Tag Archives: 2023

CAPSULE: PSYCHOSIS (2023)

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Psychosis is currently available fro rental or purchase on-demand.

DIRECTED BY: Pirie Martin

FEATURING: Derryn Amoroso, Kate Holly Hall, James McCluskey-Garcia, Pj van Gyen, voice of Lindsay Dunn

PLOT: Van Aarle, a criminal “fixer” who hears voices (but is not otherwise obviously schizophrenic) reluctantly takes a case involving drug dealers, zombie-like assailants, a vigilante, and a master hypnotist drug kingpin with a connection to his own past.

Still from Psychosis (2023)

COMMENTS: “They said you’d be weird,” observes a dim-witted pusher after Van Aarle explains how his paracusia (auditory hallucinations) give him a “unique perspective” that helps him to tap into “unknowing awareness.” We, the audience, directly experience that auditory condition—sometimes as a murky choir of overlapping advisors who sound quite a bit like those YouTube videos that try to put you inside the head of a schizophrenic, and sometimes in the form of an omniscient narrator, whose commentary may or may not be audible to Van Aarle. The voices are sometimes helpful to our fixer, alerting him to the presence of hidden enemies or whispering clues, but just as often they’re warning that everyone is going to die, or simply reminding him to keep up his psychotic coffee regimen (Van Aarle apparently does not sleep while on a case). Although Derryn Amoroso looks more like than a matinee idol, Van Aarle is in the  lineage of hard-bitten, haunted, and cynical-yet-decent private investigators: the great-grandson of Mike Hammer or Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade, with an Australian accent. The official narrator, a chatty sort who fills in quiet spaces and is sometimes almost comically redundant (“in the distance, he sees something”), adds another film noir note to a movie already flavored with dashes of action, horror, psychological thriller, and science fiction.

Stylistically, you will immediately notice that Psychosis is (95+%) black and white, and with a boxy 1:1 aspect ratio, the narrowest I’ve ever seen in a feature film. You actually get used to it fairly quickly, but along with odd camera angles and other tricks (one scene is shot upside-down) it puts your mind in an odd space. Unusually for a film of this budget, there are a lot of action scenes, and director Martin compensates for a lack of ace action choreographers and athletic stunt doubles by shooting scenes in disjointed styles: schizophrenic editing, strobe lights, woozy double-vision cam for an under-the-influence melee, the upside-down sequence previously mentioned. The fights aren’t as involving as the movie’s concepts, but their ingenuity allows for a richer and more exciting cinematic experience.

Obviously, there is a lot going on in Psychosis—-we haven’t even gotten into the hypnotically-induced hallucinations, or the Batman-like LoneWolf character prowling about. While there is some “is he hallucinating or not?” ambiguity—heck, the title suggests as much—Psychosis doesn’t lean into that motif, but treats its world as if it were a genuine alternate reality, one where advanced mesmerists have almost magical mind-control powers. This means the struggles of Van Aarle (and LoneWolf) have real stakes—that punch to the gut hurts, that knife slashing at him is no metaphor, and the villain may really kill our hero, or drive him insane. A few scenes drag, and not every stylistic embellishment feels utterly necessary, but overall Psychosis is an insanely ambitious debut film that nails the madness of a man whose mind is in the process of being shattered.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…an insane thriller from the jump… offbeat and surreal, exactly as Martin intended… each cast member works wonderfully to bring this strange tale to life.”–Bobby LePire, Film Threat (contemporaneous)

CAPSULE: THE BLUE ROSE (2023)

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The Blue Rose is currently available for rental or purchase on-demand.

DIRECTED BY: George Baron

FEATURING: Olivia Scott Welch, George Baron, Danielle Bisutti, Nikko Austen Smith, Viola Odette Harlow

PLOT: Los Angeles detectives Lilly and Dalton investigate a savage murder and fall into a dream-laden conspiracy.

Still from The Blue Rose (2023)

COMMENTS: It was unplanned, but I ended up waking from one surreal nightmare and immediately stumbled into another. (There’s a lesson to be learned here, perhaps, about the dangers of napping just before watching a David Lynch fan-film.) With his directorial debut, George Baron—not quite twenty years old—has planted his flag firmly in the murky grounds of dream-logic and accented reality, boldly avowing his love of all the flavors of Lynch: bright colors, dark secrets, stylized milieux, and muddled plot structures. Indeed, everything I’ve come to associate with the Montanan Mæstro is on display here, for better and worse, with even the the film’s name and recurring visual motif lifted from the mysterious gent from America’s mountain West. The first question to ask yourself before watching The Blue Rose is: do you like David Lynch movies?

Presuming the answer is in the vicinity of “yes”, do continue; but bear in mind that this is a debut, from an enthusiast, working more from his heart than his head. This is for the best, though; a coldly clinical take on the whole Lynchian thing would make for something both incomprehensible and tedious (as opposed to merely incomprehensible). I’m something of an idiot when it comes to interpreting this kind of thing, so I shall forego plot remarks in favor of a pithy description of the plot’s vibe: The Blue Rose story travels along the narrative line at the intersection of Mulholland Drive and Blue Velvet, with the gee-shucks young detectives (one of them, Dalton, played by George Baron—with none other than Ray Wise as papa detective) traveling a Twin Peaks-y inscape during the heady days of Wild At Heart-spun 1950s Los Angeles, with a subplot involving an Eraserheadful baby. There’s probably Lost Highway kicking around in there somewhere, but frankly, there’s a lot going on.

Which is good, because not everything going on here works, so that when you find yourself trapped in a scene or sub-story scenario, you can comfort yourself in the knowledge that sooner or later you will emerge into a new one, with everything tying up far more nicely than Inland Empire could ever dream of. The acting is uniformly uneven, but the two leads are generally on the mark; George Baron’s detective, in particular, has an interesting arc wherein he encounters an alternate, feminine, version of himself during an insane asylum art-installation human showcase. And such—among many—cruel machinations give the cinematography a chance to shine: although the action on-screen is tedious on occasion, the props, costumes, and color-schemes always demand attention.

And speaking of attention, I am interested where this kid (if you’ll pardon my old-man speak) ends up going after this. With a little luck, he’ll find his own path to pursue, as it’s already clear he knows the nuts-and-bolts of filmmaking. But, even if he merely refines his Lynch-pirations, retreading the ground already walked by the auteur, it would be no bad thing to have a younger storyteller on-hand to continue that particular tradition.

So, Mr Baron, hopefully we’ll see you when next we dream in blue.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…not for all tastes (it’s Lynchian-like weird)... mostly effective as an unconventional visionary film on Hollyweird. It delves into its narrative with the Lynchian Blue Velvet touch for dealing with mysteries, as it takes us down a nightmare-like scenario with only a few stumbles.”–Dennis Schwartz, Dennis Schwartz Movie Reviews (festival screening)

CAPSULE: WAITING FOR DALI (2023)

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Waiting for Dali is currently available for rental or purchase on-demand.

DIRECTED BY: David Pujol

FEATURING: , José Garcia, Clara Ponsot

PLOT: A restaurateur in ‘s hometown of Cadaqués in the 70s dreams of luring the artist to visit his Dalí-themed “El Surreal” bistro, and catches a break when a master chef on the lam shows up in need of work (and a cover story).

Waiting for Dali (2023)

COMMENTS: Movie about Dalí (at least the ones we’ve covered) all seem to be rooted in realism: Little Ashes focused on Federico García Lorca’s crush on the young Dalí, while ‘s Daliland largely contended itself with depicting the extravagance of the painter’s lavish celebrity lifestyle. Perhaps Dalí himself would appreciate the irony; no director dares attempt to even approximate his hallucinatory genius. (We suspect surrealist will end this trend soon when he releases his “real fake biopic” starring multiple actors as Dalí later this year.) When Jules decorates his El Surreal bistro with plastic clocks melting in the trees, a lobster glued to the telephone, and mannequins seated at the tables, it seems like a cheesy Vegas-style tribute to the surrealist icon rather than anything legitimately surreal.

The surrealist cuisine crafted by master chef Fernando, however, does show originality: an airy mountain of carrot mouse modeled off a local landmark, “hot-and-cold pea soup,” various oddly shaped mini-loafs painstakingly decorated with tiny springs of herbs, and an array savory lollipops served on a bed of mud. The artistic journey in the film belongs to Fernando, who learns to incorporate controlled chaos into his craft, which had previously been ruled by strict order and proper French culinary procedures. Fernando’s gastronomical reinventions suggest the way Dalí mastered the basic techniques of painting before warping them to his own imaginary landscapes. Restaurateur Jules (who looks uncannily like a young Spanish Robert Downey Jr.), on the other hand, essentially serves as dapper comic relief: he is a Dalí fanboy who invents with multiple unsuccessful schemes to lure the object of his obsession to his dining establishment. In the end, it is only Fernando’s audacious menu that offers any chance of attracting the master.

Dalí himself is only an aspirational figure in the tale; if you are waiting for him to appear, you may be disappointed. You will also not learn a lot about the artist; the film, made for a Spanish audience, assumes you have a baseline of knowledge about the time, place, and players. A single introductory sentence explains that the story takes place at the end of the Franco dictatorship, and from there you’re on your own. The film expects you to know who Gala is when she appears, and to recognize the various Dalían tributes Jules has set up in El Surreal. Franco’s police play a role in motivating the plot, but they are hardly a serious threat; they are almost comic foils, and not even important enough to bother tying up the loose threads they leave at the end. The film is instead surprisingly light and frothy, like carrot mousse, and sunny like the Catalonian shore, a celebration of creativity that shines even in the darkest days.

Director David Pujol’s had directed two previous documentaries about Dalí, and also a television miniseries documentary about avant-garde chef Ferran Adrià, so he obviously knows his subjects well.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…the cast’s willingness to do all the heavy lifting elevates the otherwise puzzling yet predictable film that wants to use a turbulent era for the setting of a feel-good, romantic film but ends up feeling random, inconsistent, and scattered.”–Sarah J. Vincent, Boston Movie News (contemporaneous)

 

CAPSULE: CHRONICLES OF A WANDERING SAINT (2023)

 Crónicas de una Santa Errante

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Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Tomás Gómez Bustillo

FEATURING: Mónica Villa, Horacio Marassi

PLOT: A pious Argentinian woman finds a statue of St. Rita, which had mysteriously disappeared years ago, in her local church storeroom, and hopes that it’s a miracle.

Still from Chronicles of a Wandering Saint (2023)

COMMENTS: Chronicles of a Wandering Saint is one of those movies that’s hard to discuss because of a major plot shift that occurs at the end of the first act. Up until that point, we have been following a low-key story about a woman desperate to feel special who believes she may have encountered a miracle. Rita, who shares a name with the saint whose mysteriously disappearing statue she believes she has found, gets all of her identity and gratification from her involvement with the local church: participating in prayer groups, volunteering to clean the chapel, and rare discussions/confessions with the itinerant priest who rotates among the local villages. She thoughtlessly ignores her devoted husband Norberto, who tries in vain to rekindle their romance with a low-budget recreation of their honeymoon in their humble dining room, and who also has a gift for appreciating ordinary miracles that Rita lacks (“Is the wind really just the wind?”) As Rita’s obsession with the statue increases, her ethics lapse—not mortal sins, but sins that reveal her motivation to be seen as good rather than to actual be good.

Up until the twist, Chronicles is a slow-moving study establishing Rita’s character. You will know when things shift because of an amusing and audacious formal choice by the director. Afterwards, the pace of the film picks up, as Bustillo introduces much broader (and genuinely funny) elements of religious satire and magical realism, while simultaneously launching a redemption arc for Rita. The ending, while sentimental, is well-earned, and elegantly expresses Bustillo’s conclusion about performative religiosity versus genuine spiritual engagement with this world.

A first-time writer/director, Bustillo arrives on the scene with confidence and competence. Modestly budgeted, he keeps Chronicles‘ action within its limitations. There are few special effects—basically just occasional digitized glowing—but what gets onscreen is perfectly serviceable. One scene is cleverly staged during a midnight lightning storm, like a dreamy slideshow; but in keeping with the movie’s message, nothing here (with the possible exception of the end credits) is really flashy or demonstrative. That applies to the acting, which merits adjectives like “subtle” and “tasteful.” This restraint is especially suited to Villa’s portrayal of Rita. The character has the potential to become unlikable, but Villa’s slight hesitations, doubts, and internal struggles make her relatable and put us in her corner. Given the choice, Rita selects the premium religious experience—the slow path, with miracles—rather than the express option. It turns out to be the right choice, if not for the reasons she initially believed.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…refreshingly unpredictable, surreal and outrageously funny.”–Avi Offer, NYC Movie Guru (contemporaneously)

CAPSULE: CRUMB CATCHER (2023)

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Crumb Catcher is available for VOD purchase or rental.

Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Chris Skotchdopole

FEATURING: Rigo Garay, Ella Rae Peck, John Speredakos, Lorraine Farris

PLOT: Two newlyweds are tracked down by a gregarious waiter who has an unlikely business opportunity to pitch.

Still from Crumb Catcher (2023)

COMMENTS: Skotchdopole’s directorial debut features the movie prop I’d most like to own. That’s not only because it has a sleek design, precision-engineered components, and is a fetching shade of cadmium red; no, not just that. It’s also the absurd centerpiece of a fun little home invasion thriller—one in which the home in question doesn’t even belong to the victims, and for which the “invasion” is a troublingly enthusiastic sales pitch. Crumb Catcher, like the titular invention, is a strangely compelling endeavor, devised with unsettling earnestness.

Shane and Leah have just married, and it quickly becomes clear that their shaky union is grounded upon some rocky relations beforehand. Shane is a promising new author of a collection of short stories; Leah works for a publishing house, and was instrumental in signing him. Despite the post-wedding awkwardness and reception headaches, its pretty clear they want to make a go of things. But among Shane’s weaknesses, drinking looms large, and during a blackout drunk wedding night he makes a big mistake. Enter John, the waiter. An eager beaver if ever there were one: eager to chat, eager to please, and eager to bring his long-simmering dream to life.

It is best to get it out of the way that much of Crumb Catcher is by-the-numbers, but the piece is painted so well that it’s still quite the beaut. (Which is more than might be said for some of the art festooning the walls of the newlywed’s remote hideaway.) This has much to do with the performances. Ella Rae Peck and Rigo Garay have a fractured chemistry, as their characters are both trying to feel the other out, while also working through their own complications. John Speredakos, as John the waiter, always steals the show—and I am happy to let him do so. When his character contrives to crash the couple’s vacation, his earnestness is tinged by deranged menace (morphing later to deranged menace tinged by earnestness). Lorraine Farris, who plays Rose—John’s wife and sales partner—rides her own razor line between dominance and desperation.

Crumb Catcher also succeeds from the production standpoint. Skotchdopole’s team is purposeful, but playful, with its lighting and camerawork. The film’s major set-piece—John and Rose’s presentation of the exciting new restaurant dining experience—is disorienting, claustrophobic, and a bit gigglesome. Shane and Leah’s harrowing escape attempt (driving to Kingston, NY, of all places) perfectly captures the drunk driving experience. A parting shot of Rose bathed in the red rear light of the couple’s vintage sedan is a moment of dark beauty. Throughout the production flourishes all the characters oscillate around their set axes, making for a vibrant inter-character dynamic to match the vibrant on-screen look.

Yessir, ma’am, child: you can tell I’m very excited. And you, too, should be excited as well: Crumb Catcher is an wickedly wonderful entertainment opportunity.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“[T]he best – and most terrifying – thing about the movie is how true even the most absurdist parts of it are… Two outings of Funny Games didn’t teach us not to open the door to seemingly harmless looking strangers, but hey, maybe this beautifully shot and wonderfully weird pitch session from hell will?” — Olga Artemyeva, Screen Anarchy (contemporaneous)