jürgen fauth’s muckworld

Wild Reeds/Les Roseaux sauvages. André Téchiné, 1994. ****
It Happened One Night. Frank Capra, 1934. ****
Recount. Jay Roach, 2008. ****
The Long Good Friday. John Mackenzie, 1980. ****
Ikiru. Akira Kurosawa, 1952. ****
Hamlet 2. Andrew Fleming, 2008. ***
Autumn/Automne. Ra’up McGee, 2004. ***
Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg, 2008. ***
Mildred Pierce. Michael Curtiz, 1945. ***
Choke. Clark Gregg, 2008. **
Sukiyaki Western Django. Takashi Miike, 2007. N/R

It’s no secret that I love Star Wars — and not just “the old ones” but all six movies: their mythic scope, their conceptual and visual inventiveness, the cheesy characters and blunt dialogue, the structural complexity, the joy they take in speed and color. Star Wars: The Clone Wars, the all-new animated Star Wars adventure, is a worthy addition to the original six-film cycle, staying true to the spirit of the series while overhauling it in a number of important ways. Read the rest of my review on About.com.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Dave Filoni, 2008. ****

Also recently seen:

• Unter den Brücken. Helmut Käutner, 1945. **** (Review)
• Under the Volcano. John Huston, 1984. ****
• The Awful Truth. Leo McCarey, 1937. ****
• Trumbo. Peter Askin, 2007. ***
• La baie des anges. Jacques Demy, 1963. ***
• Greendale. Neil Young, 2003. ***
• Suspiria. Dario Argento, 1977. ****

With The Wire finally out of the way — none of the screeners piling up by the door could possibly compete — I’ll try and quickly catch up with some of the bat-free movies I’ve seen over the last few weeks.

Charlie Bartlett
Warm and funny coming-of-teenage tale about a wealthy kid (Anton Yelchin) who dispenses wisdom and prescription drugs in the public school bathroom and falls for the principal’s daughter (Kat Dennings). Scenes, situations, and jokes seem to have been lifted from Rushmore in their entirety, but Charlie Bartlett’s wry tone owes at least as much to Harold and Maude, which is referenced in a hilarious rendering of “If You Want to Sing Out”. With Hope Davis and Robert Downey Jr.  Jon Poll, 2007. ***

Romance & Cigarettes
I was with John Turturro’s mainly silly, occasionally transcendent musical about a suburban marriage threatened by the man’s flaming passion for a filthy-mouthed red head (Kate Winslet) until the final maudlin twist ruined it for me. With James Gandolfini, Susan Sarandon, Steve Buscemi, Mandy Moore, Christopher Walken, Barbara Sukowa, and Mary-Louise Parker. John Turturro, 2005. **

Wall-E
Cute but overpraised. The wordless first act and the robots’ weightless space dance reach moments of poetry, but when the plot takes over, the movie flattens out into predictable kid’s fare. The puffy, grub-like humans are painful to look at. Andrew Stanton, 2008. ***

Hancock
Did low expectations and the unsuspected pleasure of sneaking into this movie on our way out of Wall-E warp my judgment? Possibly — but I thoroughly enjoyed Hancock’s antics, Jason Bateman’s schmuck shtick, and the revelation of Charlize Theron’s secret — even if I forgot all about it half an hour later. Peter Berg, 2008. ***

Mad Detective (Sun taam)
The title’s the pitch: this time around, Johnny To’s hero is an investigator who, when he goes off his meds, can see people’s “inner personalities.” With his usual economy and panache, To cleverly uses the possibilities of this damaged character for a witty & involving crime story.  Johnny To, 2007. ***

Hotel America (Hôtel des Amériques)
First of the four films in a new André Téchiné (The Witnesses, Strayed, Changing Times) box set we’re very excited about. Set in Biarritz, Hotel America is about a lone woman with a history (Catherine Deneuve) and her amour fou for the shady, needy operator of a bed and breakfast. André Téchiné, 1981. ***

The X-Files: I Want to Believe
Never more than a passing fan of the series, I was nonetheless glad to see David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson on the big screen again. Unlike most critics, I found the film’s modesty admirable — no globe-spanning alien conspiracies here, just a solid, creepy thriller plot and enjoyable interaction between Mulder and Scully. I wasn’t particularly bothered by the admittedly heavy-handed thematic overlay, and while it’s true that most of the film plays like a supersized TV episode, it earned its right to be a movie in the final scenes. Chris Carter, 2008. ***

The Wedding Director (Il Regista di matrimoni)
After a run-in with the law, a famous director ends up in Sicily, where an impoverished Prince hires him to film the wedding of his daughter. At least I think that’s what happens in this intriguing, multi-layered, and surreal movie that felt like the sun-bathed love-child of Lynch and Fellini. Anything that ends in fireworks and features Italian ingenues as beautiful as Donatella Finocchiaro is ok by me. Marco Bellocchio, 2006. ***

Furthermore:
Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. Joss Whedon, 2008. ****
Fear(s) of the Dark (Peur(s) du noir). Blutch et al, 2007. About.com review coming soon. **
In Search of a Midnight Kiss. Alex Holdridge, 2007. About.com review in the works. ***
Dreams with Sharp Teeth. Erik Nelson, 2008. ***
Charly. Isild LeBesco, 2007. ***
Charly Wilson’s War. Mike Nichols, 2007. **
Grosse Pointe Blank. George Armitage, 1997. ***
The Edge of Heaven (Auf der anderen Seite). Faith Akin, 2007. ****
Battlestar Galactica, Season 4 (half). ****

At times, blogging feels exactly like the marathon dancing competition in Sidney Pollack’s 1969 They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? It’s cruel, unnatural, never-ending, and of questionable worth. Some are driven mad by it, somewhere behind the scenes an uncaring MC is counting his money, and the pregnant woman and the aging sailor never stood a lick of a chance to begin with. We may all be better off with a merciful bullet through our skulls.

Neither judge nor jury seemed to even notice that I’d abandoned this particular dancefloor for a while — until one faithful reader finally came forward and asked where all the pithy reviews were at — you know, for the sake of their Netflix queue.  Muckworld’s been idle for the last few weeks while I dedicated myself to a couple of other as of yet unnameable projects, both of which are poised to break out soon and change the world as we know it forever.

In the meantime, a quick overview of the popular history of “Yowza! Yowza! Yowza!” (sometimes spelled “yowsa, yowsa, yowsa”), the MC’s jocular yet irresistible call to keep on dancin’. Probably a corruption of “yes, sir,” bandleader Ben Bernie used it as his catchphrase in the 1920s. It was parodied by Looney Tunes and appropriated by disco sensation Chic and His Excellency Frank Zappa. Here’s YouTube proof that it can make anybody shake a leg:

As for the movie: title, conclusion, and framing device (from Horace McCoy’s novel) are too heavy-handed to convince, but the proto-reality show drama of misery and self-abasement on and off the depression-era dancefloor is absolutely riveting, and the sadistic derby especially had us out of our seats with excitement and horror. If only I’d had the ice bucket and smelling salts when I couldn’t rouse my friend John for the late night sets at last year’s Bonnaroo — and if only I’d thought of the three magic words.

They Shoot Horses Don’t They? Sydney Pollack, 1969. ***
Also: The Interpreter. Sydney Pollack, 2005. ** Granted, the sweeping helicopter shots of the UN building probably look better when you’re not watching them on your iPod — but the drama fits in the palm of your hand either way.

This post is dedicated to my old friend Jens Müller, who made “Yowza! Yowza! Yowza!” his relentlessly overused catchphrase back in 1990. There’s a “great” photo of us by the Grand Canyon in very 1990 poses and haircuts that I’ll dig out as soon as I get back to my desktop. You have been warned.

From 1989 to 2001, the Wetlands Preserve flourished just off of New York’s Houston Street. Founded by a Deadhead, the club attracted rising bands in the burgeoning “jam bands” scene, along with ska and hip-hop acts, while maintaining an activism center that held “eco-saloons” and launched inventive street theater protests. Dean Budnick’s Wetlands Preserved, produced by second and final owner Peter Shapiro, is a heartfelt tribute to a joyous anomaly in New York’s nightlife scene that eventually surrendered to Tribeca’s increasing gentrification in the days following September 11.

Continue reading my review of Wetlands Preserved, opening March 14, on About.com.

Wetlands Preserved: The Story of an Activist Nightclub. Dean Budnick, 2006. ***

And here’s a video to go along with it: Ann Marie Calhoun and her brother Joe cover Phish’s “Stash” [via Andy Gadiel]:

“Music is a virus,” company HR guy Simon is informed by his girlfriend early on in Nicolas Kotz’s Heartbeat Detector, based on the novel by Francois Emmanuel. In case we missed the point, one of Simon’s superiors later reminds him, “music doesn’t tolerate hierarchy.” Their warnings are entirely astute: music — in a number of incarnations from techno to fado to violin quartets — is the catalyst of Simon’s slow disintegration.

Continue reading my review of Heartbeat Detector, starring Mathieu Amalric, on About.com. Heartbeat Detector opens on March 14.

La Question humaine. Nicolas Klotz, 2007. ***

A guy walks into un bar a pute and tells a beautiful prostitute that he just won the lottery. Would she live with him for a hundred thousand a month? Of course she would. Problem is, the guy (Bernard Campan) has a weak heart, and Daniela, the hooker, is played by Monica Belluci. His doctor warns him: “How many times a day will your heart rate climb to 140? I cannot condone it!” Another problem comes in the hulking shape of Gerard Depardieu — he’s Daniela’s James Lipton. How Much Do You Love Me?, now available on DVD from Strand Releasing, is a sexy, silly romp that, like much of Blier’s work, straddles the line between affecting and absurd, often to hilarious effect.

Combien tu m’aimes? Bertrand Blier, 2005. ***

I’ll take bubbly pop over self-righteous posturing any day, so we’ll lead this post off with the Pet Shop Boys’ brilliant cover of “Where the Streets Have No Name” (with a touch of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.”)

With that out of the way, my review of U2 3D is now up at UGO: “You’ll thrill to the sight of a hundred thousand stoked fans! You’ll duck from under Bono’s flying sweat! You’ll read the Universal Declaration of Human Rights — in 3D!”

• My review of U2 3D 

U2 3D. Catherine Owens and Mark Pellington, 2008. ***