A decent fit

When we first saw the preview for The Outfit, one thing stuck out to me: Mark Rylance. That was the driving impetus for me to see the film, as he's been brilliant in everything else that I've seen him in. He made the pedestrian Bridge of Spies worth watching. He was compelling in Dunkirk. He did an excellent Bill Kunstler in The Trial of the Chicago 7. I'll watch pretty much anything with him in it. Otherwise, the preview looked a lot like a typical gangster film. And, 'lo and behold, it was a pretty typical gangster film, but Rylance was still brilliant.

It's difficult to sell gangster stories to me these days because I've seen enough of them to no longer be particularly interested. We had a discussion on ThereWillBe.Games a while back about a game based on the FX show, Sons of Anarchy. A few people mentioned that they had known people who were less interested in playing what was a very interesting engine building game because of having to assume the role of the rather ruthless gang members from the show. They also mentioned that the game, which had gone out of print with the FX license having expired, had been reimplemented as a 1920s gangster game called (sigh) Wise Guys. I pointed out that, not only were those "wise guys" every bit as ruthless as their modern drug-dealing counterparts, but that the topic of gangsters from a bygone era was played out to the point of parody. I still feel that way about most creative outlets that try to delve back into that topic. We've been there, to the point that Martin Scorsese spent an ungodly three-and-a-half hours trying to take a new angle on that tired genre with The Irishman. (Newsflash: He didn't succeed.) So, I was setting myself up to be disappointed with the story as a whole, but felt like Rylance would still make it entertaining. I was right on both counts.

Rylance plays Leonard Burling, an English tailor (or, as he insists, a cutter) running a shop in a rough Chicago neighborhood where the only people that can earn him a living are the gangsters that run said neighborhood. His receptionist, Mabel (Zoey Deutch) regularly talks about "getting outta this town", but is eventually revealed to be involved with the local gang, as the girlfriend of the son of the local leader. When the dropbox that the gang has installed in the back of Burling's shop begins receiving packages from "The Outfit" of Capone fame, the comfortable relationships that all of them enjoy begin to go awry. That's a semi-interesting premise, since it involves a set of people that are directly, but still only indirectly involved with the local mob's business. How they choose to live their lives around it or at the periphery of it generates enough humor for the audience to be entertaining. Rylance, as the focal point of the film, is also the fulcrum of most of that humor. But the rest of the cast is pretty rote, from Mabel to tough guy Francis (Johnny Flynn) to local boss, Roy Boyle (Simon Russell Beale.) There's some good tension in some of the scenes and a bit of mystery as to how they're going to work their way out of the dilemmas that they stumble into, but the plot is fairly predictable from beginning to end and the film ends up working as solely a vehicle for Rylance's brilliance.

There's nothing wrong with that, of course. At this point, I'd gladly watch a one-man show with Rylance, almost regardless of topic and this film actually doesn't stray too far from that. It's set very much in theater fashion, as we never go farther from the shop than the sidewalk outside and the vast majority of the action takes place in Leonard's fitting room and workshop. But you could tell that Leonard was more than just a simple cutter (or, really, a cutter of a different type) and you could predict Mabel's role in the story almost from the moment she opened her mouth about wanting to be anywhere but her home neighborhood. It was all pretty obvious. That doesn't mean that it wasn't entertaining, but it was largely because of who and what Rylance is, and not because the story was particularly compelling. In fact, most of the characters other than Leonard were fairly cut-and-paste, despite a solid performance from Flynn. So, I can't say that it was either brilliant or compelling... except for Rylance, who is the sole reason that I'd recommend it. If you're not a fan, become one. If you're just a fan of gangster films, see this one for the lead actor and if you enjoy the rest of it because you're a fan of the genre, so much the better. But don't kid yourself. The reason you're sitting there is to watch a modern artist at work and it has nothing to do with his shears or the guns around him.

A nose ahead of other musicals

What does one say about the story of Cyrano de Bergerac at this point? That it's a story as old as civilization? Well, possibly. The tragedy of love unrequited does go back a while, but this particular story originated with the 1897 play by Edmond Rostand, based roughly on the life of the real French novelist and playwright of the 17th century. It's a simple one- good guy who considers himself ugly tries to connect with a love from afar -but it's one that never quite fades away. Whether that's because of an entertainment industry driven by men who feel like they can't get what they really want is open to question. But it's a story of longing for something more interesting and exciting than what everyday life has wrought, as well, which is the basic premise of an entertainment industry in the first place, regardless of what modern reality TV might suggest. The story of Cyrano can be direct and, for the sake of a more modern audience, given a more uplifting ending, as is the case with Roxanne, my favorite of Steve Martin's films, or it can stick to the original plot and be a lesson about deeper themes and the tragedy often associated with them, as with Cyrano, the version we saw last night, directed by Joe Wright, which was directly adapted from the 2019 stage musical, directed by Erica Schmidt.

The first draw when we initially saw the trailer was that it was Cyrano, but also because it starred Peter Dinklage, whom most people know from Game of Thrones as the irrepressible Tyrion Lannister, but whom also performed this role in Schmidt's stage version. The potential drawback was that it was a musical, which I've never been particularly excited about for some reason (I like opera.) But the musical elements were largely restrained to solos by the three stars: Dinklage as Cyrano, Haley Bennett as Roxanne, and Kelvin Harrison, Jr. as Christian, without any prolonged song-and-dance routines that interrupted the flow of the story and that seemed to be enough to keep it moving and enjoyable. There's nothing inherently wrong with breaking into song to express deep emotion. I've just often found that it distracts from where the story seems to be going and breaks the rhythm of that progression. [imagine Joel Schumacher voice] "OK, people! We've reached a moment of tension/introspection/emotional depth and we have to stop everything so we can do a song here, OK?"

Again, thankfully, this film didn't really do that... but this was also a pretty slow-paced film, so it would've been more difficult to realize it. Roxanne breaks into the first song while in a carriage heading to the theater with her ostensible suitor, the Duke De Guiche (Ben Mendelsohn, who did well here, just as he did in Mississippi Grind.) But there's a viable question as to why we had to spend that much time in the carriage when Roxanne has already talked about her desire for something different when debating with her guardian, Marie (Monica Dolan), moments earlier. But that's part of the overall equation of watching a musical. Some moments are going to be drawn out so that that element of entertainment- the song -can be experienced by the audience and hopefully be more memorable than just a moment of dialogue. Given that all of the singing in the film was recorded on set (e.g. not overdubbed with a studio version later), I'd have to say that all four of the soloists (including Mendelsohn) did really well in that respect. If there were any points at which the film could've been said to drag (and there were a couple), they were mostly around the ending where no song was in sight, as it were.

But that's also an element of watching a tragedy, which Cyrano is, full stop. Unlike the "good guy gets the girl" aspect of adaptations like Roxanne, this one stuck to Rostand's original approach, which was to examine not just societal views of someone who may be considered "ugly" or, in this case, a "freak", but the internal struggle that that person undergoes where they attempt to deny themselves the solution that may be, uh, as obvious as the nose on their face. They embrace the tragedy that doesn't need to be there, which leaves the audience with the sensation of "If only...", which is precisely how these stories are supposed to work. Dinklage sells this well and it's not surprising that he was cast in this role, given his performances in GoT, as well as films like The Station Agent. In other words, he knows how to sell a tragedy without overdoing it and also by leavening it with very energetic moments outside of that central theme. Indeed, one of the most interesting aspects of the film is the presentation of Cyrano as an accomplished duelist, which the actual Cyrano (actually 'Savinien'; 'Cyrano' was the family name) was, as well. In GoT, Tyrion was imposed upon because of his size and was forced to use his mind to get around that impediment. In Cyrano, he's allowed to use both that and his skill with a blade; akin to Arya's water dancing. It doesn't seem huge (ahem), but it's a step away from the main character as the victim of society, which sets up the final tragedy nicely when he comes to the realization that his problems may have been more of his own creation than anything that other people tried to limit him with.

In the end, I'd say it's well worth the time to see it and not just if you're a fan of the story and Dinklage, but being so is certainly an additional advantage. It won't tell you anything new about the story of Cyrano de Bergerac, but it might give you an appreciation for its different approach to character, story, and song.

Three seeming greats that didn't resonate

I try to write about everything that we see at the Michigan Theater, as I made an unofficial promise to Larissa and Jaime that I would do so when we first picked up memberships and began regularly visiting four(?) years ago. Sometimes it takes me longer than others because I just don't feel what the writer, director, and actors are laying down. I recognize the level of their accomplishment, as we rarely see a genuinely bad film at the theater, but sometimes what I'm seeing, as entertaining as it may be, just doesn't resonate with me in the manner that usually inspires one of my wordy reviews. Between the four of us, we've seen all of the Best Picture nominees (Jaime and Larissa saw West Side Story and CODA, while Tricia and I saw King Richard and Nightmare Alley (two more that I will get around to soon); I think one of the four have only missed a couple more) and all three of those I'm writing about tonight are on those nomination lists; sometimes more than once. They are Flee, The Worst Person in the World, and Ascension.

Flee has actually been nominated three times (Best Animated Feature, Best Documentary, Best International Feature- Denmark) and there's little room to argue that it's a great film. It has a gripping and very relatable story, an appealing lead/narrator (Amin) who has gone on to great success in his life despite his intense period of trial, and was done using a smart form of animation. As a former comic guy, animation is always going to hold some degree of appeal to me and I think their comic-esque approach was a really smart choice for a lengthy story of this type. You can easily imagine the panel borders as the camera moves around and scenes shift. The opening scenes reminded me of the tragedy that the emergence of the mujahedeen wrought upon that country, as I remembered the pictures of Kabul University in 1980, with women freely attending, dressed as they like. The family fled Afghanistan for a variety of reasons, not least because their father was a government official, but Amin also knew that his sexuality could easily result in him being executed, and that identity is nicely woven into the story, rather than being presented as a glaring factor. But with all of that approbation, when I got home the night we saw it, my motivation was absent. As nice as Amin was, I didn't find anything about his personal perspective that was particularly interesting. With all of the other characters, including his siblings, strained through Amin's perspective, they also became little more than stand-ins, without any of the emotional feedback that you would get from "live actors", despite efforts by the animation crew to depict them in as much detail (facial expressions, etc.) as possible. I felt, perhaps, like there was nothing for me to hang my perspective on. It was an interesting story. It was presented well. There it is. That said, I would highly recommend it to anyone who's interested in the topic, animation, or simply a good film.

The Worst Person in the World has also been nominated for Best International Feature (Norway) and, like Flee, is also indisputably a great film. In contrast to the latter, Worst Person is redolent with characters whose emotions are written on their faces and whom convey them in the most normal, human manner possible. Indeed, this is a film about emotion and how it changes through life and how some of those changes are more understandable than others, even (often especially) by those feeling them. But after I saw it, I felt like I had nothing to add to it. We'd seen the film. It was good. There it is. The main character, Julie (Renate Reinsve) is, in turn, both appealing and frustrating and her surrounding cast, especially Elvind (Herbert Nordrum), have a level of magnetism that you find in the better actors. Indeed, given that this was her first feature film, Reinsve was kinda spectacular. Here's hoping for more. I also thought the story structure was interesting (divided into 12 "chapters"), if a little drawn out in the later stages. But one of the key decisions of the film, wherein Julie breaks off her long-time relationship with Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie) to pursue her lurking passion for Elvind, doesn't seem to have enough built up around it for the magnitude that it's supposed to have. Their final argument before she leaves, where she complains that "Sometimes I just want to have feelings about things-!" didn't have much buildup. There weren't any flashpoints where she was prevented from having those feelings, so I wondered why so much weight was being added to a situation that she'd been in multiple times before where she simply lost interest in whoever she was with and went off after someone else. As Jaime pointed out, it's possible that we missed some of the interplay in their conversations, as it's often difficult to pick up idioms and cultural cues from translations. (This is why my friend, Adoni, who teaches classics at OSU, taught himself to read French and German so he could read the original sources.) I don't think the lack of that story support was necessarily a weakness of the film. It could just be a weakness of my viewing of it. But it just didn't sing to me the way so many other films have. It was good and I would definitely recommend it, but I didn't have much to say about it.

Ascension has been nominated for Best Documentary. From watching the trailer, I was genuinely excited to see this film. This looked like a hard and involved examination of the impact of capitalism on the People's Republic of China. I expected a lot of stories from those involved about the ups and downs of the system and how they dealt with it; similar to One Child Nation. Instead, we took kind of a meandering path through a number of situations related to that cultural impact; from recruiting on street corners with company rules and "perks" to assembly lines for plastic gadgets to people training to be servants and bodyguards to the entertainment venues that none of these working people will be able to afford. Those, along with visual allusions to the waste created by this economic boom, in the form of plastic trash on the rivers to literal piles of bicycles sitting in a lot, present a film that, at first glance (as in the trailer), would seem to be an exposé of just what China has largely become. But that message really doesn't come across in that fashion, outside of some isolated moments in those factories where the pace of the work becomes both mind- and finger-numbing. There were far fewer sharp, emotional moments than I expected, perhaps partially because of the lack of direct input from most of the subjects. There were almost no direct interviews of people talking about their circumstances and the positive and/or negative aspects to them. I'm not sure if it's because director Jessica Kingdon was forbidden to have those conversations or if company and/or national policy prevented people from giving their opinion. Consequently, the pace of the film felt languid, where I had expected at least mildly frenetic. Kingdon seemed content to simply observe, rather than question (again, presuming that she wasn't forbidden from doing so.) Her observations were still interesting, but just didn't have the impact that I had been hoping for. The only reason I'd encourage others to see it is for the prospect of them coming away with something more than we did and telling me what I was missing.

So, in the end, good enough for a paragraph, but not the multiples that usually make up these posts. Having seen so much in the past two weeks, we might have hit a dry spell in what the theater is offering, so there may be some delay in the next missive that I'll probably try to fill with the two films mentioned above that we watched on HBO.

Short films, big packages - documentary, 2021

Unlike more artistically-driven categories, I've come to the conclusion over the years that documentaries are difficult to really get "wrong." I have seen some bad ones (or, really, just stopped watching them) but, by and large, most stories that have been picked for the long production schedules that most producers function under (usually involving searching for funding) are usually worth seeing. That's why it's kind of remarkable to see Netflix's continued presence in the category, as funding is, uh, not a problem with them and yet they still produce excellent work on the regular, as we saw tonight with three of the five nominees having been produced by the big, red N.

First up was Audible, which is about a group of students at Maryland's School for the Deaf. The primary focus was on Amaree McKenstry-Hall, a football player, and his friends within the squad, among the cheerleaders, and how he and the rest of their community struggled with the loss of a friend to suicide. The presentation of the film was actually innovative in that it was an aural film, but was still shot so that the hearing-impaired could get the full experience, with subtitles for spoken lines (the majority of communication was, as you might expect, in ASL), as well as background sounds (i.e. music, doors closing and other atmospheric sounds, etc.) We spent a good deal of time with Amaree and how he was dealing with the same problems that many teenagers have: uncertainty about relationships, lack of a father figure, dealing with defeat and other setbacks, and so on. The overriding complication in all of that, of course, is that he's deaf and will soon have to deal with "the outside world" as they call it, away from the "bubble" that his school provides for him. One of the more jarring moments was watching the parents of Amaree's unfortunate classmate, Teddy, be apparently still oblivious to the greater pressures that would have been created by taking him out of a school that helps him with his disability, away from his friends and support network, and away from his boyfriend, The result was all too predictable and seemingly obvious to everyone else in the community. As a whole, it was a really energetic and inspiring opening.

Following that was When We Were Bullies; a production by veteran documentarian, Jay Rosenblatt, about an event that took place on a Friday after school in his childhood in Brooklyn, and his attempt to find out if anyone else in his fifth grade class who participated in that event carried the same painful memories that he rediscovered when reminded of it, 50 years later. This was the most artistic of the films of the evening, as it utilized a great deal of animation centered around the class picture of his then-10-year-old compatriots. However, it still relied on actual events and many interviews with those who perpetrated the mass action of persecution against a single classmate, although Rosenblatt failed to get a full interview with the victim, who at least reassured Jay that he had gone on to have quite a satisfying life. It's an interesting examination of the casual cruelty of children and their similar susceptibility to herd instinct (e.g. driving out and scorning the "weak") that likewise drives many segments of adult society (especially the ones that have refused to grow up.) His successful pursuit of his still-living fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Bromberg, provided some evidence of the cultural blindness that may have propelled that behavior, as she suggests that all girls are catty and boys will be boys, so there's nothing to do about it, despite her own daughter having been bullied to the point where it may have contributed to her eventual suicide. Her dismissive opinion extended to his efforts, as she felt his film would be "tedious" to watch. I'm afraid she was quite wrong in that respect.

Next was Three Songs for Benazir, which was the shortest and least fleshed out of the evening. That's perhaps because not much more needed to be said, but when it comes to the incredibly complex topic of Afghans living in a displaced persons camp in Kabul and Shaista, a young man trying to become the first of his tribe to join the Afghan National Army in order to provide for his wife, Benazir, and their impending child, it seems like there's a lot of ground to cover. However, I appreciated that co-directors Elizabeth and Gulistan Mirazei covered the topic at all, albeit in a rather plain and direct fashion that most assume is the standard boilerplate tone of anything called a "documentary." The title comes from Shaista's habit of making up songs and singing them to his perpetually-giggling wife, which is a sweet, personal note amidst the uncertainty and chaos that still defines existence in Afghanistan, which can only be heightened by living in what has become a permanent temporary existence in the camps. There wasn't really any need for a narrator to assist the story of a person trying to get ahead in the world and taking the most obvious path ahead of him (fighting the Taliban) but also being told that he's not educated enough to participate and then being told that there are no resources to educate him. It's the self-defeating spiral that has often defined that traumatized nation's existence since 1980 and, despite that "boilerplate" approach leaving the film in the shadow of the more stylistic touches of the other four, I still found it both poignant and worthwhile.

The sledgehammer of the night, however, was Lead Me Home; not only because of its emotional impact but also because of the frustration it engendered. A broad examination of homelessness in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle, the film sticks mostly to personal accounts from those afflicted, as well as those struggling to help them in the current housing crisis which, as one social worker mentions, is only going to get worse when the COVID rent abatements are finally lifted with seemingly no help from the government to save those people in danger of eviction. We go from tent city to tent city, in parks, alleyways, and on highway overpasses. Everywhere the story is the same: people eager to change their situation, but burdened by other problems (high cost of housing, low-paying jobs, addiction, psychiatric needs) that prevent them from "pulling themselves up by their bootstraps." Even when some are able to make progress, the combination of more than one of those factors is enough to pull them back into their plight. The most deeply felt moment was when one woman described the circumstances that caused her to flee her home and her abusive partner and how she had spent most of her time since then trying to pretend for her two children so that they wouldn't realize what their situation actually was and carry that stigma with them or reveal it to their peers and suffer the social consequences of it. Even worse was the side comment by a social worker helping a woman out of the abusive scenario she was living through in one of the camps: "I'm just one paycheck away from being in the tent right next to you." No decent society should allow this to become normal. This was the clear "winner" of the evening for me.

We wrapped up with The Queen of Basketball; the story of Lusia Mae Harris and her rise from the only family in a small town in Mississippi with a basketball hoop to leading Delta State University's newly-created women's basketball team to three straight national titles and being the only woman ever drafted by an NBA franchise (the New Orleans (now Utah) Jazz.) Lusia told her own story on camera, with the help of more archival footage than you'd initially expect existed, and did so with lot of winks at that camera. She knew that she was someone unusual, but carried so much humility that most of the time she wouldn't admit it. Among her notable moments was being the first woman to score in an NCAA women's basketball game and the first woman elected to the National Basketball Hall of Fame. But she was also rooted enough to have stepped away from the game and be proud of the six children she raised; all of them with a collection of doctorates and/or master's degrees and successful lives of their own. Despite the interest in the topic, the most entertaining part of the film was, without a doubt, Lusia herself, smirking at the audience who must be in on the joke, and making salient points about equality and opportunity for women without being aggressive about it for a second. It was an uplifting way to end, even if we later discovered that Lusia passed away in January and so never got to know that the story of her life had been nominated for yet another award.

So that's Oscar short season for another year, with pretty positive returns all around. If I were to pick my favorites, they'd be The Dress (live action), The Windshield Wiper (animation), and Lead Me Home (documentary), but I suspect that the winners will be different. Given that they won't even be shown live in the ceremony any longer, it's open to question as to whether short films will continue to even receive as little attention as they do now, unfortunately.

Short films, big packages - animation, 2021

It may be a measure of the amount of high quality animation that I've seen in my life or the fact that I went into tonight's collection of films with the weekend's excellent array of "live action" productions still very firmly in my memory, but I was less impressed with this year's batch of animated films than I have been in the past. I sat through the first three waiting for anything to really grab me, although I appreciated the technique employed in all of them. The last two kind of saved the evening for me, although it wasn't like we were sitting through The Power of the Dog...

First up was Robin Robin, an Aardman production about a robin who grows up with a family of mice and, despite her best efforts, doesn't quite succeed at being like the rest of the family. I appreciate Aardman for their persistence in sticking to stop-motion animation; a tremendously grueling process but which carries a distinctly "old world" charm. I first became a fan from seeing the Sinbad films graced with the talent of Ray Harryhausen and one of my favorite modern endeavors in the field is The Nightmare Before Christmas. Aardman is mostly known for things like Wallace and Gromit and have largely stuck to the "claymation" (actually Plasticene) approach to the art form. In Robin Robin, they made their first venture into puppets and did so with aplomb. Everything was quite fluid and produced the kind of visual impact they were looking for. Unfortunately, story-wise it didn't really pay off. My impression as I sat and watched was that they were all big fans of Nightmare and had decided to make their own attempt at it (the constant cones of snow on people's heads, the wide-eyed wonder at every new thing, etc.) Plus, the music was quite derivative. Magpie's (Richard E. Grant) song about collecting things basically borrowed its musical phrasing from Beauty and the Beast's "Be Our Guest", although me being me, the first thing I thought of was Monty Burns' parody, "See My Vest" ("Made from real gorilla chest!") In (ahem) short, I really felt like I'd seen it all before, even if it was well done in a technical sense.

That was followed by Boxballet, a Russian production (which drew a couple quiet "Boo"s from the audience) about the contrasts and similarities between a boxer and a ballerina and how they each try to draw a connection to each other, philosophically and emotionally. I thought the premise was certainly more interesting, as his brutal world that leaves his nose permanently broken and his face regularly wounded is miles from her reality where her winsome form slips past everything without friction... until she encounters the director who wants more from her than just a good performance. What held this one back were the visuals. There was nothing wrong with them and it's a style that's reminiscent of Rocky and Bullwinkle, from Jay Ward Productions, with the thick lines and bright colors of the figures standing out against the finer lines and muted colors of the backgrounds and other objects. But the interesting parts were all contained within the story, which is usually fine, as I'm a story guy, but not to the exclusion of everything else. The demonstration of the boxer constantly framing things with his getting beat down in his latest match ended up being a little repetitive. One high note was his typically direct approach to romancing the dancer, which she appears to turn down in the name of keeping her career path open by succumbing to the advances of the director and his spacious limo. But suggesting that there's that much of a contrast between their two styles, despite arriving at the conclusion they both want, seemed somewhat misplaced to me. When I used to teach in my dojo, a figure I constantly emphasized to the class was one Muhammad Ali, for his fluidity and motion in the ring.

Next up was Affairs of the Art, which was another production from Joanna Quinn and Les Mills. Their first film involving the lead character of Beryl was in 1987. They've since done two more, but it takes a long time to produce them, as their style is to hand draw every frame and they both have day jobs as commercial producers. It creates a spectacular visual style which is great to watch and Beryl remains amusing, 'lo these 35 years later. But, again, I just didn't find that much to get excited about in terms of the whole package. The story, such as it is, circles mostly around Beryl's desire to become an artist of some repute, while she gets distracted by the peculiar fixations of siblings Colin and Beverly, the latter of which involves detonating the family mouse at one point, which was already a bit disconcerting, having seen a cat get dragged down a river in the middle of winter in Robin Robin. I spent most of Affairs kind of waiting for Beryl and company to actually do something of note, although it was at least mildly entertaining watching the trivial things that they were doing. I thought Quinn and Mills did a great job displaying the transition of Beryl from gangly teenager to bouncy adult and their visual style is, again, quite eye-catching, as the constant motion of every line on the screen keeps you occupied. But, just as with the previous two films, I found myself shrugging my shoulders when the credits rolled. Good, but nothing to breathlessly recommend.

However, the interest level ratcheted up a bit with the next film, which was Bestia, a Chilean production based on the personal life of Ingrid Olderöck, who was a member of the secret police in Chile (DINA; Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional) during the Pinochet dictatorship. We returned to stop-motion with this film, although with a much different visual style, as the main character was made of polyurethane mixed with crystal resin, to give her the appearance of a porcelain doll, in contrast to most of the objects and backgrounds, which were of softer cardboard. Filmmakers Hugh Covarrubias and Martin Erazo wanted to convey the hardness of the person that Ingrid was, despite their story being about what they imagined her personal life to be like (she was noted for being very attached to her dog.) Because they were likely filling in gaps that didn't know, they kept their distance from the subject, allowing the story and presentation to run to the abstract in approach, which was really interesting to follow, once you got past the initial confusion. The story is quite grim and certainly the darkest of the five films we saw, which gave it its own special appeal, as a contrast to the very bright and energetic approach of the first three that we'd seen. This was one that I'd be very interested in seeing again, just to examine some of the more subtle cues that I have a nagging feeling that I missed. It was certainly one of the two that definitely made the evening worth it.

The final offering was The Windshield Wiper which, like Bestia, was definitely more interesting in its artistic approach. We're launched from a man sitting in a café, burning his way through a pack of cigarettes, who asks us: "What is love?" We're then led on a path of various encounters and examples that try to portray the emotion (or lack thereof) in modern relationships, from swiping left to watching sunsets as the tide comes in. I really appreciated this one for its overall stylistic approach. The animation leaned toward the realistic (skin creases, strands of hair in the breeze) but the transition points between various shots left no doubt that this was an animated film and the director was emphasizing that, from the phallic symbols of the two factory chimneys that perfectly collide in their destruction to the perfectly lit and staged scene of a homeless man shouting at a mannequin who resembles a past lover. While it was mildly puzzling to see a Spanish film almost entirely voiced in American English, it was clearly a European perspective on sexuality and skin exposure (we were sternly warned by the theater that the latter three films were NOT FOR CHILDREN because, you know, all "cartoons" MUST be for children...) It also included the few really poignant moments of the evening, including when what seemed to be a vignette of the suicide of a young woman, presumably over the inability to derive love from whom she knows or fails to properly communicate with via text. There was a great deal of weight behind what director Alberto Mielgo was saying here but it was presented in a nice, even patter and left you thinking from moment to moment. It's safe to say that this was the best film of the night for me.

So, a little disappointing given the high points from the weekend, but nothing to complain about, certainly. We'll see the documentaries on Thursday and that will be a wrap for Oscar season.