played by Liotta, a wormy applications adjuster who reviews immigrant cases applying for a green card. The script knows applied citizenship procedures very well as demonstrated in the dialogue when Liotta describes how applicants with "special talents" are favored foremost in earning U.S. residence. Wormy, and perhaps dirty, is the best way to describe Liotta who blackmails a striving Aussie actress (Alice Eve) into sex outside of his marriage for exchange of helping her fudge her application.
Most sympathetic - if dramatically over-strained - is Ford's concern with an abandoned child whose mother is deported back to Mexico. The child is under the age of 10 with no guardian, and little English language ability, and Ford wants to do right by reconnecting the boy with his mother. Ford is playing an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer, and if the film has any top-drawer visual excitement, they are the scenes of the ICE raids into factories exploiting illegals for cheap labor. The ICE makes immediate arrests and detainments for deportation, and the camerawork of enforcers chasing after and tackling runaways has a certain visceral kick. Perhaps the tackling tactics of the ICE is not something to be condoned, but visually it elicits a certain compelling charge that collects your attention. This act of people herding is the least favorite part of Ford's job (he's a sensitive and tolerant person) although it's the most favorite part for his violence-craved colleagues who like all the bone-crunching.
This is a film that contains many interesting scenes (and a few bad ones) but more importantly they lead to dramatic pay-offs of characters making big decisions that stem out of their complicated predicaments. A misplaced murder plot could have been discarded - it's one plot strand too many - but most of the elements fit in a "Crash" style way, but done without the preposterous coincidences. Yes, this particular reviewer thinks that the honest density of the characters' problems and the vibrancy of the dialogue makes "Crossing Over" a better movie than "Crash." This film, with its occasional torn agenda, might have trouble finding an audience (it could turn out to be the lowest grossing Harrison Ford movie ever) but it is a film that has merit and could possibly draw discussion, or heated arguments between liberals and conservatives. That makes the film worthwhile as long you enjoy argumentatives.
'WATCHMEN'
IF "THE DARK KNIGHT" IS THE BEST BLOCKBUSTER EVER MADE, THE WOULD-BE "WATCHMEN" IS THE WORST
By Sean Chavel
The Watchmen are perhaps the most reprehensible superheroes ever. Who are they anyway? The nicest one is Patrick Wilson as Nite Owl II, who looks like a Michael Caine from the 70's. Too much of a mental thinker and not a go-getter. On the other end is Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Comedian which is an ironic name. He is the meanest superhero in movie history.
Before we are accustomed to the Comedian's strengths, this worn-out superhero is beat to death in the opening of the movie. His colleagues mourn his death and vow revenge. We go back to the Comedian's youth and learn that during the Vietnam War he impregnated a peasant woman. He mortally smashes her skull. He becomes impatient with rowdy peace protestors and decides to shoot them.
Worse is a scene where he walks in on the dressing room of superhero hottie Silk Spectre, who is built to look like a 50's dream pin-up. Nobody should dress that sexy unless they're asking for it, the Comedian bellows. The Comedian begins to rape Silk Spectre and when she resists he smashes her face into submission. Fellow superhero Dr. Manhattan (or was it Mathew Goode as Ozymandias?) rushes in to break up the altercation. Why do all these heroes in the returned present lament the death of the Comedian? They should be glad he's dead.
Other abuses to women are on display in this overblown headache of a movie. In one occasion, director Zack Snyder ("300") opts for slow-mo shots of bullets eviscerating the flesh of a woman's leg (she's not introduced as anyone important). There's a name for this kind of disrespect for women in film. It's called misogyny. Yet the film is just as racist as it is sexist as demonstrated in a scene where Dr. Manhattan (a mammoth-size blue-man superhero) blows away a bunch of blank-looking Viet Cong who are made out as dehumanized items in a shooting gallery.
No release this year could be as disappointing, as offensive, or as aggravating as "Watchmen," even if its bold Sharper Image look might perhaps impress the gadgeteers in attendance. Nothing about the superheroes is remarkable other than Dr. Manhattan's (Whatchamacallit?) ray-blast ability. All these characters do is pound each other with their exceptional strength. In terms of superpunch-force ability, masked Rorschach is the only character who dazzles with his quicksilver moves.
Fight scenes are occasionally insensible prompting one to ask: Why are they fighting? Snyder, a director into nihilistic fetishisms, dials up the bone-crunching noise on the soundtrack and cuts to close-ups of blood splattering. His other gimmick is to pan the camera to display a seemingly pointless object only to reveal blood dripping from that object, or perhaps photograph a door crack to reveal blood spilling out. Playing it all for gross laughs.
Running at an exhausting 2 hours and 43 minutes, "Watchmen" adopts an episodic sliding-frame structure that attempts parallels to the structure of "Sin City," a much more humane film in comparison, but the coherency is lost in all the bludgeoning. Adapted from the graphic novel by Dave Gibbons originally released by DC Comics in 1986 (which might explain the story setting's retro year), it's not impossible to see that it is trying to create a paradigm of flawed and maladjusted superheroes in a world that seems to be dreamed up from the subconscious fusion of Edward Hopper meets Dante Alighieri. But you know what? As rich and bounteous as the budget of this film is it's one of the least entertaining pieces of ---- I've ever seen.
'SIN NOMBRE'
LOST CHILDREN
By Sean Chavel
How many tattoos constitute as scary? In the Spanish-language film Sin Nombre, gang members are decorated with ink on their faces, arms, chest and anywhere else you can think of to signify their badass quotient. The Chiapas brotherhood appear as vipers in war paint, taking upon with self-satisfied glee the repute of cold-blooded killers. The initiation for new recruit 12-year old Smiley (Kristyan Ferrer) is to have a gang pound him mercilessly for thirteen seconds. Thirteen long seconds. Status is earned by killing a rival gang member, and Smiley is no exception. The slightly older Caspar (Edgar Flores), a confused teen with a torn heart, is assigned to be his mentor.
Youth decay is a long-explored topic that extends through such classics as "Los Olvidados" (1950), "Pixote" (1981) and "City of God" (2002). "Sin Nombre" is yet another film that wins its merit by depicting children lost in socially squalid conditions and coerced into a life of crime as a means for acceptance. We get acquainted with some of the roughest spots in gangland Mexico and you can practically feel your own heartbeat flutter in apprehension at the sight of such lawlessness. But the raw visual landscapes are more potent than the story, which starts very well, before it sputters into heavy-handedness and convenient crossroads.
Certain moments, yes, will bring you chills. We are concerned early on when gang leader Lil' Mago (Tenoch Huerta Mejía) tells Smiley that there are thousands of brothers across the land that will protect and watch over him. It is easy to formulate worry that it might not all be true and that retribution is just as likely an outcome for mistakes made within the brotherhood. As foreseen, thirteen second punishments seem all too common.
When Casper is not gangbanging he is clandestinely in love with a non-affiliated girl named Martha (Diana García). She knows nothing about gangs or about Casper's ties, altogether she is naïve. When jealousy sparks, she foolishly follows Casper to a gang meeting. Lil' Mago sees his privilege into turning her into a rape victim. And then worse happens. Distressed to a breaking point, Casper considers getting out altogether.
In a parallel story, a Honduras family immigrates through Mexico to the United States by riding atop a freight train, along with dozens and dozens other defectors. The travels concentrate on Sayra (Paulina Gaitan) who is guarded by her father and uncle. The footage contains perhaps the best moving train drama since the mid-section of "Slumdog Millionaire." It's not before long Casper, Smiley and Lil' Mago will cross paths with Sayra, two stories merging together. The trio becomes train robbers atop the same car as Sayra. Lil' Mago assaults Sayra while her father and uncle helplessly look on until they are interrupted by the reactionary Casper. The incident makes Casper into Sayra's hero but it also means serious consequences.
Somehow united together, Casper and Sayra go on the run while a pack of vengeful gang killers, and Smiley, go on the hunt for their blood. So far so good with no false moves story-wise up to this point. First-time filmmaker Carl Fukunaga excavates desperation and danger in this rarely seen hostile environment. Watching the film, you feel blessed by the easy American life that all of us live in comparison. But Fukunaga is a better director than he is a writer. The story dissolves into a predictable arc which loses its grip on the audience.
The ending is overly calculated, depending on the improbable melodramatic device of characters colliding at the right place at the right time, clustered conveniently, in order to manipulate emotions out of the viewer. As powerful as the film wants to be, the final dark denouement is predestined and unreal rather than spontaneous and unforeseen. The film needed to end earlier or later than at its final contrived destination. The final shot of Smiley redeems Fukunaga's film and is a very strong note.
If the story cannot be taken as entirely convincing than at least the locations and the harsh milieu of gang turf feels like an authentic threat that is for the most part constant in its 96 minute running time. Premiering at this year's Sundance Film Festival, the film took home awards for Best Director and Best Cinematography.
'EVERLASTING MOMENTS'
WORTH PRESERVING
By Sean Chavel
No surprise that there were no Alcoholics Anonymous programs back in 1907. 'Til death do you part must have been a greater threat back then, especially to the dependent wives that had to deal with drunken philandering husbands. Everlasting Moments, a Swedish film in subtitles, is about a working class woman who finds salvation in photography, back when cameras were still a rare device. Without that hobby, her life would have disappeared into meaningless oblivion.
Vows of marriage disintegrate immediately for Maria (Maria Heikanen) and Sigfrid Larsson (Mikael Persbrandt), although it's close to impossible to build sympathy for Sigfrid who is abusive when he drinks. When he's not culprit, he's at least indirectly responsible, as to when he brings a boorish friend home who quarrels in their household that leads to Maria breaking up a fight, only to be knocked callously into a wall as a result. The children watch on helplessly.
Sure, there are tender moments initially before they dissolve. Sigfrid, a dockworker, allows his wife to bathe him and tend to his back problems when he comes home exhausted. Those are the days he doesn't drink. When a union strike puts Sigfrid out of work it leaves him inexorable time to fool around. British immigrants arrive in town to take over Swede jobs which catalyzes violence and strife within town. Sigfrid, while actually removed, uses the excuse of union revolution involvement to stay out all night. The family becomes desperate for money.
To make ends meet Maria decides to sell a picture camera that she won by lottery before she married Sigfrid. The background story of the camera informs us that Maria and Sigfrid married because of that camera. She had the winning lottery ticket; he put down the money for the ticket. He said that she could only have the camera if she married him. Strange how an object can knot two incompatible people in permanent matrimonial fate.
But now we arrive with Maria offering camera shop owner Sebastian Pedersen (Jesper Christensen) to buy her Contessa model camera. Sebastian doesn't think Maria should let go of such a fine possession. Sebastian instead teaches Maria how to use it. As she develops her talent she decidedly hides it from her husband. Of course, Sigfrid will become fuming jealous when he eventually finds out that Maria is taking lessons from a camera shop owner. Maria must defend herself.
Time passes on and Sigfrid finds work but doesn't stop his chauvinistic ways. Maria puts her camera down and commits to her usual work in scrubbing floors. Whenever time allows, Maria visits her camera shop friend. Sebastian, equally smitten by her, offers her a job as an assistant, and she waives the opportunity because she is conditioned to believe she is only good for cleaning floors. She teaches her daughters to scrub floors for the rich. The subtle tragedy of the movie is observing this family to survive on menial work and pass on outside opportunities for sake of an institutionalized mindset.
Heiskanen plays Maria with shameful self-pity alternating with wonder - she is a newly rejuvenated woman when she does allow herself to photograph neighbors and shopkeepers for extra money. Maria is at her acme of happiness when she sells her first print photograph to a newspaper. Then she chastises herself for allowing herself for being a photographer at the expense of adhering to her first duty as a mother. This isn't a sweeping feel-good way to conduct a story, but for its time and place, it is a believable one. Yet, in a very patient way, it's poignant watching Maria persevere over the years. She doesn't stay in her marriage out of love for her husband, but she does stay in her marriage out of love for other things. Other wonderful things that are on the outskirts of her existent obligations. Outside of her life as a wife and mother.
The film is directed by the celebrated Jan Troell whose stellar film "The Emigrants" received Academy Award nominations for Best Picture and Best Director back in 1973. His films are few and far between but typically deal with working class hardships and obscure talents in pastime settings. This film, winner of five Guldbagge Awards (the Swedish Academy Awards) including Best Film, is another highly sensitized effort by Troell that not only makes the mind reconsider but the heart reconsider the mysteries of suppressed passion. The film opens March 6 at the Encino Laemmle Town Center 5 and the Pasadena Laemmle Playhouse 7.
'BOB FUNK'
TAMING OF THE EGO
By Sean Chavel
Loathsome as it may sound, some people like the title character Bob Funk exist to make unending complaints to everybody in the room, and if irked, against everybody not in the room. Bob is one of those blowhard characters - the kind you find in offbeat independent films - who believes everything he does is right, believes if nobody else has manners than why should he, and believes he is the most interesting storyteller in the room with complete disregard of the status of his contemporaries. Even as a salesman he is the messenger of unhappiness.
Many versions of this movie could have been made that would have revolted the audience, but somehow the uncompromising and consummate focus (Craig Carlisle is the writer-director) to show Bob (Michael Leydon Campbell) as a hell-bent jerk gives this movie its durability - we can't keep our eyes off this cretin and perhaps can't wait what offensive gesture he'll make next. At the same time we're convinced that he's able to trap people inside his little world. It's better to listen to Bob for a few fleeting minutes than to prompt his bad side.
Bob is vice president of sales at an Asian-style bed and mattress emporium who takes upon with zeal that he has the highest superiority over everybody else. Within no time, Bob sexually harasses a new employee, the tolerant and serene Ms. Thorne (Rachel Leigh Cook), who is everything delicate but her name, and is abruptly fired by his own mother (Grace Zabriskie). Of course, Bob is one of those guys who extols his achievements to everybody but doesn't see that he's been riding on the wings of his own mother his entire life. He has shammed the part of shrewd business professional (he's really just a salesman!) even though he is a completely hollow nothing with no real experience to justify his self-appointed supremacy.
When Bob is offered a second probationary chance from his mother to return to the office to a demoted position and with promise to attend psychotherapy, he accepts while simultaneously lashing out ungra-tefully. The therapy sessions are not sugar-coated pleas for Bob to be understood or felt (his character begins with no soft edges), rather he badgers his therapist's credibility. In the meantime, Bob's mother goes on vacation to Thailand leaving Bob under the supervision of Ms. Thorne. He ceases his come-ons but instead harangues her on teasing his turtle-shy brother (Eddie Jemison), another one of mom's employees. Bob comes into work with constant hangovers and screws up his office duties that result in city fines. How about another demotion, Bob? Although Bob's mother has more than fairly offered second chances, she nevertheless knows how to teach a lesson.
Only within a film this hysterically cruel can someone like Bob sink as low as one employee can possibly go in terms of demotion, and the jokes mercilessly wrench Bob's pathetic demoralization. This steers the script into turning Bob into a redemptive hero who cleans up in the second half, and while the arc is predictable, the angry grouch in Bob doesn't so neatly disappear. If the grouch did disappear, the satire would go dead. Michael Leydon Campbell, who plays Bob, isn't the most electrifying actor (yet his short fuse barbs are inspired), but the character of Bob Funk itself is the kind of vainglorious jerk that Kevin Spacey used to play in independent film before he went A-list.
The anecdote of the film to offset its toxic jibes is the character of Ms. Thorne who also turns out to be Bob's healer (Bob's psychotherapist runs a close second). Rachel Leigh Cook's naturally disarming bashfulness turns an otherwise improbable character into something real. Ms. Thorne's authentic sweetness and freshness makes Bob dial down and behave halfway human. Bob won't entirely drop the jerk factor with everybody, but with Ms. Thorne he gladly learns to play polite. And that's perhaps the first time he has ever heeded to someone in a platonic relationship. That's the film's redeeming vitality. Co-stars Stephen Root as an office space drone and Amy Ryan as a wanton barfly. The film is currently playing at Laemmle Sunset 5.