6 Must-See Films:
1. Hansel and Gretel
2. Still Life
3. The Neighbor
4. DPA and OBI
5. Procession of Time
6. Pictures of You
6 You Can Skip:
1. Carousel
2. Harvest
3. Loaded
4. Collision
5. The Predator’s Prey
6. Loves Ugly Face
Best Film (Overall): Hansel and Gretel
Best Film (Thesis): The Neighbor
Best Film (Production Lab): Hansel and Gretel
Best Film (Advanced Filmmaking): Pictures Of You
Best Film (Intermediate): The Path To An Idea
Best Documentary: DPA and OBI
Best Director: Michael Staffieri; Hansel and Gretel
Best Original Screenplay: Carrie Ferrante, Pictures Of You
Best Adapted Screenplay: Emily Mayo & Michael Staffieri; Hansel and Gretel
Best Cinematography: Sean Costello; Hansel and Gretel
Best Editing: Dan Rodenhesier; The Neighbor
Best Production Design: Jessica Wallin; Hansel and Gretel
Best Sound: Kenny Melo; Still Life
Best Actress: Maria Arenlind; Hansel and Gretel
Best Actor: Adam Barnett; Still Life
Best Supporting Actress: Ava Kelley; Hansel and Gretel
Best Supporting Actor: {Tie} Konstantin Soukhovetski & Josef Urban; Hansel and Gretel
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The oft-asked for review of the 201 Post student film festival
From my old blog:
Disclaimer: I wrote these reviews for my own sake, and as there have been some interested parties, I have posted them here on my personal blog. Participants in the film festival are more than welcome to read these, but it should be warned across the board that I am not kind and complimentary in all my opinions. This is Read At Your Own Risk material, and are simply critiques of the film, and should in no way be perceived as personal attacks or insults at the individuals behind them.
It is my conviction that if we have any hope of breaking into an industry as competitive and vicious as the film industry, than we had ought to do our best to be as honest with each other as possible. It is unfair to any creative individual to coddle them and say "Good job" if that's not how we truly feel. Roger Ebert doesn't give out A's for effort, and we owe each other the same courtesy.
There is always a courage that comes with presenting something one has put their heart and soul into. Bearing one's creative products before a mass audience is an act which requires some level of bravery, and that bravery should be commended. However, that bravery stems from the fact that one bears their soul in the knowledge and awareness that their creative wok may be subject to ridicule and criticism. Take out the possibility of said ridicule or criticism, and you remove the bravery. And in removing criticism from a learning environment such as film school, you abolish any possibility of improvement. So it is with this sentiment in mind that I encourage those open to critiquing, no matter how harsh, to read on.
Apology: It should be noted that I unfortunately did not see “Amongst The Mortals”, as I suffered near heatstroke from my idiot decision to wear a tuxedo. My sincerest apologies to all involved in the film for it being excluded from this piece, and would love the opportunity to see the film. Also, I am aware I worked on some of these films, but I am approaching them from an objective perspective, I assure you.
Indie Scene (Documentary); 16 min.
Danny Famiglietti, Tyrone Holguin, Sandy Sonera Jr., Nick Allen
“A thought-provoking documentary on the independent music scene, this film examines three different groups: two rock bands, one who has found moderate success and one who has not, and a rap duo. While the film succeeds in providing an air of tragedy in the story of the struggling band, and an air of nostalgia in examining the “success” of Marcy’s Playground (“Sex And Candy”), the film flounders whenever it returns to the rap duo. This is a shame, as I personally would have been fascinated to see the different worlds of the underground rock and rap scenes.
Instead, we’re provided with snippets of two guys just…chilling, mostly. The film feels like a real documentary, interspersed with the filmmaker’s friends slipping themselves into the piece. Overall, Indie Scene is an interesting documentary, which is one third VH1: Behind The Music, one third Anvil: The Story of Anvil, and one third guys playing around. A well-put-together documentary that suffers only from a lack of understanding which of their subjects were worth the attention. Worth a watch if the subject interests you.”
The Predator’s Prey (Advanced); 7 min.
Nugent Cantelino, Mike Weinstein, Jess Frederickson, Robert LaRosa
“Having taken in The Predator’s Prey twice, I start to notice the positives. For example, conceptually, the piece is intriguing. A mentally handicapped man (played quite well by John Christopher Morton) falls into the web of a Chris Hanson-gone-mad. Tragically, the film derails past the concept. The film reveals the protagonist Steve’s disability so early on that The Predator’s Prey becomes The Predictable Plot. During it’s screening, the audience actually laughed at some of the more absurd lines. The tragedy of the film lies not in the plot, but certainly in the misplacement of blame the audience is sure to mentally commit. Michael Weinstein’s dialogue itself is not very laughable, and under better circumstances could have resulted in compelling drama. Unfortunately, the film was almost entirely horribly miscast. Overacting to such a degree as to make Japanese Kabuki seem reserved, glaring mistakes such as extras looking at the camera, an inexplicable choice of ending and odd shot choices make the film a clusterfuck of confusion.
This is not to say the film itself is poorly shot. Jess Fredrickson, the film’s cinematographer, has often experimented in unique shots. These kinds of experiments served well in Josh Paige’s intermediate film last year, but in The Predator’s Prey, they fall short. An attempt to film a P.O.V. of a computer screen may earn the admiration of Werner Herzog, but it clearly earned the ire of the audience. Frederickson’s more straight-forward shooting remains one of the film’s few highlights, however.
The Predator’s Prey was clearly far from a doomed film. It comes from a group of talented individuals, and had an intriguing concept. Yet, through a series of poor decisions, the film falters out the starting gate and fumbles all the way from start to finish.”
Serial Lover (Intermediate); 2 min.
Whitney Henry Inniss
“A cutesy short about a disloyal lover. In 2 minutes, Inniss manages to entertain, but in a fleeting manner, as is the trap of most “cute” short films.”
Carousel (Production Lab); 6 min.
Tom Kiernan, Jason Hess, Kenny Yu, Abe Bello, Sean Brogan, Len Domingo
“If Jess Fredrickson was the Capt. Sully who saved The Predator’s Prey from total crash and burn status, then the team behind Carousel were the flight crew on the Hindenberg. The film is a chaotic centrifuge of themes, lines, and events that are so non-linear as to be mind-boggling. There is little to no area in which this film even remotely succeeds. I would apologize to the team behind the film, but from what I hear, compared to their own opinions on the piece, my above statements read like praise.”
The Neighbor (Thesis); 12 min.
Dan Rodenhesier
“So maybe The Neighbor doesn’t tackle any drastically sweeping social issues. Maybe it doesn’t have any guns, any sex, and swearing or bloodshed of any kind. None of that matters, quite frankly, as The Neighbor succeeds in one area more than any other film, and that is in making the viewer simply feel good. This light-hearted film about two brothers fighting over the new girl next door shows that Dan Rodenhesier isn’t your typical film school idiot, aspiring to be just like {fill in hip, violent filmmaker}. Instead, he just wants to connect with the audience on a gut level. And he does so from joyous start to finish. The Neighbor is a great short film that can be viewed and enjoyed by everyone, young and old, and it is the humble hope of this reviewer that it is.”
Please Silence Your Cell Phone (Documentary); 6 min.
Jess Frederickson, Dani Teman
“In a festival with documentaries on the subjects of independent music and illegal street racing, the topic of texting doesn’t seem terribly important or worth caring about. Unfortunately, if you’re looking for a film to make the case that the topic of texting is worth your attention, this flick sure as hell ain’t it. From the amateurish voice-overs to the asinine animations of bouncing cell-phones to the immensely awkward man-on-the-street style interviews, Please Silence Your Cell Phone seems to forget what it’s purpose is. Indeed, there’s no clear cut subject to the documentary beyond “Cell Phones: People Use Them”. The documentary’s ending is a poorly shot speech made directly into the camera telling you to turn off your cell phones, to not use texting as a replacement for humans interaction, etc. and it feels as if the filmmakers simply went “Aw, crap, that’s what this was supposed to be about? Crap, just tack a speech on at the end.” By the end of the film, you’re no more informed than you were before it started, and the only thing you’ve gained is a nostalgia for those old MTV PSA’s from the early 90’s where a black screen with a question written on it would cut to banal statements from people you couldn’t care less about.
I’ll not mention the several audience members so bored they were actually texting during the film, but rest assured the irony was not lost on me.”
Nocturne In C# Minor (Advanced); 9 min.
Jae Kim, Mike Natale, Nick Young, Kwesi Bynoe
“Michael Natale has repeatedly spoken of his admiration of Woody Allen. Well, he has come one step closer to become his idol, as both their first attempts at drama, Allen’s 1978 Interiors and last night’s Nocturne In C# Minor, were less than stellar. The film suffers from a similar flaw as The Predator’s Prey. Both had concepts which lost it’s magic. Though it wasn’t a series of mistakes that hurt Nocturne In C# Minor. Rather, you can almost feel that the film, through countless rewrites and re-imaginings, lost it’s soul. Nick Young tries to use certain angles and lighting to make up for the verbose characters, and Jae Kim can almost be seen trying to pull the project together with his bear hands. It’s clear Kim, Natale, and Young have a workable synergy, and there’s certainly potential in their work. They simply seem so focused on pleasing everyone that they lost sight of the emotional honesty. The piece seems tailor made to please some professor, or some single individual, and it suffers greatly from that. Perhaps this trio could craft something spectacular in the future. It’s clear a lot of work went into the film, and if they can put in an equal level of heartfelt, rather than reluctant, passion to match the hard work, then it’s very likely they’ll give us all something worth watching.”
Heart Of Darkness (Intermediate); 2 min.
Chris Suchy
“Quite frankly, no one is sure what happened in this film. A story was told, but why tell it? What was the point? Your guess is as good as mine in this bizarre two minute piece.”
Hansel and Gretel (Production Lab); 17 min.
Michael Staffieri, Emily Mayo, Jessica Wallin, Sean Costello, Patrick Mackey
“In a pre-Staffieri world, the name pairing “Hansel and Gretel” brought one a feeling of nostalgia, of childhood wonderment. However, for the past year at C.W. Post, that title has evoked such intimidation, envy, and anticipation that last night’s virtually packed screening room was a mass of seemingly choreographed bouncing knees as the night approached the “big moment”.
Every year, one film develops such a massive buzz as to become the unofficial main act of the end-of-the-year film festival. Last year, that film was Gia McKenna’s In The Name Of Cinema. This year, it was Hansel and Gretel, and that’s not the only distinction these two films share. Both also stand as strong reminders that with a truly gifted group of creative minds, lack of resources or budget are not shackles but merely hurdles, which, if properly overcome, can result in brilliant films.
From the moment the projector starts, you forget you’re at a college. I sincerely believe that you could place this film in any festival and it would be right at home. Mayo and Staffieri’s screenplay puts a fresh twist on the almost haggard Holocaust film, by focusing less on the time period, and more on the people. The flashback sequences between the protagonist and her husband are not driven by the circumstances but by the emotions, the inner workings of the characters themselves, a tricky thing for even Hollywood writers to achieve. There is not a line out of place, and at no point does the film drift into the dangerous turf of cliché or insincerely ‘heart-warming’. Instead, you get a film where Gretel’s knee getting bandaged has you as engaged as the gun shot. The story is so well crafted that handed to even the most novice team, the film could be good. Yet, the film’s exceptional nature has as much to do with what you see as what you hear.
Visually, the film is an absolute delight. Sean Costello’s cinematography is gorgeous, but not so much to take away from the film itself. At no point does it become the typical film school visual short, with all the bells and whistles and no substance. All the angles, the lighting, the entire optical language of the film works in tandem with the script to create multi-sensory storytelling. Of course, we cannot talk about the visuals of the film without acknowledging the exceptional production design of Jessica Wallin. Every frame of that film should stand as a testament to the blood, sweat, and tears that surely went into every detail of that film. From that hand-built set (built atop the garish blue room all film majors have burned into their memories), to the period-perfect costumes, to even the most miniscule detail (the windows, the shelving, the radio, everything completely historically accurate to my knowledge), that will to most go unnoticed, simply to create the ambiance. One can almost imagine, ten years from now, film students refusing to believe that there was ever a production designer who put so much effort into a class project. So, congratulations, Ms. Wallin, you’ve joined the rank of urban legend.
Of course, the film would be a pretty nothing without the truly gifted performances to match the lines. Michael Staffieri has outdone himself with the ensemble he’s assembled, and his directing pulls out such brilliant turns as Konstantin Soukhovetski as the vile S.S. officer, Josef Urban as the foolishly noble husband, and of course, the star of the entire evening, Maria Arenlind, who’s performance deserves a paragraph of praise all it’s own (All three of these actors sheer physical appearance, it should be noted, gave almost every viewer severe body image issues). Though the true testament to Staffieri’s skill is in the performances of the children. Simply look at the terror in Gretel’s face as she crouches under the table, hearing the news of her mother’s murder, and you’ll understand why I picked that little girl as the night’s Best Supporting Actress.
So Hansel and Gretel is on all accounts a success. Even it’s unfinished sound couldn’t rob it of it’s well deserved glory, as the house seemed to empty after seeing the film they came for. Much like In The Name Of Cinema‘s crew, the H&G team encourage us all to up our game by showing what can be done with passion and talent. Like them or not, you gotta admit, last night, they kicked our collective ass.”
Loves Ugly Face (Intermediate); 2 min.
Caitlin Montclaire
“Now, look, any film would have looked bad following Hansel and Gretel, but that’s no excuse for sloppy storytelling. Whoever scheduled these films together made a mistake, and made this silly stabbing story look worse by comparison alone. Sure, there’s nothing special about this film, and it’s another gore-nographic shlockfest like we get every year, but maybe I would have liked it more had I not just been blown away.”
Pictures of You (Advanced); 5 min.
Josh Paige, Jason Hess, Carrie Ferrante, Marc Riou, Nick Young, Dani Teman
“In and amongst all the Advanced Filmmaking projects trying to tackle huge social issues like war, addiction, child predators, and whatever the fuck the point of Loaded was (we’ll get to that later), it is a little film about a girl in a bad relationship that comes out on top. The only film to shoot in Post and not look ridiculous (excluding films that shot in the studio), the film is a sweet, endearing story that’s sure to make you go “Aw…” by the final hand holding shot. As per usual, Marc Riou’s cinematography perfectly accentuates the meaning behind the lines, and the film only suffers from weak male actors. With vibrant color and not an ounce of pretension, Pictures of You does what all the other Advanced films screened last night tried to do and failed. It made you feel something. So it’s not a dark, meditative masterpiece. It’s not trying to be, and that’s why it shines.”
DPA and OBI (Documentary); 13 min.
Thomas Piazza, Kenneth Melo, Brian DiLorenzo, Nick Young, Jay Manly
“By far the best documentary all night, this close examination of illegal street racing is as quality as it’s going to get from a Post documentary. It’s pulse pounding, it’s exciting, and it’s informative. Yeah, it does both entertain and inform. Sure, you find out the world of street racing isn’t as glamorous as The Fast & The Furious, but you realize it’s real, and these intrepid camera men immersed themselves into this world. As you watch the camera swing, you realize they really are being chased by police. These documentarians pull you into a story you don’t ever want to leave, and craft an enthralling piece that is without a doubt worth your attention.”
Still Life (Production Lab); 16 min.
Martha McCann, Rob Vogt, Justin Toulon, Courtney Taylor, Kenneth Melo, Len Domingo, Kwasi Asante Tanner
“In the course of viewing Still Life, I found myself feeling deeply sad for Rob Vogt, Martha McCann, and particularly lead actress Piper Blouin. All seem to understand the subtle decay that occurs within an individual in those moments of interpersonal collapse too well for it to be purely fictive. It’s quietly dazzling how gently and delicately Vogt’s script handles this fragile subject of an alcoholic parent. So many times, the subject has been tackled, and very rarely does it work without stumbling into the terrain of the melodrama. Vogt seems careful never to let any scene get cliché, and McCann successfully fought the temptation any of us would get to create the “big” scene.
Through a combination of Vogt’s cinematography and McCann’s directing, scenes set in the sweeping landscapes of Manhattan have the same uncomfortable claustrophobia as the seat-shifting-ly awkward train car scenes, all done to maximum effect to create an unsettling aura not only inside the world of the film but in the audience as well. Every head in the house is thinking “Something’s off here”, but no one can piece together quite what until the end.
Yes, it’s almost a mystery story for the first half of the film, trying to discern exactly why this girl harbors such disdain for her father. Not enough compliment can be given to the performance of Adam Barnett, who seems to have a natural understanding of what level of likeability is right for the scene. It’s rare in student films to see an actor dig so deeply into the role, but Barnett seems so perfectly desperate for his daughter’s smile that we in the audience want to grab ahold of her and tell her to lighten up. That whatever he did, it’s not that bad.
Then he starts to drink, and the filmmaker’s high-wire act begins. It would be so easy to at any moment slip into comic lush flick, or Lifetime movie awfulness. Instead, McCann guides each scene’s subtle serenity to the forefront, making everything believable. The almost tender moment where the daughter discusses the factors that determine good photography never gets tender, in the sense that it never evokes an emotion that wouldn’t be felt observing an actual father-daughter conversation.
In the same vein, anyone disappointed that the alleyway altercation didn’t have more shouting, more crying, more gusto, has clearly never been in that situation. Barnett’s delivery of his inebriatedly angry lines is so pitch perfect you can smell the booze off of his whiskers. Piper fights back tears, just enough to let us know there’s a pain inside, but a pain she’s used to. There’s no need for either to display their soul, nor for there to be any confrontation. No one ever shares their feelings, no one ever lets on what kind of cross they bear. In moments like when Piper leaves the train car as her father faintly sleeps in his seat, I cannot help but recall one of my favorite songs, Peter Allen’s “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, a song he wrote about how no one really speaks about the scars inside. McCann and Vogt use that idea, but traded in the song’s awful 80’s music for a heart-wrenchingly realistic portrait of the typical decay of the American family.”
Cold Feet (Class Unknown); 5 min.
Thomas Waters
“An odd little film about a guy running. The twist at the end is chuckle-worthy, but both Waters’ films of the night seem crafted more around locations than solid stories.”
The Path To An Idea (Intermediate); 3 min.
Adam Kampfer
“This little film had something intriguing about it. It wasn’t mind-blowing or guffawing funny, but I get a sense about whoever made this. Kampfer seems to have an ear for dialogue that reminds me of a clean Kevin Smith, back when Kevin Smith wrote real dialogue. I’d keep an eye open for this kid.”
Mother (Advanced); 5 min.
Alan Holloway, Chris DeMonte, Jeremiah Wenutu, Tyler Tremblay
“Mother, as a whole, is a basically bland film, as almost all this year’s Advanced films seem to be. It’s another watered down concept that seems intriguing, this time the idea being addiction to Robitussin. Rather than get a compelling story, we get a bland little short about a kid robbing a store. Again, the film seems crafted to please someone in particular, and suffers for it. Also, the shaky camera may or may not have been intentional, but it’s almost painful at times. The film suffers not from lack of quality, but from bland forgetability.”
Procession Of Time (Thesis); 16 min.
Courtney Taylor
“Procession Of Time is, in essence, an Americanization of the theme of the German film Lola Rennt, though a lot less…German. Utilizing computer animation, green screens, and a captivating non-linear storytelling style, Courtney Taylor crafts a very compelling tale about the idea of the infinite possibilities in the web of time, and how even the most minor actions can lead to major events (points go to Taylor for casting himself as one of the characters who commits one of those “minor events”). The only risk the film takes is that if you’re drawn in from the beginning, the climax is shocking. If you’re not, the climax, and indeed the entire film seems melodramatic. I am happy to report, though, that I was one of the many who was, in fact, drawn in from start to finish.”
Mistaken Identity (Class Unknown); 3 min.
Whitney Henry Inniss
“Another cutely comic film, this one with a little more staying power, though the ending sound clip takes it to an absurd place I’d have preferred it didn’t go.”
Aria (Thesis); 13 min.
Kenneth Melo
“In the beginning, Aria is an interesting, well shot film with characters that intrigue you. You start to feel just as if you’re watching a Quentin Tarantino film, and that’s exactly where this film suffers. From the female protagonist predatorily surveying a highway to close-ups of feet, this film is a perfect Tarantino homage. Tragically, that’s all it is. Once the abnormally large gun comes out, and the man manages to tie himself up in a manner from which he can’t escape (I’m confused as to the physics of that, personally), the film goes into a crazy place it shouldn’t have. I’m not trying to say Aria isn’t an enjoyable film. It very much is. It just lacks compositional originality, a thing I’m sure we’re all very guilty of from time to time. Look up Aria if you like Tarantino, and I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy yourself, up until they quite literally pull out the big gun. See, that’s the problem with guns in student films. A lot more people think they can do it tastefully than actually can.”
Collision (Summer Project); 11 min.
Robert LaRosa, Marc Riou
“The message of Collision is basically “Why do bad things happen to good people?” and that is the exact sentiment I felt when looking at all the good people in the audience viewing this film. This bizarre, revenge-fantasy/PSA against drunk driving starts out reasonable, if a little absurdly obscene with a conversation between two guys who seem to swear a ridiculously large amount. Then for some weird coincidence, one of the friends goes all deer-in-the-headlights in front of a drunk driver AS HE’S TALKING ABOUT DRUNK DRIVERS. What happens next is…well…
The film suffers most from writer/director Robert LaRosa casting himself as the lead, a decision that causes the film to become even more John Waters-esque twisted. LaRosa decides to take revenge on the man who killed his friend, using a baseball bat, which leads to him later driving a soccer mom minivan with a Taxi Driver-esque monologue.
The film is bizarre, absurd, melodramatic, and at it’s worst almost un-watch-able. LaRosa could benefit from doing like other film makers in his class, such as John Waters, Ralph Bakshi, Tim Burton, and even Federico Fellini, and that is embracing the bizarreness of his films, and cranking it up to 11. Then you’ll have a film I’ll enjoy. Until then, this foray into “serious” films just isn’t lighting my fire, dig?”
Loaded (Advanced); 6 min.
Jason Hess, Josh Paige, Marc Riou
“This film was chaotic, and just a waste of time. I cannot help but think of the line from Billy Madison (which provided more intellectual stimulation than Loaded) “Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it”.
This film took an actually quality actress and underused her in place of a guy saying fuck a lot (Do a shot every time he says it and you’ll be plastered a minute in) and shots of a muscular guy running with a gun in the completely obvious halls of Kahn, a building we’re all so familiar with that it becomes laughable. Loaded is the kind of movie we all made as kids with a camcorder and our friends when we were 14. Lots of guns and running and trying to look cool, and little to no plot. You could have maybe redeemed it a little by letting Ms. Ferrante utter a line or two rather than just cry taped up next to the typical “crazy guy” Why is he mad at said Senator? Who gives a crap, they have guns! Look how cool! Guns! Fuck! Guns! Running!
This film proved to actually be more insufferable than Collision. At least Collision tried to have a point. This film was just bland machismo. I realize there were probably people who thought it was “really good”. That not all movies need to make you think. Well, if films like this have more of a future than films like Still Life or Hansel and Gretel or Pictures Of You, then do me a favor and do to me what they did to Ms. Ferrante at the end of the film.
In it‘s defense, for what it is, it‘s well made. There are no glaring errors in the filming process. For those looking for virtually plot-less action, I would recommend it. I just don‘t know too many people looking for that.”
Change Of Heart (Thesis); 6 min.
Esley Tate
“I cannot begin to grasp what the point of this film was. Don’t have babies? Maybe I’m just being nitpicky. It wasn’t poorly shot or poorly acted. It was just…forgettable. And when you’re in a late night slot like this, you can’t afford to be forgettable. You either gotta be great or awful, which leads to our next one…”
Harvest (Class Unknown); 25 min.
Len Domingo, Daniel Famiglietti, Tom Kiernan
“Even the film maker himself didn’t seem to care about the film when he presented it. What we get is an overly long, ever cliché story of Death personified, this time falling in love with a woman. The use of the 1812 Overture, the flashbacks, the Frankenstein theme, the entire piece failed to entertain or inspire, and instead just left us waiting for the end, or maybe the sweet release that this “death“ refused to give.
See what I just did there? I kept things brief. There‘s an art to that. Not pointing fingers or anything.”
A Dog Day (Intermediate); 3 min.
Thomas Waters
“As I said before about these films, they seem more built around location than story, especially in this pointless story about a doggy down a well. Enjoyable? Yes. But mainly for it’s convenient locale.”
Apartment, NY (Class Unknown); 2 min.
Shimo Takuya
“It’s a real shame this film didn’t run. It looked interesting.”
So there end the reviews of the 2010 C.W. Post Underclassmen film festival. Once again, this was intended as healthy criticism, and was not meant to make anyone cry. I welcome all disagreements and commentary (beyond "You suck") and encourage a healthy dialogue, as that is the only way we are going to improve.
Disclaimer: I wrote these reviews for my own sake, and as there have been some interested parties, I have posted them here on my personal blog. Participants in the film festival are more than welcome to read these, but it should be warned across the board that I am not kind and complimentary in all my opinions. This is Read At Your Own Risk material, and are simply critiques of the film, and should in no way be perceived as personal attacks or insults at the individuals behind them.
It is my conviction that if we have any hope of breaking into an industry as competitive and vicious as the film industry, than we had ought to do our best to be as honest with each other as possible. It is unfair to any creative individual to coddle them and say "Good job" if that's not how we truly feel. Roger Ebert doesn't give out A's for effort, and we owe each other the same courtesy.
There is always a courage that comes with presenting something one has put their heart and soul into. Bearing one's creative products before a mass audience is an act which requires some level of bravery, and that bravery should be commended. However, that bravery stems from the fact that one bears their soul in the knowledge and awareness that their creative wok may be subject to ridicule and criticism. Take out the possibility of said ridicule or criticism, and you remove the bravery. And in removing criticism from a learning environment such as film school, you abolish any possibility of improvement. So it is with this sentiment in mind that I encourage those open to critiquing, no matter how harsh, to read on.
Apology: It should be noted that I unfortunately did not see “Amongst The Mortals”, as I suffered near heatstroke from my idiot decision to wear a tuxedo. My sincerest apologies to all involved in the film for it being excluded from this piece, and would love the opportunity to see the film. Also, I am aware I worked on some of these films, but I am approaching them from an objective perspective, I assure you.
Indie Scene (Documentary); 16 min.
Danny Famiglietti, Tyrone Holguin, Sandy Sonera Jr., Nick Allen
“A thought-provoking documentary on the independent music scene, this film examines three different groups: two rock bands, one who has found moderate success and one who has not, and a rap duo. While the film succeeds in providing an air of tragedy in the story of the struggling band, and an air of nostalgia in examining the “success” of Marcy’s Playground (“Sex And Candy”), the film flounders whenever it returns to the rap duo. This is a shame, as I personally would have been fascinated to see the different worlds of the underground rock and rap scenes.
Instead, we’re provided with snippets of two guys just…chilling, mostly. The film feels like a real documentary, interspersed with the filmmaker’s friends slipping themselves into the piece. Overall, Indie Scene is an interesting documentary, which is one third VH1: Behind The Music, one third Anvil: The Story of Anvil, and one third guys playing around. A well-put-together documentary that suffers only from a lack of understanding which of their subjects were worth the attention. Worth a watch if the subject interests you.”
The Predator’s Prey (Advanced); 7 min.
Nugent Cantelino, Mike Weinstein, Jess Frederickson, Robert LaRosa
“Having taken in The Predator’s Prey twice, I start to notice the positives. For example, conceptually, the piece is intriguing. A mentally handicapped man (played quite well by John Christopher Morton) falls into the web of a Chris Hanson-gone-mad. Tragically, the film derails past the concept. The film reveals the protagonist Steve’s disability so early on that The Predator’s Prey becomes The Predictable Plot. During it’s screening, the audience actually laughed at some of the more absurd lines. The tragedy of the film lies not in the plot, but certainly in the misplacement of blame the audience is sure to mentally commit. Michael Weinstein’s dialogue itself is not very laughable, and under better circumstances could have resulted in compelling drama. Unfortunately, the film was almost entirely horribly miscast. Overacting to such a degree as to make Japanese Kabuki seem reserved, glaring mistakes such as extras looking at the camera, an inexplicable choice of ending and odd shot choices make the film a clusterfuck of confusion.
This is not to say the film itself is poorly shot. Jess Fredrickson, the film’s cinematographer, has often experimented in unique shots. These kinds of experiments served well in Josh Paige’s intermediate film last year, but in The Predator’s Prey, they fall short. An attempt to film a P.O.V. of a computer screen may earn the admiration of Werner Herzog, but it clearly earned the ire of the audience. Frederickson’s more straight-forward shooting remains one of the film’s few highlights, however.
The Predator’s Prey was clearly far from a doomed film. It comes from a group of talented individuals, and had an intriguing concept. Yet, through a series of poor decisions, the film falters out the starting gate and fumbles all the way from start to finish.”
Serial Lover (Intermediate); 2 min.
Whitney Henry Inniss
“A cutesy short about a disloyal lover. In 2 minutes, Inniss manages to entertain, but in a fleeting manner, as is the trap of most “cute” short films.”
Carousel (Production Lab); 6 min.
Tom Kiernan, Jason Hess, Kenny Yu, Abe Bello, Sean Brogan, Len Domingo
“If Jess Fredrickson was the Capt. Sully who saved The Predator’s Prey from total crash and burn status, then the team behind Carousel were the flight crew on the Hindenberg. The film is a chaotic centrifuge of themes, lines, and events that are so non-linear as to be mind-boggling. There is little to no area in which this film even remotely succeeds. I would apologize to the team behind the film, but from what I hear, compared to their own opinions on the piece, my above statements read like praise.”
The Neighbor (Thesis); 12 min.
Dan Rodenhesier
“So maybe The Neighbor doesn’t tackle any drastically sweeping social issues. Maybe it doesn’t have any guns, any sex, and swearing or bloodshed of any kind. None of that matters, quite frankly, as The Neighbor succeeds in one area more than any other film, and that is in making the viewer simply feel good. This light-hearted film about two brothers fighting over the new girl next door shows that Dan Rodenhesier isn’t your typical film school idiot, aspiring to be just like {fill in hip, violent filmmaker}. Instead, he just wants to connect with the audience on a gut level. And he does so from joyous start to finish. The Neighbor is a great short film that can be viewed and enjoyed by everyone, young and old, and it is the humble hope of this reviewer that it is.”
Please Silence Your Cell Phone (Documentary); 6 min.
Jess Frederickson, Dani Teman
“In a festival with documentaries on the subjects of independent music and illegal street racing, the topic of texting doesn’t seem terribly important or worth caring about. Unfortunately, if you’re looking for a film to make the case that the topic of texting is worth your attention, this flick sure as hell ain’t it. From the amateurish voice-overs to the asinine animations of bouncing cell-phones to the immensely awkward man-on-the-street style interviews, Please Silence Your Cell Phone seems to forget what it’s purpose is. Indeed, there’s no clear cut subject to the documentary beyond “Cell Phones: People Use Them”. The documentary’s ending is a poorly shot speech made directly into the camera telling you to turn off your cell phones, to not use texting as a replacement for humans interaction, etc. and it feels as if the filmmakers simply went “Aw, crap, that’s what this was supposed to be about? Crap, just tack a speech on at the end.” By the end of the film, you’re no more informed than you were before it started, and the only thing you’ve gained is a nostalgia for those old MTV PSA’s from the early 90’s where a black screen with a question written on it would cut to banal statements from people you couldn’t care less about.
I’ll not mention the several audience members so bored they were actually texting during the film, but rest assured the irony was not lost on me.”
Nocturne In C# Minor (Advanced); 9 min.
Jae Kim, Mike Natale, Nick Young, Kwesi Bynoe
“Michael Natale has repeatedly spoken of his admiration of Woody Allen. Well, he has come one step closer to become his idol, as both their first attempts at drama, Allen’s 1978 Interiors and last night’s Nocturne In C# Minor, were less than stellar. The film suffers from a similar flaw as The Predator’s Prey. Both had concepts which lost it’s magic. Though it wasn’t a series of mistakes that hurt Nocturne In C# Minor. Rather, you can almost feel that the film, through countless rewrites and re-imaginings, lost it’s soul. Nick Young tries to use certain angles and lighting to make up for the verbose characters, and Jae Kim can almost be seen trying to pull the project together with his bear hands. It’s clear Kim, Natale, and Young have a workable synergy, and there’s certainly potential in their work. They simply seem so focused on pleasing everyone that they lost sight of the emotional honesty. The piece seems tailor made to please some professor, or some single individual, and it suffers greatly from that. Perhaps this trio could craft something spectacular in the future. It’s clear a lot of work went into the film, and if they can put in an equal level of heartfelt, rather than reluctant, passion to match the hard work, then it’s very likely they’ll give us all something worth watching.”
Heart Of Darkness (Intermediate); 2 min.
Chris Suchy
“Quite frankly, no one is sure what happened in this film. A story was told, but why tell it? What was the point? Your guess is as good as mine in this bizarre two minute piece.”
Hansel and Gretel (Production Lab); 17 min.
Michael Staffieri, Emily Mayo, Jessica Wallin, Sean Costello, Patrick Mackey
“In a pre-Staffieri world, the name pairing “Hansel and Gretel” brought one a feeling of nostalgia, of childhood wonderment. However, for the past year at C.W. Post, that title has evoked such intimidation, envy, and anticipation that last night’s virtually packed screening room was a mass of seemingly choreographed bouncing knees as the night approached the “big moment”.
Every year, one film develops such a massive buzz as to become the unofficial main act of the end-of-the-year film festival. Last year, that film was Gia McKenna’s In The Name Of Cinema. This year, it was Hansel and Gretel, and that’s not the only distinction these two films share. Both also stand as strong reminders that with a truly gifted group of creative minds, lack of resources or budget are not shackles but merely hurdles, which, if properly overcome, can result in brilliant films.
From the moment the projector starts, you forget you’re at a college. I sincerely believe that you could place this film in any festival and it would be right at home. Mayo and Staffieri’s screenplay puts a fresh twist on the almost haggard Holocaust film, by focusing less on the time period, and more on the people. The flashback sequences between the protagonist and her husband are not driven by the circumstances but by the emotions, the inner workings of the characters themselves, a tricky thing for even Hollywood writers to achieve. There is not a line out of place, and at no point does the film drift into the dangerous turf of cliché or insincerely ‘heart-warming’. Instead, you get a film where Gretel’s knee getting bandaged has you as engaged as the gun shot. The story is so well crafted that handed to even the most novice team, the film could be good. Yet, the film’s exceptional nature has as much to do with what you see as what you hear.
Visually, the film is an absolute delight. Sean Costello’s cinematography is gorgeous, but not so much to take away from the film itself. At no point does it become the typical film school visual short, with all the bells and whistles and no substance. All the angles, the lighting, the entire optical language of the film works in tandem with the script to create multi-sensory storytelling. Of course, we cannot talk about the visuals of the film without acknowledging the exceptional production design of Jessica Wallin. Every frame of that film should stand as a testament to the blood, sweat, and tears that surely went into every detail of that film. From that hand-built set (built atop the garish blue room all film majors have burned into their memories), to the period-perfect costumes, to even the most miniscule detail (the windows, the shelving, the radio, everything completely historically accurate to my knowledge), that will to most go unnoticed, simply to create the ambiance. One can almost imagine, ten years from now, film students refusing to believe that there was ever a production designer who put so much effort into a class project. So, congratulations, Ms. Wallin, you’ve joined the rank of urban legend.
Of course, the film would be a pretty nothing without the truly gifted performances to match the lines. Michael Staffieri has outdone himself with the ensemble he’s assembled, and his directing pulls out such brilliant turns as Konstantin Soukhovetski as the vile S.S. officer, Josef Urban as the foolishly noble husband, and of course, the star of the entire evening, Maria Arenlind, who’s performance deserves a paragraph of praise all it’s own (All three of these actors sheer physical appearance, it should be noted, gave almost every viewer severe body image issues). Though the true testament to Staffieri’s skill is in the performances of the children. Simply look at the terror in Gretel’s face as she crouches under the table, hearing the news of her mother’s murder, and you’ll understand why I picked that little girl as the night’s Best Supporting Actress.
So Hansel and Gretel is on all accounts a success. Even it’s unfinished sound couldn’t rob it of it’s well deserved glory, as the house seemed to empty after seeing the film they came for. Much like In The Name Of Cinema‘s crew, the H&G team encourage us all to up our game by showing what can be done with passion and talent. Like them or not, you gotta admit, last night, they kicked our collective ass.”
Loves Ugly Face (Intermediate); 2 min.
Caitlin Montclaire
“Now, look, any film would have looked bad following Hansel and Gretel, but that’s no excuse for sloppy storytelling. Whoever scheduled these films together made a mistake, and made this silly stabbing story look worse by comparison alone. Sure, there’s nothing special about this film, and it’s another gore-nographic shlockfest like we get every year, but maybe I would have liked it more had I not just been blown away.”
Pictures of You (Advanced); 5 min.
Josh Paige, Jason Hess, Carrie Ferrante, Marc Riou, Nick Young, Dani Teman
“In and amongst all the Advanced Filmmaking projects trying to tackle huge social issues like war, addiction, child predators, and whatever the fuck the point of Loaded was (we’ll get to that later), it is a little film about a girl in a bad relationship that comes out on top. The only film to shoot in Post and not look ridiculous (excluding films that shot in the studio), the film is a sweet, endearing story that’s sure to make you go “Aw…” by the final hand holding shot. As per usual, Marc Riou’s cinematography perfectly accentuates the meaning behind the lines, and the film only suffers from weak male actors. With vibrant color and not an ounce of pretension, Pictures of You does what all the other Advanced films screened last night tried to do and failed. It made you feel something. So it’s not a dark, meditative masterpiece. It’s not trying to be, and that’s why it shines.”
DPA and OBI (Documentary); 13 min.
Thomas Piazza, Kenneth Melo, Brian DiLorenzo, Nick Young, Jay Manly
“By far the best documentary all night, this close examination of illegal street racing is as quality as it’s going to get from a Post documentary. It’s pulse pounding, it’s exciting, and it’s informative. Yeah, it does both entertain and inform. Sure, you find out the world of street racing isn’t as glamorous as The Fast & The Furious, but you realize it’s real, and these intrepid camera men immersed themselves into this world. As you watch the camera swing, you realize they really are being chased by police. These documentarians pull you into a story you don’t ever want to leave, and craft an enthralling piece that is without a doubt worth your attention.”
Still Life (Production Lab); 16 min.
Martha McCann, Rob Vogt, Justin Toulon, Courtney Taylor, Kenneth Melo, Len Domingo, Kwasi Asante Tanner
“In the course of viewing Still Life, I found myself feeling deeply sad for Rob Vogt, Martha McCann, and particularly lead actress Piper Blouin. All seem to understand the subtle decay that occurs within an individual in those moments of interpersonal collapse too well for it to be purely fictive. It’s quietly dazzling how gently and delicately Vogt’s script handles this fragile subject of an alcoholic parent. So many times, the subject has been tackled, and very rarely does it work without stumbling into the terrain of the melodrama. Vogt seems careful never to let any scene get cliché, and McCann successfully fought the temptation any of us would get to create the “big” scene.
Through a combination of Vogt’s cinematography and McCann’s directing, scenes set in the sweeping landscapes of Manhattan have the same uncomfortable claustrophobia as the seat-shifting-ly awkward train car scenes, all done to maximum effect to create an unsettling aura not only inside the world of the film but in the audience as well. Every head in the house is thinking “Something’s off here”, but no one can piece together quite what until the end.
Yes, it’s almost a mystery story for the first half of the film, trying to discern exactly why this girl harbors such disdain for her father. Not enough compliment can be given to the performance of Adam Barnett, who seems to have a natural understanding of what level of likeability is right for the scene. It’s rare in student films to see an actor dig so deeply into the role, but Barnett seems so perfectly desperate for his daughter’s smile that we in the audience want to grab ahold of her and tell her to lighten up. That whatever he did, it’s not that bad.
Then he starts to drink, and the filmmaker’s high-wire act begins. It would be so easy to at any moment slip into comic lush flick, or Lifetime movie awfulness. Instead, McCann guides each scene’s subtle serenity to the forefront, making everything believable. The almost tender moment where the daughter discusses the factors that determine good photography never gets tender, in the sense that it never evokes an emotion that wouldn’t be felt observing an actual father-daughter conversation.
In the same vein, anyone disappointed that the alleyway altercation didn’t have more shouting, more crying, more gusto, has clearly never been in that situation. Barnett’s delivery of his inebriatedly angry lines is so pitch perfect you can smell the booze off of his whiskers. Piper fights back tears, just enough to let us know there’s a pain inside, but a pain she’s used to. There’s no need for either to display their soul, nor for there to be any confrontation. No one ever shares their feelings, no one ever lets on what kind of cross they bear. In moments like when Piper leaves the train car as her father faintly sleeps in his seat, I cannot help but recall one of my favorite songs, Peter Allen’s “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, a song he wrote about how no one really speaks about the scars inside. McCann and Vogt use that idea, but traded in the song’s awful 80’s music for a heart-wrenchingly realistic portrait of the typical decay of the American family.”
Cold Feet (Class Unknown); 5 min.
Thomas Waters
“An odd little film about a guy running. The twist at the end is chuckle-worthy, but both Waters’ films of the night seem crafted more around locations than solid stories.”
The Path To An Idea (Intermediate); 3 min.
Adam Kampfer
“This little film had something intriguing about it. It wasn’t mind-blowing or guffawing funny, but I get a sense about whoever made this. Kampfer seems to have an ear for dialogue that reminds me of a clean Kevin Smith, back when Kevin Smith wrote real dialogue. I’d keep an eye open for this kid.”
Mother (Advanced); 5 min.
Alan Holloway, Chris DeMonte, Jeremiah Wenutu, Tyler Tremblay
“Mother, as a whole, is a basically bland film, as almost all this year’s Advanced films seem to be. It’s another watered down concept that seems intriguing, this time the idea being addiction to Robitussin. Rather than get a compelling story, we get a bland little short about a kid robbing a store. Again, the film seems crafted to please someone in particular, and suffers for it. Also, the shaky camera may or may not have been intentional, but it’s almost painful at times. The film suffers not from lack of quality, but from bland forgetability.”
Procession Of Time (Thesis); 16 min.
Courtney Taylor
“Procession Of Time is, in essence, an Americanization of the theme of the German film Lola Rennt, though a lot less…German. Utilizing computer animation, green screens, and a captivating non-linear storytelling style, Courtney Taylor crafts a very compelling tale about the idea of the infinite possibilities in the web of time, and how even the most minor actions can lead to major events (points go to Taylor for casting himself as one of the characters who commits one of those “minor events”). The only risk the film takes is that if you’re drawn in from the beginning, the climax is shocking. If you’re not, the climax, and indeed the entire film seems melodramatic. I am happy to report, though, that I was one of the many who was, in fact, drawn in from start to finish.”
Mistaken Identity (Class Unknown); 3 min.
Whitney Henry Inniss
“Another cutely comic film, this one with a little more staying power, though the ending sound clip takes it to an absurd place I’d have preferred it didn’t go.”
Aria (Thesis); 13 min.
Kenneth Melo
“In the beginning, Aria is an interesting, well shot film with characters that intrigue you. You start to feel just as if you’re watching a Quentin Tarantino film, and that’s exactly where this film suffers. From the female protagonist predatorily surveying a highway to close-ups of feet, this film is a perfect Tarantino homage. Tragically, that’s all it is. Once the abnormally large gun comes out, and the man manages to tie himself up in a manner from which he can’t escape (I’m confused as to the physics of that, personally), the film goes into a crazy place it shouldn’t have. I’m not trying to say Aria isn’t an enjoyable film. It very much is. It just lacks compositional originality, a thing I’m sure we’re all very guilty of from time to time. Look up Aria if you like Tarantino, and I’m pretty sure you’ll enjoy yourself, up until they quite literally pull out the big gun. See, that’s the problem with guns in student films. A lot more people think they can do it tastefully than actually can.”
Collision (Summer Project); 11 min.
Robert LaRosa, Marc Riou
“The message of Collision is basically “Why do bad things happen to good people?” and that is the exact sentiment I felt when looking at all the good people in the audience viewing this film. This bizarre, revenge-fantasy/PSA against drunk driving starts out reasonable, if a little absurdly obscene with a conversation between two guys who seem to swear a ridiculously large amount. Then for some weird coincidence, one of the friends goes all deer-in-the-headlights in front of a drunk driver AS HE’S TALKING ABOUT DRUNK DRIVERS. What happens next is…well…
The film suffers most from writer/director Robert LaRosa casting himself as the lead, a decision that causes the film to become even more John Waters-esque twisted. LaRosa decides to take revenge on the man who killed his friend, using a baseball bat, which leads to him later driving a soccer mom minivan with a Taxi Driver-esque monologue.
The film is bizarre, absurd, melodramatic, and at it’s worst almost un-watch-able. LaRosa could benefit from doing like other film makers in his class, such as John Waters, Ralph Bakshi, Tim Burton, and even Federico Fellini, and that is embracing the bizarreness of his films, and cranking it up to 11. Then you’ll have a film I’ll enjoy. Until then, this foray into “serious” films just isn’t lighting my fire, dig?”
Loaded (Advanced); 6 min.
Jason Hess, Josh Paige, Marc Riou
“This film was chaotic, and just a waste of time. I cannot help but think of the line from Billy Madison (which provided more intellectual stimulation than Loaded) “Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it”.
This film took an actually quality actress and underused her in place of a guy saying fuck a lot (Do a shot every time he says it and you’ll be plastered a minute in) and shots of a muscular guy running with a gun in the completely obvious halls of Kahn, a building we’re all so familiar with that it becomes laughable. Loaded is the kind of movie we all made as kids with a camcorder and our friends when we were 14. Lots of guns and running and trying to look cool, and little to no plot. You could have maybe redeemed it a little by letting Ms. Ferrante utter a line or two rather than just cry taped up next to the typical “crazy guy” Why is he mad at said Senator? Who gives a crap, they have guns! Look how cool! Guns! Fuck! Guns! Running!
This film proved to actually be more insufferable than Collision. At least Collision tried to have a point. This film was just bland machismo. I realize there were probably people who thought it was “really good”. That not all movies need to make you think. Well, if films like this have more of a future than films like Still Life or Hansel and Gretel or Pictures Of You, then do me a favor and do to me what they did to Ms. Ferrante at the end of the film.
In it‘s defense, for what it is, it‘s well made. There are no glaring errors in the filming process. For those looking for virtually plot-less action, I would recommend it. I just don‘t know too many people looking for that.”
Change Of Heart (Thesis); 6 min.
Esley Tate
“I cannot begin to grasp what the point of this film was. Don’t have babies? Maybe I’m just being nitpicky. It wasn’t poorly shot or poorly acted. It was just…forgettable. And when you’re in a late night slot like this, you can’t afford to be forgettable. You either gotta be great or awful, which leads to our next one…”
Harvest (Class Unknown); 25 min.
Len Domingo, Daniel Famiglietti, Tom Kiernan
“Even the film maker himself didn’t seem to care about the film when he presented it. What we get is an overly long, ever cliché story of Death personified, this time falling in love with a woman. The use of the 1812 Overture, the flashbacks, the Frankenstein theme, the entire piece failed to entertain or inspire, and instead just left us waiting for the end, or maybe the sweet release that this “death“ refused to give.
See what I just did there? I kept things brief. There‘s an art to that. Not pointing fingers or anything.”
A Dog Day (Intermediate); 3 min.
Thomas Waters
“As I said before about these films, they seem more built around location than story, especially in this pointless story about a doggy down a well. Enjoyable? Yes. But mainly for it’s convenient locale.”
Apartment, NY (Class Unknown); 2 min.
Shimo Takuya
“It’s a real shame this film didn’t run. It looked interesting.”
So there end the reviews of the 2010 C.W. Post Underclassmen film festival. Once again, this was intended as healthy criticism, and was not meant to make anyone cry. I welcome all disagreements and commentary (beyond "You suck") and encourage a healthy dialogue, as that is the only way we are going to improve.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Excerpts from "The 2011 Bonaroo Preview"
{In March 2011, I along with some of my cohorts at my old college magazine/newspaper component Loomings wrote about the upcoming Bonaroo line-up with two sections: Those You Would Know & Those You Should Know. I've included only my own pieces.}
Those You Would Know
Eminem
Do I need to say anything? Come on, he’s Eminem, the highest selling artist of the decade, a man who changed the face of rap music, and made it so that every middle schooler and their mom knew “The FCC won’t let me be.” The first rapper to ever win an Oscar (suck it, Will Smith) Eminem came back stronger than ever with the release of the Grammy nominated Recovery. Now back at the top of his game, a rare chance to see the master at work cannot be missed.
Songs to listen to:
“Lose Yourself”, “Stan”, “Love The Way You Lie”
Songs to listen to:
“Lose Yourself”, “Stan”, “Love The Way You Lie”
Those You Should Know
Mumford & Sons
One album out, and the boys of Mumford& Sons are on top of the world. Millions of fans, Grammy nominations and a chance to play with the legendary Bob Dylan ain’t too shabby. Mumford & Sons isn’t just the most fun band name to say since Toad the Wet Sprocket, it’s also the best folk rock band playing today. There’ not a single track on their debut Sigh No More that isn’t absolute brilliance, and if their newly announced train car tour is any indication, these boys just keep getting better.
Songs to listen to:
“Little Lion Man”, “Roll Away Your Stone”, “Winter Winds”
Songs to listen to:
“Little Lion Man”, “Roll Away Your Stone”, “Winter Winds”
Ryan Bingham
Say what you will about the Oscars, they’re great exposure for unnoticed geniuses in music. 2008 brought us Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, 2009 A.R. Rahman, and 2010 gave the world Ryan Bingham heart wrenchingly beautiful “The Weary Kind” from the movie Crazy Heart. The fact is, even if you’d never heard his fantastic debut self-release Wishbone Saloon, or the major label Mescalito, just hear Jeff Bridges growl out “The Weary Kind”, and you’ll need to see Bingham live. You’ll also wanna watch Tron.
Songs to listen to:
“The Weary Kind (Theme from Crazy Heart)”, “The Highway”, “Freight Train”
Songs to listen to:
“The Weary Kind (Theme from Crazy Heart)”, “The Highway”, “Freight Train”
Scissor Sisters
These are some wild musicians over in England that call themselves the Scissor Sisters. Their debut album featured a mix of Elton John-esque rock jams (“Take Your Mama“) and disco (yes, disco) dance tracks (their cover of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb”). They’re glamorous, wild and about as gay as good music gets, and that’s why they’re such a breath of fresh air.
Songs to listen to:
“Take Your Mama”, “Filthy/Gorgeous”, “Comfortably Numb”
Songs to listen to:
“Take Your Mama”, “Filthy/Gorgeous”, “Comfortably Numb”
An Unknown American Legend
{Originally appeared in the Post Bottom Line}
There are certain albums of music that are almost universally loved. They tend to be considered “perfect”, with every track working together, each song as good as the last, and an overall feelin of catharsis packaged within the lyrics that fills the soul at the end of the record. I’m sure we all have heard records like this, be it Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles or The Blueprint by Jay-Z, there’s something undeniably fluid and brilliant about these records.
In my lifetime, I’ve been fortunate enough to come across some of this type of album, these somewhat life-changing records that open your eyes to something you never saw before. I can remember vividly the first time I played Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, on my walkman, walking home from school, on a CD my 11th grade history teacher lent me. Similarly I smile as I recall the crackling hiss of the LP of Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music by Ray Charles, or the lilting voice of Jeff Buckley on Grace, or the powerful climax of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. Yet, most fondly, I remember the first time I ever heard Randy Newman’s Sail Away.
Before I could even understand the satire in the lyrics, I was drawn in by the melodies, the instrumentations, and the sincerity in the man’s unconventional voice. From the simplicity of “Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear” to the gospel-like beauty of “He Gives Us All His Love”, the album is compositionally flawless. Add onto that some of the sharpest political lyrics this side of Bob Dylan, and you have an incredible album.
It was due to this record that I became a quiet admirer of Randy Newman’s. Quiet being used to signify the lack of vocal appreciation I’ve given the man over the years. While in my heart I’d always considered Newman one of the 4 great American songwriters, alongside Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon, I never felt I could say so. To dig Dylan was hip and cool, the kind of weird voiced singer-songwriter whose lyrics you’d analyze under the awning around the pool at the high school, smoking cigarettes as you thumbed through your books of Kerouac. Springsteen you could blare with your buddies off a stereo in the garage as you tried desperately to fix up Matt’s ‘78 Chevy Opala, convinced that fixing it up will get you laid, a concept you and your buddies seem to enjoy, constantly bringing it up as you high-five to the tune of “Badlands” (nobody realizing only the guy driving the car will reap the benefits). Paul Simon was the music of the Village, wandering MacDougal and Bedford with your iPod playing “The Boxer”, humming it as all who passed you by, whether 14 or 40, seemed to know what you were humming.
But Randy Newman, well, he’s not heard at high schools or garages or Washington Square. No, he’s just that guy from Toy Story. So I would listen in private to albums like Good Old Boys (with it’s brilliantly controversial “Rednecks”) and Little Criminals (off of which came the famous “Short People”) while people my age continued to ignore his work since he wasn’t “cool”. Well, ignore isn’t necessarily true. My friends all loved “Beehive State” by Mates of State, “Mama Told Me Not To Come” by Stereophonics, and Joe Cocker’s classic “You Can Leave Your Hat On”, they just never knew Randy Newman wrote those songs. Very few people do.
Now, I pontificate on the subject of Mr. Newman’s underrated nature, as well as my exceedingly great admiration for him, as a way to preface the following statement, in an effort to hep the reader understand the emotional charge with which one should read it:
I met Randy Newman.
Allow me to repeat, I met Randy Newman. In an attempt to be the upstanding journalist this school knows me to be (read: to write about more obscure popular culture our average reader has no knowledge of or interest in), when I heard that Randy Newman was coming to Tilles Center, I immediately ran and grabbed two tickets. My excitement could not be contained. I couldn’t believe I’d even gotten the tickets. The man has a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars. Three of his albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time (for perspective, that’s the same number of albums Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana and Eminem have on the list). Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others, so I was certain the show would sell out instantly. In an effort to get even better coverage of what was sure to be considered the event of the year here at Tilles, I contacted someone about interviewing Mr. Newman before the show. While these plans fell through (Mr. Newman’s touring schedule was too busy to answer my e-mail questions), I was offered the opportunity to meet him after the show. Goodbye journalistic integrity, hello shivering fan-boy clutching an LP of Good Old Boys.
When the friend who was supposed to join me for the concert became busy that evening, I knew I would have no trouble finding a second ticket taker. After all, the man has a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars. Three of his albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others. Finding an interested party wouldn’t be difficult at all.
A half hour before the doors opened and still I was unaccompanied. At the last minute, an individual stepped in to take the second ticket, excited to go in order to hear “You Got A Friend in Me” from Toy Story, as that was the only song he knew. I was worried would not fair well at this concert, certain to be packed with fans as die-hard as myself. A solo performance from a man with a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars? Three of who’s albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time? Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others? How could there not be a huge following for the man?
So there I sat, in a half filled concert hall, watching people walk to the bathroom mid-song, as an American master poured his heart and soul into every word of “I Miss You” and “Dixie Flyer”, telling humorous and beautiful stories, and even taking audience requests the few times they were made. Yet, the magic I felt that night seeing one of my favorite songwriters perform was dampened by the dark cloud lingering in the room, one Newman himself acknowledged many times. “I see some audience members came dressed as empty chairs” he remarked in between “”Sail Away” and “Political Science”. Closing out the show, he said “Thank you all for coming…” and in his trademark humor “…next time bring some fucking friends!”
While Newman laughed about the small crowd, I could quite put a word to my feelings. As I walked backstage, I was greeted rather abruptly by a road manager telling me I can’t go any further back, that the exits are the other way. I assured him I was heading backstage on purpose. “Oh, you’re Michael.” he said, as if not only was my arrival expected, but slightly anticipated. After being personally escorted to Mr. Newman’s dressing room by his road manager, I was brought into the room with the introduction of “the journalist”. Suddenly, the eyes in the room were upon me. I surveyed the area, petrified. I’m no journalist, I thought. Robert Christgau is a journalist. David Frick is a journalist. Hell, Hunter S. Thompson was a journalist. I’m just a guy who writes for a school newspaper in a section no one reads, whose biggest point of pride up until this point was running a three-week-long risqué comic strip without getting a single complaint letter. Now here I was, in the dressing room of a man with a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars, three of who’s albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time, and countless songs of his which have been hits, both for himself and others, identified as “the journalist”. I never felt more like that nervous kid in Almost Famous, except without my Penny Lane.
Yet, I became relieved to see the “dressing room” was the same small, white mirrored room I had recently shot my student film in, that the people backstage were no entourage, but rather what I can only assume were four wealthy people, for whom this was just something that seemed like it would be fun, an event of little or no consequence, conversing with Mr. Newman as if he were simply another average guy. Mr. Newman himself, I gathered from the joy in his eyes seeing my LP of Good Old Boys, was ecstatic to see that someone, anyone, remembered he was not.
We talked for fifteen minutes or so, discussing not just his body of work, but mine. He asked twice about my band, wished my luck on my film (even writing it on my LP) and being extremely grateful for my unreserved praise. Yet, as I stood in the room, meeting one of my idols, my elation gave way to the same feeling I had before heading backstage. I felt a strange compulsion to shout words that had yet to form in the haze of my mind, feeling as though if I spoke these words, the world would open up anew, and everything would be set right. It was not until after I parted ways with Mr. Newman, wandering down the steps of Tilles*, feeling the cold air strike my face, humming “Burn On” from Sail Away, that those words finally formed. I suddenly knew the feeling I got when I saw the empty seats, or when I struggled to find anyone interested in the extra ticket, or who even knew who Randy Newman was, in fact. So I stopped for a moment, held up my signed LP to the light, and as I ran my fingers along the words “I’m glad you like the music so much.” I looked back at the building, mumbling the words that were beyond me when I was backstage, hoping they’d still have some power. “You deserve so much more than the world is giving you these days.”
*let me not be misunderstood, Tilles Center is a wonderful venue, far better than some Manhattan venues I’ve attended shows at, and the university’s treatment of Mr. Newman was the best they could provide. I suppose a cannot expect them to house Mr. Newman in a penthouse for the few minutes before and after he plays.
There are certain albums of music that are almost universally loved. They tend to be considered “perfect”, with every track working together, each song as good as the last, and an overall feelin of catharsis packaged within the lyrics that fills the soul at the end of the record. I’m sure we all have heard records like this, be it Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles or The Blueprint by Jay-Z, there’s something undeniably fluid and brilliant about these records.
In my lifetime, I’ve been fortunate enough to come across some of this type of album, these somewhat life-changing records that open your eyes to something you never saw before. I can remember vividly the first time I played Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks, on my walkman, walking home from school, on a CD my 11th grade history teacher lent me. Similarly I smile as I recall the crackling hiss of the LP of Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music by Ray Charles, or the lilting voice of Jeff Buckley on Grace, or the powerful climax of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. Yet, most fondly, I remember the first time I ever heard Randy Newman’s Sail Away.
Before I could even understand the satire in the lyrics, I was drawn in by the melodies, the instrumentations, and the sincerity in the man’s unconventional voice. From the simplicity of “Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear” to the gospel-like beauty of “He Gives Us All His Love”, the album is compositionally flawless. Add onto that some of the sharpest political lyrics this side of Bob Dylan, and you have an incredible album.
It was due to this record that I became a quiet admirer of Randy Newman’s. Quiet being used to signify the lack of vocal appreciation I’ve given the man over the years. While in my heart I’d always considered Newman one of the 4 great American songwriters, alongside Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon, I never felt I could say so. To dig Dylan was hip and cool, the kind of weird voiced singer-songwriter whose lyrics you’d analyze under the awning around the pool at the high school, smoking cigarettes as you thumbed through your books of Kerouac. Springsteen you could blare with your buddies off a stereo in the garage as you tried desperately to fix up Matt’s ‘78 Chevy Opala, convinced that fixing it up will get you laid, a concept you and your buddies seem to enjoy, constantly bringing it up as you high-five to the tune of “Badlands” (nobody realizing only the guy driving the car will reap the benefits). Paul Simon was the music of the Village, wandering MacDougal and Bedford with your iPod playing “The Boxer”, humming it as all who passed you by, whether 14 or 40, seemed to know what you were humming.
But Randy Newman, well, he’s not heard at high schools or garages or Washington Square. No, he’s just that guy from Toy Story. So I would listen in private to albums like Good Old Boys (with it’s brilliantly controversial “Rednecks”) and Little Criminals (off of which came the famous “Short People”) while people my age continued to ignore his work since he wasn’t “cool”. Well, ignore isn’t necessarily true. My friends all loved “Beehive State” by Mates of State, “Mama Told Me Not To Come” by Stereophonics, and Joe Cocker’s classic “You Can Leave Your Hat On”, they just never knew Randy Newman wrote those songs. Very few people do.
Now, I pontificate on the subject of Mr. Newman’s underrated nature, as well as my exceedingly great admiration for him, as a way to preface the following statement, in an effort to hep the reader understand the emotional charge with which one should read it:
I met Randy Newman.
Allow me to repeat, I met Randy Newman. In an attempt to be the upstanding journalist this school knows me to be (read: to write about more obscure popular culture our average reader has no knowledge of or interest in), when I heard that Randy Newman was coming to Tilles Center, I immediately ran and grabbed two tickets. My excitement could not be contained. I couldn’t believe I’d even gotten the tickets. The man has a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars. Three of his albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time (for perspective, that’s the same number of albums Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana and Eminem have on the list). Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others, so I was certain the show would sell out instantly. In an effort to get even better coverage of what was sure to be considered the event of the year here at Tilles, I contacted someone about interviewing Mr. Newman before the show. While these plans fell through (Mr. Newman’s touring schedule was too busy to answer my e-mail questions), I was offered the opportunity to meet him after the show. Goodbye journalistic integrity, hello shivering fan-boy clutching an LP of Good Old Boys.
When the friend who was supposed to join me for the concert became busy that evening, I knew I would have no trouble finding a second ticket taker. After all, the man has a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars. Three of his albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time. Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others. Finding an interested party wouldn’t be difficult at all.
A half hour before the doors opened and still I was unaccompanied. At the last minute, an individual stepped in to take the second ticket, excited to go in order to hear “You Got A Friend in Me” from Toy Story, as that was the only song he knew. I was worried would not fair well at this concert, certain to be packed with fans as die-hard as myself. A solo performance from a man with a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars? Three of who’s albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time? Countless songs of his have been hits, both for himself and others? How could there not be a huge following for the man?
So there I sat, in a half filled concert hall, watching people walk to the bathroom mid-song, as an American master poured his heart and soul into every word of “I Miss You” and “Dixie Flyer”, telling humorous and beautiful stories, and even taking audience requests the few times they were made. Yet, the magic I felt that night seeing one of my favorite songwriters perform was dampened by the dark cloud lingering in the room, one Newman himself acknowledged many times. “I see some audience members came dressed as empty chairs” he remarked in between “”Sail Away” and “Political Science”. Closing out the show, he said “Thank you all for coming…” and in his trademark humor “…next time bring some fucking friends!”
While Newman laughed about the small crowd, I could quite put a word to my feelings. As I walked backstage, I was greeted rather abruptly by a road manager telling me I can’t go any further back, that the exits are the other way. I assured him I was heading backstage on purpose. “Oh, you’re Michael.” he said, as if not only was my arrival expected, but slightly anticipated. After being personally escorted to Mr. Newman’s dressing room by his road manager, I was brought into the room with the introduction of “the journalist”. Suddenly, the eyes in the room were upon me. I surveyed the area, petrified. I’m no journalist, I thought. Robert Christgau is a journalist. David Frick is a journalist. Hell, Hunter S. Thompson was a journalist. I’m just a guy who writes for a school newspaper in a section no one reads, whose biggest point of pride up until this point was running a three-week-long risqué comic strip without getting a single complaint letter. Now here I was, in the dressing room of a man with a myriad of Grammys, three Emmy’s and two Oscars, three of who’s albums were selected to be on Rolling Stone’s list of the 500 greatest albums of all time, and countless songs of his which have been hits, both for himself and others, identified as “the journalist”. I never felt more like that nervous kid in Almost Famous, except without my Penny Lane.
Yet, I became relieved to see the “dressing room” was the same small, white mirrored room I had recently shot my student film in, that the people backstage were no entourage, but rather what I can only assume were four wealthy people, for whom this was just something that seemed like it would be fun, an event of little or no consequence, conversing with Mr. Newman as if he were simply another average guy. Mr. Newman himself, I gathered from the joy in his eyes seeing my LP of Good Old Boys, was ecstatic to see that someone, anyone, remembered he was not.
We talked for fifteen minutes or so, discussing not just his body of work, but mine. He asked twice about my band, wished my luck on my film (even writing it on my LP) and being extremely grateful for my unreserved praise. Yet, as I stood in the room, meeting one of my idols, my elation gave way to the same feeling I had before heading backstage. I felt a strange compulsion to shout words that had yet to form in the haze of my mind, feeling as though if I spoke these words, the world would open up anew, and everything would be set right. It was not until after I parted ways with Mr. Newman, wandering down the steps of Tilles*, feeling the cold air strike my face, humming “Burn On” from Sail Away, that those words finally formed. I suddenly knew the feeling I got when I saw the empty seats, or when I struggled to find anyone interested in the extra ticket, or who even knew who Randy Newman was, in fact. So I stopped for a moment, held up my signed LP to the light, and as I ran my fingers along the words “I’m glad you like the music so much.” I looked back at the building, mumbling the words that were beyond me when I was backstage, hoping they’d still have some power. “You deserve so much more than the world is giving you these days.”
*let me not be misunderstood, Tilles Center is a wonderful venue, far better than some Manhattan venues I’ve attended shows at, and the university’s treatment of Mr. Newman was the best they could provide. I suppose a cannot expect them to house Mr. Newman in a penthouse for the few minutes before and after he plays.
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