The Video Diary of Ricardo Lopez is disturbing to say the least. It’s a real-time documentary — I would say self exploitation film — of one twisted super fan’s mental descent while he executes his plot to get even with Björk by mailing a letter bomb to her. Why? Because of who she chose to date.
This is difficult to watch. Culled from found footage, it’s a possibly well-intentioned but lurid exposé that showcases an ugly truth about fame, fandom, and insanity. Lopez clearly had problems. SPOILER ALERT: I’m glad he killed himself before he hurt her.
This is a film you probably don’t need to see, but if you do then once is enough. It broke my heart.
I really don’t expect Derek Burbidge’s rather pedestrian and no-frills URGH! A Music War to move all that many people — only those who landed somewhere between puberty and college during the early Eighties. This movie, a paean to punk, reggae, and new wave bands, reads like a playlist from the early days of MTV. It’s comprised of nothing but live performances, starting and ending with The Police.
Performances are in the following order:
The Police – “Driven to Tears”
Wall of Voodoo – “Back in Flesh”
Toyah Willcox – “Danced”
John Cooper Clarke – “Health Fanatic”
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark – “Enola Gay”
Chelsea – “I’m on Fire”
Oingo Boingo – “Ain’t This the Life”
Echo & the Bunnymen – “The Puppet”
Jools Holland – “Foolish I Know”
XTC – “Respectable Street”
Klaus Nomi – “Total Eclipse”
Athletico Spizz 80 – “Clocks are Big; Machines are Heavy/Where’s Captain Kirk?”
The Go-Go’s – “We Got the Beat”
Dead Kennedys – “Bleed for Me”
Steel Pulse – “Ku Klux Klan”
Gary Numan – “Down in the Park”
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts – “Bad Reputation”
Magazine – “Model Worker”
Surf Punks – “My Beach”
The Members – “Offshore Banking Business”
Au Pairs – “Come Again”
The Cramps – “Tear It Up”
Invisible Sex – “Valium”
Pere Ubu – “Birdies”
Devo – “Uncontrollable Urge”
The Alley Cats – “Nothing Means Nothing Anymore”
John Otway – “Cheryl’s Going Home”
Gang of Four – “He’d Send in the Army”
999 – “Homicide”
The Fleshtones – “Shadowline”
X – “Beyond and Back”
Skafish – “Sign of the Cross”
Splodgenessabounds – “Two Little Boys”
UB40 – “Madame Medusa”
The Police – “Roxanne”
The Police – “So Lonely”
Generally speaking, concert films are as good as the band performing — unless you’ve never seen them. URGH! A Music War moved me because I know almost every band here but I had a chance to see only four of them live. I’ll let you figure out which four.
I came a little during The Police, OMD (called simply Orchestral Manoeuvres at this point, something I never knew), Echo, Klaus Nomi (fabulous!), The Go-Go’s, Dead Kennedys, Gary Numan, Joan Jett , Surf Punks (yum!), The Cramps, and yes, Devo. How the fuck did I miss Invisible Sex and Au Pairs all these years?
Bonus: The 35mm print screened was scratchy and scrappy and worked with the 50ish audience. I wish I had my Docs…
With Wall of Voodoo, Stan Ridgway, Marc Moreland, Chas T. Gray, Bruce Moreland, Joe Nanini, Toyah Willcox, Joel Bogen, Pete Bush, Charlie Francis, Steve Bray, John Cooper Clarke, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, OMD, Paul Humphreys, Andy McCluskey, David A. Hughes, Malcolm Holmes, Chelsea, Gene October, Barry Smith, Steve Ace, Mike Howell, Chris Bashford, Oingo Boingo, Danny Elfman, Steve Bartek, Sam Phipps, Dale Turner, Richard Gibbs, Leon Scheorman, Kerry Hatch, David Eagle, Echo & The Bunnymen, Will Sergeant, Ian McCulloch, Les Pattinson, Pete DeFreitas, Jools Holland, XTC, Andy Partridge, Terry Chambers, Colin Moulding, Dave Gregory, Klaus Nomi, Julie Berger, April Lang, Jon Cobert, Rick Pascual, Daniel Elfassy, Scott Woody, Athletico Spizz 80, Spizz, Jim Solar, C.P. Snare, Mark Coalfield, Dave Scott, The Go-Go’s, Belinda Carlisle, Jane Wiedlin, Margot Olaverra, Gina Schock, Charlotte Caffey, Steel Pulse, David Hinds, Selwyn Brown, Steve Nisbett, Phonso Martin, Basil Gabbidon, Gary Numan, Russell Bell, Paul Gardener, Roger Mason, Ced Sharpley, Chris Rime, Joan Jett, Lee Crystal, Howard Devoto, Magazine, Barry Adamson, John Doyle, Robin Simon, Dave Formula, Surf Punks, Dennis Dragon, Drew Steele, Ray Ban , Mark the Shark, Bill Dale, Andrew Jackson , The Members, Nicky Tesco, Chris Payne, J.C. Mainman, Nigel Bennett, Adrian Lilywhite, Au Pairs, Lesley Woods, Paul Foad, Jane Munro, Pete Hammond, The Cramps, Lux Interior, Nick Knox, Julien Griensnatch, Poison Ivy Rorschach, 999, Dave Allen, Gang of Four, The Alley Cats, Astro, UB40, Jello Biafra, Dead Kennedys, Steve Bodon, John Otway, D.J. Bonebrake, X, Ken Bronowski , Skafish, Jim Brown, Hugo Burnham, Ali Campbell, Robin Campbell, Bob Casale, Devo, Jerry Casale, Nick Cash, Exene Cervenka, Dianne Chai, Stewart Copeland, The Police, Javier Cruz, Guy Days, Devo, John Doe, Earl Falconer, The Fleshtones, Klaus Flouride, Mark Freeman, Andy Gill, Barbie Goodrich, Norman Hassan, Jon King, Scott Krauss, Pere Ubu, Pablo LaBritain, Tony Maimone, John McCarthy, Bill Milhizer, Mark Mothersbaugh, Robert Mothersbaugh, Alan Myers, Larry Mysliewiec, Alan Ofter, John Otway, Jan Marek Pakulski , Allen Ravenstine, East Bay Ray, Jim Skafish, Bruce Slesinger, Sting, Randy Stodola, Keith Streng, Andy Summers, David Thomas, Mayo Thompson, Brian Travers, Michael Virtue, Jon Watson, Peter Zaremba, Billy Zoom
Production: Lorimar Productions
Distribution: Filmways Pictures (USA), Pan-Canadian Film Distributors (Canada), Roadshow Film Distributors (Australia), Adams Filmi (Finland)
It’s not very often that I’m torn on a film, but Robert J. Flaherty’s pseudo documentary Man of Aran is one that I am. First the good news: from a technical standpoint, this is a visually captivating film. Crammed with impossibly rich and downright dangerous shots of the treacherous North Atlantic, the blacks are as dark as squid ink, the whites are as shimmeringly luminous as Tijuana silver, and the greys are a stunningly natural and lovely compromise between the two. These shades of grey are what impressed me most about this film. You’d be hard pressed to find a better fit for a nitrate print.
Now for the bad news: for all its visual allure, Man of Aran is boring. It unflinchingly shows what it takes to survive on a barren rock in the middle of the ocean, but it fails to explain why anyone would choose to do it. I was ready to leave after half an hour of watching waves crash on the rocks and men who look the Edge attack a shark. Yawn! I would have liked this better if Sinead O’Connor’s “Jackie” were part of the soundtrack, maybe. Maybe not.
With Colman ‘Tiger’ King, Maggie Dirrane, Michael Dirrane, Pat Mullin, Patch ‘Red Beard’ Ruadh, Patcheen Faherty, Tommy O’Rourke, ‘Big Patcheen’ Conneely of the West, Stephen Dirrane, Pat McDonough
Production: Gainsborough Pictures
Distribution: Gaumont British Distributors (UK), Gaumont British Picture Corporation of America (USA), Éditions Montparnasse (France)
(Dryden Theatre) A+ (visuals) / F (everything else) / C (average)
Bruce Baillie’s experimental short film Castro Street has nothing to do with San Francisco. It has no plot, no dialogue, and no characters — unless you count the machines, silhouettes of workers, numbers, words, ads, colors, and sounds that wander in and out the frame like a stream of consciousness. The point is to convey a certain mood through visual and sonic elements.
It works. Dominated by shifting shades of red and blue superimposed over black and white, a drab industrial bleakness emerges from the constantly moving images and noises of oil refining machinery and trains. Suddenly, a welcome bit of nature comes into a view: a field of grass. Toward the end, a familiar pop song that I can’t place is trying to break out of all the noise. I looked it up: “Good Lovin'” by the Rascals.
Overall, Castro Street is not particularly exciting — but it’s pretty.
Demolishing and Building Up the Star Theatre is a silent film that records the demolition of the Star Theatre at Broadway and 13th in the East Village more than a hundred years ago. F.S. Armitage shot the whole thing from across the street over the course of a month using time-lapse photography. The finished product is sped up in really fast motion. Then it’s put in reverse so that what just happened is taken back.
Hard to believe, but Demolishing and Building Up the Star Theatre, which is not even two minutes long, was shown commercially in theaters. I can’t imagine anyone being all that interested in it, but mmmkay. To be fair, I suspect the technique was revolutionary for its time. Theaters were given the gimmicky option of setting the order to either Building Up then Demolish, or Demolish then Building Up. So, the words “Demolishing” and “Building Up” in the title can be rearranged and still be accurate.
Obviously, this film offers no narrative other than knocking down a building. One cool thing: all the work is done by hand. Another thing: New York City apparently didn’t give any thought to public safety, as I don’t see any barricades; the sidewalk and street are open to traffic.
Warm, lively, and thorough, Ceyda Torun’s oddly intriguing documentary Kedi is a sort of love letter to Istanbul (not Constantinople) and its thousands of roaming street cats that have shared space with people since the days of the Ottoman Empire. As one resident puts it early on, “Without the cat, Istanbul would lose a part of its soul.”
Yes, the cats are cute. Alp Korfali and Charlie Wuppermann follow a number of them as they move through their day: one gathers scraps to feed her kittens stashed safely in a retail building, another is pulled into a turf war with an orange tabby drifter, and yet another assumes the responsibility of taking care of vermin that dare to enter a popular seaside gathering spot for humans.
Each cat has a story, and each attracts — and impacts — different people: a shopkeeper, an artisan, a restaurant owner, a bona fide crazy cat lady. These cats are therapeutic, bringing happiness and purpose to residents. They serve as companions and wards. Most of them have a tough life — or nine of them. Torun does a nice job showing that the cats in Istanbul face the exact same threats that people do: overpopulation, urban development, and local politics.
I laughed, I cried, it was much better than…well, Cats.
With Sari, Duman, Bengü, Aslan Parçasi, Gamsiz, Psikopat, and Deniz
Production: Termite Films
Distribution: Oscilloscope Laboratories
(Gene Siskel Film Center at Chicago Athletic Association) B-
I seriously doubt that any documentary about a defunct local dance club from the ‘80s and ‘90s holds much interest to very many outside the city where it was located. With 2350 Last Call: The Neo Story — its title incorporates the club’s address on Clark Street — director and documentarian Eric Richter starts at the “farewell party” in July 2015 and goes backward, telling the story of Chicago’s iconic nightspot Neo’s 36 year history.
Starting as a new wave bar in the early ‘80s, Neo evolved into an industrial goth club and for a long time created its own scene. That alley was the perfect lead in! Neo attracted some famous guests, obvious ones like Al Jourgensen and My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, both on Wax Trax at one point. Neo also attracted some not so obvious ones, like Debbie Harry, Trent Reznor, Prince, and David Bowie. Richter lovingly tells about some of the theme nights (like Nocturna), the music, and of course regulars, from bouncer Kimball Paul (R.I.P) to a Mexican guy who looked like he’d be at home on a Herb Alpert and Tijuana Brass record cover.
For all his local focus, Richter does something that puts 2350 Last Call: The Neo Story beyond mere local interest: he gets to the heart of club culture and community, something that simply doesn’t exist anymore.
Jaimz Asmundson’s music video “Plastic Heart” by Ghost Twin was a fitting prelude. It’s irreverent, fun, and over the top with its tongue in cheek goth and satanic sensibilities.
With Suzanne Shelton, Jeff Moyer, Scary Lady Sarah, Brian Dickie
Production: Eric Richter Films
Distribution: Eric Richter Films
Screening introduced by CIMMfest cofounder Carmine Cervi and followed by a live Q and A with director Eric Richter and Eric Richter, Suzanne Shelton, Jeff Moyer, Scary Lady Sarah, Brian Dickie
For those who don’t know, queercore (or homocore, as it’s sometimes called — personally, I find that term clunky so I don’t use it) is rooted in the North American punk scene. In an oversimplified nutshell, it’s LGBT punk rock, and its heyday was the mid ’80s to mid ’90s. It developed in response to the homophobic machismo that increasingly characterized the ’80s postpunk scene coast to coast.
Yony Leyser’s Queercore: How to Punk a Revolution is thorough and fun even if it is fairly standard. Using interviews, footage from concerts and other live performances, films, home videos, and a treasure trove of zines and old flyers, he starts in Toronto, where filmmaker Bruce LaBruce and artist G.B. Jones published the queer punk zine J.D.s. They confess that one of their goals was to manufacture a scene, or at least make it sound there was one where it didn’t actually exist. It worked.
LaBruce, Jones, Lynn Breedlove of Tribe 8, Jon Ginoli of Pansy Division, Genesis P-Orridge, and others discuss their role in the queercore movement and what it was (and is) for them. Even John Waters has his take. Leyser focuses on more than just bands, getting into the entire culture: zines (elemental to the movement), art, films (particularly LaBruce’s), politics, and AIDS. He also ties in subsequent scenes like riot grrrls and mainstream successes like Green Day, Hole, Sonic Youth, Bikini Kill, and Nirvana.
Queercore: How to Punk a Revolution is a comprehensive, inclusive, and engaging documentary. Irreverent, fun, and at times ridiculous, it’s a fitting tribute.
Funeral Parade of Roses [薔薇の葬列] is an intriguing film for a few reasons. Clearly influenced by the French New Wave, writer and director Toshio Matsumoto comes up with something simultaneously ordinary yet avant-garde, very much a product of its time yet years ahead. It’s extraordinarily cool.
Structured as a movie within a movie, Funeral Parade of Roses follows Tokyo “gay boy” Eddie (Pîtâ a.k.a. Peter) through his many exploits as a young transvestite immersed in the underground club scene. He might even be a hooker. Meanwhile, he’s carrying on a secret affair with Jimi (Yoshimi Jô), the boyfriend of club elder statesperson and fellow gay boy Leda (Osamu Ogasawara). Leda is onto them. Oh, the drama it creates!
While all this is going on, a camera crew records Eddie as though this were The Real World or Truth or Dare.
As Eddie ponders who he is — and looks to alcohol, group sex, drugs, and lots of attention from others for answers — Matsumoto explores “queer identity” through him. He intersperses interviews, flashbacks, episodes with Eddie’s mother (Emiko Azuma), and even a musical diversion or two to offer clues. A crazy subplot develops, and it references Oedipus in a tacky and sad but clever way.
Clumsy in its exploration of “gay life” and downright disturbing at points, Funeral Parade of Roses is nonetheless fun to watch. Shot in gorgeous black and white, it has an otherworldly feel. When it’s not nihilistic, it’s kitschy and entertaining — almost in a nascent John Waters way, just not quite as rough. The clothes are mod. The music is heavy on classical. The ending, sudden and bloody, is really messed up.
I’m not sure what exactly Matsumoto is saying here — a lot is open to interpretation — or that I agree with him. Either way, I enjoyed the journey.
Whitney Houston certainly needs no introduction, and I don’t need to remind anyone about her drug-fueled decline or her sad death five years ago. I saw her perform once when she toured for her first album, but I was never a fan. Still, I observed her career from the sidelines and know all her hits (and misses). To borrow from one of her songs, she almost had it all. Almost.
For better or for worse, Broomfield, who shares a directing credit with Rudi Dolezal for his footage from Houston’s 1999 My Love Is Your Love World Tour, takes a decidedly conventional and low key approach here. He eschews TMZ-like sensationalism, which is refreshing, even admirable. However, the finished product rings incomplete.
Broomfield shows Houston’s dirty laundry. We learn that she used drugs from adolescence. She wasn’t particularly polished. Her mother pushed her, hard. Her label, Arista, had a grand plan for her, and it specifically excluded drawing a black audience. Her BFF Robyn Crawford, who stayed involved with Houston’s career until the aforementioned 1999 tour, was (and still is) a lesbian, which led to rumors. Houston and Bobby Brown were in love, but it didn’t stop him from cheating on her — apparently, he preyed on Houston’s entourage. Crawford and Brown didn’t get along, which created tension. There was also that thing with Houston’s father that happened at the end of his life.
We gets hints and glimpses of what led to Houston’s downfall, but in the end the whole thing is shallow. Like her image throughout her career, Whitney: Can I Be Me? presents a sanitized or at least downplayed picture. Broomfield could’ve dug deeper. He was getting there with Houston’s former bodyguard, David Roberts, who claims that he was repeatedly ignored when he warned everyone around her that Houston was on a fatal trajectory. This documentary falls short; it’s flat and has nothing, shall we say, so emotional. It doesn’t reveal all that much. As a result, it isn’t all that moving.