Saturday, March 23, 2024

Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady | One of Us / 2017

living apart

by Douglas Messerli

 

Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady (directors) One of Us / 2017

 

My husband Howard tells the story of the time he and other members of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art's Modern and Contemporary Department were leaving a restaurant meeting and were approached by a Hasidic man with two children. The father asked them whether they were Jewish; all were, in fact, but knew that what he was really attempting to do with his leading question was to talk to them about conversion to his sect. Even more disconcerting, as the youngest of his sons walked toward them, his elder brother warned him not to get close to these “outsiders.” One day, while I was leaving a large store, a similar thing happened to me. Los Angeles, after all, like New York, has several large Hasidic communities, many of them wearing traditional black garb with large fur hats

  

       A few years ago, I reviewed Paul Mazursky’s telling of his visit at the annual celebration of Hasidic Jews in the Ukraine, Yippee: A Journey to Jewish Joy, in which he presented that gathering as a joyful and happy affair. But after watching Heidi Ewing’s and Rachel Grady’s One of Us yesterday, we are forced to perceive the insularity and isolation of, at least the Brooklyn Hasidic, as hinting at a far darker view of this group, who have kept their identity and religious principles primarily by blocking themselves off from the rest of society.

      To those who firmly believe, of course, and are willing to sacrifice their personal identities in order to sustain their faith, I am sure that such community closeness must offer great joy. But for those among them who question or doubt, life within such a community it may not only be stifling, but absolutely dangerous.


       The film follows the attempt of three of the latter, Ari, Etty, and Luzer Twersky, to safely remove themselves from the world in which they have been locked away. Through the help of the group Footsteps the three attempts to escape the only world they have known. Two of them, Etty and Ari have been sexually abused and Etty regularly beaten by her husband to whom she was married at an early age without her permission, and who now has 7 children. Luzer simply wants to explore the vast “out there,” hoping to make a career as an actor. Ari also has drug problems.

       Etty’s tale is perhaps the most painful. For the first half of the film she has clearly asked the directors to shield her face, as she terrifyingly describes the situation to the police on a 911 call: “There’s people banging down the door. There’s adult men outside and I’m alone with my children,” she anxiously tells the operator. “They’re my husband’s family. The police just left a few minutes ago. They escorted my husband out and he called family and friends to bang on the door. This is very dangerous.”

       Later Etty not only allows her face to be shown but describes the limited education that her children have received, with textbooks blacking out all images of women, and delimiting all information that does conform with the group’s faith. By the end of her gut-wrenching tale the lawyers hired by the Hasidic community have convinced the judge to take away her children, separating the children to various of her husband’s relatives, and grant her only a once-a-month -overseen, visitation.

 

       But all of these three have a hard time of it. Luzer who lives out of an off-road camper, suggests that the group purposely isolates their members so that they simply cannot escape. They can’t know the world “out there,” and so are dependent on the group. It is clear that, even though he has begun to make a new life, it is difficult to adjust the changes his life has entailed.

      Although Ari’s family seems in closer touch, and he finally does find a way to cure himself of his cocaine addiction, by film’s end he and we are still not sure how he might get on with his life. Uneducated in many ways, these individuals have few choices for getting good jobs.

       We know that, because of their obvious dress and their insular lives, the Hasidic Jews were devastated by the Holocaust, and it is hard to blame them for fearing those outside their closed community. But as Ewing and Grady make clear in this probing documentary, they have now closed off their world almost as aggressively as the Nazis sought to close theirs. Keeping away from the rest of the world and locking up their sons and daughters into a dark closet of conservative denial has, perhaps, transformed a sustaining faith into a cult not so very different from the Christian fundamentalists the same directors documented in their previous film, Jesus Camp. At least these three individuals have now truly joined “us,” a world of almost impossible diversity.

 

Los Angeles, November 11, 2017

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (November 2017)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Edmund Goulding | The Great Lie / 1941

down home

by Douglas Messerli

 

Lenore J. Coffee (based on the novel by Polan Banks), Edmund Goulding (director) The Great Lie / 1941 

 

Hollywood legend has it that Bette Davis not only wanted Mary Astor to play the villainess in her upcoming film, The Great Lie, but when Astor was finally given the role, the two women bonded, determined to rewrite it: "This picture is going to stink! It's too incredible for words... so it's up to us to rewrite this piece of junk to make it more interesting," spoke Davis.


     Whether or not they completely succeeded is still open to question, particularly given the fact the both women are presumed to be madly in love with the rather loutish actor George Brent, playing the high-flying aristocrat, Peter Van Allen, and that much of the story is set in a Virginia-based vision of the Old South with singing darkies (despite a credible and rather extensive performance as the maid Violet—a role she was forced to play throughout her life—by Hattie McDaniel). 

    What’s more, Astor is asked to perform the incredulous combination of concert pianist and alcoholic playgirl incorporated into the character of Sandra Kovak, a bitchy autocrat beloved by her audiences, but gradually slipping into career decline. Fortunately, Astor was actually a concert pianist early in her life, and could give a convincingly good enough portrait of performing the works (in truth, performed offstage by Max Rabinovitch) that even Spanish conductor and pianist José Iturbi commented to Astor, "How could you not be playing? I have played the concerto many times, and you were right in there!"



     It’s hard to comprehend why both of these women are so mad about Brent (although Davis had actually shared his bed) that they might be so willing to duke it out for his attentions.

      Fortunately, Davis has the advantage this time around, even if she is the teller of the film’s “greatest lie.” But then, everyone in this tale tells lies. Kovak claims she is divorced when she marries Van Allen on a wild drunken lark; Van Allen has lied when he proposed to Kovak, being still in love with his longtime friend, Maggie Patterson (Davis); and Maggie, by manipulating the selfish Kovak, is able to adopt Kovak’s baby and play that she is actually the child’s mother (a device that put her in the opposite role in her previous film, The Old Maid).

 

     Van Allen lumbers in and out of scenes—thankfully disappearing into the Brazilian Amazon for much of the film—while Violet dramatically protects her “baby” Maggie.  Davis gets the opportunity, meanwhile, to express a better self than she was usually asked to play, goo-gooing and kissing the baby boy with great relish. But the true fun of this movie lies in the icy interchanges between the two women (in the most famous of which Kovak stares down her  rival, saying "If I didn't think you meant so well, I'd feel like slapping your face") who, after confronting one another time and again (Davis gets to play a similar role the following year in The Man Who Came to Dinner), are finally forced to shack up together in an intense storm in the Arizona desert, filmed in California’s Mojave.

     These scenes alone give the truth to Davis’ claim about the overly melodramatic script. As the mean-spirited Kovak stumbles about in the dark, desperately sneaking cigarette breaks and more of the prohibited foods, the deviously delirious Maggie (also with many a cigarette in her mouth) cooks and cleans for and accompanies the demented pianist even in a late-night desert walk. Only a snake-bite seems to be missing. But, at last, Maggie gets what she wanted: a child to remind of her now presumed-dead husband, Van Allen (yes, she married him after his marriage to Kovak is conveniently voided; didn’t they used to call this bigamy?).

       Anyone looking at these scenes can see that these two very different, but equally strong women had truly bonded. And they make for a marvelous team, erasing the film’s many other flaws.





















     As usual. Edmund Goulding does a highly credible job, focusing in on his characters in a way that gives credence to their acting chops; even if Brent seems not all there, at moments even he too is quite charming.

      And then, in the end, Kovak gets the opportunity, for once in her life, to be noble, leaving the child she has come back to claim, for a better life in the down home Van Allen Virginia estate; and in Violet (McDaniel) we know that this child will have a “mammy” who will love him to death.

     In real life, the child who played the role was accidently dropped by one of the off-stage nurses, resulting in a heavy law-suite against the studio, which I’m sure was quickly hushed up by the studio executives of the day, just another “great lie.” Yet Astor won the Oscar for best supporting actor, and the film was surely a box office favorite.

 

Los Angeles, August 4, 2018

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (August 2018).

 

 

Luis Fernando Midence | Te Toca (Your Turn) / 2019

playing jenga

by Douglas Messerli

 

Luis Fernando Midence and Marel Ramírez (screenplay), Luis Fernando Midence (director) Te Toca (Your Turn) / 2019 [11 minutes]

 

Santiago (Marel Ramírez), and some of his best friends, Lucía (Xiomara González), Carlos (Diego Sierra), and Pablo (Luis Vargas) are together, several of them seated around a table playing Jenga

when one of them mentions that a female acquaintance’s former boyfriend had been diagnosed as HIV-positive (although he describes it simply as AIDS), and almost immediately they all go off on a discussion of how terrible it is to fuck every pretty thing in sight, how disgusting to have such a disease, and other such crude remarks. One of them finally summarizes their hostile views of gays: “They should just have a holocaust with them or something like that.” Another agrees “They’re all going to die,” a woman asserting, “We’re all going to die.” The response is another swipe at gay men, “But not for being a whore.”


     In a flashback, we see Santiago sitting in a bath tube fully clothed, tears running down his eyes. His cellphone rings, but refused to even answer it. Finally, his sister Andrea (María José Batres), calls out to him, having dropped by after not hearing from him for 3 days, only to find him now completely dressed and under water. She wonders if he and his boyfriend Fernando have been fighting again, but he explains that, in fact, they have broken up. After some insistence he finally

explains to her what is wrong. Handing her the document, she perceives that a report has arrived suggesting that he is HIV-positive.

      He’s understandably terrified that, if nothing else, it will be the central issue with which he must contend for the rest of his life, the constant pill-taking, the fears of death, and the mockery of those around him. Although his sister assures him that things will turn out all right, and that she will help him get through the initial problems, Santi is perhaps most frightened about the loss of friends.


      When Santi returns to the present in his mind, he is still at the table with his friends, and it’s his turn to pull out a block with destabilizing the entire tower of wooden blocks. But he suddenly realizes it is also “his turn” to speak, immediately announcing that he is “Seropositive.” One of the friends with his hand on the boy’s shoulder, doesn’t even know what that means, but when told that it means Santiago is HIV-positive, he quickly removes his hand. He wanted to tell them, Santi explains, because they are his best friends.

       But, of course, they cannot remove their ugly words of a few moments earlier, despite their attempts to say, obviously, that they weren’t referring to him, of course. “We weren’t talking about you.” But Santi knows that, without their comprehending it, they were. Any attack on being gay is an attack on him, now openly gay, as well.


      Whether or not Santiago will be able to forgive his friends or they will begin to disappear from his life, the lesson is that if you care about others, you need to know more about AIDS and being HIV, and what it means to be gay.

      This work by Guatemalan filmmaker Luis Fernando Midence sounds to my ears far too much like the numerous short films now being made to help the heterosexual community comprehend gay issues, and to reassure the gay community that their voices are being heard. It has almost become a new genre, sort of the reverse of the “Boys, Beware!” genre. You might describe it as “Gays, Beware,” since these films often warn the gay community of the need for education about their straight friends.

      Midence, however, is a seasoned director, having made several previous films and movies since, and the work fortunately doesn’t creak quite as heavily as do the educational films of which I’m speaking. But it does move terribly close to that territory and have several other well-meaning films by talented directors I’ve recently seen. Perhaps if we had a bit of deeper characterization of Santiago’s friends, we might better understand their own dilemmas in trying to comprehend something that seems so very outside their own experiences but which could just as easily affect them, despite one of the straight boys insisting that he doesn’t just go to be with anyone. What he doesn’t seem to understand is that ff he goes to bed with “anyone” he too might be infected. AIDS, as we have repeated over and over, is not a gay disease, but an equal opportunity virus.

       One also has to put this in the context of the deep conservativeness of Guatemalan culture at present, and the violence all these young people are daily facing in Guatemala City where the action of the film takes place.

       At the end of this short film, Santiago does remove a block without toppling the structure and lays it gently on the top. Perhaps he can also rescue his friendships and help them to comprehend that what he facing can just as easily some other day face them.

 

Los Angeles, February 23, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (February 2024)

Alfonso Gomez-Rejon | Me and Earl and the Dying Girl / 2015

living in the cracks

by Douglas Messerli

 

Jesse Andrews (screenplay, based on his fiction), Alfonso Gomez-Rejon (director) Me and Earl and the Dying Girl / 2015

 

Alfonso Gomez-Rejon’s film Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is charmingly quirky in numerous ways, even while that same charm also helps, at times, to make it coy, cute, and totally improbable. But as a teenage fantasy, with youthful angst and alienation at its base, it nonetheless works.


      Greg Gaines (Thomas Mann) is a kind of inscrutable loser, a kid so uncomfortable in his lanky body with a long, slightly undefined face (he describes it as a “chipmunk” expression) that he finds it difficult even to engage with other human beings—describing even his best friend, Earl (Ronald Cyler II), as a co-worker, and managing to slip between the cracks of the dozens of warring social groups who gather through shared identities at his high school, by posing as a mildly sympathetic but uninvolved passerby. The most remarkable thing about Greg is that he has managed to develop his close friendship with a Black boy from another socio-economic world from childhood on, and both he and Earl share an unlikely interest in classic films. Together the two manage to entertain themselves and creatively bond by making sophomoric versions of the films they enjoy, such as The Sockwork Orange, Senior Citizen Kane, and Monorash (Rashomon).

     Their somewhat witty, but mostly coarsely made films reflect Greg’s, and presumably Earl’s, perspectives on the human race; rather than work within the confines of the world they enjoy, they work to satirize it and mock. In short, Greg and his cohort survive by living in and through the “cracks,” the spaces between the surrounding individuals and through the jokes they make about what they observe and perceive.

 


     Hanging out during lunch at a popular history teacher’s office (Jon Bernthal), the two boys manage to isolate themselves from the other students, which has determined how they spend so many years of their lives. Greg has pretty much succeeded in hiding from all others until one day his mother and father (Connie Britton and Nick Offerman) enter the private domain of his bedroom and, through gentle implications and even prayer, announce that fellow schoolmate, Rachel Kushner (Olivia Cooke) has been diagnosed with cancer.

     Predictably, Greg hardly knows Rachel (the only real relationship is between his mother and Rachel’s mom), but that does not prevent his mother from insisting that he visit her. Even had he been close to Rachel, Greg might clearly have felt awkward to having to attend to the ill classmate, and even she immediately perceives his attentions to her as enforced, Rachel dismissing him from her presence. Admitting the situation, he begs her to let him spend at least part of the day with her just to prevent any further harangues from his mother; she has little choices.

     After a discomforting period of adjustment, and numerous insensitive guffaws on Greg’s part (for example, to escape the platitudinous sorrows of her fellow school friends she pretends she is dying), the two actually discover that they share some of the same teenage frustrations, and before long they have struck up—apparently for the first time for Greg—a true, if still clumsy friendship.



     The relationship between the two is deepened, moreover, when Greg introduces her to Earl, a far more honest and direct-speaking boy, who shares their secret of filmmaking and even lends Rachel some of their works. Although Greg feels slightly betrayed by the revelation, he grows even closer to the now seriously ill Rachel when he discovers that watching them gives her some joy. For her part, she insists Greg stop feeling sorry for himself and recognize his own self-hatred, and, most importantly, that he begin planning for the future by applying to college. When he does, he is immediately accepted at the local Pittsburgh University.

     The bond between the two does not go unnoticed between, and forces Rachel’s friends (which Greg describes as a subgroup, the Jewish Girls) to attend to him. That, in turn results in others (the Goths, the violent white rapper, etc) to also take notice, and before long he can no longer maintain his disappearing act. When one of the most attractive girls in the school, Madison (Katherine C. Hughes), a close friend of Rachel’s, discovers the two boys filming, she suggests they make a film for Rachel. Although Greg makes the attempt, a film that actually might attempt to say something stymies them both; working with a subject instead of working against it demonstrates, quite clearly, that neither he nor Earl are as creative as they have felt themselves to be.

    The chemotherapy Rachel suffers and her loss of hair begin to depress and literally pain Rachel more that she has imagined, and despite Greg’s visits, she becomes more and more withdrawn, finally determining to abandon treatments. It is now Greg who tries to reengage her with life, and for the first time he actually shows himself as having deep emotions to which he had never before admitted. When she reveals that she even knows about his attempt to make a movie for her, Earl having mentioned it, Greg now grows furious, feeling betrayed not only by Rachel’s refusal to keep up her struggle, but by Earl’s casual revelation of what was to have been a secret.


     After a brief physical encounter, the two boys break up as friends—and coworkers—even though Earl attempts ameliorate by sending Greg a tape that sympathetically speaks of his own feelings for Rachel. At school, social group tensions erupt in violence, as Greg is attacked by the crazed school rapper. Earl comes to Greg’s defense, and saves him from being beaten, but all those involved are expelled. Indeed, Greg, having spent no time at all these past few months on schoolwork, discovers that his early entry to the university has now been rescinded on account his bad grades.

      Out of sympathy, Rachel’s friend Madison invites Gregg to take her to the school prom, intimidating him into acceptance. The very next scene shows Greg dressed in a tuxedo, a costume he has earlier in the film insisted he would never wear, on his way to the prom. He orders the limo driver, however, to take him to an address that turns out to be Rachel’s hospice, where she lays dying. Placing the corsage upon her arm, he lies down in bed with her to watch the film for her which he has finally finished.


     We never see most of the film, for after a few moments of watching it, she falls into a coma; but we realize that for the first time in his life, instead of mocking the creations of others, Greg has created a kind of abstract expression of his and Rachel’s emotional relationship. Despite the fact that the ongoing narrative voice has twice told us that the “girl” of the film does not really die, Rachel does.

     At the funeral, held in Rachel’s house, he slips into her room to discover that she has not only written to the University to explain to them why Greg has done so poorly in school, but to beg them to reconsider their decision. Opening the book of university listings he has given to her, he discovers that she too is a kind of artist, a collagist of sorts, who, working with scissors has cut out the contents of many of her books to create scenes representing the various conservations she has had with Greg over the months. He too, accordingly, has become a subject for art. The wallpaper representing what he has simply perceived as a series of trees, he now discovers has discreetly been collaged over with small squirrels (Rachel’s favorite animal) let loose upon the landscape. She, like Greg, has cut and pasted images of life together to create her art.

      Reuniting with Earl, Greg has discovered that he can make friends, and that while his fears of friendship may indeed have resulted in pain, his relationships with others have also rewarded him the marvel of another individual’s inner life. Greg is finally a regular guy instead of a walking ghost.

 

Los Angeles, June 18, 2015

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2015).

 

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