And Let the Films Begin!

Jan 31, 2005

Ahh...the 2005 Sundance Film Festival! The forefront for independent films in the United States, and one of the world’s most publicized and respected film festivals, was at it again January 20th-30th in Park City, Utah. While the Festival is, of course, well known for its overabundance of parties and celebrities, making it almost a “trendy” thing to be at rather than for its original intent of supporting independent film, the truth does remain that Sundance is, and always will be at its core, a medium for new artists on the horizon.

This year, I had the opportunity to see a lot more films than in the past. Some of them were great…and some…not so great, or even appropriate. The wonderful thing about film is, however, that you can be the judge of that yourself. Hopefully the sampling of films I was privileged enough to view this year will help you keep an eye out for something that you might be interested in yourself when the film hits a theater near you! As far as these reviews go--keep your eye out for a separate article with more reviews--there were too many this year for just one page!

Shape of the Moon (World Documentary Competition)
Directed By: Leonard Retel Helmrich

While finding common ground in the integration of both the visual and audio aspects ascribed to film, there are still definitely characteristics which separate the two most commonly known genres of film–narrative and documentary. “Shape of the Moon” (“Stand van de Maan”), however, seems to be the ambiguous exception where the lines between narrative and documentary are clearly blurred (no pun intended). In addition to what is hardly a compelling storyline, “Shape of the Moon” takes on the gritty appearance of a documentary in some places, while becoming “too smooth” for “documentary-style” comfort in others, containing what appears to be staged scenarios. As “fake” and illegitimate these issues seem to be in terms of producing what is typically known as a documentary, however, to it’s credit, “Shape of the Moon” can confidently boast of beautiful cinematography and direction.

Normally what one comes to expect from a competition-level documentary, or any good film, for that matter, is compelling subject matter. “Shape of the Moon,” surprisingly, seems to think it has this when, in fact, it really doesn’t. From a mere summarization–an Indonesian woman struggles to keep her family together amidst desires to abandon them and return to her childhood village–could seem interesting enough, but the characters are uninteresting, and nothin the story really “happens” to make one really want to sit through its entire duration. It begins with the widow, Rumidja, living in Jakarta, Indonesia. Obsessed with the idea of returning to her childhood rural village in the jungles of Indonesia where life was simpler and more traditional, Rumidja finds herself unable to break free of Jakarta, held back by the grand-daughter she’s raising (Tari), while simultaneously dealing with the pressures and pain of being a Christian in a predominately Muslim country (and having both of her sons convert to Islam as well).

A lot about the story has the potential to be “compelling,” but to simply follow the exploits of an irascible old woman who continues to hold the same ideals, who continually complains yet never does anything about her situation, and to watch her son and the rest of her family basically wander around Jakarta like vagrants doesn’t do much to pull attention at all. Some of the most exciting “events” in the film were a fire (interesting in the sense that at least it was exciting), and an illogical fight between Rumidja and a woman who sells her a couch. Rumidja, who purchased the couch months before, had promised to pay in installments for the piece of furniture, while being charged interest. Unable to pay, the vendor of the item had given Rumidja, on countless occasions, extra time to raise the money needed. Months later and still no full payment, Rumidja is completely incensed when the seller repossess the couch and basically calls her a heartless wench. Seeming to believe herself somehow more entitled, Rumidja, in that one instant (combined with the fact that she appears to believe herself superior as a Christian in a predominantly Muslim country), completely alienates audiences toward her character. Instead of feeling terrible about the loss of the couch, the general sense is that Rumidja merely reaped what she had sewn. In fact, the only character one feels even the slightest bit of pity for is Tari, Rumidja’s granddaughter, for having to live with such a self-centered, illogical old woman, and an uncle (Batki), who, while well-intentioned, isn’t exactly the most stable of people himself. And, sadly enough, the “couch incident” is about as thrilling as the film gets.

Another criticism of “Shape of the Moon” is that while it takes on the conventional “gritty” appearance of what one would except from a film in the rotting city of Jakarta, there are several instances in which the style becomes “too smooth” to be believable as a spontaneous moment or event, and the number of cameras that would have been needed to attain all the shots in certain scenes would either require staging beforehand, or re-enactments of what is supposed to be life as it’s happening. For example, in the beginning scene, it is excusable to have the camera sweeping elegantly across the landscape of Indonesia for unarguably gorgeous cover footage. When our window into this world suddenly invades the private space of Rumidja on a beach by coming within inches of her face, however, and then circling around her without so much of as a flinch from being so close to a foreign piece of camera equipment...Rumidja’s lack of reaction is a bit hard to swallow. Her conversation with her son on the same beach only moments later reinforces the idea that the scene feels almost scripted somehow, their conversation dealing mainly in exposition issues including Rumidja’s desire to return to her native village, the presence of a grand-daughter, and Batki’s offer to take care of Tari in Jakarta until she finishes school so that Rumidja may return to her village. They lay the entire plot and Rumidja’s objectives out in this one scene, and then stick to it religiously throughout the film, sprinkled with little side-trips such as Batki converting to Islam to marry his love, and Rumidja’s subsequent heartbreak and later acceptance over the event. The prediction of the entire film’s events, laid out neatly in what is supposed to be a documentary, also is a bit hard to believe.

Another instance which seems “staged” in some sense, or at least well-planned out before shooting instead of the conventional spontaneity of a documentary, is when Rumidja’s son, Batki, is traversing a huge bridge built for a train, towering several thousand feet above the jungles of Indonesia. The sight is incredible as Batki walks along a wooden path only two-to-three feet wide, next to the train tracks and with no railing on either side to protect him against the threat of falling. The director chooses to cut back and forth between scenes of Batki walking and a locomotive coming down the tracks, supposedly bringing Batki into a potentially perilous situation. Batki’s imminent danger is not the primary concern of the scene, however, but how the tracking shot alongside him was achieved. With the steadiness of the camera, and the level at which the camera is held, and the fact that there would be no way that a camera man could have walked along the other side with his equipment, leaves only conclusion that an actual dolly must have been put on the tracks to follow Batki. In the same scene, the camera’s perspective is directly above Batki’s head looking down at his feet as he walks along the path–indicative of not only a track dolly, but a crane as well.

Elements such as purely expositional conversation between people already familiar with their situation, and the amount of perfectly composed shots within the documentary that include obvious track and dolly shots suggest that this film was approached by its filmmakers as a narrative rather than a documentary. Certain situations, such as sweeping camera movements through the jungle to capture elegant cover footage would be otherwise acceptable, but when the entire film assumes the appearance of a pre-conceived set of events is what sets “Shape of the Moon” apart, and much less enjoyable to watch because it does come across as so pretentious.

Not much can be said in the defense of “Shape of the Moon,” except to at least compliment its obviously set-up cinematography that takes place for most of its duration. While hardly “real” in the sense of the reality that a documentary is supposed to achieve, at least the approach to the film as a narrative lends itself as a way for the director to position multiple cameras at multiple angles to create some beautifully composed shots that reveal everything about a scene from who’s talking to the environment in general. Even the tracking and crane shots evident within the film as pretentious at least show the audience the glorious view of Indonesia’s landscape, making the film at least watchable in that sense. The collaboration between the director and cinematographer, in their decisions on what to show and what not to show, combined with Indonesia’s beautiful scenery in general, paint a tableau that is certainly easy on the eyes.

While “Shape of the Moon” might succeed partially well in a narrative category, aside from a non-compelling storyline, the unfortunate thing is that the film competed at the Sundance Film Festival in the “World Documentary” competition, leaving many elements of traditional documentary behind to create what seemed more like a narrative than anything else. Merely sprinkled with moments that appear at least semi-real or unplanned, the documentary fails in that a good majority of the film feels pre-scripted in both dialogue and camera movement. Its only compliment is that of gorgeous cinematography and direction–but this is unfortunately probably due to the fact that Indonesia has beautiful scenery to begin with, and the direction was better suited to the idea that “Shape of the Moon” would have passed more as a narrative than as a documentary.

Palmero Hollywood (World Dramatic Competition)
Directed by: Eduardo Pinto

Yet another Argentinian film in the “World Dramatic” competition at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival, “Palmero Hollywood,” directed by Eduardo Pinto, carries with it some of the same social issues addressed in fellow competitor, “Live-In Maid,” while at the same time, communicating its message and a sense of everlasting circular destruction and hopelessness for the future than its other Argentinian “cinematic colleague.” Set against the backdrop of the Old Palmero neighborhood of Buenos Aires, complete with exuberant youth and excitement, “Palmero Hollywood” explores the same sorts of social class issues between its two main characters, and also is framed by wonderful lighting to complement the darkness and grittiness of the story. No matter how much the characters try to escape their desperate situation, however, the structure of the screenplay itself, designed with circular storytelling, prevents its characters from escaping the vicious world in which they live.

Mario and Pablo both coexist within the same world of the underbelly of Buenos Aires, members of their own gang that makes its living off of drug deals and thievery for their boss, “the Fag”--but they both don’t live there. Their peculiar friendship is an odd one, considering Mario’s is one of having grown up in the slums with his younger sister, Julieta (off-limits romantically to the rest of the gang), all of his life, and Pablo is the son of a rich and affluent senator. Their friendship is more akin to a brotherhood, and it seems nothing will come between them. They both have very different problems in their lives, however. While Pablo thrives on the idea that he can go steal and get high, getting off on the fact that he is rebelling against authority and his father, he has the luxury of returning to a comfortable home within a high-profile family. Pablo loves his life because of that duality, and is contrasted with Mario, who supporting his long-time girlfriend, Jimena, and his daughter, desires to straighten out his life and move to Spain to pursue a more honest lifestyle.

The glass ceiling of Buenos Aires, however, prevents Mario from escaping his life, and keeps Pablo from realizing how truly lucky he is. Things take a turn for the friendship, however, when Pablo falls for Julieta and pursues her behind his friend’s back. In the meantime, also secretively, Mario makes preparations to leave his life in Argentina and move to Spain with his girlfriend and daughter. Just when it seems as if both will remain undiscovered and both are about to straighten out their lives, Pablo pulls Mario into one last job, an “express kidnapping,” for their crime boss. When the kidapping goes awry, however, and the victim is killed in the process, Mario finds himself on the run from the law for the murder, and the incident places both Mario and Pablo into a situation which tests their friendship to its limits.

To compare a fellow “World Dramatic” competitor, the film “Live-In Maid” explored the social separation between an employer and employee from two different rungs in the social ladder, and how their friendship endured despite their differences. The same is partially true for “Palmero Hollywood,” except that while both of the main characters live a poor lifestyle of stealing and drinking for survival in the decaying economy of Buenos Aires, Pablo is actually the rich son of a senator who delves into the dark world of his home as a way of rebellion against the establishment and his stiff-collared father. He chooses to live a life of crime with Mario, rather than having no other option like his friend. Having the convenient option of returning to the comforts of wealth at any time he wishes is also another strain on the idea of Pablo voluntarily delving into Argentina’s dark side, as he may withdraw whenever he wishes.

“Live-in Maid” also views the social separation a bit more optimistically, showing hope at the end of the film when the rich employer is forced to move in with her maid when all of her money disappears. “Palmero Hollywood,” on the other hand, takes a much more pessimistic approach. It shows a clear separation between the classes that allows a rich boy like Pablo to descend down a rung and go back to high society with ease, while Mario and his family can only spiral downward (if that would be possible), and no matter how he continues to try, can never ascend to the levels of Pablo. The commentary in this film in regards to the social hierarchy frozen into Argentina’s society with little hope of becoming better showcases film’s powerful ability to really say something about the unfair conditions of the world, whether in actuality or only in the opinion of the filmmaker.

The despondency of this world is also communicated by the brilliant use of lighting, or rather, lack thereof. Very few scenes of the film actually take place in daylight, and when they do, the scenes usually serve as transitional ones such as driving in the car from a house, and then the camera submerges itself again into the dimly lit lair of “the Fag,” or the pulsating darkness of a nightclub where Pablo and Julieta fall in love, the blackness punctuated sparingly by a strobe light. Also, in the few flashbacks that exist within the films of “happier times” shared between Mario and Pablo, not only are these shots poorly lit, but they are also diluted, and the circles of confusion that make up the picture can be easily seen, almost like a Seraut painting. The dilutement of the picture only suggests more fragmentation, and the dark lighting makes it difficult to see the picture clearly, punctuating the point of mere memory. In this world, there is no hope or light–only darkness, confusion, and nightmares.

The hopelessness of this world is also communicated in the structure of the screenplay. “Palmero Hollywood,” in typical circular storytelling style, begins and ends in the same place, with Mario on the run from the law and being confronted by Pablo, bringing the two into a confrontation that could possibly result in the death of either due to their angers and frustrations with each other and the mess they’ve gotten themselves into. The main plot of the film is sandwiched as a flashback middle to this beginning and/or end, and only re-enforces the idea within the script of a social situation that neither main character can escape. They live within a vicious cycle that begins in despair, and for all their attempts to escape it during the middle of the story, ends in the same depression and desperation in which it began.

“Palmero Hollywood” is a gritty social commentary on the decaying world of Buenos Aires, Argentina, and the struggles for survival and friendship between its two main characters, Pablo and Mario. While the story is externally about their friendships and the strains placed on it through a series of distressing situations, the real concern, of course, is that the government of Argentina, and the world at large, could put the two protagonists into such a desperate situation to begin with. Commenting on the frozen social hierarchy that exists in Argentina and both unites and separates Pablo and Mario, and furthered by both the dark lighting of the film and the structure of the screenplay, goes on to re-enforce the idea of desperation and eternal destruction within an unfair society, and, at most, clearly communicates the ideas and opinions of the filmmaker, Eduardo Pinto, on the dark and desperate condition of the world.

Murderball (American Documentary Competition)
Directed by: Henry-Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro A&E Indie Films co-produced this film

The world of sports is one that is typically viewed in civilized society as one that separates the strong from the weak, the decrepit from the well-able. Henry-Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro in their documentary, “Murderball,” however, set out to show the world that against all odds, one can still succeed at what they want despite impairment and handicap. With a somewhat fragmented structure that both explains the objective of the film, while gradually introducing each character and how their individual stories fit into the one at large, while also taking side-trips into a seemingly unrelated case that later becomes important in reinforcing the message of the film, “Murderball” succeeds as a documentary fit for competition in the 2005 Sundance Film Festival’s “American Documentary” competition.

“Murderball” is an essay detailing the sport that has come to be known as such. Created first in Canada by a group of disgruntled paraplegics eager to show the world that they still had the ability to compete in sports, they created “wheelchair rugby,” based on the popular bipedal version of the sport, combining similar, wheelchair-friendly rules, including the potential (and frequent reality) for excessive violence and injury. Because of the dangers inherent in participation, the name of the sport, while officially known as wheelchair rugby, morphed into “murderball,” and has grown to become a well-respected sport in the world of athletics, and is even an official sport in the Summer Paralympic Games.

The film focuses primarily on the American murderball team and their journey to the 2004 Summer Paralympics in Athens, Greece. The team consists of members of many different backgrounds with different levels of paralysis associated with being a paraplegic. Beginning first at one of their games against the Canadian team, the Americans are established as one of the most consistently good murderball teams in the professional arena of the sport. While briefly introducing each of the players at this moment, including the Canadian coach (later a major player in the documentary), the film focuses here, and throughout the film, on the schematics and dangers of the sport.

Like many documentaries, however, the film is not merely about what the title says its about, but rather how the human elements of the story are changed and defined as they cope with whatever obstructions lie in their way. It is the same for “Murderball,” focusing primarily on spacing the introductions and personal stories of each member of the American team in order to not only continually explain murderball, but also to explain the personal stories of how each member of the team became a paraplegic, and the difficulties they’ve had since in adjusting to their disability and continuing on with their lives as normally as possible. Mark Zupan, for example, an intimidating player in the game covered in tattoos with a buzzed hair style and goatee, elaborates that he was sleeping the bed of a truck when his friend, drunk while driving it, slammed on his breaks, sending Zupan into a ditch where he sustained his injuries and remained until he was found hours later. Only adding to the drama, the film occasionally checks up with the friend of Zupan responsible for the incurring of the paralysis, and the reparations of the relationship between the two. The film frequently jumps back and forth between the personal stories of all the members of the American team, strengthening the sympathy we have for each member, and also, increasing the amount of enthusiasm the audience is expected to have for the American team in their march to victory.

The documentary also focuses on two other aspects of “the other side” within the film to contrast who seems to be the main characters (the American team). One of these personas is the Canadian team’s coach, Joe Soares, a paraplegic himself and former American murderball athlete. The man is consumed not by anger at his disability, but by the fact that though he claimed a number of victories for the American team in his heyday, was rejected from the team since the onset of natural declining athletic abilities common to every athlete with aging, disabled or not. Ala-Benedict Arnold, Soares quits his American murderball affiliations and sets out to coach the Canadian team with one goal, and one goal only– to beat the Americans, and beat into them a sense of regret for having rejected him. This passion is so all-consuming throughout the film that Soares not only suffers a heart attack from stress related to coaching, but also places this ultimate goal fo victory above his family (toasting his hopes of the Canadians winning at his own anniversary dinner with his wife), and giving his son an inferiority complex for pursuing academics and music, rather than athletics.

The other character introduced in the documentary is that of “the inspired”–a young man who recently became a paraplegic in a motocross accident. His story creates the inspirational elements of “Murderball,” taking the film from the mere levels of a dissertation on the sport to inspiring the motocross victim, who had been depressed at the loss of full-motion, into believing that there is life beyond paralysis, and that life lies in regaining independence through murderball.

Using the film only as an explanation of the sport ‘murderball’ would have made this film informational enough to watch that it would have only sustained an audience’s interest for about a half an hour, maximum. However, because of the decision of the filmmakers to structure the film around the sport, as well as the stories of three human elements–that of the American team, Joe Soares, the Canadian coach, and a recent paraplegic–and to do so sparsely throughout the film (while also sprinkling interesting tidbits about life as a paraplegic, such as how to have sex), is what really makes “Murderball” not only worth watching, but inspirational to the fully-abled person, and disabled person alike. To watch the evolution of those who have found themselves disadvantaged or slighted in some way, but who manage to overcome that block in the road truly makes the story an inspirational one, and what makes “Murderball” such an interesting film to watch, beyond the athletic interest suggested by the name. The film is not about “murderball,” per say, but about how the sport is a coping mechanism that restores independence, and brings inspiration to all.

Matando Cabos (Park City at Midnight)
Directed by: Alejandro Lozano

A Spanish film with American screwball comedy sensibilities, “Matando Cabos” was certainly one of the better movies of the 2005 Sundance Film Festival. While definitely not one of those “life changing experiences,” such as other competition films like “On A Clear Day,” this film is, as some festival-goers put it, “what ‘Snatch’ should have been.” Also similar to Quentin Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction” in its matter-of-fact bluntness and unabashed violence for post-modern comedic effect, “Mantado Cabos” is smart, exercising parallel editing to tell multiple stories at once in order to intricately weave them together to achieve a specific goal, utilizes the rules of an interesting screenplay structure to its fullest, and serves its purpose as an all-around fun film to watch.

“Matando Cabos” is a difficult film to explain, as there’s so much happening at the same time that the plot becomes rather convoluted and complex–but in a good way. It centers around the exploits of two friends who work together, one of which is dating the daughter of their boss, the millionaire monster, Mantando Cabos. When Cabos catches his future son-in-law copulating with his daughter (something most fathers are hesitant to see), he attempts to fire the guy, but trips on a golf ball and knocks himself out. In an attempt to hide what looks like a murder attempt, the two friends and a former wrestler known as “Mascarita” and his miniature sidekick, “the Cannibal,” decide to dump the unconscious body, doused in alcohol, on the lawn of Cabos’s house, where his wife is throwing a party that evening (to make Cabos believe he was drunk and merely passed out). Nacho, the childhood friend of Cabos who went on to be a janitor with a deeply-harbored resentment of Cabos (and for good reason), beats them to the punch by stealing Cabos’s clothes and kidnapping him.

Things only get more complicated when Nacho’s son, a Spanish Keanu Reeves type, in an attempt to avenge the wrongs done to his father by kidnapping Cabos for a ransom, accidentally (and unknowingly) kidnaps his own father, mistaking him for Cabos in his clothes. Escalating from one situation to the next, “Matando Cabos” never lets go of its audience, and pulls them along for a wild ride that never lets itself up, and remains, while predictable, a fun predictable to the very end.

One of the prime elements that makes “Matando Cabos” work so well is its use of a technique filmmakers use called “parallel editing.” The technique allows for audiences to keep track of multiple events happening simultaneously by having the film switch between scenes that are supposed to be happening at the same time. For example, there is a point in the film where the two young protagonists are putting the body of Cabos into their trunk, and this is intercut with a small scene of the two actual kidnappers driving away. Later when the two young men are trying to escape the party thrown by Cabos’s wife, the scenes are interjected with scenes of a distraught kidnapping ring as they soon begin to discover that they have kidnapped the wrong man. Because there are so many elements within “Matando Cabos,” it is the technique of parallel editing which allows audiences to keep track of all the events, rather that just leaving viewers in the dark to figure out for themselves what the movie is about and why it is so comical.

Another element in “Matando Cabos” that makes it so successful is an obvious understanding of screenplay structure on the part of its screenwriters, Tony Dalton, Krysztof Raczynski, and Alejandro Lozano. There is an old adage for screenwriting that says, “Chase your characters up a tree, and then throw rocks at them”–meaning, simply, to do the most horrible things to your characters and see if they can get out of a worst-case situation. Nothing could be more true of “Matando Cabos,” which even begins with a horrible situation (the “tree”)–a boy dating the boss’s daughter ends up actually kidnapping him. How could that possibly be any worse, without the police finding out and taking him on a police chase across the country? Defying that sort of cliche expectation, the writers expertly throw in entirely random, new characters each with their own motivations and goals, and the clash between these conflicting goals ensues in so much chaos and confusion that the script works extremely well in terms of keep an audience’s attention and keeping the film interesting.

Finally, one last thing about “Matando Cabos” is that it’s not trying to pretend to be something that it’s not. One conception about the Sundance Film Festival is that its entry selections are typically “life changing” or weird. While “Matando Cabos” is a bit weird, to say the least, it’s obvious from the get-go that this film’s intention was never to make its audiences necessarily think about how they live their lives, or the world that they live in. It serves its purpose as primarily escapist entertainment, and for whatever real “meaning” it holds for the writers and director of the film, “Matando Cabos” is at least just a clever, well-plotted film full of building comedic elements that prevent someone from leaving the theater without a split side.

To say that “Matando Cabos” was your typical, “life-changing” film typical of Sundance would be a gross mistake. It is, however, a very successful film that was accepted to the Festival on pure merit for its wonderfully smart storyline, its complexity facilitated by the use of parallel editing, the obvious understanding of screenplay structure by the film’s writers, and it easily achieves the level of “entertaining,” surely to grip audience members to their seats until the very end.

Cronicas (World Dramatic Competition)
Directed by: Sebastian Cordero

The most amazing thing about film is that there are certain events, situations, states of mind, and people that can be communicated across cultures through this medium that bypasses all boundaries. “Cronicas,”directed by Sebastian Cordero, is one such film that, despite its set location of Equador and Spanish subtitles, can still reach even American audiences by injecting those who watch it with a sense of uneasiness and confusion about the psychosis and obsessions of the world, both in the mind of a criminal, as well as that of the everyman. Directed and written superbly, “Croncias” also explores the uneasy territory of how human nature, via the example of popular media, will sacrifice the well-fare of others if it’s advantageous to one’s own self.

Based loosely on true events in Equador, “Cronicas” is a story about a reporter named Manolo Bonilla (John Leguizamo) who occupies within Spanish society an enormously powerful position–that of a reporter on a news show akin to the United States’ “20/20" or “Dateline.” He has the ability to mold people’s opinions through the news, depending on how he slants his story, and he will not stop until he has brought information–biased or not–to an audience that loves and worships him with a cult-like following.

Naturally, Manolo is fascinated when he has the opportunity to interview Vinicio Cepeda (Damian Alcazar), a Bible salesman in jail on the charge of killing a child (though accidentally). His interest, however, is for quite a different reason. Though the murder that Vinicio has been imprisoned for was quite accidental, Manolo believes that the man could very possibly be a serial child rapist and murderer that has been evading capture for years. Seeing his opportunity for the biggest story of his life, Manolo convinces Vinicio that in exchange for information that could lead to the whereabouts of the killer, which Vinicio maintains he knows, Manolo will run a story on his show about the injustice of his captivity that could lead to his freedom. Through interviews, however, Manolo believes he can get Cepeda to confess as the killer himself, and becomes so deeply involved in this murder mystery that he changes the outcome to one that is entirely different than he could have suspected.

“Cronicas” can first be complimented for its superb screenwriting and direction, both of which can be attributed to Sebastian Cordero. Cordero has an almost “creepy” way of leading his audiences through this story of intrigue by first setting up the suspected killer, Vinicio, as a person both with a likeable personality, but also as someone with a suspicious past (especially in the beginning, when we are privy to watching Cordero unexplainably wash his clothes and bathe in a lake, even though he has his own house and a wife). Vinicio is established as a quiet, religious, and peaceful man–hardly capable of being a child murderer, aside from the boy he accidentally hits with his truck (and is later imprisoned for). When he is attacked by a lynch mob for the manslaughter, the audience is struck with such a deep and sincere sympathy for the man based on its previous experience with him, and true disgust for the lynch mob, that it is difficult to let those emotions go throughout the film, despite the various instances of circumstantial evidence brought to light throughout the film that convincingly make an argument against Cepeda’s innocence. The lead character, Manolo, is likeable as well, even though portrayed as an arrogant demi-god of the television world, well-aware of his manipulative ability to mold his viewers. So confident is he, in fact, that he puts his job on the line to construct a story for his show that will set Cepeda free because he knows he will not fail. The character development in this film, particularly within Cepeda and Manolo, is so strong that you simultaneously hate and love both characters, unsure of which to believe and mentally convict.

In terms of direction, like with his screenplay, Cordero is careful to not let his audience see too much which may lead to a premature conclusion, or any conclusive decision at all, as to the guilt of Cepeda. Many of his shots are composed in dark environments, effectively hiding faces. In the jail that Cepeda is being held at in particular, one can really only make out very indistinct features, identified only by eyes that tell as much as the possibly lying words coming out of both characters’ mouths as they seek to manipulate one another–Manolo trying to convince Cepeda he is sincerely trying to free him, and Cepeda trying to prove to Manolo that he isn’t a child killer.

This film also succeeds in its uncanny ability to reveal human nature when it becomes consumed with completing its assigned job. In this case in particular, Cordero chooses the popular media as its most likely victim to show this dark side of humanity to succeed at all costs. For example, using the Manolo character, he and the camera crew accompanying him happen upon the death of the young boy hit by Cepeda just as it’s happened. The boy that has been hit is also the only son left of a man who has just lost his other child to the killer Manolo later suspects Vinicio of being. In his rage, the man incites a riotous lynching mob to kill Vinicio, doing everything from dousing him in gasoline and lighting him on fire, and all in front of his wife and child. Being in a position to do at least something, Manolo and his crew merely stand by for a few minutes, and Manolo even encourages his camera man to get into the thick of the riot to get better shots of the chaos. He even records the police attempting to intervene, and later manipulates the placement of these images with narration to create the insinuation that the police did not even try to break up the riot. Manolo only stops the riot to save Vinicio’s life when his camera man is threatened by the violence! To Manolo’s benefitm howver, he now not only has great footage for a story, but also “evidence” that he is a hero.

The fact that it took Manolo and his crew so long to intervene, to simply stand by and watch a man be burned to death by a murderous lynch mob, is indicative of human nature’s ability to be so consumed by “getting the story,” or succeeding in any other endeavor, that a person would allow something disastrous happen to another if it could be viewed as advantageous to themselves. Continuing to use the media as an example, while there are plenty of journalists with an honest sense of ethics and for what’s right, there are instances in our world today where the ravenous media would gladly crucify someone else if it could help them. Celebrities are an excellent example, as paparazzi will invade privacy to no ends, even if it results in death (as was the case with Great Britain’s Princess Diana), to get the pictures or story that they need. And, in addition, the fact that there is an unrelenting market for such materials, despite the fact that the public is well-aware of the means exercised to gather them, is indicative too of this all-consuming sense of entitlement above others. This harsh look at humanity is expressed extremely well by Cordero.

“Cronicas,” an entry in the World Dramatic competition, is an extremely interesting film both cinematically and from multiple psychological viewpoints. Not only do the direction and screenplay operate successfully, but to let the film be a peek into human nature’s dark side–a side that transcends barriers of language and culture–is truly what makes this film a success. It forces its audience to constantly think and re-evaluate the story and whom they believe, but also themselves and the capability of human nature to act so callously, that the well-fare of other human beings can be devalued in place of one’s own.

High School Record (American Spectrum)
Directed by: Ben Wolfinsohn

Everyone’s gone through it; and even if you haven’t–you will. The teenage years are inescapable as one of the most awkward, trying times in one’s young life where the body and mind are developing into what it will be for the rest of its existence. And in addition to all the other changes that one must go through in this vital stage of development, for most, the institution known as “high school” is just one of those horrible, awful, and seldom times fondly-remembered times sandwiched into the adolescent years.

For writer/director Ben Wolfinsohn, high school was an awkward time in life. And though he’s moved on and gone on to produce the popular music documentary,”Friends Forever,” the film “High School Record” is finally Ben’s cinematic essay to the world about this trying time in his life that nearly everyone can relate to somehow. Full of free flowing uneasiness, “High School Record” can be easily praised for its combination of documentary/narrative format (often known as “mockumentary) to create his story, the direction, and finally, the excellent use of non-professional actors to add spice and reality to the film that professionals might not have been able to give it.

“High School Record” presents a situation in which Nick (Nicholas Gitomer) and his girlfriend, Susan (Susan Estrada), take it upon themselves to document by camera Nick’s transfer student experience to a new high school. Choosing to follow the students in Miss Farewell’s (Becky Stark) drama class, Sabrina (Jenna Thornhill), Caleb (Dean Allen Punt), Eddie (Bobby Sandoval), Erin (Jennifer Calvin), Tomes (Maneesh Madahar), and Amy (Jessie Calvin) become the somewhat unwilling victims of their new classmates’ documentary. Unsurprisingly, this voyeuristic journey tracking the students turns into one exploring the complexities and paradoxes which exist within the teenage mind, relationships that are constantly in flux, and as always, the awkwardness which is high school.

“High School Record” is interesting first in that it follows a trend that seems to becoming more and more popular in filmmaking (especially with independents) to have a tendency towards “mockumentary,” or blending the elements that create a documentary with a purely fictional scenario. Most prominent in the list of recent mockumentaries, and probably the film that spurred the greatest interest in the “genre,” was the low-budget independent success, “The Blair Witch Project,” which takes seemingly ordinary people out into a forest to video tape themselves, but utilizes previously scripted scenes mixed with improvisation create a sense of spontaneity and “realness” to the film. To Wolfinsohn’s credit, it was a smart move on his part to mimic this style and use real high school students to improvise a high school experience. Not only was there a spontaneity to the performances that made the film more real, but the same effect is reflected upon the actors as real, tangible people in a real world. The film wouldn’t have succeeded had it been done as a straight narrative–but to make it a ‘mockumentary’ of sorts helps the film to succeed.

In terms of direction, Ben Wolfinsohn, shows himself to be more than the one-hit wonder of his first film, a documentary entitled “Friends Forever.” It was perhaps this first film that gave Wolfinsohn the skills to recognize some of the prime elements of the genre in order to make “High School Record” look more authentic...more like the documentary which the students in his film are trying to make. Just as in a documentary, rarely is the camera very still to take in the whole of a scene. Rather, the camera moves frequently, and sometimes in a very jumpy manner as if someone in the situation is trying to capture all of the action, but can’t just make it–or as if they’re also moving while simultaneously holding the camera. A prime example of this occurs when Caleb and Sabrina, the most complex characters in the film (primarily because they were based off of the director and his ex-girlfriend) are hiking, and Caleb is walking backwards while filming Sabrina. It’s not like Caleb is actually seen walking ahead of Sabrina, as there is no camera set up to the side of them. Rather, the insinuation is made that Ben is walking in front of Sabrina, as the camera is jerky as if someone is walking, and remains focused on the girl’s face, indicating that the camera man must be concentrating on his subject. We also hear Caleb’s voice “closer” to the camera than the voice of Sabrina, indicative that Caleb is more than likely the camera operator. By allowing most of his scenes to be filmed in a rather “unprofessional,” documentary-style manner, Wolfinsohn achieves that much-needed sense of immediacy required to bring audiences into the moment, and cause them to actually connect with the film.

The actors cannot exist in this film without note either. For such a young cast, it is amazing that Wolfisohn’s actors were able to, despite at least scripted scenarios, improvise so effectively enough that every scene of the film felt “real” in some sense–as if you were in the room at the same time they were and connect, or at least standing merely on the fringes and looking in along with Susan and Nick. Actually recruited at a Los Angeles club called “The Smell” by Wolfisohn, the genuine experiences of these non-actors, as the Italian neo-realists discovered when experimenting with the same technique, adds a beneficial element to the film which allows for a deeper “connect” with audiences. Not only that, but whereas a professional actor might approach a scene in the film where Sabrina and Erin are “forced” by their parents to work in a fast-food restaurant, a professional might subtly play the scene, determined to capture every nuance of movement and emotion. In contrast, the use of non-professional actors means that the performers could enter and exit each scene with little-to-no expectations, and merely play as their feelings dictated–exaggerated or not. The technique works, and adds so much more immediacy and intimateness to the film that it probably would not have survived otherwise.

Filming in “mockumentary” style, great direction, and wonderful acting by non-professionals all mark Ben Wolfinsohn’s triumphant second effort in the film world with his “High School Record”–literally, a record of one of the most awkward stages of life–high school. While it is nice to largely see films within either the drama or the documentary spectrum only, it is quite refreshing nonetheless to have a film be made which allows the actors almost an unlimited freedom to portray a character as much as a real person as possible–themselves. Every element works flawlessly together to create a working machine that not only effectively communicates the frustrations of the filmmaker in regards to his high school experience, but draws the audience in to side with Wolfinsohn as well.

The Hero (World Dramatic Competition)
Directed by: Zeze Gamboa

Winner of the 2005 Sundance Film Festival’s “World Dramatic Grand Jury Prize,” the Angolan film “The Hero” traveled to the United States to show us a war-torn country, and to create sympathy within its audience for the struggles of the poor, just barely surviving in the country. “The Hero” is a film most noted for communicating cinematically the economic conditions of the country of Angola and its people, its wonderful symbolism, but lacks a bit in story with the intertwining lives of Vitorio, his son Manu, and Manu‘s teacher Joana.

Firstly, the story of “The Hero” begins in Angola, a country that not many people are aware just finished up a civil war in April 2002. Just like the devastation that the United States felt when its own civil conflict ended in 1865, Angola is in very nearly the same boat--but poorer. The war sergeant, Vitorio, is now on his way home--not really wanting to go home, as he has lost a leg to a land mine during the war, and loses his prosthetic on the journey, while also being distracted on the side by a prostitute he falls in love with. His son, Manu, who he has not seen since birth, is a liar and a thief, living with his grandmother, but caring very little about anyone else around him except for his schoolteacher, Joana, and the idea that his father may one day return home. Each of the stories of these three main characters is told simultaneously and intertwine, leading to a rather unsettling conclusion.

The first thing that can be said for “The Hero” is that it is a true testament to the power of film and how it can communicate to audiences in different countries the dire economic conditions of life from its origins. Like so many of the other World Dramatic competitors, “Live-In Maid” and “Palmero Hollywood” in particular, “The Hero” allows its camera to weave in and out of the city streets, particularly at night, when the dark niches are populated by starving animals and people alike, many of them thieves ready to take advantage of the next person who turns the corner. A big part of the film is a television station which only broadcasts messages of desperation from family members who lost loved ones in the war, in hopes that their family members and friends may still be alive and turn themselves in after seeing a plea on television. The line to be broadcast stretches almost infinitely, and one is hit hard with the realization of the devastation and loss of life facing Angola, and how much work is ahead of them to rebuild.

The greatest amount of symbolism in “The Hero” that audiences should definitely be on the lookout for is derived from Vitorio’s lost prosthetic leg, which is later found by Manu and kept as a telescope--Manu being able to peak out the knee joint into the moon and wish for his father’s return. Out of all the items Manu steals and sells to keep himself alive, this seemingly useless prosthetic is the one thing he keeps, even without the knowledge that it belongs to his father. The amount of what would seemingly be undue attention to this plastic leg is actually not useless at all. The director’s focus on the leg is to use the prosthetic as a device--a symbol--of hope for a better life and recuperation for the country. Not only does Manu hold onto it in hope for his father’s return, but Vitorio is constantly searching for the leg throughout the duration of the film, confident in the knowledge that if he finds it, his crippling disability will be cured. The same would be true for Angola, the film is saying, if they could only find this metaphorical prosthetic leg to stand on.

While “The Hero” does benefit from being able to show the masterful ability of film to communicate the wrongs of the world effectively to audiences and make them feel compelled to help, and even though its “symbolic leg” is brilliant, “The Hero” is still very much a slow-pced film with intertwining story lines that, frankly, shouldn’t intertwine. The stories of Manu an Vitorio are fine, considering they are a father and son constantly seeking each other, and therefore, expressing metaphorically the struggles of Angola. However, a storyline exists with Manu‘s middle-class teacher, Joana. While it‘s effective to show “the other half“ of the society, and it‘s nice to see someone well-off concerned for the welfare of those below her, Joana‘s story is relatively inconsequential within the big scheme of the entire film. The screenwriters try to justify her existence by having her be the love interest of a man in power who eventually allows Vitorio to be broadcast across the nation for someone to return his prosthetic leg, but the attention dedicated to detailing her relationship with that of her love-interest is nearly irrelevant and uninteresting to watch. The film would have stood just as well without her, and could have easily found another way to incorporate a method for Vitorio to get his story about his prosthetic limb broadcast to the country.

While “The Hero“ is an excellently put together film and really makes its audiences feel a deep sympathy for the plight of Angolans, and utilizes the technique of symbolism, it overall probably shouldn‘t have won the World Dramatic Jury Prize. It was put together well, and the story was moderately interesting, but in the end, the story line of Joana merely detracts from the story at large, and her existence is not vitally important to the rendering of the story. If anything, under-riding this dismal story about the slums of Angola is a dim spot of hope on the horizon, signaling a better life for its people…whenever that may be.

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (American Documentary)
Directed by: Alex Gibney

Most citizens in the United States are aware that they’re not being told everything that is happening in the world around them, or that they’re certainly not being dealt fairly with. Anyone who saw “The Corporation” at last year’s Sundance Film Festival knows that. At the 2005 Festival, however, audiences were given a taste of yet another beleaguering lecture on the evils of capitalism. “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room,” however, is more than just your typical documentary. When the scandal broke in the late 90’s, it confused everyone as much as it shocked them. What was Enron? Why did they go bankrupt, and what was so terrible about it? For anyone who’s never completely understood the scandal, or the sinister, evil nature of the big-wigs who ran Enron, finally, this is a documentary to answer all of those questions. Fulfilling the first and most primary target goal of a documentary--to inform--”Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room” is structured in a “backwards/forwards” fashion, while intercutting the personalized stories of people directly affected by the scandal, as well as having presented the material in an entertaining way to not only answer all questions adequately, but to keep one from falling asleep too.

The structure of “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room” is what first and foremost serves its purpose of informing by first hooking the audience, and keeping them interested the entire time. The documentary starts off with the suicide of Cliff Baker, an executive of Enron who took his own life shortly after the company’s bankruptcy to avoid jail time and humiliation of his family. As sad as the even is, the demise at one’s own hands was certainly enough to capture attention at what could have possibly been so horrible to kill oneself. From there, the film spirals backwards to the founding of Enron, the cutthroat executives and stock traders involved, and how dearly stoic they were in the face of others, concerned only for themselves.

Also cut into the structure are the stories of a mere few out of the hundreds of thousands of people who lost their jobs with Enron, and subsequently, their entire retirements and livelihoods. We’re introduced to one man who works for a power company that merged within Enron shortly before the collapse that had only several thousand dollars left in his retirement after being encouraged to invest his 401K into Enron stock, while executives were pulling out of the “Titanic” that Enron is frequently compared to in the film.

A great thing about “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room” in particular is that the documentary is presented in an exemplary and entertaining fashion--a trend of most Sundance documentaries in order to hold an audience for an extended period of time. “Enron” is full of bars and charts, comic illustrations, as well as comedic one-liners of people both poking fun at the Enron corporation, as well as the sadistic comments made by executives and traders for the company about “Grandma footing the bill” for expenses that Enron itself couldn’t really pay, and were, in fact, paying money out to themselves from non-existent money--merely “projected earnings” rather than cold, hard cash. If anything, it is the coldness with which one is allowed to perceive the people at the top of Enron’s corporate ladder that holds attention because of their blatant disregard for the value of human lives other than their own.

While there are many people out there skilled in the ways of money-making and understanding financial affairs, a good amount of US citizens find their talents elsewhere, and both numbers and dollar signs come across as intimidating and confusing. For those who feel this way, and found themselves grappling to understand the devastating consequences that arose out of the enigmatic crash of Enron in the early 90’s--finally, the documentary “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room,” named after the business executives at the company who were supposedly so, the significance of the Enron bankruptcy is finally explains in sizeable chunks for the consumption and comprehension of the everyman. This documentary succeeds in that it serves the purpose of the documentary to be informative, but succeeds at being so because of its wonderfully structured “plot,” along with the fact that is put together in such an entertaining and compelling fashion, that it would be hard to lose interest in something much bigger than anyone could have ever imagined.