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Seattle International Film Festival

Uptown Theatre to take on a new glow

SIFF has announced the acquisition of Lower Queen Anne’s beloved Uptown Theater, which has been closed since last winter. The moviehouse will re-open Oct. 20 in conjunction with the Grand Opening of the new SIFF Film Center a couple of blocks east. SIFF will begin programming at the new SIFF Cinema—the former Uptown—which effectively replaces the screening facility in McCaw Hall’s Nesholm Lecture Hall. The Uptown location has three screens, which should afford increased programming opportunities along with more seating.

A SIFF press release quotes Greater Queen Anne Chamber of Commerce vice president Ann Pearce expressing the Chamber’s especial pleasure in “endors[ing] the acquisition of the Uptown Theater by the Seattle International Film Festival. We applaud their actions in preserving a valuable part of Seattle’s Uptown neighborhood and creating more opportunities for Queen Anne community businesses. Another wonderful forum for unique entertainment will now be available for residents and tourists alike to enjoy for years to come.”

Adds Carl Spence, Artistic Director at SIFF, “We couldn’t have scripted a better opportunity for our organization than to have SIFF Cinema at the Uptown and the new SIFF Film Center in such close proximity and located in such a vibrant part of the city. Seattle Center and Queen Anne are the perfect locations for us to expand in and we’re excited to be opening our doors in time for Seattle Center’s ‘Next 50’ celebration next year.”

For more info, visit www.siff.net.

SIFFing: Parallax View’s SIFF 2011 Guide

Updated through Sunday, June 12

The 37th Annual Seattle International Film Festival opened on Thursday, May 19 and ran for 25 days through Sunday, June 12. Here is Parallax View’s coverage and guide to  SIFF resources.

SIFF Week by Week:
SIFF 2011 Dispatch 8: “Life in a Day” and “Norwegian Wood,” final screenings and return engagements (Sean Axmaker)
SIFF 2011 Dispatch 7: The Night of Counting the Years (Sean Axmaker)
SIFF 2011 Dispatch 6: Awards (Sean Axmaker)
Seattle International Film Festival Closing Weekend (Meredith Brody for TOH!)
SIFF 2011 Dispatch 5: The Yellow Sea (Sean Axmaker)
SIFF 2011 Dispatch 4: The White Meadows (Sean Axmaker)
SIFF Week 4: 15 New Picks & Pans (Seattle Weekly, Brian Miller and others)
SIFF Dispatch: Meeting Elmo (Kim Voynar at Movie City News)
Tomorrow Will Be Better (Kathleen Murphy)
Letters From the Big Man (Robert Horton)
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SIFF 2011 Dispatch 8: “Life in a Day” and “Norwegian Wood,” final screenings and return engagements

Screenings will continue late into the evening of Sunday, June 12, the 25th and final day of the 2011 edition of the Seattle International Film Festival (see below for the films scheduled in the numerous TBA slots of the program). But the festival marks the conclusion with its closing night gala film – the lovely Life in a Day (USA), which is being screened at the magnificent Cinerama (still the finest theater in town and sadly absent from the rest of SIFF this year) – and the traditional closing night party. I hope to rouse myself for the latter.

As for the Closing Night film itself, Life in a Day is a feel-good film (with some moments of sadness and emotional trials) about the global village that doesn’t sell out its integrity to go for the emotional tug. A mix of high concept ambition, low-fidelity tools and the networking possibilities of the web’s global community, the production is a collaboration between National Geographic and YouTube, which is also as accurate a description you can offer for its sensibility. Officially directed by Kevin Macdonald, who plays ringmaster to a circus of contributors, it is in fact shot and performed by you, or us, or the folks out there, using everything from high-end video equipment to flip cameras to smart phones. What unifies the footage is that it was all shot on July 24, 2010, and each piece used in the film relates to the way we live our lives.

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SIFF 2011 Dispatch 7: The Night of Counting the Years

SIFF’s program notes states that The Night of Counting the Years (1969, Egypt), directed by Chadi Abdel Salam, is “universally recognized as one of the greatest Egyptian films ever made,” a statement that isn’t quite accurate. I’m not refering to the “greatest” part of that statement, just that it is “universally recognized” for anything.

While it is indeed considered an Egyptian cinema masterwork by those with some expertise in the field, this is not a film that has been close to universally seen, which makes its appearance here all the more notable. All but unavailable for years (I had the good fortune to see a 16mm print at the Seattle Arab Film Festival in 2000, which even faded and worn communicated the great power of the film), a new restoration was undertaken in conjunction with the international offshoot of The Film Foundation founded by Martin Scorsese and a high-quality DCP digital print was shown at SIFF. (Given some of the issues with digital presentation at the festival this year, I am pleased to report that this was a stellar screening; any weaknesses in the image quality were clearly those of the original film materials.)

The story is inspired by a real-life incident of an isolated mountain tribe in the late 19th century that was secretly selling off ancient artifacts from the tombs of the Pharaohs, specifically a cache of mummies hidden in the mountain caves to hide them from looters, which the government discovers after the recovery of one of the treasures. The drama ostensibly sets the government against the insular tribe, where the elders justify the looting of its own culture to sustain the people (as well as enrich themselves), but it’s the reaction of the young men to this tribal secret that fires the film. They are appalled at the desecration of their ancestors and their refusal to be a part of it marks them as enemies of the tribe. Not an ideal situation in such an insular culture.

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SIFF 2011 Dispatch 6: Awards

Seattle International Film Festival audiences bestowed top Golden Space Needle Awards on Paper Birds, To Be Heard and The Whistleblower (among others) while juried awards singled out Gandu and the documentary Hot Coffee at the awards brunch of the Seattle International Film Festival this morning.

Over 450 features, documentaries and short films from more than 70 countries were screened over the 25 days (and the last day is not over as of this writing, mind you) and 600 screening event. According to SIFF Artistic Director Carl Spence, it was a record setting year in terms of attendance.

Emilia Aragon’s Paper Birds (Spain) took the audience award for Best Film, Larysa Kondracki won the Best Director award for The Whistleblower (Canada/Germany), Best Actor went to Bill Skarsgård for Simple Simon (Sweden) and Best Actress to Natasha Petrovic for As If I Am Not There (Ireland/Macedonia/Sweden). Best Documentary was awarded to To Be Heard, directed by Roland Legiardi-Laura, Amy Sultan, Deborah Shaffer and Edwin Martinez (USA) and The Fantastic Flying Books Of Mr. Morris Lessmore, directed by William Joyce (USA), took the Best Short Film award.

The competition awards, given out in partnership with FIPRESCI, the International Federation of Film Critics, were handed out to Best New Director “Q” Kaushik Mukherjee for Gandu (India), Best Documentary Hot Coffee (directed by Susan Saladoff, USA) and Best New American Film On The Ice, directed by Andrew Okpeaha MacLean. Special Jury Prizes in the Documentary competition went to To Be Heard (USA) and Sushi: The Global Catch, directed by Mark Hall (USA).

The complete press release, which includes runners-up and jury statements, is featured below.

See complete coverage at Parallax View’s SIFF 2011 Guide here

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SIFF 2011 Dispatch 5: The Yellow Sea

The crime-gone-bad thriller is a staple of the crime genre. Na Hong-jin’s The Yellow Sea, a South Korean box-office hit making its North American debut at SIFF 2011, runs with the concept in a jittery thriller of a desperate taxi driver in Yanji (an autonomous region in Northern China dominated by ethnic Koreans) hired to kill a man in South Korea. Gu-nam (Ha Jung-woo) is Joseonjok, a Chinese citizen of Korean ancestry living in the impoverished region across the border. His wife hasn’t contacted him since she left to work in Korea six months ago, he’s deep in debt to the gangsters who smuggled her across the channel (the Yellow Sea of the title) and he’s losing whatever he makes gambling at Mahjong. So a local crime boss, Myung (Kim Yun-seok), makes him an offer: wipe his debt clean in exchange for a simple murder.

Na takes us through the human smuggling process with a rapid-fire pace, jumping through the steps in the ordeal in a montage that makes its points without stopping to explain and sets the tone that will define the rest of the gangster drama: no sentiment, no hesitation, no warning, just keep moving, react immediately and don’t look back. There’s none of the John Woo bullet ballets here. Na Hong-jin goes for the unpredictability of violence and the chaos created out of panic and shoots Gu-nam’s action scenes—well, more like reaction as he improvises in the face of competition and goes on the run from both the cops and the crooks—with a jittery shakycam aesthetic. It’s an overused and abused technique to be sure, too often appropriated in place of building and sustaining effective action scenes, but here it’s saved specifically to put us in the agitated head of our hero, an amateur in a world of professional thugs running on panic and adrenaline. It drives his desperate flight from a careening mob of overeager cops colliding with each other in their pursuit to a runaway escape that is all desperation and reckless impulse at high speed.

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SIFF 2011 Dispatch 4: The White Meadows

The white meadows of Mohammad Rasoulof’s The White Meadows (Iran), a stunning and startling odyssey through the salt marshes of Iran’s Lake Urmia, are the desert islands where almost medieval cultures exist in isolated pockets on otherwise dead lands. The salt that coats every beach white has left this place bereft of vegetation, giving it an almost alien, otherworldly atmosphere: a visit to a small planet. And just as the salt chokes the life out of the land and water (there are no birds and precious little marine life), so does it starve the respective cultures, cut off from the rest of the world but for a boatman, Rahmat (Hasan Pourshirazi), the only outsider welcome in these lands. He is the “tear collector,” who comes to hear their woes and take away their sorrows by collecting their tears in a glass vial.

The mythology and cultural practices are more fictional creation than historical reality but they have the resonance of myth playing out in a place that is, practically speaking, out of time, with only stray clues (mostly in the coda) placing it in, more or less, the present. The various islands could be Rasoulof’s answer to Jonathon Swift’s “Gulliver’s Travels,” relocated to an Iranian sensibility and contemporary political and religious reality. Brutal rituals (human sacrifice, politely referred to as a “marriage” and treated as a holy honor by all but the virgin bride) and punishments abound and a culture of conformity and intolerance rules, maintained by an unquestioned patriarchy that keeps the culture locked in a surreal state of blind obedience bordering on madness. Rebels, be they runaways, heroes or artists with individual visions, don’t survive the smothering culture.

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SIFF 2011: Smilin’ through – Is anybody really trying?

“You know, the director will be in town on Friday. Would you like to interview him?”

That’s how I was welcomed today by an eager young publicist to SIFF’s 10 a.m. screening for press and passholders of Hong-jin Na’s The Yellow Sea. “Let me check out the movie first,” I replied. But that was not to be, thanks to yet another technical screwup on the part of our hometown festival.

When The Yellow Sea hit the screen, a prologue in English explained the very particular players and setting of this “great and gory” South Korean film (as described by The New York Times’ Manohla Dargis, at the Cannes Film Festival). Then the main action began, there was dialogue—in Korean—and the audience sat tight, in dead silence, as the film continued … sans subtitles. Finally, someone—all right, it was me—shouted, “Stop the movie!” Nothing happened. The Yellow Sea rolled on.

Surely this can’t be happening again, I thought. Once might be excusable, but twice, on consecutive days, is just plain incompetence. You see, exactly 24 hours earlier, in the same venue (Pacific Place Cinemas), the 10 a.m. audience for the much-anticipated Norwegian Wood by Tranh Anh Hung watched bewildered as the Japanese-language film unreeled, for several minutes, sans subtitles. Eventually someone from SIFF was heard to mumble from the sidelines that “the projectionist isn’t going to start the film over again.” Mass exodus ensued.

What, exactly, had happened? Pressed to say something, one SIFF staffer speculated whether an unsubtitled version had been mistakenly sent from Japan. Even he didn’t seem to believe that was likely (we’re talking about a U.S. Premiere engagement). And what, exactly, did that curious phrase mean—”the projectionist isn’t going to start the film over again”? The projectionist refuses to? Won’t be asked to? If the projectionist had tried again, might he have hit the right button and activated subtitles that were there after all? If so, why not give it a shot? Or were we past a point of no return, and it wasn’t feasible to set the day’s screening schedule back, jeopardizing regular theater showings?

Were we talking technical error, or incompetence coupled with indifference? Who knows? SIFF never explains. Doesn’t have to.

Continue reading at Straight Shooting

SIFF 2011: Tomorrow Will Be Better

In her dark, totally unsentimental films about children (Devils, Devils; Crows, I Am), Polish director Dorota Kedzierzawska has always gifted her youthful, mostly female protagonists with old, outlaw souls hungry for family and freedom. Even the lonely old woman facing her Time to Die (2007) possesses the lively face and maverick spirit of a wild child. In Tomorrow Will Be Better Kedzierzawska focuses on three boys, street kids as feral as abandoned cats or dogs, who set out to cross the Russian border into Poland, Huckleberry Finns lighting out for territories they might call home.

The ragamuffin trio consists of two older pals, perhaps 12, and an angelic urchin, no more than 6 or 7, who may suck his thumb and clutch a threadbare teddy bear but is already an old hand at staying alive—sly enough to use his sweet looks to charm bread from a toothless crone or break the heart of a hardcase cop. His big brother alternates between pretending to leave the troublesome kid behind and cradling him as a mother would a child. There are indissoluble “family” ties here, born not of nurture, but of nature and necessity. Kedzierzawska’s lost children always hook up by choice, on the run, finding love outside clean, well-lighted places.

Continue reading at Straight Shooting

SIFF 2011: Small Town Murder Songs

One virtue of film festivals is that they provide an opportunity for small-scale, unheralded movies of distinction to get discovered, if only by a less than mainstream audience. It’s not necessary that they be great; being unexpectedly good carries its own satisfaction. Small Town Murder Songs, a 75-minute picture from Canada, is the best example so far in this year’s Seattle International Film Festival.

Yes, the title’s selfconsciously quirky and genre-bending, maybe a tad pretentious. Somebody getting too smart for their own good, I thought as I settled in to watch. And look, they went and hired that Bergman actor who stuffed Steve Buscemi into the wood chipper in Fargo: Peter Stormare as police chief of an isolated Mennonite community in Ontario. Definitely reaching for postmodern bizarro.

Except that almost immediately the movie took hold. First, there was the look of it. Ed Gass-Donnelly, who wrote, directed, and edited, knows that roads and streets become beautiful and auspicious if you put your widescreen camera in the right place and honor the power of the frame. There’s nothing in this nowhere community that could be called scenic or even picturesque, yet Gass-Donnelly allows us to soak in the ambience and become haunted by it. This is only right because, as one of several chapter headings in the movie tells us, “God Meets Us Where We’re At.”

The haunting also comes by way of hinted-at information about the town, some of its denizens, and the history that links them. The most obscure yet unshakable mystery attaches to our police chief Walter. The once-gaunt Stormare has grown heavier, which works nicely to underscore Walter’s desperation to pass as a calm, stalwart presence despite unspecified violence in his past. Walter is born again and has a new life partner in Sam (Martha Plimpton), a warmhearted waitress with bottomless love for and not a little terror of her man.

Small Town Murder Songs gets his name in two ways. Early on, the naked body of a woman, not a local, turns up at the edge of a pond. Investigation of the crime provides the narrative spine, though not the film’s core. At least as key to the experience the film affords are the ballads on the soundtrack, so integral to the spirit of the place and its people that the movie, like the title, would be incomplete without them. Someone reviewing the film at another festival aptly likened them to a fire-and-brimstone Greek chorus. Reminiscent of the Sacred Harp music in Cold Mountain, they’re the work of a Canadian group called Bruce Peninsula, who should be heard from again.

Jill Hennessy, late of TV’s Law and Order and Crossing Over, brings a fine, dark intensity to the role of Walter’s former lover Rita, to whose residence on the edge of town Walter and the movie keep returning. You see, Rita’s new man Steve was the one who found the body. Steve’s a caution, and the actor Stephen Eric McIntyre might slip seamlessly into the crazed Kentucky precincts of Justified. Canadian film veteran Jackie Burroughs also turns up as something of an oracle.

As I said, the film is only an hour-and-a-quarter long, and that’s just as well; spells are hard to sustain. Yet it’s big enough. SIFF is showing it twice, June 3 and 5. These may be your only shots at seeing it on a theater screen; it’s slated for DVD release July 19.

Copyright 2011 by Richard T. Jameson

SIFF 2011: Vampire

Don’t expect vampire gore and supernatural thrills in this long, slow exploration of youthful angst and alienation. In his first English-language movie, writer-director Iwai Shunji clearly didn’t have commercial prospects or mainstream audiences in mind. Since he shot, edited, and composed original music for Vampire, it’s clear that Shunji knew precisely what kind of world and weather he wanted to create: a whited-out landscape (the Pacific Northwest) in which young people drift aimlessly, drained of any emotion that might propel them toward meaning or intimacy or life itself. These kids are like ghosts in the machine, the machine being the Internet, on which they hook up long-distance.

Kevin Zegers, Keisha Castle-Hughes

In Shunji’s brilliant All About Lily Chou-Chou (2001), a dreamy pop singer offered a way for high school kids to connect as fans, to escape the isolation of self. In Vampire it’s a website called Side by Cide, home page for the suicidal. The young women whom vampire wannabe Simon (Kevin Zegers) meets on line and promises to help die often seem half-dead already: fragile, ethereal, fading from a disease called despair. And despair rarely comes rooted in the specific; the virus seems to be in the very air the likes of Jellyfish, Gallows, Gargoyle, Eclipse, and Ladybird breathe.

Simon’s a biology instructor who teaches his blank-faced students that we are all “slaves to millions of cells.” Such biological determinism is hardly designed to cheer up this generation of sad sacks—as Mina, an Asian teen Simon rescues from hanging herself, points out. With his pallor, wispy ‘stache, and lank hair, Simon looks like the kind of guy who puts in long hours in front of his computer, unlikely to ever be deflowered skin to skin.

Continue reading at Straight Shooting

SIFF 2011 Dispatch 3: Neptune Renovations and Mysteries of Lisbon

Week Two of SIFF opens with the promise that the screening experience at The Neptune will be, if not restored to previous standards, at least improved. According the Paul Constant in Slog, SIFF is replacing some of the sound baffles removed by STG in the ongoing renovation and transformation of the theater into a performance venue, and replacing the folding chairs on the floor with temporary theater seats (on loan from the Sundance Film Festival). Nothing in the article about the screen (which is smaller than the original screen and not in the best of shape) or the projector issues, which include an underlit image and bright light bleeding and smearing across the screen. I’ll be checking out the improvements later this week, but in the words of SIFF artistic director, “By Friday showtimes, everything is going to be exactly the way we want it to be.”

I clearly have not been doing my job—I spent the week buried in DVD and Blu-ray releases for my day job at MSN Videodrone and have seen almost nothing screening over the weekend. Almost.

Black Venus, Abdellatif Kechiche’s devastating dramatization of the true story of Saartjie “Sarah” Baartman, a black South African woman whose unusual physiological attributes were put on display as the “Hottentot Venus” in early 19th century London and Paris, is a powerful and provocative film. Kechiche observes her exploitation in freak show performances in which she, ostensibly, is a partner in (“I have a contract,” is one of the few things the largely silent woman voices in the film) but ultimately is at the mercy of the sexual and racial stereotypes of savagery and primitiveness that the white “ringmasters” of her show-biz partnership insist she portray in their burlesques. Kathleen Murphy does the film more justice than I possibly could: ” I am on the side of this French-Moroccan filmmaker, an immigrant artist who knows the sharp edge of living between cultures.”

Plays Sunday, May 29, 8:30pm at the Egyptian.

The event of the weekend is the Special Presentation showing of Raul Ruiz’s nearly 4 ½-hour Mysteries of Lisbon, a film of exquisite elegance that begins with an orphan boy in a Catholic boarding school searching for his identity (“They all had surnames: five, six, even more. I had just Joao.”). They have many names, we discover, and some of them titles, their rank becoming their identity. But others have also recreated themselves, through marriage or money or status purchased with fortune and power, and the biggest mystery is the protective priest who watches over Joao. As the boy’s ancestry unfolds in a magnificent tapestry of flashbacks that slowly weave a portrait out of dozens of characters and stories, so does the story of the quietly driven Father Dinis (Adriano Luz), which is inextricably tied to the boy’s past. Chilean-born Ruiz is a director whose love of storytelling and narrative play is often more engaging than the films themselves but with Mysteries of Lisbon, an epic based on a classic Portuguese novel (one yet untranslated into English), his engagement with the characters and their defining stories guides his direction, and his graceful camerawork and unerring eye for images both classical (like paintings in a cinematic frame) and fluid (his camera moves with purpose and grace) are in the service of the trajectories of the characters. I saw the film at another festival in late 2010 and have been dying to see it again in all its exquisite grace. Thanks, SIFF, for the opportunity.

Plays Saturday, May 28, 1pm at Egyptian

Calling All Shorts – SIFF Cinema becomes the home of ShortsFest over Memorial Day weekend. It’s a festival within a festival: 15 programs of short films over four days, opening on Friday, May 27 with the 7pm “Shortsfest Opening Night” program and concluding in Monday, May 30 with the “Shortfest Closing Night” program at 6:30pm.

The complete guide to shorts programs is at the SIFF website here.

And don’t forget that the SIFF satellite screenings move to the Everett Performing Arts Center for the week.

See complete coverage at Parallax View’s SIFF 2011 Guide here

[Editor’s Note: My coverage of the Seattle International Film Festival is cross-posted at The House Next Door.]

SIFF 2011: Raiders keep losing the Ark

Decades of attending film festivals bring a lot of memories. Obviously, it’s a thrill to encounter new films that go on to challenge or captivate audiences in general release. But there’s another kind of encounter that’s at least as exciting and valuable, and can leave as deep a mark: the festival showcasing of a vintage film that’s been lost, or lain neglected, or not made available in this country, or recently been restored to its original beauty and integrity.

I cherish a summer evening in 1983 when the Seattle International Film Festival projected the British Film Institute’s nitrate Technicolor print of The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp—one of the first showings in America of that inimitable 1943 masterpiece uncut, with its wraparound time scheme intact. A few years later, SIFF opened a window on something even rarer, the moment at the dawn of the talkies when Hollywood flirted with widescreen photography. Raoul Walsh’s The Big Trail—a 1930 epic Western for which its 22-year-old leading man was rechristened John Wayne—enchanted a full house at the Egyptian Theatre in the 1988 fest; the next year brought Roland West’s surreal haunted-house melodrama The Bat Whispers. Untoppable festival experiences.

Recent SIFF seasons have vouchsafed few comparable archival opportunities. Closest to the mark have been some revelations from British cinema: the trenchant postwar film noir It Always Rains on Sunday and the late-silent A Cottage on Dartmoor. Which is not scorn things like last year’s slate of restorations from the Film Foundation—The River, Senso, Drums Along the Mohawk—but those films either were familiar from repertory and Turner Classic Movies showings, or about to be featured for home viewing as Criterion DVDs and Blu-rays. And however superb the restorations were, two of them looked “soft” as projected at SIFF.

Speaking of showmanship, I was appalled to learn that the Technicolor classic Black Narcissus was offered last Saturday not as a 35mm movie but as a projection from Blu-ray—and there were, as the delicate phrase goes, “digital issues” compromising the presentation. The Criterion Blu-ray is a thing of beauty (and I’m thrilled to own it), but if a film festival is going to present a landmark of cinematography, they damn well ought to show the film.

If you’re not going to do it right, why do it at all? Especially when, as with Black Narcissus, the picture has had other showings in Seattle art theaters and museum auditoriums in recent years, not to mention frequent airings on TCM. Why, with hundreds of worthy, essentially unseen archival candidates, do you decide to show this movie again? Now? And badly?

In the circumstances, it’s hard to know whether to be irked or relieved that the number of archival presentations at SIFF this year has dropped to seven. Make that four, since three of the programs aren’t old movies but new documentaries about old movies. Cameraman: The Life and Work of Jack Cardiff played last weekend. Hurricane Kalatazov, a portrait of Mikhail Kalatazov, director of The Cranes Are Flying and I Am Cuba, is coming June 4 and 5. These Amazing Shadows, a documentary on the National Film Registry, will show once only, Monday, May 30, 1:30 p.m. at the Harvard Exit.

Of the three oldies remaining, one sounds like a clear case of “avoid like the plague.” Raoul Walsh’s 1924 The Thief of Bagdad is a well-loved Douglas Fairbanks classic and a milestone in the career of production designer William Cameron Menzies. On its own recognizance the film would be welcome, but what SIFF plans to show is “The Thief of Bagdad Re-imagined by ‘broadcast legend’ Shadoe Stevens with the Music of the Electric Light Orchestra.” Yes, by all means drag that hoary old silent movie kicking and (silently) screaming into our culturally enlightened age by slapping on a rock music score. Thursday, May 26, 7 p.m. at the Neptune.

The Night of Counting the Years is a lovely title, lovelier than the Egyptian original, The Mummy. Unlike English-language efforts of that name, this 1969 film by Shadi Abdel Salam is a subtle and delicate art film, a meditation on the passing of a remote community that’s survived by selling off their nation’s ancient artifacts. Revived at the 2009 New York Film Festival, the movie will be shown at SIFF—yep, digitally—Tuesday, May 31, 7 p.m. at SIFF Cinema.

Happily, Federico Fellini’s epochal La Dolce Vita will have its black-and-white Totalscope splendor served up on celluloid. It’s impossible to overstate the impact this three-hour canvas of Roman brio and oh-so-voluptuous decadence had on audiences half a century ago. As the central figure, a bored, charming, benignly amoral journalist, Marcello Mastroianni became an international star (incidentally, among many other things, the movie gave the world the term “paparazzi”). The festival guide says, “Newly restored with funding from the Film Foundation and Gucci.” Bring it on. Monday, May 30, 10 a.m. at the Harvard Exit.

Queen Anne & Magnolia News, May 25, 2011

Copyright 2011 by Richard T. Jameson

 

SIFF 2011 Dispatch 2: The Neptune Returns with Tom Tykwer’s “3”

The Neptune, which closed earlier this year as a theater in the Landmark chain, had its unofficial unveiling under Seattle Theater Group’s management on Friday, May 20, the first full day of public SIFF screenings. Though renovations are not complete—the official reopening of the theater as a venue for music and live performance is set for the fall—it was ready enough for film screenings in a decidedly new atmosphere. The bottom floor is now open and level (no seating rake) and staggered into two levels. Folding chairs are set up for SIFF, which are actually fairly well cushioned and comfortable (and, to be fair, even the biggest festivals in the world at times resort to folding chairs for select venues) and screen has been raised somewhat, which helps adjust for the loss of old seating rake. If you simply need a traditional theater seat, with its spring cushion and legs bolted to the floor, the balcony is there for you.

This temporary screen is not quite pristine (there’s a stain/splotch in the lower center that lights right up in bright scenes) and (as I heard more than one person in the audience say) it feels smaller than before, though in fact it’s set within the same proscenium arch. Maybe it’s just an illusion of the new space; freshly painted and lightened up, it’s brighter and more open, feeling less like a barn and more like a public space. And the stained glass on the walls leading to the screen adds a dazzle of color in the bright lights of the pre-show settings while disappearing into the dark when the lights drop and the film begins.

But the space and sound design is clearly designed for live music, not film screenings. There are no baffles or sound insulation tiles on the walls so the soundtrack bounces and echoes and gets muddy. Which was not a problem with a subtitled film but became obvious during English language sequences, which I found understandable but at times difficult.

I spent the Friday evening of SIFF’s opening weekend at the Neptune and hoped to have a review of 12 Paces Without a Head (Germany, Sven Taddicken), a 14th century pirate movie in Northern Europe with a rebel sensibility (it kicks off a condemned man being dragged to the gallows to The Clash doing “I Fought the Law”). Unfortunately, this turned out to be a screening without a head projectionist. A bad splice kicked the film out of frame and it played with the image split in half horizontally—the heads of characters on the bottom half of the screen, the feet on the top—and the projectionist (a trainee?) couldn’t find the frameline adjustment. After more than twenty minutes of stop and starts and trying everything but the frameline adjustment, I gave up (I understand they finally found the elusive control and finished the film). And while I appreciated the concept and the energy (at least in parts) of the film, it had tipped into a 14th century buddy comedy with dashes of economics, politics and proto-CSI science played for tongue-in-cheek humor by the time I ducked out, without much hope of getting more interesting. So chalk this up to an unfinished screening: not a walkout, simply a mishap.

Devid Striesow and Sebastian Schipper in the coolest swimming pool I've ever seen

 

For the record, the subsequent screening, Tom Tykwer’s 3 (Germany), played without a hitch. In fact, it was heartening to see that, when the frameline was visible in the opening seconds of the screening, the projectionist immediately spotted it and adjusted and properly centered the film within seconds. Just the way the professionals do it.

And the film was quite engaging, too. Tykwer’s romantic/erotic triangle is built on the emotional lives of its characters—a doctor/TV journalist (Sophie Rois), her longtime partner, an art engineer (Sebastian Schipper) and a free-spirited scientist (Devid Striesow) who lives a life of free love and no commitment—rather than plot tropes of manipulative seductions and erotic competition. He expresses the ennui of a relationship settling into lethargy and inertia, a couple living almost entirely separate lives even while living together for decades, and the fractured existence of modern life where lives and jobs and everything can be compartmentalized and disconnected, with a style that slips between split-screen montages and long sequences of anxious dislocation. Along with the hurt and healing, the anxiety of death and loss and the feeling of mutual betrayal confronted, is Tykwer’s usual flair of interesting cinematic architecture (I love that swimming pool in the sea) and unusual cultural byways (such as the strangely personal connection to the controversial “Bodies” exhibition, with cadavers transformed into art object).

3 is about the possibility for opening up to the possibility of experiences beyond the socially proscribed norms. Tykwer is a romantic at heart.

SIFF 2011: Flamenco, Flamenco

Spain, 2010; Carlos Saura

Often, watching movies like Thor and The Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, not to mention SIFF’s overload of uninspired fare, a movie-lover can sink into despair, convinced that contemporary directors are totally incompetent when it comes to creating coherent form and movement within framed spaces. Then you luck into Carlos Saura’s Flamenco, Flamenco, a visual banquet that serves up so much cinematic artfulness and beauty, your faith in the power of movies is reborn.

In his 10th celebration of Spanish music and dance, octogenarian Saura re-teams for the sixth time with master cinematographer Vittorio Storaro (The Last Emperor, The Sheltering Sky). Storaro’s gift for painting with light is perfectly suited to capturing the fluid spaces which Saura fills and energizes with flamenco’s fierce, colorful forms.

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