A puppy explores an empty house haunted by departed spirits of his breed—and a Roomba. Adorably horrific.
CONTENT WARNING: Contains some adult humor.
A puppy explores an empty house haunted by departed spirits of his breed—and a Roomba. Adorably horrific.
CONTENT WARNING: Contains some adult humor.
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Once Upon a Time in Uganda can currently be rented on VOD.
DIRECTED BY: Cathryne Czubek
FEATURING: Nabwana I.G.G., Alan Hofmanis, Harriet Nabwana
PLOT: A disillusioned American film programmer travels to Uganda to find Nabwana I.G.G., the director whose trailers for homemade action movies like Who Killed Captain Alex? have recently gone viral.
COMMENTS: Wakaliwood seeped into the West’s collective consciousness slowly. The earliest fans boarded the train after seeing the viral Who Killed Captain Alex? trailer on YouTube in 2010 (five years before the finished movie would see the light of day). The first time I can clearly remember hearing about Nabwana I.G.G. was reading the description of Bad Black in the Fantasia Festival’s 2017 program (a screening subsequently given a brief-but-enthusiastic writeup by Giles Edwards).
As it turns out, my interest was indirectly sparked by Alan Hofmanis, Once Upon a Time in Uganda‘s NYC film programmer who, reeling from a devastating breakup and fascinated by Who Killed Captain Alex?, spirited himself away to the slums of Kampala in search of Nabwana. Hofmanis devoted the next several years to helping Nabwana promote his Wakaliwood output to film festivals around the world, while occasionally appearing in front of the camera in the recurring role of the muzungu [white man] who gets beat up—or in the case of one cannibal movie, who gets feasted on.
Creating a story from this material, instead of a mere talking heads doc, requires devoting a good deal of time to Alan and his struggles. (The heroic opening shot of Alan standing on a mountaintop cost more by itself than three or four Nabwana feature films). The focus on Alan is a bit unfortunate, because honestly, although basically a good guy, he isn’t the most compelling character. That honor doesn’t even go to Nabwana, the ex-bricklayer who is much more grounded in reality than his crazy-ass filmic output would lead one to believe, or to his appealingly supportive wife and collaborator Harriet. No, the real stars here are the movies themselves, lightning-paced barrages of kung fu, over-the-top firefights, model helicopters wrecking CGI skyscrapers, and a narrator constantly screaming and pumping up the movie in the background. (In fact, the one crew member whom we should have seen much more of is VJ Emmie, who provides the most unique element of Wakaliwood films: the running narration. Emmie’s commentary is the film’s own pre-supplied MST3K track: during one desperate scene, he moans, “I just want some good news.” A character immediately enters the scene: “Sir, I have some bad news.” Emmie gets a short interview and does his spiel over the opening credits, but deserved more coverage).
Despite its best efforts, though, Uganda is a talking-heads/behind-the-scenes doc, with only a thin story arc (which you might have already guessed). There are a couple of humorously inventive moments early on: director Czubek recreates Alan’s first encounter with a Wakaliwood actor as chase scene, and a fight scene suddenly breaks out in the background of one interview. But most of the time, this professionally put-together doc approaches the material from a conventional angle—so that Wakaliwood’s more delirious approach to moviemaking stands out in relief. Uganda serves as a perfect appetizer for those considering pigging out on a Wakaliwood banquet, or as a treasure trove of context for those who already have a seat at the trough. Either way, you’ll come away believing that this unassuming Kampala ghetto does indeed produce da best of da best action movies!!!!
For low-budget filmmakers, Uganda is simultaneously inspiring, intimidating, and depressing. Inspiring for how easy Nabwana makes it look to create a movie from scratch; intimidating because of just how much better he is at it than you will ever be; and depressing because, despite making 20+ movies and racking up millions of YouTube views, he hasn’t made a dime (at least, not at the time this doc was released; I’d wager he’s turned a small profit since).
You can catch Nabwana’s most popular films (and other goodies) on YouTube via the official Wakaliwood channel.
Legendary producer Ben Barenholz had directed a short and currently unavailable Wakaliwood documentary profiling Nabwana, simply entitled Wakaliwood, in 2012 (before Captain Alex was even completed!) Hofmanis co-produced.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
Jiao ma tang hui
椒麻堂会
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A New Old Play is currently available for VOD rental.
DIRECTED BY: Qiu Jiongjiong
FEATURING: Yi Sicheng, Guan Nan, Qiu Zhimin, Xue Xuchun, Gu Tao
PLOT: Two affable demons come for the soul of Qui, a famous Chinese opera clown; on his way to the afterlife, he reminisces about his life’s experiences.
WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: The saga unfurls on stage-like sets using theater tricks and practical effects, with an easygoing charm bubbling throughout. The mindless catastrophes besetting the Chinese from the 1930s through 1980s batter fruitlessly against a quiet resolution to survive. Demons, symbolism, wit, and magic realism co-mingle with the tragedy, creating an experience unlike anything this reviewer has ever seen.
COMMENTS: This is a daunting prospect: stage-theater style, a deep-dive into Chinese cultural politics, and an epic length. The day before watching A New Old Play, I quipped that I was certain that this three-hour film would be sooo good, I’d want it four hours long. But I can admit when I’m mistaken. Its theatrical nature gives Qiu Jiongjiong’s film a stylish and deeply cultural resonance; the deep-dive into the darkest times of the People’s Republic of China is tempered throughout by playful humanity; and when the film wrapped up, I could have happily sat through another hour—or more. From the protagonist’s friendly acquisition at the hands of two neophyte demons (they had just taken over from their recently retired fathers), during the long reminiscences at the Netherworld inn, and up through Qui’s final, memory-washing meal at the river to Hell, A New Old Play is a jaunty, enlightening ride.
Old Qui learns that his fame as an opera clown performer transcends the Earthly plane. The King of Hell himself has sent his death invitation in the care of two escorts—demons whom Qui recollects from his childhood days during China’s “Great Leap Forward” and Cultural Revolution, when they come to collect the soul of his briefly adopted sister. As Qui travels from our world to the next, he makes a stop at a wayside inn established by a fellow Sichuan who owned an inn topside, and staffed by the handyman for Qui’s troupe. The “New New Players” were an elite band of performers founded by Commander Pocky to maintain the morale of the troops: first the anti-Japanese rebels, then the Chiang Kai-shek Nationalists, and then the Maoist People’s Liberation Army. Always the same troupe, shuffling to and fro as factional powers ebb and flow.
Qiu Jiongjiong sets the stage with humor from the get-go. One demon laboriously employs a bicycle pump to inflate the front tire of the faerielight-lined rickshaw on which he and his fellow demon travel. The opening memory corrects the demon’s information about when Qui joined the acting ensemble (they admit that certain records have been lost), introducing the concept of “New New Players” via a committee-style exploration of the merits of the repetitive term. The war against Japan is framed as a competition for theater funds and an irritating lack of flour for steamed buns. The civil war is nearly reduced to the swapping-out of a poster on the theater building: first anti-communist, then anti-nationalist.
The bulk of the melodrama (if I might even to call it that) occurs during the famine and cultural destruction unleashed by Mao as he sought to maintain his grip on the fledgling new (new) country. But the focus is on the the actors, and how the downtrodden manage to cock a snook at the gun-toting thugs. As happened to nearly all those caught in the vortex of the “Cultural Revolution”, Commander Pocky falls out of favor, and his actors are forced into self-abasement; Qui, the clown, stands amongst the troupe, dressed shabbily, wearing ridiculous makeup, and wearing a sign advertising his transgression. But as he is a clown, he manages to gather a small adoring crowd with a near-immobile performance, turning those who came to shun and gawk back into human beings through the power of his performance. Qiu Jiongjiong has nothing good to say about the evils of the Maoist regime, but refuses to grant that blood-soaked tyrant even a semblance of power over him. Like his film, all of time is a new-old play, as we stumble forward with a trip and a laugh, forever escaping from the inhumanity which the evil among us would subject us to.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
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On Our Way is currently available for VOD rental.
DIRECTED BY: Sophie Lane Curtis
FEATURING: Micheál Richardson, Sophie Lane Curtis, Keith Powers, Paul Ben-Victor, Adam G. Simon
PLOT: A first-time filmmaker’s movie dreams are crushed when tragedy strikes; a ghost helps him complete his script.
COMMENTS: “People don’t want to see his hopeful ending,” says financier Adler as On Our Way‘s first act comes to a close. “They want to see dark, twisted, freaky, gritty, bizarre weird shit.” That statement, delivered at the close of the first act, makes me question the supposedly savvy Adler’s appraisal of public taste. It also leads me to believe that this movie will definitely have a happy ending. I won’t spoil whether that expectation is met or not.
To the small extent that On Our Way is weird, it’s weird in an expectedly indie way: a somewhat fragmented storyline with editing to match, the occasional arty shot from an unexpected angle, mildly surrealistic imagery like the bank of televisions on the beach or a tunnel of bedsheets, and flirtations with meta-movie shenanigans that nevertheless keep the line between fantasy and reality clear. It deviates slightly from Hollywood formulas, but never approaches the “bizarre weird shit” that the public is supposedly clamoring for.
The plot is ambitious for many reasons, not in the least for daring the pitfall-laden “struggling filmmaker makes a first film” scenario. Starting from what appears to be novice filmmaker Henry’s suicide attempt, the script incorporates numerous flashbacks as it jumps back and forth in time between his romance with the leading lady in his autobiographical film and his relationship with his father, a disreputable but kindly drunk given to wearing layers of gold chains while dancing around shirtless with a joint in one hand and a whiskey in the other. The details of this both tragic relationships are slowly revealed alongside the gradual sabotaging of the film-within-the-film by the heavy-handed producer. The storytelling is handled cleanly enough that we never get confused by all the shuttling about, although the dialogue is sometimes a bit cringeworthy (“you know that feeling when you’re like ‘how the hell did I get here?’ There ought to be a word for that.”). It’s also not an extraordinarily fresh or engaging tale, although it has just enough narrative and emotional heft to it keep you watching. Technical details (sound, cinematography, editing, etc.) are all handled with competence. The acting, on the other hand, can be uneven, with (unfortunately) Curtis’ performance as love interest Rosemary the low ebb.
The odd thing about On Our Way is that, for her first film, writer Curtis casts herself not as the struggling artist, but as the struggling artist’s stand-by-your-man muse. This might come across as humility, but the problem is that she under-writes a role she created for herself. Curtis provides Henry a wealth of personal history, while Rose is… beautiful and self-sacrificing, with no backstory or motivation of her own. She exists merely to love and be lost; a manic pixie dream girl without the pixyish mania. But Curtis was only 26 when this was completed, and probably younger when it was conceived and written. Her direction is solid, her plotting is decent, and while she might be fine in some more limited roles, I think her future may lie more behind the camera than in front of it.
Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero are prominently mentioned on the poster, but their actual cameo makes an eye blink seem like an eternity.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
AKA Freaks Out
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Freaks vs. the Reich is currently available for VOD rental.
DIRECTED BY: Gabriele Mainetti
FEATURING: Aurora Giovinazzo, Claudio Santamaria, Pietro Castellitto, Giancarlo Martini, Franz Rogowski
PLOT: In 1943 Nazi-occupied Rome, Matilde, Fulvio, Cencio, and Mario are the stars of the Half-Penny Circus; Franz, a Nazi with oracular abilities, wishes to get all twelve of his fingers on the troupe of freaks in the hopes of averting disaster for the Reich.
COMMENTS: In a world saturated with superheroes, I say, “bring on the Super Freaks.” Gabriele Mainetti’s feature-length debut has rip-rollicking adventure, charming humor, concerts, explosions, Nazis, swarms of bugs, and—and everything I’d be looking for in a big-screen period piece. Having been lucky enough to catch this at Fantasia last year, it nearly pained me not to treat it with the full writeup it deserves. My fond recollections of this film are best captured with my remarks jotted down immediately following the screening:
“Come one, come all, to the Half-Penny Circus. Witness the aerial insect artistry of Cencio the albino! Giggle at the pratfalls of Mario the magnetic clown! Behold the raw strength—and ample fur—of Man-Beast Fulvio! And delight in the electrifying acrobatic artistry of Matilde, who powers light bulbs with the touch of her fingers!”
Freaks Out deftly walks a thin tight-rope while simultaneously pulling off an impressive hat trick (I shall now dispense with the carnival metaphors). Mainetti quite obviously, and quite unashamedly, dips into several buckets of influence: superheroes, Nazi baddies, buddy comedies, and action movie razzle-dazzle. These are all reliable, if perhaps well-worn, sources, but the alchemical combination makes the concoction shine. Just in the opening scene featuring the Half-Penny Circus, we witness whimsy, true magic—and a shell-blast of stark, wartime realism as the performance is interrupted by the surrounding carnage. The four freaks all feel fleshed-out, and fresh, as they follow their mentor-cum-manager through the blasted streets and hillsides of Rome under Nazi occupation.
But the coup de grâce comes, as it so often does, from the villain: mild-mannered, six-fingered, future-glimpsin’, ether-huffin’ Nazi Franz, who wants to save the Fatherland while simultaneously being denigrated by his countrymen’s allegorical stand-in, his older brother. Rogowski brings gravitas, tenderness (the performance of Radiohead’s “Creep” by twelve-fingered piano-man is an early show-stopper), frustration, machination, and, against all the odds, sympathy to his performance. In one scene Franz liquidates “sub-standard” freaks, and in another mutilates his body to conform with the able-ist standards of Nazi knuckle-beaks.
I’m repeating myself from before, I realize, but my nostalgia for Freaks Out hit me to a degree I was not anticipating. That in mind, I will leave you with some words of advice, and hearty request. Stand by your friends, say “No!” to Nazis, and find the time to watch Freaks Out on the biggest screen and through the biggest speakers you can find. Mainetti has obviously set this troupe up as a franchise, so get the word out about Freaks Out. I want to see them smash the Nazis again. (And again…)
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY: