2/21/15 (Part Four): The Fiddle, The Flame and The Left Behind

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87th Annual Academy Awards, Academy Award Nominee, air evacuations, Ambassador Graham Martin, archival footage, Best Feature Documentary nominee, black ops, cinema, Communism, covert military action, documentary, fall of Saigon, film reviews, films, Henry Kissinger, interviews, Keven McAlester, Last Days in Vietnam, Mark Bailey, moral dilemmas, Movies, PBS, refugees, Richard Armitage, Rory Kennedy, South Vietnam, South Vietnamese, troop withdrawal, U.S. embassy, Viet Cong, Vietnam, Vietnam War, war, work camps

When the Paris Agreement was signed in 1973, effectively ending America’s involvement in the Vietnam War and withdrawing the bulk of our troops, legendary diplomat Henry Kissinger hoped that the resolution would lead to a situation similar to that in Korea: two separate states, one for the North Vietnamese and one for the South. These hopes were shattered when the North launched a massive assault on South Vietnam, systematically taking back any territory that had been ceded only a few short years earlier. With fresh memories of the atrocities that the North inflicted on their first campaign through Vietnam, the South Vietnamese civilians (and military) fled in panic before the rising surge. As the country was quickly retaken by the North, it became apparent that the cause was lost: at this point, the only thing to be done was for the refugees and remaining American military and diplomats to leave as soon as possible. Despite the increasingly dark clouds on the horizon, however, one man was determined to make a stand and prevent the inevitable: as the North marched and the South fled, U.S. Ambassador Graham Martin was determined to stand strong, come hell or high water.

This story of American involvement, Northern aggression and Southern stoicism forms the foundation of Rory Kennedy’s Last Days in Vietnam (2014), the full-length, Oscar-nominated ‘American Experience’ documentary that details the time period between American withdrawal in 1973 and the fall of Saigon in April 1975. Through a mixture of archival footage and interviews with American and Vietnamese military personnel, Kennedy shows the ways in which Ambassador Martin stalled the withdrawal as long as possible, partly because he refused to admit defeat but also because he seemed to genuinely want to save as many South Vietnamese civilians and military as possible. As one interviewee states, this “terrible moral dilemma” was the ax that hung over everyone’s heads, from President Gerald Ford to Richard Armitage to the individual men and women who were stationed in Vietnam. Despite having their marching orders, no one on the ground could just stand by and watch their former comrades-in-arms succumb to the very enemy they’d been jointly fighting: while not everyone made it out (short of a miracle, not everyone could have), thousands of South Vietnamese were rescued at the 11th hour, thanks to a combination of Ambassador Martin’s moxie, military black ops and good, old-fashioned stubbornness.

One of the most illuminating aspects of Kennedy’s documentary is its laser focus: rather than rehash pro and con arguments for America’s involvement in the Vietnam War, Last Days in Vietnam focuses on the very end game, when everything had already been decided and the world only waited for the dust (and blood) to settle. It’s a smart move, since it allows the film to really dig in to its subject: in particular, we end up with a pretty balanced, nuanced portrayal of Graham Martin, an individual who’s easily as divisive as they come. While there’s still more than a heaping dollop of political machinations to Ambassador Martin’s decision to delay withdrawing from Vietnam, it’s pretty hard to deny that he also carried very deeply for the South Vietnamese: his plan to stretch out the withdrawal by only including a couple of Americans in every chopper full of South Vietnamese was a bold one and one that could have easily blown up in his face. Regardless of what U.S. politicians were doing at the time, the diplomats and personnel who were actually on the ground, in the shit, were scrambling to come up with real solutions and plans of action, even as Viet Cong tanks rumbled through the countryside.

Some of the most powerful scenes in the film deal directly with the South Vietnamese military: the bit where a pilot heroically lands his chopper on a U.S. naval carrier, rolling out one side of the machine before the whole thing slides right into the ocean; the interviewee who talk about missing the last chopper out of Saigon and spending the next 13 years in a North Vietnamese work camp; the heartbreaking moment where the South Vietnamese military lower their flag and sing their anthem for the last time…when Last Days in Vietnam kicks, it kicks like a mule. Just as powerful, for different reasons, is the scene where Martin finally admits defeat and prepares for “Option Four (the chopper evacuation)”: for the first time in the footage, Martin looks old, tired and defeated, a quick-witted huckster watching his kingdom burn for the last time.

As a film, Last Days in Vietnam is very well-made, although it never feels far removed from what it actually is: a PBS documentary. As such, we get all of the expected elements, from the archival footage to the overall tone. While the film was informative, it never really surprised or went the extra mile needed to really set itself apart. Nevertheless, history buffs, those interested in the Vietnam War or the vagaries of America’s international diplomatic policies should plenty of good stuff here. More than anything, Kennedy’s film helps to shed light on a chaotic, dark and terrible time in human history: it shows how oppression can dim but never truly extinguish the human pilot light…where there’s a will, there’s a way, no matter how slim.

If the point of history truly is to learn from the past and avoid the same mistakes in the future, may films like Last Days in Vietnam and their ilk continue to make it impossible for us to ever truly bury these terrible events. If we ever really need a reminder, let’s think about the thousands of refugees who were able to make it out…and the hundreds of thousands who didn’t.

1/3/15 (Part Two): The Divine Mr. M

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Bernard Jay, best friends, biographical films, cinema, creative muse, David Lochary, Diana Evans, disco, Divine, Divine Trash, documentary, drag performers, drag stars, Eat Your Makeup, Edith Massey, Female Trouble, film reviews, films, Frances Milstead, Glenn Milstead, Hairspray, homosexuality, inspirational films, Jeffrey Schwartz, John Waters, Lainie Kazan, lifelong friends, Mink Stole, Mondo Trasho, Movies, Pink Flamingos, Polyester, Roman Candles, stage names, Susan Lowe, Tab Hunter, Trouble in Mind, Van Smith

When Glenn Milstead died on March 7, 1988, at the tragically young age of 43, he left behind a legion of adoring fans, friends and loved ones, although only those closest to him would probably know him by that name: to everyone else, Glenn would forever be the outrageous, larger-than-life and ludicrously awesome drag performer/John Waters’ muse known as Divine. Although nearly 30 years have passed since Divine’s untimely death, Jeffrey Schwartz’s inspirational, fun and informative new documentary, I Am Divine (2014), brings the star right back to our screens and into our hearts. For anyone who grew up with (and loved) the films of Waters and Divine, this documentary will be essential, if decidedly bittersweet, viewing.

Charting Divine’s entire life, from his lonely childhood all the way up to his death, I Am Divine gives a complete, exhaustive overview of the performer. Filled with fantastic interviews and archival footage featuring such mainstays as John Waters, Mink Stole, Edith Massey, Tab Hunter, Lainie Kazan and Van Smith, along with folks like Divine’s high school girlfriend, Diana Evans, and his mother, Frances, I Am Divine paints a picture of a misunderstood and marginalized young person who exploded out of his shell after embracing his homosexuality and, to paraphrase lifelong friend Waters, “never looked back.”

We get plenty of great behind-the-scenes footage from all of the films that Waters and Divine made together (their friendship began when they were both 17 and would be ironclad for nearly three decades), along with a wealth of amazing and, quite often, hilarious anecdotes. The documentary is careful to focus on Divine’s entire career, not just his collaborations with Waters, so we also get plenty of focus on his drag shows (the one based on Masque of the Red Death sounded absolutely amazing), his stage performances and his highly successful disco career. One of the film’s most fascinating factoids is that Divine all but invented electro-rock with his early, punkish performances: the footage of this is not only historically important but actually pretty kickass…it really made me rue missing out on this in the glory days!

While most of I Am Divine is a fun-filled romp, thanks to Divine’s wonderfully boisterous personality, the film doesn’t shy away from the big, dramatic moments. We get plenty of face-time with Divine’s formerly estranged mother, Frances, and the part where she discusses how her and Glenn’s father disowned him after he came clean about his drug use and sexuality is a real heartbreaker. There are also plenty of discussions of Divine’s lifelong weight issues, issues which I never realized were (at least partially) tied to his massive pot habit: you, literally, learn something new every day. There’s also a very interesting, illuminating segment of the film wherein Waters addresses the issue of whether Divine viewed himself as “male” or “female.” According to Waters, Divine never associated with being female: as soon as the camera were off, the makeup came off, too. This ends up dovetailing nicely into discussion of Divine’s “male” film roles, beginning with the noir-lite of Trouble in Mind (1985): it’s really fascinating to see Divine act as “himself,” as it were, which is such a marked contrast from his Divine persona as to prove what a gifted actor he really was.

Ultimately, if you’re a Divine fan, I Am Divine will be absolutely required viewing. Fans of John Waters will also find loads of valuable material here, including some absolutely priceless footage of Waters as a 17-year-old (spoiler alert: John Waters was ALWAYS John Waters, regardless of the age). Jeffrey Schwartz’s loving documentary serves as a wonderful, inspired tribute to one of the best, most popular and most unique performers of the ’60s, ’70s or ’80s. Even though Divine’s art originated from a place of pain, he would go on to inspire generations of others through his positivity and refusal to give up or get out of the way. As Divine, himself, was apt to say: “Nothing is impossible: if you’ve got those kinds of dreams, go for them.” Divine had those kinds of dreams and went for them: in the process, he showed us all that we can go for our dreams, too.

12/27/14 (Part One): Tongue Through Cheek

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Bruce Campbell, Chad Herschberger, cinema, co-writers, Doc of the Dead, documentaries, documentary, film reviews, films, George Romero, goofy, Greg Nicotero, horror films, interviews, Max Brooks, Movies, Night of the Living Dead, pop culture, Robert Kirkman, SImon Pegg, The Walking Dead, Tom Savini, voodoo, writer-director, zombie invasion, zombies

Sometimes, it’s not what you say but how you say it. Take, for example, documentary filmmaker Alexandre O. Philippe’s Doc of the Dead (2014). Chock full of fun interviews, interesting tidbits and plenty of in-depth history about the genesis and evolution of the zombie in both film and pop culture, there’s a lot to like here. Despite all of the good information, however, Philippe’s film still nearly sinks under the weight of its frequently flippant, mocking tone, especially when the film drops any “serious” pretensions and devolves into a series of silly zombie invasion spoofs and tedious musical skits.

When Doc of the Dead isn’t taking cheap potshots at the sillier aspects of its subject matter (zombie survivalists, zombie porn and the like), it’s quite an interesting, fast-paced film, if decidedly lightweight. Philippe and co-writer/editor Chad Herschberger utilize the standard formula of plenty of “talking head” interviews (George Romero, Simon Pegg, Walking Dead creator Robert Kirkman, Mel Brooks’ son/World War Z scribe Max Brooks, et al) alongside lots of film clips and the odd historical/epistemologial segment to give a pretty thorough overview of zombies in Western film, TV and pop culture.

I stress “Western,” since the filmmakers manage to completely bypass such admittedly rich zombie treasure troves as the Italian gore films of the ’70s and ’80s and any of the over-the-top Asian zombie films that have cropped up in the past decade or so.  While this would have, undoubtedly, broadened the focus of the film, I can’t help but feel that at least some mention of these other films would have been appropriate, if for no other reason than to point out how universal this particular horror trend has become in the past 40 years.

Foreign omissions notwithstanding, my biggest and most critical complaint regarding Doc of the Dead has to be all of the silly digressions, goofy skits and tongue-in-cheek stupidity that sits uncomfortably next to the more serious scholarship. I’m not claiming that all documentaries need to be serious or even that a zombie-themed documentary could ever be completely serious…we are talking about re-animated corpses, after all, so some measure of suspension of disbelief is required, no matter how you tackle the subject. I will firmly state, however, that the split-tone in Philippe’s film made it impossible for me to ever be completely on-board. For every cool story related by Romero or interesting observation (zombie cinema is one of the only horror genres to develop from folklore rather than literature, for example, which is pretty interesting, when you think about it), there’s a dumb segment involving amateur re-imaginings of Night of the Living Dead (1968), a zombie music video or silly interview with survivalists about the best weapons to use in case of a zombie attack.

The biggest problem with this tactic, quality of the goofy segments notwithstanding (and the quality really can be extraordinarily shabby, especially when compared to the relative polish of the rest of the film), is that it makes it seem as if the filmmakers don’t really care about their subject matter. This was the same team that put together The People vs George Lucas (2010), so they definitely have a reputation for irreverence, but the goofy tone just seems out-of-place most of the time. I found myself enjoying the “serious” parts of the film enough that I wanted more consistency but the inherently inconsistent nature of the film just made me tired and frustrated, by the end: I wanted more scholarship but the filmmakers wanted more “funny” scenes of badly made-up zombies stumbling around in domestic scenarios.

Ultimately, I didn’t hate Doc of the Dead: there’s too much good stuff here to completely write off the film. I just wish that Philippe and crew had been able to maintain a more consistent tone or, barring that, were able to craft something as humorous and entertaining as Mark Hartley’s Machete Maidens Unleashed (2010), which managed to be both scholarly and flat-out funny. Fans of zombies in film, TV and pop culture will find plenty to enjoy about Doc of the Dead (although most fanatics will have heard most of this stuff before) but the film is too lightweight to make much of an impact beyond the true believers…and the truly patient.

12/25/14 (Part Three): Missing Pieces

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86th Annual Academy Awards, Academy Award Nominee, archival footage, autobiographical, autobiography, Best Foreign Film nominee, Cambodia, cinema, clay figures, documentary, film reviews, films, Jean Baptiste-Phou, Khmer Rouge, massacres, Movies, Pol Pot, Rithy Panh, The MIssing Picture, writer-director

The human capacity to bounce back from tragedy is, perhaps, one of our most necessary traits: while we may be initially flattened by disasters, wars, crime, disease and violent death, something about the human animal compels it to stick its chin out, put one foot before the other and continue marching forward into the face of adversity. Without this natural resilience, after all, it’s unlikely that any of us would have made it past the caveman stage, let alone the 20th century. You may push a human down but you can’t keep a human down, unless that’s where they choose to be: we’ll always find a way to come back stronger than before.

When the Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia in 1975, it set the stage for one of the worst, most flagrant displays of evil in the entire history of the human animal. Over two million people became refugees, over night, and famine, death, disease and torment became rampant in the Southeast Asian country thanks to leader Pol Pot’s iron-fisted regime. At the time of the take-over, Rithy Panh was a typical 13-year-old: happy-go-lucky, obsessed with movies and close to his family. During the Khmer Rouge’s four-year reign of terror, however, Panh would lose everything and go from a typical teenager to a beaten-down survivor scrabbling together his existence from whatever he could get his hands on. Over thirty years later, Panh’s remarkable tale of struggle and survival forms the basis of the immensely powerful documentary The Missing Picture (2013), a film which gives a personal voice to the millions of disenfranchised Cambodian victims of the ’70s massacre.

While Panh’s story would make a fascinating documentary regardless of the format, The Missing Picture is unique in that it mixes archival footage of pre and post-revolution Cambodia with dioramas that Panh creates using hand-crafted clay representations of his family, friends, neighbors and countrymen. At times, Panh combines both types of footage together and the results are nothing short of dizzying: there’s a remarkable degree of reality to his clay figures and he’s able to imbue their features with a startling amount of expressiveness. It may seem odd to think that immobile clay figures can have overly expressive faces but Panh works some sort of magic and, at times, I was hard-pressed not to see the whole thing as a crude, if effective, form of stop-motion animation. Subject-matter notwithstanding, it’s a really cool, fascinating effect and Panh pulls it off flawlessly.

One of the most powerful aspects of The Missing Picture ends up being the way that narrator Jean Baptiste-Phou’s calm, mannered voice relates any manner of atrocities and hardships that befell Panh. There’s something soothing about Baptiste-Phou’s voice that creates a jarring contrast with much of what we see and hear: there’s an almost mournful quality to it that really suits the film’s elegiac mood, especially once we get into the heart-breaking section where Panh watches his father starve to death, little by little.

Lest The Missing Picture seem like an unrelenting tragedy, however, Panh manages to mix in some truly joyful pre-revolution scenes, scenes which focus on the vibrant music, night-life, dancing and filmmaking of the Cambodian people. There’s one amazing moment where Panh clay avatar goes “flying” over a crowd of dancing clay people and the effect is absolutely wonderful: for the briefest of moments, we get to feel some of the joy and love that filled Panh’s life before the Khmer Rouge and Pol Pot summarily destroyed it all.

Ultimately, however, The Missing Picture’s message is one of hope, not horror or defeat. The very fact that Panh could survive such trials, at such a young age, and go on to such important work is testament to that aforementioned resilience of the human spirit. Rithy Panh’s journey from starving youth to Academy Award-nominated filmmaker (he ended up losing to The Great Beauty) is an inspirational one and The Missing Picture stands as a work of no small importance.

As Panh’s words state near the end, “This missing picture, I now hand over to you.” We’ve all been given this “missing picture,” and this film, so that we may never forget the innocent victims of the Cambodian massacre. We owe the survivors nothing less than to honor their memories and continue to shine a light into the darkest corners of our collective history. As the incomparable George Santayana once said: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Rithy Panh has done his part to ensure that we’ll never forget: it’s now time for the rest of us to do our part.

6/10/14 (Part One): The Men Who Make the Nightmares

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behind-the-scenes, blood-button effect, Bob Kurtzman, Day of the Dead, Dick Smith, documentaries, documentary, Donna Davies, Elijah Wood, Frank Darabont, George Romero, golden age of special effects, Greg Nicotero, Gross Anatomy, Howard Berger, Jack Pierce, John Carpenter, John Landis, KNB Effects, Kurtzman, Lon Chaney, Nightmare Factory, practical effects, Quentin Tarantino, Ray Harryhausen, Rick Baker, Robert Kirkman, Robert Kurtzman, Robert Rodriguez, Sam Raimi, special effects, special effects pioneer, Tom Savini, visual effects, writer-director-producer

When one is discussing the most influential special effects/make-up/visual effects artists in the business, there are a few names that always seem to come up: Tom Savini…Rick Baker…Stan Winston…Ray Harryhausen (RIP). Look closely, however, and you’ll notice another trio of names that seem to pop up in every other end credit scroll for the past several decades: Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and Bob Kurtzman. Although they have plenty of individual credits to their name, the three would go on to form KNB Effects, one of the most influential and omnipresent effects studios to emerge since Lucas’ groundbreaking Industrial Light and Magic. Donna Davies’ fun and informative documentary, Nightmare Factory, takes an up-close-and-personal look at KNB Effects, with particular emphasis on co-founder Greg Nicotero, sfx godfather Tom Savini’s protegé.

Kicking off with a “greatest-hits” highlight reel that amounts to a fan-pleasing gore clip show (complete with pounding metal soundtrack), Nightmare Factory makes one thing abundantly clear: this one is aimed right at the genre fans who geek out on fantastic monsters, severed limbs, spurting blood, explosions and puppetry. We go through the history of KNB, which begins with the history of its key players: Greg Nicotero, Howard Berger and Bob Kurtzman. While we don’t get a whole lot of Kurtzman, who left the company a decade into its existence, we do get a whole lot of Nicotero and quite a bit of Berger. Luckily, Nicotero is an absolutely fascinating person, a life-long film and genre fan who’s devoted his entire life to making the impossible real. Long before KNB Effects was a twinkle in anyone’s eye, Nicotero and his younger brother, Bryan, were making their own movies, perfecting stunts, devising effects and props and, in general, being pretty amazing. A chance encounter with George Romero (during a family vacation in Rome, no less) led the 16-year-old Greg to a tour of Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978) shopping mall set and an offer to work on his next film, Day of the Dead (1985). This, in turn, led to Nicotero meeting effects god Tom Savini and the rest, as they say, is history.

After meeting and becoming friends on the set of Day of the Dead, Nicotero and Berger ended up moving in with a friend of Berger’s named Robert Kurtzman. The three became fast friends on the set of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead 2 (1987) which led to the realization that they might be able to make something bigger of this. KNB Effects was born and, within short order, became a powerhouse in the world of movie special effects, particularly in the effects-heavy era of the late-’80s and early-’90s. KNB Effects reach was so widespread, in fact, that it extended to decidedly non-genre offerings like Gross Anatomy (1989) and Oscar-winner Dances with Wolves (1990). In fact, you’d be pretty hard-pressed to find a film with any kind of practical effect within the past 30 years that didn’t bear the mark of either KNB Effects, Nicotero, Berger or Kurtzman: the guys were just that ubiquitous in the industry! Some of the best parts of the film involve the footage of KNB Effects heyday in the late ’80s, where the studio had a wild, rock ‘n roll, party-hard attitude: most of the effects artists were also in rock bands, hung out together constantly, partied the night away and made monsters during the daytime. For a guy like me, this looked like pretty much the best place to work in the entire world. Fuck crazy Wall Street firms: the shenanigans at KNB looked like a whole lot more fun!

Although KNB Effects is just about as important as effect studios get (they even created the “blood-button” effect that has allowed generations of indie filmmakers to create gunshots on the cheap), the times are always changing and we feel the effects of this within the doc. Studios now want effects as quickly and cheaply as possible: there’s no longer time to lovingly craft effects in the same way that the artisans did twenty years before. While computer-generated imagery is a valuable tool when used hand-in-hand with practical effects, the tendency these days is to heavily rely on CGI, which can be much quicker and cheaper to utilize than practical effects but tends to have a disarmingly glossy hyper-reality that is no patch on the oftentimes rougher practical effects of bygone eras. It’s certainly a devil’s dilemma: filmmakers are always in a desperate need to save money, which makes CGI the only feasible reality for many low-budget productions, yet cheap CGI makes any film look bad, regardless of the general quality of the production.

There’s also the sad revelation, late in the film, that Nicotero doesn’t really think anyone will come around to replace them: no one has a burning desire to just make monsters these days, he says, at least not like in the days of Famous Monsters of Film Land, Ray Harryhausen and Tom Savini (at 68, Savini is now the elder statesman who used to be the infant terrible…he even has his own special effects training school). We do get to see a few members of the younger generation who were influenced by the ’70s-’80s pioneers, such as Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Robert Rodriguez, although we don’t really get to meet any of the new generation to whom Nicotero and the others will be passing their torch.

While Nicotero certainly has a history and perspective on the situation that I’ll never possess, I can’t help but feel that he’s dead wrong in that aspect: there will always be kids around who want to make monsters. As long as there are geeky outsiders who spend their childhoods reading monster magazines under the blankets, there will be special effects people. As long as there are kids who create backyard zombie epics featuring the contents of their fridge and an ocean of passion, there will be special effects people. We may very well come to a time when practical effects are no longer utilized in mainstream cinema, where CGI has become the all-encompassing cinematic creative force and where model-makers are as quaint as town criers. Hell, we may already be there. As long as there are still kids who grow up with the burning desire to make the magic themselves, however, to mold the clay and set the fuses and paint the models, to bring life to dead objects in the same way that Dr. Frankenstein once did…as long as these kids are still around, there will always be someone to carry on the flag. Nightmare Factory serves as a wonderful reminder of just what an important tradition this really is and a truly loving salute to those who continue to keep the tradition alive.

6/9/14 (Part Two): Father of the Living Dead

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1960's films, behind-the-scenes, cinema, Civil Rights Movement, documentaries, documentary, Elvis Mitchell, film criticism, film reviews, film theory, filmmaking, films, George Romero, guerrilla filmmaking, horror, horror film, horror films, independent film, independent films, interviews, Jr., Larry Fessenden, Mark Harris, Martin Luther King, Movies, Mr. Rogers, Night of the Living Dead, Pittsburgh, Prof. Samuel D. Pollard, Rob Kuhns, Robert Kennedy, Russell Streiner, social upheaval, societal changes, talking heads, the 1960s, The Birth of the Living Dead, visual effects pioneer, Whine of the Faun, writer-director-producer-cinematographer

By 1968, the Summer of Love was officially over: the war in Vietnam was in full escalation, racial tensions led to race riots in the inner cities and the disastrous Altamont Free Concert was but a year away, although neither Robert Kennedy nor Martin Luther King, Jr. would survive to know about it. The Zodiac Killer was still killing, the Cold War with the Soviet Union was still decades from thawing and the hippie “revolution” of the early-mid ’60s had failed to bring about the kind of lasting, peaceful change that adherents hoped for. Hope had been replaced by anger: the 1960s had failed to fix anything and the system was just as broken as ever. Into this caustic stew of fear, anger, war and turmoil slipped a humble little film that would go on to revolutionize not only horror films but the world of cinema, in general. When 27-year-old college dropout George Romero first unleashed his seminal horror film, Night of the Living Dead (1968), on an unsuspecting populace, little did he know that the film would permanently change everything that came after it, directly influencing the next 46 years of horror filmmaking.

Rob Kuhns’ exceptional documentary, Birth of the Living Dead (2013), gives an insightful and in-depth look into not only the making of Romero’s classic film but also the societal issues and developments that made the film not only possible but necessary. Night of the Living Dead was a new kind of horror film for a new era of horrors: when the horrors of Vietnam were being beamed into homes on a nightly basis, the same old “haunted house” scares weren’t going to work anymore. Kuhn’s film does an amazing job of showing just how truly groundbreaking NOTLD was, especially concerning its views on race and the family unit. By the end, he actually managed to give me new respect for a film that I’ve idolized for more years than I care to remember: no mean feat and a pretty sure sign that Kuhns is a filmmaker to keep an eye on.

Birth of the Living Dead takes us through the entire process of NOTLD, beginning with Romero’s background making short films for Mr. Rogers (I was surprised, to put it mildly) and beer commercials before taking the filmmaking leap with his first attempt, Whine of the Fawn (what a name!). When his art film tanked, Romero decided to try his hand at horror and the rest, as they say, is history. Romero served as cinematographer, director and editor, while the entire cast pulled double (sometimes triple) duty both in front of and behind the scenes. Some of the most glorious moments in the film come from the fascinating behind-the-scenes insights that Romero shares about the making of the film. Some of my favorites include the special effects experts who constantly smoked cigars while working with explosives and fuses, the actor/producer who built a wooden bridge with his own hands and the fact that the crew only got their sound edit after actor Russell Streiner (who played Johnny in the film) challenged the owner of the sound lab to a chess match: he won and the crew got their sound mix. For anyone interested in filmmaking, particularly ultra-low budget guerrilla filmmaking, the behind-the-scenes stories about NOTLD are absolutely priceless and worth a watch all by themselves.

Far from just being a “making-of,” however, Kuhns film is filled with plenty of insightful “talking head” interviews and commentary on the era that was directly responsible for Romero’s chiller. We get plenty of great stuff from independent filmmaking majordomo Larry Fessenden, whose enthusiasm for Romero’s film is absolutely infectious, along with historians and critics like Elvis Mitchell, Mark Harris and Prof. Samuel D. Pollard. In a truly magical bit, Mitchell talks about seeing NOTLD at a drive-in, when he was 10, and how it absolutely changed his life. There’s also plenty of on-point discussion about the casting of Duane Jones as the lead in a time where a strong, black hero in an all-white film would have been not only eye-opening but revolutionary. This was, after all, the era where one of the biggest black movie stars of all-time, Harry Belafonte, was not allowed to touch Petula Clark (a white singer/actress) in an advertisement. The fact that Ben’s race is never brought up in NOTLD was totally radical: for the first time in popular cinema, a leading black actor was just allowed to be a man, instead of a symbol. There’s real power in the stories about how the black inner city adopted Ben as a true hero, especially when they’re told by commentators who were actually in the theaters at the time of the film’s screening.

As a film, itself, Birth of the Living Dead is a complete success. The structure is well-organized, the footage and interviews are perfectly integrated and everything has a really exciting, kinetic sense of energy. Even better, Kuhns utilizes some really badass “Sin City-esque” red-and-black graphic-novel-type animation for many of the behind-the-scenes bits, making the whole film even more visually appealing. Birth of the Living Dead looks and sounds fantastic, although that just ends up being icing thanks to the fundamentally solid information being shared. If you’re a fan of Night of the Living Dead, Kuhns’ documentary is an absolute must-see, helping to fill in any gaps and offering up a virtual treasure trove of previously unknown insights. If you’re a fan of independent filmmaking, Birth of the Living Dead is a must-see for the ways in which we see Romero and his small band of true-believers literally wrestle this iconic film into being. Basically, if you like movies in any way, shape or form, you owe it to yourself to see Birth of the Living Dead: documentaries about horror films don’t get much better than this.

5/27/14: A Real Leap of Faith

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'70s-era, Ahom Aquarian, based on a book, based on a true story, California in the '70s, cinema, communes, counterculture, cult, cults, documentaries, documentary, Father Yod, film reviews, films, freak-folk musicians, hippies, Hollywood CA, Isis Aquarian, Jim Baker, Jodi Wille, John Lennon, Makushla, Maria Demopoulos, meditation, Mother Ahom, Movies, polygamy, ritual magic, sex magic, Source Family, the Sacred Herb, The Source Family, the Source Restaurant, the Sunset Strip, utopian communities, utopian societies, Yahowa 13

I’ve always been fascinated by cults, probably because I’ve never actually believed in any one thing (or person) enough to blindly follow it off a cliff. I’m also staunchly and proudly anti-authority, so giving one guy (and let’s be honest: for various reasons that have nothing whatsoever to do with religion, the leaders of these things are usually dudes) complete control over my life seems…well, like about as much fun as getting devoured by ants, to be honest. Cults are fascinating things, however, because regardless of my personal belief in them, plenty of other folks do believe in them. As I like to say: live and let live…provided, of course, that the other person is just as willing to live and let live in return. The inherent problem with almost all cults (or call them “Utopian communities,” if that makes you feel better) is that they usually end up butting heads with “polite” society, usually in some pretty violent ways. I’m sure we’re all familiar with Manson and his “family,” but the Branch Davidian and People’s Temple cults are probably better examples: I think that most cults start from a (relatively speaking) “normal” mindset but I’ll never be convinced that ol’ Charlie didn’t have his trajectory plotted out from day one.

The Source Family, a fascinating product of the hodge-podge mindset of ’70s-era Los Angeles, was a cult: I don’t really think there can be much beating around the bush on that one. As led by Father Yod (formerly Jim Baker), the “Family” exhibited all of the classic signs, including the liquidation of all members’ personal assets, in service of the group; communal living in (progressively smaller and smaller) compounds; polygamy and relationship management (Yod would often “assign” wives to men, regardless of previous arrangements/relationships/desires) and an often adversarial relationship with the outside world that involved run-ins with law enforcement and strained community ties. As seen in The Source Family (2012), a documentary about Father Yod’s group put together by surviving members of the Family, however, there was a lot more to them than just their similarity to more infamous cults. In the end, a lot of this had to do with the fascinating, polarizing figure that was Jim Baker…aka Father Yod.

Regardless of what he ended up doing with the cult, Baker was a pretty interesting fellow: before he was Father Yod, he’d been a top-notch fighter pilot, fitness guru and successful restaurateur. He was a hunky ladies’ man who once killed two men with his bare hands and robbed at least one, if not more, banks. After falling in with the “peace and love” movement, in his early 40s, Baker opened The Source Restaurant in sunny Hollywood, CA. The Source would go on to some notoriety as the favorite hang-out of various little-known celebrities like Steve McQueen, John Lennon, Goldie Hawn, Joni Mitchell and the members of Yes: you know, no big deal. At one point, according to the documentary, the Source Restaurant made more money per square inch than any restaurant in the United States. Let that sink in for just a minute, ladies and gentlemen. This guy, at least on the outside, was not your typical cult leader.

Baker assembled the Source Family teaching from a number of popular California trends/customs of the time, including health food, hedonism, drug use and Eastern and Western mysticism: in many ways, the Source Family’s tenets were kind of a “greatest hits set,” as it were, although Baker, now rechristened Father Yod, was always the de facto center of the organization. Yod would marry 19-year-old Robin, who would become Mother Ahom Aquarion (all member of the group legally changed their last names to Aquarian, making this sort of like a nutty, ultra-official version of the Ramones…which is kinda cool, if you think about it) and the two would lead their group through a number of changes, not the least of which was the eventual introduction of polygamy into the Source Family, along with concepts like “ritual magic” and “sex magic.” Yod would end up with thirteen wives, much to the consternation of Mother Ahom, and the group would begin to seem, quite suddenly, like a more traditional cult. After being “forced” from their longtime home in California, the group picked up stakes and moved to Kauai, Hawaii, where things would remain less than ideal. Once Father Yod died (in a very strange incident that, depending on who you ask, either sounds an awful lot like suicide or a colossally stupid decision), the group would continue on, for a time, under the tutelage of Makushla, one of Yod’s thirteen wives. Upon dissolving, the members would go on to do everything from award-winning stem cell research to continuing the work of their freak-folk band, Yahowa 13. Some would stay with the group, such as Isis Aquarian, while others would look back fondly, from a great distance. Unlike the People’s Temple, however, there was no great flame-out, no mass “exodus”: things just seemed to sort of peter out after Baker’s death. For all intents and purposes, the Source Family was a fascinating, ultimately unsuccessful experiment in creating a true counter-culture society.

As a documentary, The Source Family is utterly enthralling: I was pretty much glued to the screen from the first word to the last (the opening is particularly great, featuring a slow-zoom in on a portrait of Yod that ends with a close-up on his intense eyes). It’s a fast-paced, very informative film that’s filled with one neat factoid after another: cult actor Bud Cort was once a member, in good standing, of the Source Family…famous rock photographer Ron Raffaeli discusses how he was asked to join the group but was too busy and thought they were a little too weird…a member describes how he knelt and kissed Yod’s feet the first time he met him, to which Yod, impressed, responded “Far fucking out.” The Source Family was certainly an imposing, photogenic group and plenty of photos from the era bear this out: there’s something rather majestic (if not slightly nuts) about the sight of Father Yod, looking like Rick Rubin as a spiritual guru, leading his huge “family” around on the streets of Hollywood in the ’70s. There’s a nutty energy to everything that’s absolutely a product of the ’70s: it’s impossible to imagine stuff like this happening anywhere but Hollywood, at that time.

I was genuinely surprised by the musical aspect of the Family: I’d never heard of their band before (or the group itself, to be honest) but it’s impossible not to see how influential their sound has been to modern musicians. Hell, you could actually make a case for the entire freak-folk subgenre springing directly from Yahowa 13: even Billy Corgan thinks they were unbelievably influential and who are we to disagree with the Great Pumpkin? One of my favorite parts of the film is the bit where they discuss Yod and the band playing various gigs at area high school lunch hours. The footage of one of these gigs is absolutely priceless: watching Yod and crew freak the fuck out on stage, before a massive crowd of bored teenagers, all while Yod delivers a nearly non-stop “sermon,” may be one of the highlights of my last decade of movie-watching…no joke. The only thing I could think while watching this was: “When would something like this have ever been acceptable? Trying doing this nowadays and see how fast the proverbial shit would hit the fan…I’m guessing almost immediately.

Ultimately, even though I don’t think Baker was anything more than a kooky, ultra-wealthy guy who saw a sure-fire thing and grabbed it with both hands, I had a blast actually watching the documentary. Truth be told, I’d love to see a fictionalized version of this same story: hell, give it to David O. Russell, since his American Hustle-mode would be perfect for this story. This definitely isn’t an unbiased account of the events: while the film does include plenty of commentary from detractors (mostly pretty gentle, bemused kind of reflections, although the bit where one of Baker’s former co-workers scoffs at his desire to be called Father Yod is pretty snarky), it also tends to gloss over lots of problem areas.

I’m troubled, to say the least, about actions like marrying off the underage girls to Family members, in order to circumvent local rape laws: that doesn’t sound kosher, to say the very least. The “family engineering” aspect is also pretty horrible, since that’s what religious fundamentalists use to swap partners around among families, “rewarding” faithful men with more (or different) wives. There is some discussion about how much control the women had over this but it’s also explicitly stated that Yod would often “ask” members to participate in this: since no one refused him, this would be the same thing as requiring it, no? Same thing goes for the groups use of ritual and sex magic: from the outside, it seems kind of easy to assume that Yod’s ritualistic sex with various women and girls (underage or not) had less to do with helping them achieve personal nirvana than with helping him get off. We could always give him the benefit of the doubt but, to be honest, the documentary does a pretty good of muddying up this issue, as it is. Suffice to say that it’s a lot easier to buy Baker as a bored, opportunistic hedonist who stumbled into a pretty great way to run out the last years of his life than it is to buy him as a misunderstood religious guru.

Ultimately, The Source Family is a fascinating, fast-paced and well-made (if obviously biased) account of the life of a true outsider. Hell, when was the last time you heard a religious leader referred to as a perfect combination of Lenny Bruce and Krishnamurti? If Baker often seemed like an all too earthly figure, there’s certainly something other-worldly about his bigger-than-life persona. I might not have been converted to the cause, but The Source Family gave me a pretty great insight into a fascinating time in our history, a time when utopia seemed just around the corner and the possibilities were endless. Baker might not have been able to keep his dreams (or himself) aloft but there’s no denying that the guy lived life on his own terms. For better or worse, there’s something kind of inspirational about that.

5/14/14: Better Call Casper

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Aaron Goodwin, Destination: Truth, documentaries, documentary, EVP readings, Ghost Adventures, ghost hunters, Gold Hill Hotel, Goldfield Hotel, Goldfield Nevada, haunted hotels, haunted sites, Nick Groff, paranormal investigators, poltergeists, Travel Channel series, TV shows, Virginia City Nevada, Washoe Club, Zak Bagans

I’m a firm believer in the paranormal, the supernatural and cryptozoology, although I also like to think that I’m not a complete idiot: an idiot, yes, but complete? Not a chance. I’ve always been fascinated by these subjects and have had enough personal experiences to feel that my believe isn’t completely unreasonable. After all, you may have never seen a platypus but that doesn’t make them any less real, does it? And don’t even get me started on ghost platypi!

As someone who actually believes in the paranormal, I have a tendency to watch shows like Ghost Hunters and Destination: Truth with a grain of salt: I always hope to see something interesting, although I don’t actually expect to see anything “real,” if that makes sense. The very nature of “ghost hunting” — sitting around in dark, abandoned places with terrible histories — makes it impossibly easy for adventurers to freak themselves out, winding each other up into a giddy frenzy that rivals pre-teen slumber parties. After all, who among us wouldn’t imagine a moving shadow (if not much worse) if they were exploring an old, abandoned mine by flashlight? It’s all relative, especially since most of the these shows follow pretty similar formats: locate a good site; do research; head down after dark; take EVP (electronic voice phenomena) readings, set motion sensor cameras; try to “speak” to the spirits; get freaked out by “something;” head back and examine the footage in the cold light of day. Nine times out of ten, the only thing that I hope to get from shows like this are the opportunity to see some really cool locations and, just maybe, see something that’s difficult to explain away.

As compared to something like Destination: Truth (which I really like, mostly because I think Josh Gates seems like a pretty cool dude), Zak Bagan’s Ghost Adventures (2004) comes up pretty short. Although I’ve never seen the TV show, I did watch the full-length documentary that, apparently, inspired the TV show: if the actual series is anything like the source material, I’m not missing much. Unlike Josh Gates’ more laid-back, sarcastic approach, Zak is all vein-popping intensity – there’s no doubt that he believes it, man, but he believes it so much that my head started to hurt. Coupled with a pair of fairly forgettable associates (Aaron Goodwin and Nick Groff), Zak’s contribution to the paranormal investigation field tends to have all of the weight of bad public-access show. That being said, there were a few things that prevented Ghost Adventures from being a complete waste.

For one thing, the show features some genuinely creepy locations. Although I wasn’t particularly impressed by their visit to the Gold Hill Hotel, in Virginia City, Nevada, I must admit to finding their visit to the supposedly haunted Washoe Club to be quite intriguing. The architecture of the club’s 2nd and 3rd floors (supposedly the location of most sightings) is very strange and somehow “off,” lending the place a genuinely weird vibe. I’m not sure if there are ghosts up there by I wouldn’t be surprised if something weird was going on. The Goldfield Hotel, where Zak and his crew finish up the show, ends up being pretty damn awesome, if I do say so: I’d love to have the opportunity to wander around that property, especially with the kind of access that the Ghost Adventures guys have. Were Ghost Adventures a silent film that only featured the Goldfield, I would probably love it. As it is, having great locations really helps glide over some of the show’s rougher aspects.

The other thing that gave Ghost Adventures some value was that the hosts actually seemed to come across some unexplained phenomena. In one situation, a brick appears to be thrown across the room whereas, in other one, a shadow moves across the frame. Despite their best attempts, there really aren’t obvious answers for either incident (other than outright chicanery) and they’re decidedly unnerving. Although I’m inclined to believe that they were fabricated, I’m not really sure how, which lends them a veneer of credibility (no matter how thin). This is in contrast, by the way, to other incidents where our amped-up ghost hunters positively swear that they’ve experienced something and I resolutely call bullshit: these other incidents seem way too vague and easily misinterpreted, whereas there’s just no way to misinterpret a brick being thrown across a room. The brick-throwing either had to be physically faked or else was genuinely unexplained: despite my cynicism about these guys, I’m inclined to believe that something weird happened. At any rate, this actually gave me a little pause for thought, which is always fun for someone like me.

Ultimately, Ghost Adventures is a pretty weak film The camera-work is, not surprisingly, pretty rough (not much you can do with night-vision footage, after all) but what is surprising is how terrible the camera positioning and angles end up being. I’m not sure what the point is of filming normal objects from the bizarre low-angle that gets used to overuse here but it’s needlessly distracting. As mentioned, Zak is a pretty uncharismatic host, alternating between jumping at every little noise and picking fights with “witnesses” for withholding information. More importantly, he just doesn’t seem to have much authority. When I watch one of Anthony Bourdain’s shows, I tend to believe in his knowledge of the subject; when I watch an episode of Destination: Truth, I buy that Gates and gang know what they’re doing. Throughout the (short) entirety of Ghost Adventures, I never really got the impression that Zak, Aaron and Nick were any better at this than any of us would be. When the film opened with a pompous voice-over, by Zak, that reference Ralph Waldo Emerson, the tone was pretty much set.

As someone who dearly loves both ghost stories and creepy, old, abandoned places, I’ll never stop flocking to shows/films like Ghost Adventures. As someone who tends to turn a fairly critical eye on everything I watch, however, I simply can’t give a pass to something just because I enjoy the general subject matter. Suffice to say that I won’t be making any special effort to check out actual episodes of the show. I don’t admitting something, however: the Goldfield Hotel looks like one mean mother of a place and I sure wouldn’t mind poking around there after hours with a flashlight, a camera and a clean pair of underpants.

4/21/14: Hit the Lights on Your Way Out

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astronomers, astrophilia, benefits of sleep, cinema, circadian rhythm, city living, darkness, documentaries, documentary, Errol Morris, film reviews, films, Ian Cheney, Jack Newton, light pollution, melatonin, Morgan Spurlock, Movies, observatories, Sky Village, social commentary, technology, The City Dark, the night sky, urban vs rural

This modern world of ours provides us with a lot of necessities, along with plenty of unnecessary (but still nice) stuff. Whereas concepts like “wi-fi,” “streaming video” and “mobile devices” are things that many of us take for granted, it wasn’t too long ago (relatively speaking) that these ideas would have been more synonymous with fanciful science fiction than with real-world applications.  For most, however, any notion of looking backwards, to a less technologically advanced time, is more pointless nostalgia than anything else. The thought process always seems to be that any price we pay to advance to the “next level” (whatever that may be) is worth it: whatever we lose on a personal scale will be more than made up by the fact that we can now watch reruns of Cheers, on our phone, while we wait for the bus. There are more arguments, pro and con, than can realistically ever be examined in a forum like this. There is one thing, however, that should be plainly clear to everyone, regardless of which side of the “technology divide” you happen to fall on: our hyper-modernized, super-aware, technologically advanced society has cost all of us some of our humanity. Whether you find this troublesome, however, is a whole other issue. Documentary filmmaker Ian Cheney does and his thought-provoking documentary about light pollution, The City Dark, should make everyone stop and think about the ultimate price that we all pay to light our way in a frighteningly vast universe.

The documentary begins by introducing us to narrator/creator Cheney, a recent transplant from rural Maine to the bright lights of New York City. While growing up in Maine, Cheney was fascinated with the stars and astronomy, even going so far as to build his own telescope. Upon moving to the big city, however, he realized that he could see far fewer stars and, in some cases, he couldn’t see any at all. What, if any, impact does “losing” the night sky have on humans, he wondered: was this a trade-off that we could happily live with or were we giving up a vital part of our humanity? The City Dark, then, is his attempt to answer this question, as well as figure out his own conflicted views on the subject of mankind vs natural order.

Structurally, the doc is broken up into six sections, each of which deals with a different issue/aspect of light pollution: defining and giving examples of light pollution; fleeing over-lit urban areas for darker rural areas; the effects of light pollution on animals/nature; the effects of light pollution on humans; the reasons why humans use light; and possible solutions to this issue. This structure is very clear and well-defined, making it easy to follow the flow of Cheney’s research. There’s also a decent amount of time spent with each issue, making the film feel well-balanced. If nothing else, Cheney is obviously a filmmaker who knows what he’s doing, which is always a good feeling for an audience member.

There’s a good balance between traditional “talking head” interviews with various astronomers and scientists and Cheney’s own commentary. Unlike other indie documentaries about niche subjects like this, The City Dark is the perfect synthesis of more traditional documentaries and more open-ended, philosophical ruminations. There’s enough expert, scientific information for the doc to feel authoritative, yet there’s enough of Cheney for the doc to feel personal. It helps that Cheney has a very easy-going, pleasant personality: he’s the perfect host for something that requires a little personal reflection along with the historical record. This also helps make the film feel even-handed: although we definitely get the idea that Cheney is anti-light pollution, he goes out of his way to explain the factors that brought our world to this point, which are just as natural as the impulses that will need to get us out of it. There are no easy answers but it helps when the host refuses to take a hectoring tone: more documentarians should take note of this.

As someone who’s always had a twin love of bright, neon lights and the dark, starlit night sky, I found The City Dark to be immensely thought-provoking. The film is filled with some absolutely stunning imagery, including some of the most beautiful, chill-inducing shots of the night sky that I’ve ever seen. Couple this with some equally eye-popping views of the various lightscapes that are evident across the entire globe and The City Dark is never anything less than gorgeous to look at. Cheney is a more than capable filmmaker and I can’t help but feel that he’s the next Errol Morris or, at the very least, a more laid-back version of Morgan Spurlock.

In many ways, The City Dark is all about the continual, endless struggle to be human. Small, fragile, adrift in a vast ocean of night, with only the meager candles that we craft to light our way, humanity peers ever outward. While we light the way to make ourselves feel safer, Cheney makes the valid point that we may just be isolating ourselves more, cutting ourselves off from the natural world around us and relegating ourselves to a beautiful prison made of steel, glass and an infinity of brilliant lights.

 

4/3/14: Our Obsession with Whine

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Bordeaux red, Bordeaux wine, Bordeaux wines, Chateau Lafite, Chateau Latour, China, Chinese wine, cinema, Cultural Revolution, David Roach, documentaries, documentary, film reviews, films, France, French wine, Movies, oenophile, oenophilia, Red Obsession, Russell Crowe, supply and demand, Warwick Ross, wine, wine snobs

In this modern world, anything and everything is a commodity merely waiting for its net value to rise. We’ve collected stamps and baseball cards for generations, put a premium price on nostalgic doodads and turned comfort foods into gourmet cuisine. We’ve even found a way to put a physical dollar value on video-game gold: that’s both terrifying and awe-inspiring, the surest monument to price-tag culture that ever existed. Wine, as a commodity, is nothing new: wine connoisseurs and expensive bottles of vino have existed for centuries. In all this time, the Bordeaux region of France has maintained a reputation as the go-to for discerning American and European collectors. When American interest in Bordeaux red began to wane in 2009, however, the French vineyards found themselves courting an entirely different clientele: the Chinese. The recent documentary Red Obsession details what happens when this new interest drives prices in Bordeaux wine to unprecedented levels, setting the stage for one helluva roller coaster ride. What goes up, however, must always come down…and no obsession lasts forever.

The film begins with a picturesque sweep through the grape fields of Bordeaux, a region of France where the inherent weather conditions create grapes like none other in the world. From here, we meet a small mob of vineyard owners, oenophiles and wine critics, while introduced to wines where “the key ingredient is love.” We also learn that “a good wine drills down into your psyche, into your perceptions,” so it should be pretty obvious that we’re into some pretty heavy-duty praise here. In fact, the first 15 minutes of the film come across as nothing more than a beautifully shot advertisement for Bordeaux wines. In time, however, the documentary settles into its main focus: the changing cultural popularity of Bordeaux reds.

When American purchases of Bordeaux red bottomed-out in 2009, wine makers looked towards the nouveau riche of China as a way to keep their industry afloat. Currently in the midst of a massive economic upswing, China was sitting on lots of new wealth and, in short order, became the biggest importers of Bordeaux wine. As the documentary points out, much of this had to do with the disparate views Chinese and French society had regarding Bordeaux wine: for the French, red wine was old hat and lost its novelty factor centuries before. The Chinese, on the other hand, were new to the grape wine game, having institutionalized spirit wines for generations. New is always exciting, of course, and the Chinese took to their new past-time with a rare zeal.

The problems begin, however, when Chinese demand for Bordeaux red pushes prices into ridiculously inflated territory. As the bubble gets bigger and bigger, saner heads begin to worry about the inevitable pop: all trends must end and the over-reliance on Chinese interest in Bordeaux red seems like a sure-fire recipe for disaster. It’s not spoiling much to say that the whole thing does, eventually, burst, although how much responsibility Chinese Bordeaux wine consumers hold in this is certainly up for debate. The documentary hints at a happier outcome, in a way, when it mentions the inherently cyclical nature of the wine industry: what goes up must come down and what is now down will eventually be back up…it’s just the nature of the grape.

I’m always interested in documentaries that purport to teach me about a subject I have no knowledge of, particularly if it’s something I’ve never really thought about. As someone who spent his drinking years as a beer and liquor guy, wine was never really on my radar (unless the beer and liquor was gone, of course). I’ve never had the money to collect it and only know a handful of people who drink it, so I’ve never really given wine much thought. Supply-and-demand economics, however, are always interesting to me, especially when they involve super powers like China. Even though I don’t have a horse in the race, as it were, it was quite interesting to note the effect that Chinese interest on Bordeaux wine had not only the fortunes of that particular region but the entire wine industry. The filmmakers help keep my attention thanks to some truly beautiful cinematography (to be honest, you’d have to be a complete dunce to make those gorgeous locales look like anything less than modern Gardens of Eden) and the film is well-paced, once one gets past the rather painful first fifteen minutes.

The biggest problem I had with the film is the decidedly anti-Chinese “hysteria” that seems to inform not only some of the “talking head” interviews but also some of the documentary’s subtext. There often seems to be an unspoken condemnation involved here, some collective thought that the Chinese are solely responsible for the Bordeaux wine growers current situation. To my mind, the Bordeaux growers seem to be a classic case of putting all of one’s eggs into the same basket, however, and the anti-Chinese sentiment seems more like a personal bias than any sort of well-reasoned argument. This isn’t helped by the fact that we’re introduced to characters like Peter Tseng, a ridiculously wealthy Chinese billionaire who comes across as a bit of a human Scrooge McDuck. There’s also quite an emphasis on the Chinese counterfeiting of Bordeaux wines, although I would be hard-pressed to recall if they mentioned any other bootlegging besides the Chinese: the absence of any other mentions strikes me as the slightest bit disingenuous but I honestly don’t know enough about the subject to make a call one way or the other. Suffice to say, I caught enough of an occasional anti-Chinese air to the proceedings to feel more than a little conflicted at times.

While Red Obsession is an interesting documentary, it’s far from a great or illuminating one. While the subject-matter and cinematography are always interesting, the film ends up being a little too limited in scope to be truly relevatory. For anyone who has an interest in either the wine industry or the symbiotic relationship between Western-Eastern economies, the film will provide a fairly brisk view. At the end of the day, I can’t help feeling that at least a little of the responsibility for the Bordeaux crash has to do with the fact that prices rose by 1000% in a ten-year time-span: a love of Bordeaux red might be in the blood but those growers might be hard-pressed to squeeze any more blood out of their collected turnips.