22nd 09 - 2017 | 2 comments »

The Florida Project (2017)

Director/Coscreenwriter: Sean Baker

By Marilyn Ferdinand

The name “Florida” conjures images of a paradise of lush greenery, coral birds, blue skies, and white-sand beaches. Its inviting motto, “The Sunshine State,” bathes the mind in a golden, cheerful glow. Who wouldn’t be happy to find themselves in such a place? Understandably then, Walt Disney Productions found Florida to be the ideal location to build Disney World, a newer, more expansive version of Disney Land, the self-dubbed “Happiest Place on Earth.” Known within Disney during its planning stages as The Florida Project, Disney World now costs hundreds of dollars for admission alone, but that doesn’t stop more than 20 million people a year from visiting. Ironically, in Sean Baker’s The Florida Project, the children who play along U.S. Route 192, the main tourist strip leading to Disney World, may never pass through its magical gates. For them and their impoverished families, finding the money to pay their week-to-week rent in the resort-town version of an SRO can be an all-consuming task.

Veteran filmmaker Sean Baker, whose 2015 iPhone-lensed feature Tangerine was his breakthrough success, says that he is inspired by location. It shows. Route 192 clearly telegraphs the specifics of his main interest—the children of poverty in a playground of plenty lined with day-glo, kitschy buildings and Disney-inspired names.

Nelson Algren, the great literary chronicler of the down and out, said that junkies, hustlers, and bums have everyday lives—they just don’t look quite the same as those of the squares. Baker vividly expresses this notion in this slice-of-life film that has a story and something of an arc, but no real plot. The film is filled with moments that are “the thing itself”—a rainbow, some sandhill cranes leisurely walking in a parking lot, a birthday celebration held by the side of the road in sight of Disney’s nightly fireworks display. Baker’s characters encounter harshness, though he tends to suggest more than he shows, but particularly for the children, life is normal and full of wonder.

Our central protagonist, 6-year-old Moonee (Brooklynn Prince), lives in a purple motel called the Magic Castle Inn with her unemployed, heavily tattooed mother, Halley (Bria Vinaite). When she is not helping her mother illegally solicit customers to buy cut-rate perfume in the parking lots of Orlando’s fancier hotels, Moonee is running around with her playmate, Scooty (Christopher Rivera), and teaching a timid new friend, Jancey (Valeria Cotto), how to beg for money to buy ice cream and generally raise hell.

Route 192 is full of places to explore. The kids weave through overgrown lots, which Moonee insists harbor alligators, and play hide and seek among the adjacent motels. Moonee shows Jancey and Scooty a door at the Magic Castle they’re not supposed to enter and says immediately, “Let’s go anyway!” Shortly thereafter, the entire motel loses power. Their most spectacular stunt comes when they casually vandalize an abandoned house in a failed real estate development, and eventually burn it down by lighting a pillow in the fireplace. The blaze becomes the attraction of the entire motel community, as Halley tries to convince Moonee that it’s more fun than watching the TV show to which she seems unnaturally glued.

Among the adults is a certain esprit de corps fostered by interdependence. Halley and Ashley (Meda Murder), Scooty’s mom, are besties who hang on each other like lovers; Ashley supplies Halley and Moonee with free breakfasts through the back door of the diner where she works and spots them rent money from time to time. Parenting duties are shared and occasionally taught, as when Jancey’s grandmother (Josie Olivo) insists to a disrespectful Halley that Moonee and Scooty clean off the car they have been spitting on. No one, however, seems to mind when Halley, Moonee, and Scooty happily flip off helicopter-touring visitors as they fly overhead.

Trying to hold everything together is Bobby (Willem Dafoe), the Magic Castle’s manager. He collects the rent, handles maintenance for the aging property, and watches out for the residents. For example, Bobby sees an older man (Carl Bradfield) approach the kids playing near the motel’s roadside picnic tables and sizing him up as a pedophile, leads him away from the children, grabs his wallet, gets his name, and throws him off the property. But he also has a job to do. Although he feels compassion for his tenants, he threatens to toss them out for various infractions and nonpayment of rent. Occasionally, reluctantly, he does just that.

Baker grew up loving The Little Rascals—he dedicates the film in part to Hal Roach and Spanky McFarland—and only realized as an adult that the Rascals were poor. He hoped to capture the energy and comedy of those earlier films while underlining the precariousness of his characters’ existence. For example, one line of dialogue tells us enough to know that Halley was a stripper who was fired for not having sex with the customers; later, however, after being run off from her perfume trade, we see her taking bikini photos of herself. The implication is tragically clear and that she turns the photo session into a game by having Moonee pose, too, is as sad as it gets.

Baker said The Florida Project was five years in the making due to its need for a fairly substantial budget. He considers it kismet that Brooklynn Prince was just the right age to play his modern-day Spanky by the time he was ready to cast the film, and indeed, she has the intelligence and insouciance to hit all the right notes. Her improvisatory skills add a great deal to the film, such as when she comes up with all the ways she loves food while stuffing herself from a resort buffet. Vinaite, a first-time actor, was recruited off Instagram. Baker seems to have great instincts because she knocks it out of the park as a troubled, immature woman with an undercurrent of violence who loves her daughter but can’t make a better life for them. The pair jokes when Bobby comes to bawl out Moonee. Halley, in exaggerated sorrow, says, “I’ve failed as a mother,” and a smiling Moonee responds, “Yeah Mom, you’re a real disgrace.” This you-and-me-against-the world attitude will get a much more serious challenge later in the film. Thankfully, Baker mainly keeps drugs and alcohol off the screen, thus confounding the cliches of the world he is exploring and keeping us focused on seeing these characters as people, not problems.

Baker built up the role of Bobby after meeting a motel manager in Florida and listening to his story. Willem Dafoe is wonderful in the part, bringing enormous, understated empathy to this man while balancing the orders of his employer with the sometimes chaotic lives of his tenants. For example, his matter-of-fact confrontation with an elderly, topless sunbather (Sandy Kane) at the motel pool suggests this isn’t the first time he’s had to warn her about her appearance, though he gets around her by saying he can’t have her drinking her froo-froo cocktails at poolside.

The film was shot on 35mm by Alexis Zabe, who was responsible for the remarkable look of Carlos Reygadas’ Silent Light (2007) and Post Tenebras Lux (2012). Here Zabe finds a balance between haunting beauty and bright pop, and his night shooting is particularly lush. In the end, however, Baker returns to his iPhone to shoot his final scene—a mad, magical dash through The Florida Project. It’s the perfect ending to a deeply humane film.


29th 03 - 2017 | 10 comments »

Shoes (1916)

Director/Screenwriter: Lois Weber

The Early Women Filmmakers Blogathon hosted by Movies Silently

By Marilyn Ferdinand

Among the women who helped create the film industry, few stand taller than Lois Weber. A quadruple threat—actress, screenwriter, director, producer—Weber’s directing credits number 138, and the quality of her work was ranked regularly alongside D. W. Griffith and Cecil B. DeMille during her heyday in the 1910s. The social consciousness that marks many of her films derived from two years working as a social activist and a Church Army Workers missionary among prostitutes and the down and out in Pittsburgh and New York City, and her continuing desire to influence humanity for the better.

Weber adapted Shoes from a story Stella Wynne Herron published in the January 1, 1916, issue of Collier’s magazine that itself was inspired by a novel about prostitution by the “mother of social work,” Jane Addams. Weber’s own scenario gives her plot away right from the start by paraphrasing the Addams’ quote below from A New Conscience for an Ancient Evil:

When the shoes became too worn to endure a third soling and she possessed but 90 cents toward a new pair, she gave up the struggle; to use her own contemptuous phrase, she ‘sold out for a new pair of shoes.’

Teenager Eva Meyer (Mary MacLaren) has a heavy burden to bear. She works at a five and dime for $5 a week, which she dutifully brings home on Saturday night so that she, her parents, and her three sisters can make it through another week. Her father (Harry Griffith) isn’t too keen on working, preferring to stay in bed reading and smoking his pipe. Her mother (Mattie Witting) is busy keeping home and hearth together, and looking after her younger children.

Eva has been trying to keep her tattered shoes going for months. The new pair of shoes she’s been eyeing is far out of reach, even though it costs only $3, because her pay barely covers the rent and groceries for her family. Her coworker, Lil (Jessie Arnold), has been supplementing her income by sleeping with “Cabaret” Charlie (William V. Mong), who has taken a shine to Eva and invites her to the nightclub where he sings—and, of course, to accept his “hospitality.”

Because we learned the outcome of Eva’s dilemma at the beginning of the film, her eventual decision to sell herself for new shoes takes a back seat to examining the conditions under which she and her family struggle. Eva and her family live in a dirty tenement in a rough part of town; in a moment of almost throwaway but effective emphasis, a shady character loitering on the doorstep ducks inside the building vestibule when some cops come by. Her mother washes clothes in a pot of boiling water on the stove, and there is never enough meat to go around—characteristically, Mr. Meyer gets more than his fair share of it.

Eva wears the same clothes to work day after day and has no umbrella to shield herself or the cardboard inserts in her shoes from wilting under several days of pounding rain. Close-ups of Eva’s worn shoes are juxtaposed with her daydreams of wearing the shoes of her dreams. A group of well-to-do ladies walk past Eva as she is taking her lunch in a nearby park, and her POV shot focuses not on their dresses or hats but rather on their shoes.

The performances in the film are generally good, though most of the players work in the broad style common in silent movies. Mong leers, Arnold broadly flirts and overemphasizes the new watch she has on after a night with Charlie, and Witting’s grief over Eva’s fallen status is overdone. Griffith, however, seems very comfortable as an oblivious idler who takes his privileges for granted, reading at the dinner table and spending whatever he wants on a new book.

Weber rightly focuses the film on Mary MacLaren, whose heartfelt performance made this an incredibly moving experience for me. Her wonderfully sad face and natural acting style make it easy to identify with her and her emotions. When Eva passes by her parents’ bedroom and sees her father reading with pillows propping him up against the footboard, her look of contempt reaches us right through the screen; even when she’s not looking at him, her poor regard for him oozes out of every scene in which they appear together. While Mrs. Meyer gently prods her husband to look for work, Eva has already given him up as a lost cause.
Her attempts to avoid Charlie’s advances eschew the usual head shaking and extended back bends most movie damsels in distress employ. Instead, she leans slightly away, walks away, looks down—in other words, she does what most women would do. Even while internally disgusted, she allows Charlie to touch her in the cabaret without looking at him, but also without cringing or pulling away.

Her finest moment comes when she tires of trying to mend her shoes and finally makes up her mind; we can almost see the switch thrown. There is no anguish on her face, just a settled determination. She changes into a sheer blouse, the only change of wardrobe we’ve seen, shimmies her skirt down to her hips to cover her shoes, shakes her braids out and brushes her hair into an upsweep. She tells her mother she’ll be overnight at Lil’s and needs carfare. She doesn’t blame her mother, but this small demand for money strikes us as ironic.

Weber was interested in showing what pushes women into prostitution, though she melodramatically underlines it with a deathly image of “Poverty.” The daily indignities, carelessness, and misery are bad enough, but Weber also shoots fantasies of what Eva dreamed her life would be like to underscore the death of those dreams as Eva surrenders to a grinding reality. Lest anyone think that the film takes a moralistic tone about sex, Eva’s mother cries over the loss of her daughter’s virginity in this degrading manner, but without any hint of condemnation; it truly is a wretched circumstance.

The EYE Film Institute in the Netherlands had the only known print of Shoes and completed a two-year digital restoration of it in 2010. The film was chosen for the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress in 2014. This year, Milestone Films will release a DVD of the film with a score by veteran silent film composers and musicians Donald Sosin and Mimi Rabson. The screencaps for Shoes in this review come from several sources, so I can’t swear for the veracity of the color screens, but I can assure you that this is a film well worth catching from a filmmaker you should know.

Shoes will screen Saturday, April 1 at 3:30 p.m. and Monday, April 3 at 6 p.m. as part of the “Lois Weber: Pioneer Progressive Filmmaker” series at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.


14th 10 - 2013 | no comment »

CIFF 2013: Melaza (2012)

Director/Screenwriter: Carlos Lechuga

Melaza 4

By Marilyn Ferdinand

One of the reasons a middle class was allowed to grow in capitalist societies like the United States and Britain during the 20th century was to combat burgeoning socialist movements to prevent the spread of communism. If the financial burgers could have seen how big a failure communism was as an economic and social system, they might have saved themselves the 30 years they’ve spent dismantling an equitable society. Melaza, a Cuban film that got past the censors because they were blind to the irony of the scenes “celebrating” the triumphs of the revolution, is a fascinating look inside a society dedicated to leveling the playing field for all, but managing instead simply to flatten most of its people. Beyond economics, however, is one of the most heartfelt love stories I’ve ever seen, one that seems to want to believe that love conquers all, even as it shows that we often have no control over the little lives most of us would like to go about in peace.

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The film opens with sunshine and a light breeze blowing through a field of sugar cane. The camera slowly shifts to a rusting, empty factory where a couple are making love on a mattress laid out on the factory floor. The scene shifts to the pair carrying the mattress out of the way and walking through the cane fields to a small metal shack. Mónica (Yuliet Cruz) and Aldo (Armando Miguel Gómez) live together in the shack with Mónica’s mother (Ana Gloria Buduén) and 13-year-old daughter (Carolina Márquez) by a man who ran out on them. We don’t know if they’re married, but it is obvious throughout the film that they are very much in love. They are also very hard pressed to make a living.

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Mónica worked at the sugar processing factory, empty for more than a year due to government restructuring, and Aldo was a swimming instructor. She still dresses smartly for work every day, punches her time card, inspects the equipment, and phones in her report of how many machines are still working to a central office. Aldo has his charges lay on chairs in the emptied swimming pool and teaches them various strokes; afterward, he gives them language lessons in front of the locked school. Neither of them get paid, but they hope that when the factory opens again—a promise the government makes nearly daily through radio broadcasts—the jobs will return and they will be the first in line to be rehired.

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Economic privation is on the minds of people throughout the world, and filmmakers are reflecting their times. What makes Melaza so vital is not the seriousness and timeliness of its subject, but rather its extraordinary look at how a particular set of people react to the ruin of their way of life. Mónica and Aldo are determined to stay together, and they find some ingenious ways to keep food on the table. For example, the family periodically vacates the house for Mónica’s friend, Yamilé, a prostitute (Yaité Ruiz) who pays them to use it when she has a client. But, the government is swift to undermine this mutually beneficial arrangement—the police raid the house and fine the family for renting without a permit. Later, Aldo starts selling black-market meat, a crime that could garner him 10 years in prison. The collectivism of communist Cuba doesn’t care about entrepreneurial prostitution or other service-industry work, but try to get into their rackets—housing and the food supply—and watch out.

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The hapless routines of government functions—grocery stores that are bare of stock, air-dropped propaganda that most of the villagers don’t even bother to pick up and distribute (Mónica drags a bundle to the factory from time to time to keep up appearances), a loudspeaker-equipped car traveling the village to encourage workers to come to a rally against capitalism—act like mosquitoes that buzz in the background. Some people, those with businesses and the money to pay off officials, live quite luxuriously, and the contrast is quite jarring.

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What is real is the love that binds Aldo and Mónica. She tries to prevent him from selling meat in Havana because she doesn’t want him to go away or get arrested, but he does the even more risky thing of selling it in the village. Mónica prostitutes herself exactly once, and when she tells Aldo, we see them standing across from each other, the front door of the house between them like a giant wedge. Yet the next scene is of the two of them in the bathtub, with Aldo gently washing her. Cruz and Gómez have amazing chemistry and form the beating heart at the center of this beautifully shot, languorous film.

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Melaza has many amusing, very particular moments. Mónica’s daughter, who has become an obese, sulky child since her father left, is shown pushing her grandmother in her wheelchair as the old lady tries to sell homemade donuts in the street. Aldo is shown trudging a chalkboard from the school, through the cane fields, to the house where his five-peso English class garners not a single student. Yamilé and Mónica have a very warm friendship, and I loved the way both women conspired and dressed, exactly communicating their personalities with their choices.

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The surprising humor and joie de vivre of the film speaks volumes about human resilience and the pleasures of just being alive, no matter what hardships there may be. The film ends with the called-for rally, which attracts about 20 people with nothing better to do. Musicians play, the ralliers jump up and down to the music, and Aldo, Mónica, and her daughter gradually join in. The sun and breeze bless the cane fields, and another propaganda bundle drops from the sky. Like the film’s title, which means “molasses,” movement is slow, but the bittersweet life of the village goes on.

Melaza screens Friday, October 18, 8:00 p.m., and Sunday, October 20, 6:30 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St. in Chicago. Director Carlos Lechuga and Producer Claudia Calviño are scheduled to attend both screenings. www.chicagofilmfestival.com

Previous coverage

H4: Shakespeare’s Henry IV Parts I and II are given a contemporary spin by this spirited African-American production starring the great Harry Lennix as the title character. (USA)

Lifelong: The final breakdown of an unhappy marriage between an artist and her architect husband is chronicled in painful detail. (Turkey/The Netherlands/Germany)

Papusza: A biopic about the renowned Romany-Polish poet Bronisława Wajs, aka Papusza, is rendered in stunning images, with a strong emphasis on Romy life during the 20th century. (Poland)

The Verdict: The Belgian criminal justice system is put on trial when a man who was denied justice for his murdered wife takes the law into his own hands and dares a jury to convict him of premeditated murder. (Belgium)

A Thousand Times Good Night: This film explores the choice a war photographer is forced to make when her sexist husband threatens to leave her and take their two children with him if she doesn’t stop putting herself in harm’s way. (Norway)

Wałęsa: Man of Hope: Renowned Polish director Andrzej Wajda offers an informative and exhilarating look at the life of Solidarity founder, former Polish president, and Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Wałęsa. (Poland)

The Invisible Collection: A young man who has lost his friends in a car accident comes to terms with his grief through an encounter with a blind collector of rare prints. (Brazil)

Stranger by the Lake: A lake in summer is the setting for a close exploration of the mating rituals of gay cruisers and the fatal attraction that envelopes one of the regulars to the lake. (France)


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