Drama. With Edward Furlong, Rachael
Bella and James Eckhouse. Directed by Randall K.
Rubin and Jon Schroder. (R. 99 minutes. At the AMC 1000 Van Ness, UA Stonestown
and at the Oaks in Berkeley.)
Low-budget films be experiencing a way of sending viewers back into their own
reality, whether it's because of poor acting, Brummagem camera work or a poorly
chosen place shoot. Something as clear as a police officer's uniform that
doesn't look real can be distracting enough to deface the experience, reminding
audiences that what they are watching is fabricate.
"Jimmy and Judy" is a good movie by any standard, and a textbook example
of how to make your independent film for under $500,000. Using some of the same
tricks that worked for "The Blair Witch Project," Randall K. Rubin and Jon
Schroder create a shocking but believable portrait of psychopathic behavior by
a disenfranchised youth. It's a difficult film to watch, with levels of
violence and nudity that will challenge some viewers and offend others, but
ultimately serves the story.
Jimmy (Edward Furlong) is a very smart but unhinged 21-year-old who
insists on filming the important moments in his life. He falls for Judy
(Rachael Bella), another outcast who is turned on by his love for her — and
also his capacity for revenge and violence. Their behavior becomes more
destructive during a crime spree throughout Kentucky.
Rubin and Schroder film the entire movie through the lens of Jimmy's
camera. This requires a lot of creativity with the script, along with some
patience on the part of the audience. Several key moments are played out only
with the audio, including one pivotal scene where the camera sits motionless on
the floor of a car for several minutes.
Both leads are excellent, especially Bella, who must sell her attraction
to the unbalanced Jimmy — and run around nude for long stretches of the
film. Props also must go to veteran TV actor James Eckhouse, who is excellent
in a role that his agent must have forbidden him from taking.
The hardest part for moviegoers is figuring out what to make of Jimmy, who
is treated as a sympathetic figure, even as his actions hurt innocent people.
And while Rubin and Schroder have a good script, it becomes difficult to
believe that the video camera would remain on around a paranoid crankhead.
But these are small problems in a movie filled with bigger rewards. This
is the film that "Natural Born Killers" wanted to be — and at one-twentieth
the cost.
– Advisory: Violence, a rape scene, profanity, nudity and a kinky sex act
involving the guy who played Brandon's dad on "Beverly Hills 90210."
– Peter Hartlaub
'Confetti'
Mockumentary. Directed by Debbie Isitt. With Martin Freeman, Jessica
Stevenson, Stephen Mangan, Meredith MacNeill, Robert Webb and Olivia Colman.
(R. 94 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
Mockumentaries usually live or die on their pseudo accuracy.
Christopher Guest is the acknowledged master of the genre because he lulls you
into believing his amateur actors and prideful dog owners exist off screen.
But "Confetti" may be too convincing for its own good. The problem with
this pretend documentary about engaged couples competing for most over-the-top
nuptials is that it comes perilously close to what's on reality TV. The wedding
planners who lend their expertise to contestants are right out of "Queer Eye
for the Straight Guy," and finding actual people eager to turn their ceremony
into a three-ring circus would be a piece of cake — wedding cake, in this
instance. Can a television show based on such a premise be far behind?
Like a wedding, "Confetti" goes on too long but is not without its
memorable moments. Most of them are supplied by a wickedly talented young
British cast as the betrothed behaving bizarrely. Martin Freeman (from the
original BBC version of "The Office'') brings a hilarious button-down
seriousness to Matt, a working-class stiff with a penchant for show tunes.
He and his fiancee, Sam (the equally straight-faced Jessica Stevenson),
show up at an audition held by Confetti, England's premier wedding magazine.
Three semifinalists will have their nuptials paid for by the magazine. The
winners, judged on the originality with which they exchange their vows, will
receive a house — no small prize.
Pitching his all-singing, all-dancing Hollywood musical wedding, Freeman's
Matt is as somber as if he were applying for funds to start a small business.
He and Sam make the cut, along with tennis pros Josef (Stephen Mangan) and
Isabelle (Meredith MacNeill), who offer to say "I do" during a match, and
nudists — or naturalists as they call themselves — Michael (Robert Webb)
and Joanna (Olivia Colman), whose scheme is to march down the aisle au natural.
Webb and Colman deserve special credit for making you pay attention to their
repartee instead of their bodies, which are covered in nothing, not even
confetti.
The rest of the film deals with the couples preparing for their big day.
Naturally competitive, Josef and Isabelle think too much attention is being
showered on Matt and Sam and suspect the fix is in. Isabelle gets wind that the
magazine staff believes her nostrils are too prominent to put on the cover
featuring the winners and has her nose done.
Writer-director Debbie Isitt obviously has done research into the
vulnerability weddings bring out in everyone. Her clever script plays on this,
appropriately exaggerating it to take into consideration the added pressure
these couples are under. Relatives make matters worse.
But by the time "Confetti" gets around to the ceremonies, it has run out
of steam. What should be the funniest scenes drag on. After sitting through one
wedding, you're ready to take your party favor and go home.
– Advisory: Nudity.
– Ruthe Stein
'The Ground Truth'
Documentary. Directed by Patricia
Foulkrod. (R. 78 minutes. At Bay Area theaters.)
For people willing to hear the soldiers' experience of war
rather than just define it in comfortable terms, through yellow ribbons and
high-sounding slogans, "The Ground Truth" is an enlightening documentary.
Virtually everyone interviewed on screen is a veteran. Some came back
able-bodied but afflicted in spirit. Some lost a limb, and one man had his face
destroyed.
No, it's not pretty. "The Ground Truth" packs in a lot of information,
from stories about recruitment officers' lies to accounts of the ways the
Veterans Administration avoids treating soldiers for post-traumatic stress.
These combat veterans, male and female, speak with candor and introspection
about the war, from a vantage point the public is never privy to. They tell
stories about soldiers abusing innocent civilians and killing women and
children. These veterans aren't pacifists, but patriotic individuals, some of
them Marines, who enlisted in the aftermath of Sept. 11.
Directed by Patricia Foulkrod, this is a documentary with a point of view,
and obviously not every veteran of the war was interviewed. Some veterans would
undoubtedly feel differently about the experience. But feelings aside, just
some of the facts revealed by "The Ground Truth" are surprising. For example,
in World War II, according to Lt. Col. Dave Grossman, too many men came out of
basic training unwilling to take human life, so the training was revamped
during Vietnam to turn soldiers into killing machines. Several Iraq veterans
recall the marching cadences used stateside, violent and supposedly funny,
intended to desensitize soldiers to killing civilians and mowing down children.
This training makes it very difficult to assimilate themselves back into
civilian life.
Unforgettable footage shows Iraqis, as seen through gun sights, getting
either shot or blown up. Soldiers are shown manhandling prisoners, who are
probably innocent, and standing in people's homes, armed to the teeth and
pushing old ladies around. According to the soldiers interviewed, such actions
are a direct consequence both of their training and of the circumstances
surrounding an occupation. As one veteran puts it, "You don't go to war with a
country without going to war with its people."
Soldiers share the memories that keep them up nights: killing an innocent
woman, or the sight of dead children or of entire dead families. One soldier
tells the story of a supposedly big-time terrorist who was hung from a tree for
three days by his hands. By the time the soldier came to interrogate the man,
his hands were gangrenous and had to be amputated. Upon release from the
hospital, the supposed terrorist was set free. It turned out he was an innocent
man.
All the veterans talk about the impossibility of returning to life as
usual following their discharge. "You don't fit in anywhere, except by
yourself, and you hate yourself." Outbursts of violence, nightmares, and
irrational flarings of temper plague them. "Your world is gone," says Guardsman
Demond Mullins, "and you have no world to replace it with." "The Ground Truth"
powerfully documents the human cost of the Iraq war.
– Advisory: Strong language and very disturbing footage of real-world
violence and carnage.
– Mick LaSalle
'Queens'
Comedy. With Carmen Maura, Marisa Paredes. Directed by Manuel Gomez
Pereira. In Spanish with subtitles. (R. 107 minutes. At the Bridge)
There are a lot of "Queens" in Manuel Gomez Pereira's delightful new
farce, starting with the five pairs of young, good-looking men who aim to be
wed in a mass-marriage. But most memorable are five of their mothers, played by
grande dames of 1980s Spanish cinema, still sexy, aging gracefully and proudly
displaying cleavage.
In fact, considering three of them are closely identified with Pedro
Almodóvar classics, this film could have been called "All About My Mothers."
They are Carmen Maura ("Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown"), Marisa
Paredes ("Talk to Her," "All About My Mother") and Veronica Forque ("Kika,"
"Matador"). Betiana Blum and Mercedes Sampietro, famous in their own right,
round out the fivesome.
The five mothers have their own problems with love — one is a
nymphomaniac, another is a famous actress who loves her obstinate gardener —
and they have varying degrees of acceptance to their children's lifestyle. The
problems of mothers and sons come to a tipping point during a weekend at a
Madrid resort that caters to gay clientele.
With what amounts to 20 characters crossing paths, Pereira's job
description might seem more traffic cop than director, but he rises to the
challenge and adds style and splashy color to boot.
"Queens" is pleasant, light-hearted fun that's soft, not edgy, but lest
you think it's a Spanish "Birdcage," consider that Forque's nymphomaniac, who
gives way to her urges "in the worst moments, and with the least appropriate
people," seduces her son's fiancee by "accident."
– Advisory: Sexual situations, profanity.
– G. Allen Johnson
Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers
Documentary. Directed by Robert Greenwald. (Not rated. 75 mins. At the Opera
Plaza.)
Like Robert Greenwald's earlier documentaries aimed at Wal-Mart,
Rupert Murdoch and other subjects that enrage progressives, this film is a
blast of fury. Greenwald's ire here is directed at firms like Blackwater
Security, Halliburton (and its KBR unit) and Titan Corp. that have won billions
of dollars in contracts for services to the U.S. military in Iraq.
The filmmaker contends that these corporations have squandered the lives
of some of their civilian workers, operated wastefully and made unconscionable
profits. The movie plays like a steady drumbeat: Outrage after outrage is
alleged.
We hear from tearful relatives of Americans who suffered grisly deaths in
a much-publicized 2004 incident in Fallujah. Family members say Blackwater "cut
corners" and neglected to provide their drivers with armored vehicles and
weaponry. The company escaped consequences, the film says, by hiring
high-powered lobbyists with GOP connections and launching an all-out
damage-control campaign in Congress.
The litany of misdeeds continues as we hear from assorted former
consultants, ex-interrogators at Abu Ghraib, watchdogs and irate members of
Congress.
Janis Karpinski, the former brigadier general who was demoted after the
Abu Ghraib scandal, describes how private contractors were involved in some of
the interrogations at the prison without proper supervision. Others contend
that at Abu Ghraib and elsewhere, untrained and incompetent translators were
hired (by San Diego's Titan), a practice that is alleged to have cost lives.
Major contracts were granted without competitive bidding, which amounts to
"a legal way of stealing," says one whistle-blower. Other scams include
charging the government for runs by empty cargo trucks and using a "cost-plus"
billing system that encourages profligate spending.
One ex-Halliburton employee accuses the company of providing contaminated
water to the military. There are stories of $45-per-six-pack sodas and
soldiers' laundry washed at $100 a load.
Part of the problem is the much-lamented Pentagon revolving door:
Companies hired by the military are often staffed and run by ex-military. Even
at the nonexecutive level, the situation is eye-opening: While soldiers make
$3,000 a month, private consultants, doing similar work, can pull in six
figures a year.
There's no objectivity in this film — Greenwald's goal is not to offer
balanced coverage but to roil the waters. It should also be said that most of
the charges aired here have been reported before. But Greenwald is skillful
enough to spark a fresh sense of outrage.
– Walter Addiego
American Blackout
Documentary. Directed by Ian Inaba. With Cynthia McKinney, Greg Palast,
Christopher Edley Jr., John Conyers Jr., Stephanie Tubbs-Jones. (Not rated. 95
minutes. At Opera Plaza; Lark Theater in Larkspur.)
When watching "American Blackout," prepare to get depressed, or mad, or
both, depending on how you feel about the outcomes of the last two presidential
elections. Assisted by 95 minutes of damning evidence, filmmaker Ian Inaba
(director of Eminem's 2004 get-out-the-vote video "Mosh") argues that African
American voters are being systematically disenfranchised from the political
process, beginning with the 2000 election debacle in Florida.
At the same time, Inaba charges government and media alike with
orchestrating the "political lynching" of U.S. Rep. Cynthia McKinney when the
outspoken Georgia Democrat began asking too many questions about the Bush
administration's Iraq policy, election machinations and culpability in the
Sept. 11, 2001, attacks. While this might sound like the stuff of chronic
conspiracy theory — a charge some have used to marginalize McKinney —
some provocative facts are out there for those willing to dig.
Inaba takes a straightforward approach to his work with an unadorned style
that narrates through interviews and archival footage, an approach that, in
this case, proves more convincing than the directorial theatrics favored by
some new-school documentarians.
To his credit, Inaba doesn't try to feign objectivity. He's biased, thank
you very much, and he does a good job of showing why. "American Blackout" makes
a credible case, with some of its most damning evidence coming from the mouths
of the conservatives themselves. The film is ultimately as much an indictment
of liberal apathy as of conservative dirty dealing, and a canonization of
McKinney for her continued refusal to follow any party's party line.
– Neva Chonin
Zen Noir
Mystery. Directed
by Marc Rosenbush. With Duane Sharp, Debra Miller, Kim Chan, Ezra
Buzzington. (Not rated. 71 minutes. At the Lumiere.)
From "Brick" to "Hollywoodland" and everything in between, directors
are retooling film noir and adapting its aesthetic for new contexts.
The latest entry into nouveau noir is Marc Rosenbush's "Zen Noir," a stagy
mystery about life and death and the meaning of everything. "Why do I talk this
way?" a nameless gumshoe (Duane Sharp) wonders in an early scene, having just
spouted a bizarre string of Raymond Chandler-speak to his mirror.
By film's end, he'll be wondering at a lot more — his lack of a name,
for instance, and the nature of death, and the proper way to eat an orange —
when a case involving murder in a Buddhist temple turns out to be a bigger
mystery than expected.
The biggest mystery of all is why director Marc Rosenbush, whose
background is in theater, bothered putting this story on film when it's so
obviously meant for a stage.
Comedic scenes patter along like experimental skits riffing on old
who's-on-first shtick. As the central character, Sharp overacts every line, as
if projecting to some unseen peanut gallery; camerawork is rudimentary,
composition is static and self-conscious.
For all its shortcomings, "Zen Noir" still entertains. Lynchian dream
sequences involving the detective's late wife add needed dynamics, and Debra
Miller is serene and inscrutable as a bald femme fatale with a big secret.
Kim Chan turns what might have been a cliche into an arresting performance
as the requisite wise Zen master who helps the gumshoe down the path of
enlightenment. Maybe he should throw in acting lessons, too.
– Neva Chonin
