The Screengrab : sxsw

Independent Film Festival Boston Review: Winnebago Man

Andrew Osborne — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 16:05:00 GMT

My Screengrab colleague Scott Von Doviak and I tried to see Ben Steinbauer’s hot ticket documentary Winnebago Man three times during the 2009 South-By-Southwest festival in Austin, TX and were thwarted each time: once by sold-out crowds, once by SXSW traffic combined with sold-out crowds and once by a scheduling conflict.

Thus, I was happy to finally catch up with the movie at this year’s IFFB (which, curiously, stands for just “Independent Film Festival Boston,” rather than the presumably too mainstream-sounding “Independent Film Festival OF Boston”) -- and, I’m happy to report, the experience was nearly as rewarding and worth the wait as Steinbauer’s own three year pursuit of his elusive subject, Jack “Winnebago Man” Rebney, a.k.a. the Angriest R.V. Salesman in the World.

My wife had never seen the infamous YouTube clip that spawned Steinbauer’s project (a fact that, when spoken aloud at yesterday’s screening, brought astonished cries of disbelief from several audience members surrounding us at the Somerville Theater) -- so for those of you similarly unfamiliar, “Winnebago Man” was among the earliest generation of viral video superstars, back when “viral videos” were actually bootleg VHS tapes passed from one found footage enthusiast to another. Later, with the advent of YouTube’s paradigm-shifting time-suck technology, the montage of expletive-laden outtakes from some long-ago industrial film “blew up” (as the young people say), inspiring dozens of online parodies and spreading the Winnebago Man’s Daffy Duck-esque exasperation to millions around the world:

Austin documentarian Steinbauer, no stranger to on-set frustration and stress, became obsessed with the man in the clip (who’d inevitably become, among other things, a kind of patron saint to independent filmmakers everywhere) and set out to discover what the Winnebago Man himself thought of his new-fangled digital age fame (if, indeed, he was aware of it, or even still alive).

And so begins a funny and thought-provoking investigation into the nature of overnight on-line notoriety (featuring several hilarious and wince-inducing clips of comparable interweb superstars like the Star Wars kid and Aleksey “Impossible Is Nothing” Vayner), followed by a search for Rebney, the mysterious, reclusive Winnebago Man (whose Kurtz-like enigma is pieced together in the first reel of the film via intriguing clues like a telling string of P.O. boxes and off-the-grid identity erasure, the purple prose of a lone online classified ad attributed to Rebney and, eventually, first-hand accounts of actual encounters with the angriest RV salesman in the world).

Then one day, in a comically thrilling moment, the voice of the actual Winnebago Man finally issues from Steinbauer’s answering machine, luring the filmmaker on a journey that snakes through the rest of the film like a main circuit cable, plugged straight into Rebney. Since the filmmaker’s multi-faceted encounter with the real-life man behind the ranting is part of the fun and suspense of Winnebago Man, I won’t reveal more, except to say the results are funny, unpredictable and satisfying, resulting in a foul-mouthed, misanthropic (yet deeply human) examination of privacy and community in the internet age -- ideally suited for a double-feature screening with the somewhat sunnier, thematically-linked and equally enjoyable Best Worst Movie on your Netflix queue and/or at a savvy art-house near you.

Related Articles:
SXSW: The Final Round-Up
SXSW Review: Best Worst Movie

Breaking “Bruno”: Sacha Baron Cohen Faces NC-17 Hurdle

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 17:30:00 GMT

One of the special SXSW screenings I passed on earlier this month was the sneak peek at approximately 20 minutes worth of footage from Sacha Baron Cohen’s follow-up to Borat, Bruno. It just seemed like one of those things that would end up being a bigger hassle than it was worth, and I felt confident I could wait until July to see the whole thing. That may not be as easy as it once seemed, as the film has just been saddled with the MPAA’s dreaded NC-17 rating “because of numerous sexual scenes that the ratings board considers over the line.”

Anyone who saw Borat – I’m specifically thinking of the scene in which Cohen and obese, hairy co-star Ken Davitian rassle face-to-junk in the nude – has to be wondering how Bruno could possibly be so much more offensive as to warrant the NC-17 rating, which tends to limit the number of theaters that will agree to screen the movie as well as the number of outlets willing to advertise it. And of course, all hardcore fans of Cohen and his characters have to be chortling with glee in anticipation of whatever it is he’s done to raise the MPAA’s hackles.

Entertainment Weekly correspondent Karen Valby did attend the SXSW sneak preview, and offers her own take on the three scenes screened, including this one: “Bruno arrives in a ‘ghastly s---hole called Texas.’ (The fellow Texans in my audience gave this line a round of applause. What's wrong with us?) Bruno appears on a crap daytime talk show called Today With Richard Bey, appealing to a largely African American audience. He swans onto the stage for a segment devoted to single parents, blabbing about how his adopted African baby boy is a ‘dick magnet’ and that he traded his iPod for the kid. The audience wanted his hide. Then a gleeful producer wheels out a gorgeous little black baby boy wearing a ‘Gayby’ T-shirt and leather pants. Bruno declares that he's named his son O.J. -- child protective services intervenes.”

Of course, there’s always the strong possibility that Cohen submitted a version of the film containing over-the-top material he never intended to include (until the release of inevitable unrated DVD, of course), simply so he could trim it from the offending cut and resubmit the version he intended all along. The MPAA would then think they’d done their job and reward Bruno with the R rating that will allow the core teenage audience to enjoy Cohen’s antics over and over again. “For the moment, Baron Cohen is doubtless playing the uncompromising artist,” Richard Corliss writes in Time, “insisting that every frame of his film be shown as is; and Universal, I'd guess, is exerting its muscle both on the MPAA to approve a version with some shock value and on their star-auteur to throw the board a few boners and get the damn R. Baron Cohen shoots a lot of footage in his docu-comedies, and, the studio spokesman told Waxman, ‘With the quantity of material available, I cannot foresee a problem. It's not even April and the film comes out July 10 so it's nonsense to say there's a struggle of any kind.’”

Clippy Strikes Back: The Scariest Technology In Cinema History! (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 20:00:00 GMT

This week, youngsters (and the young at heart) will be treated to the sight of a giant space robot tearing up San Francisco (in 3-D!) in Monsters vs. Aliens (click here for review).

But last week, something really scary happened: my computer completely shut down thanks to some nasty virus, leaving me completely laptop-less for three long, frightening days (right in the middle of SXSW!), during which time I realized I no longer have the ability to think straight, remember things, communicate or even feed and dress myself without my little cybernetic soul mate in good working order.

Fortunately, the fine people at PC Guru in Austin, TX got me up and running...but it was definitely a scary reminder of how much it’s gonna suck when Facebook finally becomes self-aware and turns all our computers, ATMs, DVRs, MP3s and GPS systems against us.

So, as a public service, your (mostly) human friends here at the Screengrab figured now would be as good a time as any to whip up some post-Y2K panic with our list of THE SCARIEST TECHNOLOGY IN CINEMA HISTORY!

METROPOLIS (1927)

Fritz Lang's titanic silent sci-fi masterpiece uses a look derived from a mix of Art Deco and Amazing Stories cover designs to decorate a political allegory that Lang said was inspired by his first sight of New York City, which seems to have fried some of the wiring in his central cortex. (If the old boy were to come back and see what the place looks like today, we'd have to find him a job biting the heads off chickens.) Society consists of the rich who live above ground in glittering skyscrapers and the poor who labor and live in underground tunnels, sort of like in Titanic. The whole shebang is run by Johan, a capitalist uber-lord; meanwhile, down below, Metropolis has found its answer to Samuel Gompers in the beautiful Maria, a saintly labor activist who is rallying the workers. The plot kicks into high gear when Johan's breathtakingly goofy son, Freder, gets a look at Maria and is instantly radicalized. Instead of taking the usual tack of industrialist tyrants in this situation and buying his kid a motorcycle and a lap dance, Johan turns to his trusty house mad scientist, Rotwang, who creates a trouble-making robot duplicate of Maria, in a scene that anticipates The Bride of Frankenstein and Dr. Strangelove in about equal measure, and turns 'er loose, with results that prove instructional for one and all. (PN)

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968)

Its red eye glowing, its voice calm and soothing, HAL 9000 – on-board computer of the spaceship Discovery – remains, forty-one years after 2001: A Space Odyssey’s debut, cinema’s most iconic piece of evil technology. Or, at least, the sentient HAL is one of the most dangerous pieces of technology to ever be presented on screen, as its homicidal tendencies stem primarily from a desire to fulfill preprogrammed mission directives – aims which are threatened by the plan of astronauts Bowman (Keir Dullea) and Poole (Gary Lockwood) to disconnect it. The fact that self-preservation in service of duty is HAL’s motivation to kill problematizes any attempt to cast it as purely evil, especially since its survival instinct, when viewed alongside its emotive speech (contrasted with the men’s monotonous, monosyllabic utterances), marks the computer as distinctly human-like. Nonetheless, even if HAL isn’t immoral, it most certainly is frighteningly lethal. And rarely have the movies presented a more harrowing, intimidating vision of technology-run-amok than the sight of HAL covertly, calculatingly reading the lips of the scheming astronauts, and soon thereafter sending Poole spinning into the oblivion of space. (NS)

WESTWORLD (1973)

While re-watching Westworld in preparation for this list, I recovered a long-lost childhood memory. I’m on a train with my family when bandits on horseback pull us over, board the train and take our money. This really happened, although I should probably explain that it was supposed to happen – it was no ordinary train ride, but rather a reenactment of the Great Train Robbery. I remember being terrified as the bandits prowled the aisle, brandishing their pistols, bandannas concealing most of their faces – but not so terrified that I actually relinquished the dollar my mother had slipped me so that I could enjoy being robbed along with everyone else. Why am I telling you this? Because, like Westworld, this was a simulation of life in the Old West intended to give us all the thrills without any of the consequences. As far as I know, there were no actual robots involved, but how can I be sure? The other thing it has in common with Westworld is that it scared me as a kid. Now that I’ve seen Westworld as an adult, I realize it’s about as scary as a visit to Six Gun City. The movie serves up some of writer/director Michael Crichton’s patented technophobia with a formula that would be duplicated to better effect in Jurassic Park, as visitors to a high-tech theme park find themselves terrorized by the robots meant to amuse them. It does have one thing going for it: Yul Brynner’s iconic black-hatted Gunslinger, who did the unstoppable killer robot thing more than a decade before The Terminator. (SVD)

ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (2004)

In screenwriter Charlie Kaufman's world, human beings don't really need technology to screw up their lives, but in this movie they get some help anyway, courtesy of Lacuna, Inc. and its mind-wipe service, which enables the client to have his memory scrubbed of anything that he feels is holding him back or causing him undue pain. Jim Carrey, at his most subdued, is the loser hero who discovers that Clementine (Kate Winslet), the old flame who shook up his life, has had her memories of their time together erased, possibly as a lark, and who opts to have his own mind scrubbed clean of its memories of her, not realizing how hard he'll fight to hang onto any traces of having had her in his life when the process begins. Kaufman and director Michel Gondry manage to wring romantic comedy out of what may be the most painful of romantic truths: everyone wants to be remembered, but the memories of what was most important to you may be the ones that you'd sometimes most like to be rid of. (PN)

Click Here For Part Two, Three & Four

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Nick Schager, Scott Von Doviak

SXSW: The Final Roundup

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 17:30:00 GMT

The whirlwind of SXSW often takes on a life of its own, and that was certainly true this year for me and the rest of the Screengrab contingent. There are movies we fully intended to see and cover for you here, but fate decreed otherwise. (Winnebago Man proved particularly elusive for various reasons; my worst SXSW memory this year involves sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on 5th Street with no hope of finding a parking space before a screening began. In my anger, I cursed the Winnebago Man, but I now understand it wasn’t his fault.) There are also movies I saw and never found the time to review during the festival. And they are:

For the Love of Movies: The Story of American Film Criticism . How does a film critic review a movie about film critics made by a film critic? It’s a tough question for me, which is probably why I kept putting off a review of Gerald Peary’s years-in-the-making documentary. With the help of interviewees ranging from the old guard (Andrew Sarris, Richard Schickel) to the increasingly endangered critics of today (Owen Gleiberman, Wesley Morris), Boston Phoenix mainstay Peary does an admirable (if a bit square and PBS-ready) job of tracing the history of film criticism and revealing the ways in which it mirrors the history of cinema itself. One thing I learned: most film critics were not meant to be seen in extreme close-up from the front row of the Alamo Ritz.

Modern Love is Automatic. Writer/director Zach Clark’s second feature has attitude to spare, but for the most part, it left me cold. It’s the story of two women who become roommates – nurse Lorraine (Melodie Sisk) and would-be model Adrian (Maggie Ross). The lovely but robotic Lorraine is so bored and jaded with everyone and everything that she launches a side business as a dominatrix, while deluded Adrian can only find work at a unique mattress store where the customers cuddle with the hired help. There’s no denying that Sisk makes the most of her leather bondage-wear, but her monotonous performance wore on me, as did the ‘80s MTV color scheme, jarring bursts of heavy metal on the soundtack, and a couple of dark developments that don’t really feel earned.

Monsters from the Id. Here we have another group of film buffs, although most of the ones featured in David Gargani’s documentary are actually professional scientists. They just happen to share a love of the sci-fi movies of the 1950s, which helped inspire them to pursue careers in their chosen field. The interview subjects, including Rocket Boys author and retired NASA engineer Homer Hickam and physics professor Dr. Leroy Dubeck, bemoan the loss of the scientist heroes of the golden age, worrying that the kids of today have no role models in the field, and therefore are not pursuing careers in science. Whether or not their fears are legitimate, the doc is worth seeing for the copious clips from ‘50s sci-fi classics both renowned and forgotten, which will have you racing home to your Netflix queue.

Related:
SXSW Review: Along Came Kinky
SXSW Review: The Slammin' Salmon

SXSW Review: The Slammin' Salmon

Andrew Osborne — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 14:49:00 GMT

Broken Lizard started life as a sketch comedy group at Colgate University, a location they would later use as the backdrop for Puddle Cruiser, the indie feature that got them noticed at Sundance and paved the way for their breakthrough cult hit, Super Troopers (about a goofy bunch of Vermont state cops who spend most of their time messing with the minds of stoned teenagers).

I’ve never seen Puddle Cruiser, but I imagine it shares the same attributes as the rest of the Lizard oeuvre: a likable ensemble cast working hard (but not too hard) for laughs in a loosely plotted story comprised of cheerfully uneven hit-or-miss vignettes balancing slapstick and mild gross-out humor with clever wordplay and broad (but never mean-spirited) character work.

Troopers is still probably the funniest of the Lizard films (followed by the pretty good Beerfest and the mediocre Club Dread), but their newest feature, The Slammin’ Salmon, may be their most polished and consistently enjoyable work to date. Contained almost entirely within a fancy Miami celebrity restaurant over the course of a single evening, the film plays like a raunchy off-Broadway play with a simple premise: Cleon “Slammin’” Salmon (Michael Clarke Duncan), the ex-heavyweight owner of the establishment, owes a debt to the Yakuza, and so he more or less forces his waitstaff into a competition: whoever hustles the most food and booze in one night wins an (ever-evolving) grand prize...and the loser gets a beating.

Duncan actually turns out to be the film’s secret weapon: the ginormous, deep-voiced actor, often used as nothing more than a walking special effect in movies like Street Fighter and Sin City, here seems to be having the time of his life in a flashy role that lets him display some impressive comedy chops. Meanwhile, the Lizards themselves (Jay Chandrasekhar, director Kevin Heffernan, Steve Lemme, Paul Soter, and Erik Stolhanske) play variations on their typical personas (i.e., weirder than expected, put-upon, fast-talking, sweet-natured and fratty), supported by engaging work and cameos from April Bowlby, Cobie Smulders, Will Forte, Jim Gaffigan, Lance Henriksen, Vivica A. Fox and, yes, Morgan Fairchild, all in a film that, while not always slammin’, is certainly a satisfying meal.

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SXSW 2009 Awards Announced
SXSW Review: Pontypool

SXSW Review: "Along Came Kinky"

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 16:45:00 GMT

Musician, author, comic, animal rescuer and self-described cowboy philosopher Kinky Friedman added another line to his resume in 2006: politician. Actually, that's a label he'd be quick to reject, but Friedman did mount a grassroots independent campaign for the Texas governorship then and now occupied by empty Republican suit Rick Perry. David Hartstein's engrossing, entertaining documentary Along Came Kinky...Texas Jewboy for Governor follows the Kinkster and some of his opponents along the campaign trail, through the eyes of the staff and volunteers frustrated with the current state of the political system in the Lone Star State.

Friedman launches his campaign with the best of intentions: throw the bums out, specifically the haircut posing as the current governor. His platform is populist-humorist, light on policy details but heavy on barbed one-liners aimed at lobbyists, career politicians and apathetic non-voters. In his black cowboy hat, clutching his ever-present cigar, Friedman carries himself as a Jewish redneck Mark Twain, and his appeal isn't difficult to fathom. He's the kind of outsider who can get away with proclaiming himself the only candidate in favor of both school prayer and gay marriage.

As the race takes shape, two more opponents come into focus: another "independent" candidate, former Democratic Austin mayor turned Republican Comptroller turned politically expedient "one tough grandma" Carole Keeton Strayhorn, and the eventually Democratic nominee Chris Bell, a generally colorless wonk. With no party backing him, it's up to Kinky's army to compile the necessary signatures to get his name on the ballot. Along the way we meet Kinky believers ranging from campaign manager Dean Barkley to a Bexar County volunteer who is transformed into a man on a mission through the process of collecting signatures. One thing they all have in common is a relentless optimism about their candidate and their chances, even given the fact that Friedman is consistently polling in the teens. If they bring out the non-voters, they reason, those numbers will be meaningless. But as one talking head points out, the thing all non-voters have in common is that they don't vote.

Hartstein captures some hilarious and revealing fly-on-the-wall moments, such as a pre-debate encounter between Friedman and rival Bell that rides a thin line between "I'm kidding" and "I'm not really kidding." He's also there when the campaign takes an ugly downturn, first when Friedman makes some unfortunate remarks referring to Katrina refugees being "crackheads and thugs," which the press is quick to turn into a "Kinky is a racist" meme, and later when the Kinkster admittedly brings his C game to the only televised debate between all four candidates.

Along Came Kinky may be the funniest documentary about the political process in years, even as it raises the big questions about the flaws in our system of government. For old-timey Kinky fans, it even offers a few old Austin City Limits clips of the Texas Jewboys performing "Asshole from El Paso" and "They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore." And it looks like Hartstein may have some material for a sequel: in a post-screening Q & A after the film's premiere at the Paramount theater in Austin, Friedman all but announced plans for another run in 2010 - this time as a Democrat.

Related:
SXSW Review: The Immaculate Conception of Little Dizzle
SXSW Review: Best Worst Movie

A Pair of SXSW Shorts: "Thompson" and "A. Effect"

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 18:30:00 GMT

We love the short subjects here at the Screengrab, especially once we've hit the wall about four or five days into SXSW. While it may take four hours or more to get through a double feature at the Paramount, we can burn through a couple of shorts in less than half an hour, which really frees up the drinking time. And we're especially grateful if they're conceived and executed as well as Thompson and A. Effect.

Mike Ott and Jason Tippet are both graduates of the California Institute for the Arts (Ott was actually Tippet's first film teacher), and both had their latest shorts accepted to this year's SXSW. Tippet's Thompson - his CalArts thesis film and the winner of the SXSW Jury Award for Best Reel Short (that is, any short film that doesn't fall into the Animated or Experimental categories) - is a micro-documentary about Newhall, California high school senior Matt Thompson and his buddy Ryan Adres. Some would describe them as troubled kids; Matt has been arrested twice, and Ryan was once expelled for calling in a bomb threat. (It was all a big misunderstanding, of course.) That's not how they come across in Tippet's short but sweet portrait of their friendship in the twilight of their teenage years, trying to deal with small town life after outgrowing the go-carts and other amusements of their youth. In the brief time we spend with them, both Thompson and Adres make indelible impressions.

A. Effect isn't a documentary, but it uses semi-improvised naturalism to sketch a couple of characters who could be Thompson and Adres a few years down the road. In my review of another SXSW movie the other day, I made a disparaging comment about a character reciting the Taxi Driver "You talkin' to me?" bit for the bazillionth time, but lo and behold, Ott manages to do something fresh with it here, as a community college student uses Travis Bickle's mirror rant as a monologue in his acting class. It doesn't go well, as his classmates are only too happy to inform him, but it's a masterpiece compared to his buddy's attempt to meld Jerry Maguire and Meat Loaf into his own monologue mash-up. Both guys are trying to impress the same girl with their valiant efforts at saying something intelligible about Scorsese or Brecht, and the result is a very funny spin on the artist's eternal struggle for acceptance.

(Both shorts screen tonight as part of the Reel Shorts 3 program at 7:30 pm, Alamo South)

SXSW Review: "Pontypool"

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 20:15:00 GMT

Canadian director Bruce McDonald (Hard Core Logo) has been insisting in interviews that his new film Pontypool is not really a zombie movie, and as someone who has burnt out on zombie movies of late, I have to agree with him. It's a difficult film to categorize at all - sort of like Orson Welles' War of the Worlds in reverse, or a George Romero adaptation of Talk Radio, although neither of those descriptions quite gets at how peculiar Pontypool really is.

Set almost entirely inside a radio station and unfolding in something close to real time, McDonald's film concerns the efforts of morning DJ Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie, most recently the original Nite Owl in Watchmen) and his producer Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle) to understand and properly react to a mounting crisis in the small town of Pontypool, Ontario - a crisis that begins as a riot and escalates into an epidemic.

Isolated from the outside world, privy only to information from callers, a traffic reporter on the scene and a BBC newsman who has somehow gotten wind of the situation, Mazzy and Sydney attempt to piece together what exactly is happening. They figure out that the townspeople are indeed being transformed into..well, creatures that behave a lot like zombies. The means of the infection is one of the oddball, ingenious twists that shouldn't be revealed here, but suffice it to say that this is the only zombie movie I can think of that climaxes with a very important game of word association.

Adapted from the novel Pontypool Changes Everything by Tony Burgess (who also wrote the screenplay), McDonald's film marries the claustrophobic tension of Night of the Living Dead with a more cerebral approach. Gore is used sparingly, albeit to startling effect, and the grand finale is more of a semiotics discussion than the sort of bloodbath that gorehounds might be hoping for. It's not simply an intellectual exercise, however, and McHattie in particular keeps the movie grounded with his lived-in, world-weary performance as the increasingly frazzled DJ Mazzy. Pontypool isn't for everyone, but it just might be the zombie movie for everyone who thinks they're sick of zombie movies.

Related:
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SXSW Review: Beeswax

SXSW Review: "Best Worst Movie"

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 17:30:00 GMT

Sometime last summer I was at the Alamo Drafthouse enjoying the pre-show and a cold frosty when the strangest promo for an upcoming Rolling Roadshow I'd ever seen appeared on the screen. Usually a Rolling Roadshow consists of a well-known movie screening at an iconic location that figures prominently in the film - The Searchers at Monument Valley, Close Encounters at Devil's Tower, that sort of thing. This particular Rolling Roadshow preview promised a screening of Troll 2 in Nilbog, Utah. At the time, this didn't sound like an event that could possibly appeal to...well, anyone, really, but a friend sitting next to me insisted that no, actually, Troll 2 had developed quite a cult following.

The extent of that following becomes clear in Best Worst Movie, a new documentary by the star of Troll 2, Michael Paul Stephenson. In 1989, at the age of 11, Stephenson played Joshua Waits, a boy forced to do battle with vegetarian goblins bent on turning his family into edible plant people. (For further plot details - and believe me, the preceding description doesn't begin to scratch the surface of this demented tale - check out the latest installment of the Unwatchable series, which just so happens to be Troll 2.) The movie was never released in theaters, and when Stephenson finally got a look at Troll 2 on VHS, he was mortified. It was quite possibly the worst movie ever made.

Stephenson was not alone in his disappointment. His co-star George Hardy, an Alabama dentist who played his father in the movie, had hoped Troll 2 would launch him to stardom. It was not to be - at least, not in the way that he imagined. But a funny thing happened on the way to obscurity, as Stephenson learned a few years ago when he was invited to a Troll 2 screening in New York. The film had accumulated a devoted fan base over the years, not because it was any sort of effective sequel to the immortal Sonny Bono vehicle Troll (in fact, it has nothing to do with the original), but because it was simply insane.

Stephenson and Hardy overcame their initial distaste for Troll 2 and learned to embrace it as the beloved cult object it became, but the same can't quite be said for the movie's director, Claudio Fragasso. Fluent in a sort of Italian-English-gibberish, Fragasso believes he has made an important eco-horror film, and while he is delighted to be invited to a screening - believing that, at long last, America has come to appreciate the nuances of his vision - he is shocked and disgusted to discover that his new fans regard his masterpiece as the worst movie ever made. (Not that this dissuades him from announcing plans to proceed with a sequel, to be called, naturally, Troll 2 Part 2.)

Best Worst Movie is a hilarious, affectionate tribute to the movie, the cult, and the cast, most notably Hardy, the world's most affable dentist. A beloved figure almost everywhere he goes (as he learns the hard way, the Troll 2 cult hasn't quite taken over the UK yet), the square-jawed, perpetually upbeat Hardy couldn't be more thrilled with all the newfound attention, and seemingly never tires of repeating his most famous line, "You can't piss on hospitality," even to people who have no idea what he's talking about.

Stephenson's documentary is unexpectedly moving at times, as when he and Hardy pay a visit to their long-lost co-star Margo Prey, now a frail, haunted recluse, or to a depressing Dallas horror convention littered with the dregs of B-movies past. Stephenson offers no definitive explanation for the fragile alchemy that transforms a forgotten no-budget horror sequel into a beloved cult object, mainly because there isn't one. In its own twisted way, Best Worst Movie is a joyous celebration of the continuing mystery and magic of movies.

SXSW 2009 Awards Announced

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 14:00:00 GMT

The jury and audience awards for the 2009 SXSW Film Festival were announced last night at the Austin Convention Center. Made in China won the Jury Award for Best Narrative Feature as well as the special Chicken & Egg Emergent Women Award. The Audience Award for Best Narrative Feature went to That Evening Sun, which also picked up a Special Jury Award for Best Ensemble Cast (including Hal Holbrook, Mia Wasikowska, Ray McKinnon, Walton Goggins and Carrie Preston).

The rest of the winners:

Jury Award for Best Documentary Feature: 45365 (Honorable Mention: The Way We Get By)
Audience Award for Best Documentary Feature: MINE
Audience Award for Emerging Visions: Motherland
SXSW & AIGA Austin Movie Poster Award: The Dungeon Master
SXSW Wholpin Short Film Award: Sister Wife
Reel Shorts Jury Award: Thompson
Animated Shorts Jury Award: Shaman
Experimental Shorts Jury Award: Cattle Call
Music Video Jury Award: "Jerk It," Thunderheist
Texas High School Competition: Performance Evaluation

SXSW Review: "Me and Orson Welles"

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 20:30:00 GMT

The SXSW Super Special Screening this morning turned out to be Me and Orson Welles, the latest film from Richard Linklater, a director so long associated with Austin and SXSW that the screening shouldn't have been much of a surprise at all. (And apparently it wasn't a surprise to many in the audience, so I assume Twitter was all a-tweet with the news.) Suprise or not, it was definitely a treat.

Zac Efron - yes, the High School Musical kid - stars as Richard Samuels, a high school student circa 1937 with dreams far beyond his class musical. He knows he's an artist at heart, he's just not sure whether he's an actor, writer, musician or what. He does have a crucial knack for bullshitting that will serve him well, as we learn when he happens upon members of the Mercury Theater announcing their latest production to a throng of New York pedestrians. Richard manages to charm Mercury honcho Orson Welles with his bravado, insisting he can play the ukelele and sing like an angel. While he's not quite clear how these skills will come in handy for the modern-dress production of Julius Caesar Welles is masterminding, he does get the tiny part of Lucius in the show.

What follows is a lightly comedic mix of coming-of-age story and classic backstage intrigue. Richard gets quite an education in how theater really works, not only from Mercury mainstays Joseph Cotton, Norman Lloyd and John Houseman, but from Welles' assistant Sonja (Claire Danes), who briefly indulges Richard's romantic interest before revealing the full measure of her ambition. Efron is perfectly bland as the callow youngster, which is appropriate for the role; it doesn't matter much that he's not terribly exciting to watch, as his primary co-star picks up more than his share of the slack.

Me and Orson Welles may technically be more about the former than the latter, but there's no question that the movie belongs to relative newcomer Christian McKay as Welles. I'm not one to start trying to generate Oscar buzz in March, but I'm dead certain you'll be hearing his name in connection with the O-word when the film opens later this year. It's a dead-on impression, but much more than that; McKay nails Welles on pretty much every level you can imagine - his charm, theatricality, humor and megalomania all weave in and out of one another in a seamless portrait of the artist as a young man.

Linklater's last attempt at a period piece was his disappointing take on The Newton Boys, but he's on much firmer ground this time around. There's a hint of Woody Allen in his nostalgic Radio Days mode here (even the elegant white-on-black opening credits seem like a wink toward Allen), although Linklater's own experience in the film business surely informs the behind-the-scenes tensions and backstage farce, as well as the camaraderie that develops as showtime approaches. Me and Orson Welles probably isn't destined to be considered a major Linklater work, but it's one of the most purely enjoyable films of the festival so far.

SXSW Review: "My Suicide"

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 19:00:00 GMT

Imagine all the worst case scenarios you might associate with the term "indie film," and you'll find most of them on display in David Lee Miller's intolerable feature My Suicide. Overbearing, in-your-face mixed media visuals? Check. Facile approach to "edgy" subject matter? Check. Record label-approved hipster band soundtrack slathered over every scene? Check. Photogenic young cast sure to meet the approval of The Hills demographic? Check. Any sort of heart or insight or recognizable human behavior? Nowhere to be found.

Archie Williams (Gabriel Sunday) is a 17-year-old high school student living in a media-saturated world of his own making. A video camera seemingly permanently affixed to his hand, an array of movie references his most reliable form of communication, Archie is pretty much insufferable from the very beginning of My Suicide. So when we learn he's planning to kill himself on camera for a media class project, it's not the most upsetting news.

Understandably, Archie's teacher is not on board with his concept, although his classmates are intrigued, particularly beautiful Sierra (Brooke Nevin), the poor little rich girl Archie has always had a crush on. Sierra lost her brother in a car accident, and her parents are unfeeling, overmedicated plastic people who give her everything she wants. Naturally, she's suicidal as well. Oh, the pain of the privileged!

Archie and Sierra turn out to be kindred spirits, at least temporarily, and they set about checking items off their bucket list together, which works out great for Archie as Sierra takes his virginity. Just as we begin to suspect they'll decide there might be something to this "life" thing after all, a tragedy hits that sets them both back into a tailspin. Only the gaseous wisdom of special guest star David Carradine can set Archie back on the path to righteousness.

Director Miller gives this Afterschool Special material the full Requiem for a Dream/Natural Born Killers migraine treatment, emptying his box of ProTools to engineer a rapid-fire mix of film, video, animation and computer graphics that some will undoubtedly call "dazzling." All of this only serves to conceal how hollow the story is at the core and how little we care about the characters. Sunday is a skilled mimic, as we learn when Archie does trite re-enactments from The Deer Hunter, The Matrix, Apocalypse Now and Taxi Driver (yes, he actually does the "You talkin' to me" scene, which we all needed to see recreated for the twelve millionth time),but Archie's big emotional moments never ring true. Nothing does in My Suicide, including the tossed-off suggestion that helping others is the cure-all for depression. It would be depressing to think this is what passes for visionary indie filmmaking these days, but fortunately SXSW provides enough counter-examples to ensure that's not the case.

Related:
SXSW Review: American Prince
SXSW Review: New World Order

SXSW Review: American Prince

Hayden Childs — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 15:00:00 GMT

In 1977, Martin Scorsese made a short film about his friend Steven Prince. American Boy is a remarkably simple movie. There’s a scene of Scorsese and Prince goofing around in a hot tub at the very beginning of the film. There’s a few home movies of Prince as a little boy that are interspersed throughout the film. There’s a sudden and inexplicable brawl between the diminutive Prince and portly character actor George Memmoli because Scorsese loves nothing better than pandering to the ladies. But for most of the film’s 55 minutes, Prince just hangs out in a living room full of friends (including Scorsese) and tells his wildly entertaining stories. American Boy was not easy to find in the days before the Internet, but now, of course, the whole thing is available on YouTube.

American Prince is a sequel of sorts. Most of this movie consists of Prince sitting in someone’s living room, telling stories about his life. At one point near the end of the movie, Prince establishes that they’ve been filming for about five hours, and it’s clear that the bulk of the movie was taken from that same interview. In American Prince, Steven Prince reveals why he walked away from the movie business (a close call with a famous Hollywood murder), what he’s doing now (contractor and co-owner of a medical marijuana clinic in California), and how much he enjoyed sharing a house with Scorsese and Robbie Robertson of The Band in the late 70s (that would be lots and lots and lots). He talks about how two of the stories from American Boy have cropped up in other films. He himself retold one story in Richard Linklater’s Waking Life (and American Prince’s director Tommy Pallotta was a producer of that movie). Another story, in which he had to resuscitate a woman who had overdosed by sticking a needle full of adrenalin straight into her heart, appeared mostly untouched in Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction. You remember it, I’m sure. It’s hard to forget the image of Uma Thurman with a needle sticking out of her chest.

Steven Prince is a fun guy to spend time with. His stories, and the way he tells them, are fascinating and funny and full of truth. It’s easy to see why both Scorsese and Pallotta thought that a feature film could be made of what is essentially one man’s monologue. The downside of Pallotta’s movie, though, is the camerawork. Scorsese is smart enough to keep his camera at a steady middle distance from Prince so that the viewer can get the full experience of his expressive body language. For some unknown reason, Pallotta frames his picture in close to Prince, way too close, and then he can’t stay still for a second. The camera is jittery, jumping around Prince face, in tight on his mouth, leaping over to a shoulder, sometimes partially obscured by someone in front of it. For a short, couple-minute interview, it would be okay, a little intimate and woozy maybe, but leaving the viewer with the feeling of being there. For nearly an hour, however (the film runs 52 minutes), it’s a dizzingly bad choice. I like Prince, but being that close to him gave me vertigo. In the hot tub scene at the beginning of American Boy, Scorsese sends Prince back over to his own side when he encroaches too much on Marty’s space. Pallotta should have taken note; it’s easier to feel close to someone if you aren't smothered.

The camerawork aside (actually, one more comment, just to make sure that I’m being clear: it’s not bad camerawork, but it’s not right for this picture), American Prince has a lot going for it. It’s entertaining, smart material, and by all rights, it should bring Steven Prince to a new audience.

The Screengrab Highlight Reel: March 7-13, 2009

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 21:00:00 GMT

(Pictured: Andrew Osborne, Scott Von Doviak, Hayden Childs and Leonard Pierce)

Sláinte! Your friends at the Screengrab are gathering this weekend in Austin for SXSW, and you know what that means! Paramedics will be on call 24/7, particularly since the festival bleeds over into St. Patrick’s Day this year. We’ve already brought you oodles of SXSW-related coverage: Ten Must-See Documentaries (Parts One and Two), Ten Must-See Narrative Films (Parts One and Two), SXSW Explosion, SXSW Reviews: Roadsworth and New World Order, and our Favorite Movies About Music: Non-Fiction Edition (Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six and Seven). And there’s plenty more coverage to come in the week ahead, assuming the local bars have wi-fi.

Meanwhile, here’s some good stuff to catch up on from the week that was:

Screengrab Reviews: Hunger, Tokyo Sonata

The Screengrab Library of Unfilmed Screenplays: Sam Hamm's "Watchmen"

The Duplicitous Charms of Tony Gilroy's "Duplicity"

Unwatchables: Another 9 1/2 Weeks, Leonard Part 6

A Screengrab Plea: Let Herbie Ride Again!

The Letdowns: Lifeforce (1985)

SXSW Review: “New World Order”

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 18:00:00 GMT

Welcome to the New World Order, where 9/11 was an inside job and secretive elitist organizations called the Bilderberg Group, the Trilateral Commission and/or the Council on Foreign Relations are plotting our enslavement. Our only hope is a ragtag band of conspiracy theorists, anarchists and anti-globalists, led by the mad prophet of the Info Wars, Alex Jones.

Jones launched his empire more than a dozen years ago on Austin's public access television, a haven for kooks like the guy who calmly lectured about out-of-control feminism while wearing a toilet seat around his neck. At first Jones seemed right at home, but it soon became clear that cable access couldn't hold him; his charisma was too fierce, too weird, and worse yet, every once in a while he made sense. But between brain and mouth there was no interlocutor, so although he was capable of the occasional trenchant observation about the trampling of Constitutional rights or the erosion of personal freedoms, it wasn't worth trying to sift through his elaborate stream-of-consciousness black helicopter fantasias to find them.

That is, unless you buy into the whole global conspiracy, like the subjects of this compelling new documentary from Luke Myer and Andrew Neel (Darkon). Although Jones is the central figure here, we also meet a number of his counterparts and protégés, including 9/11 "Truthers" Luke Rudowski and Seth Jackson, retired police officer and militia-based separatist Jack McLamb, and Turkish-Irish filmmaker Timucin Leflef. They have little in common besides their fiercely held belief in the New World Order.

Myer and Neel aren't concerned about the reality of these beliefs, and they don't present any counter-arguments or talking head rebuttals. They don't have to. In a way, New World Order is an extension of their previous film Darkon, which was about live-action role-playing gamers. That movie's tagline was "Everybody wants to be a hero," which could just as easily apply to this one. You don't need a Ph.D. to figure out the psychology at work here; we'd all like to think our lives our important, and if you can convince yourself that you're one of the few in the know about what's really going on in the world, one of the few fighting the good fight against forces bent on destroying you...well, then you have a lot in common with Jones, Rudowski, Jackson and the rest.

Paranoid delusions are contagious in New World Order, and Alex Jones is patient zero. Bloated almost beyond recognition from his early cable access days, his face a puffy fright-mask of popeyed outrage, Jones leads his minions to the hotel where the annual Bilderberg Conference is taking place. He sees his enemies behind every tree and around every corner - he's continually evading cars he imagines are pursuing him and at one point announces that a nearby bare-shirted bicyclist is clearly Secret Service. When a fire alarm goes off in the hotel just as he's set to call into a talk radio show, it's simply more confirmation that They're Out to Get Him. That he's living the movie in his mind is evident from the references to The Matrix, Star Wars and even Ghostbusters that pepper his rants.

It's no wonder that youngsters like Rudowski and Jackson fall so easily under his spell; they admit that before 9/11, they gave little to no thought about the larger global picture, so why wouldn't they be susceptible to a Hollywood-ready narrative that explains it all? At least Leflef actually channels his paranoia into creative work by making his own dystopian sci-fi films. The others are activists of the worst kind, the perfect storm of self-righteous certitude and blowhard ignorance. A healthy skepticism of government, institutions and the wealthy elite is a good thing, but without ever overtly passing judgment, Myer and Neel show how easily it can curdle into narcissistic rage.

Related:
SXSW Review: Roadsworth: Crossing the Line

SXSW Review: “Roadsworth: Crossing the Line”

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 17:00:00 GMT

Peter Gibson is a Montreal street artist who goes by the nom de spraypaint Roadsworth (a wry spin on the last name of Andrew Goldsworthy, one of Gibson’s chief influences). Under cover of darkness, Roadsworth takes to the streets armed only with the homemade stencils and spraycans he uses to convert utilitarian paint jobs into pop art images. Thus an ordinary crosswalk becomes a row of birthday candles and a lane divider is transformed into a giant zipper. Some are amused by his work, others not so much.

Maybe this is my personal bias speaking, but I see the two camps breaking down roughly along these lines: 1) those who find his additions to the drab, workaday urban environment to be a cheeky, refreshing change of pace; and 2) uptight, humorless jackasses. This documentary by Alan Kohl presents a somewhat more nuanced view of the situation, even as it tackles that great question “What is art?” from a number of fascinating angles. Some of the uptight, humorless jackasses may actually have a valid point, in that Roadsworth’s embellishments could make it difficult for some people to interpret the original intent of the road markings. Also, since graffiti is a rampant problem in Montreal, who gets to decide that what Roadsworth does is art and what the taggers do is vandalism? Isn’t it all in the eye of the beholder?

When Roadsworth is caught in the act and arrested, the situation gets even more complicated. He is charged with 53 counts of mischief and faces potential fines totaling in the thousands, but then something astounding happens: the city of Montreal commissions him to do exactly what he’s been doing all along: defacing public property. Only now that he has permission, it’s called “public art.”

Not only does this development aid Roadsworth’s legal case – after all, as his lawyer points out, how can it be a crime if the city can pay you to do it? – it starts to change how he feels about his own art. In the second half of the film, Roadsworth travels through Europe, painting the streets and parking lots of France, England and Amsterdam, usually with permission. We wonder along with him whether the meaning of his work changes when it’s authorized – if it loses something when its outlaw, guerilla aspects are stripped away. Maybe it never meant much in the first place – Roadsworth himself muses that his stuff is closer to cartoons than high art – but what more appropriate way to kick off your SXSW than with a movie that contemplates art and its place in our society?

Screengrab's Favorite Movies About Music: Non-Fiction Edition (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 20:00:00 GMT

A few weeks back, I claimed the period from New Year's to Oscar Night was the most wonderful time of the year for movie geeks, what with all the Best-Of Lists and awards season festivities...but for movie AND music geeks (not to mention the small but powerful barbecue geek lobby), there is no better place or time than mid-March in sunny Austin, when the South-By-Southwest Festival unleashes 1,800 bands from around the world on the capital of Texas, along with several zillion filmmakers, wannabes, hucksters, tourists, web designers, Industry sleazeballs and bloggers (including yours truly, my esteemed colleagues Scott Von Doviak, Hayden Childs, Leonard Pierce and, heck, maybe half the Nerve.com staff for all I know...see you at the Yard Dog, guys)!

Thus, in celebration of SXSW’s yearly combo of films & fretboards, your pals here at the Screengrab are launching a two-week tribute to OUR ALL-TIME FAVORITE MOVIES ABOUT MUSIC!

Andrew Osborne’s Favorites:

IMAGINE (1988)

As far as I can remember, the first pop song I ever knew by heart was “Yellow Submarine” -- well, the chorus, anyway, which my brother and me would sing endlessly to the delight (and eventually, I’m sure, to the ear-piercing annoyance of) my parents on numerous long car trips throughout the early ‘70s. So I guess that would make the Beatles my first favorite band...and brilliant, heroic, sarcastic, acerbic, mean, funny, shit-stirring, peace-loving John was always my favorite Beatle (even if he didn’t lend his voice to his cartoon incarnation in the film version of Submarine...a deeply disillusioning trivia fact I’ve been trying to erase from my brain through strategic drinking ever since I learned it). My hipster college roommate cried conspicuously on the fifth anniversary of Lennon’s death (and possibly every year since), whereas I save my tears over the Smart One’s tragically premature and sinfully meaningless demise for periodic viewings of Andrew Solt’s warts-and-all (but ultimately loving) tribute, Imagine (allegedly released in part to counteract the warts-and-nothing-else Lennon biography published by icky toad Albert Goldman the same year). Narrated by Lennon himself, the film chronicles the life and times (and music and feuds and love affairs and political activism) of its subject while evoking the spirit of the 1960s and 1970s far more effectively than a certain reverse-aging button enthusiast I could mention...I only wish Solt's documentary had a better ending.

BIG TIME (1988)

I may have started off loving the Beatles, but after that my tastes wandered from the pop and rock aisles to the musical theater section. Thankfully, my cooler friends were kind enough to broaden my horizons just in time for adolescence with an endless series of mix-tapes, bringing me up to speed on punk, New Wave and, eventually, the one-man genre known as Tom Waits. As it happened, I became a fan smack dab in the midst of Waits' Island years, when he was recording the game-changing trilogy of albums (Swordfishtrombones, Rain Dogs & Frank’s Wild Years) considered by many to be the high-water mark of the singer/songwriter/Conundrummer’s more or less consistently brilliant career...and so I was in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment to catch the Boston stop of the tour captured (or, more specifically, reimagined) in Chris Blum’s barking, bantering concert film Big Time, which depicts Waits both onstage and wandering the periphery as Frank, the mysterious, muttering song character who infamously doused his house in gasoline and torched it, then got on the Hollywood Freeway headed North (and some time later, apparently, wound up working as an usher in a creepy old vaudeville house). Unfortunately, I had to leave that long-ago Boston concert halfway through to get to a stupid play rehearsal (...stupid! ...stupid! ...stupid!), little knowing I wouldn’t get to see Waits in the flesh again for 20+ years (and counting): in the ‘90s, I kept leaving cities just before Waits’ tour arrived in them, and here in the oughts, his infrequent tour stops always seem to be far, far away. So until I finally manage to track the man down again, Big Time will have to do.

STOP MAKING SENSE (1984)

The first time Talking Heads entered my consciousness was on the soundtrack of Risky Business, growling the dirty stomp of “Swamp” over scenes of teen sex in Tom Cruise’s suburban bordello. Shortly thereafter but around the same period, I put a face to the distinctive voice...specifically David Byrne’s weird moony face projected on the side of a house and the dotted white line of a highway in the wicked pissa video for “Burning Down The House” (back when videos were wicked pissa and MTV wasn’t a 24/7 suck-fest). Then, a year later, Jonathan Demme's Stop Making Sense finally gave me a full dose of Talking Heads (thus hooking me on the band for a lot longer than the band stayed hooked on each other). I never got a chance to see David, Tina, Chris & Jerry play live -- not all at the same time, anyway -- but dancing in the aisles with dozens of fellow Head-heads during the classic concert film’s theatrical run was the next best thing...kinda like Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience without the special glasses and shitty music. Indeed, Demme makes his subjects pop off the screen without 3D technology, pyrotechnics or any of the usual rock-doc clichés: all he needed was a lamp, a big suit, a good shot list and one of the best rock bands of all time.

WOODSTOCK (1970)

In the 1971 film The Omega Man, not-quite-last-man-alive Charlton Heston spends his lonely days in a post-apocalyptic Los Angeles watching Michael Wadleigh’s super-size documentary of the mother of all concerts again and again...and, frankly, if I wind up being the sole survivor when the world ends in 2012, I’d be pretty psyched to find Woodstock in the projector of my local movie house. For one thing, it’s 184 minutes long (or roughly one hour for each of the three days of peace and music it chronicles)...and the special director’s cut released in 1994 contains an additional 40 minutes of still yet more peace, music and damn, dirty hippies. But what makes Woodstock perfect for repeat viewings is how much Wadleigh and his editors (including Martin Scorsese and BFF Thelma Schoonmaker) pack into the running time, using split-screen sensory overload to capture every conceivable angle of the epochal event, from the iconic onstage performances by Jimi, Joan, Joe, Country Joe, Richie, Arlo and the surprisingly awesome Sha Na Na (among many, many others) to the brown acid, Porta-Potty maintenance and holy-shit meltdowns of the poor bastards trying to keep the whole event from spiraling into the sort of madness and catastrophe captured by the Maysles Brothers and Charlotte Zwerin in 1970’s other notable concert documentary, Gimme Shelter, the yang to Woodstock’s yin and definitely not the sort of movie likely to cheer you up in an empty theater surrounded by killer mutants.

Click Here For Part Two, Three, Four, Five, Six & Seven

Contributor: Andrew Osborne

SXSW Explosion!

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 19:30:00 GMT

What, more preview? Well, the Film Issue of the Austin Chronicle is now out, and it’s chock full of goodies, whether you’re planning to be here for the fun or you just want to experience it vicariously from your igloo. Highlights include:

- A roundtable discussion with three documentary filmmakers now living in Austin: Bradley Beesley (Sweethearts of the Prison Rodeo), Ben Steinbauer (Winnebago Man) and Alex Karpovsky (Trust Us, This is All Made Up).

- A preview of Tobe Hooper’s long-lost first film. “Eggshells makes explicit what many have long assumed – that Hooper's sense of cinema is the defining characteristic that makes Chainsaw great. Eggshells is a true 1968 film, psychedelic and political; it seems clear that Hooper had watched more than a film or two by Jean-Luc Godard. The film celebrates alternative lifestyles and politics and people and an odd, kinky semimysticism that is grounded more in humor than the supernatural. It captures what Austin looked like in the Sixties as well as the political sensibility shared by so many at the time.”

- An interview with Beeswax director Andrew Bujalski. “I needed a wheelchair-accessible vintage-clothing store. My whole script depended on that ... and they're really hard to come by. Vintage stores are usually very cramped places, and that's part of their charm, but I started to panic a little bit, because I thought I had written something that doesn't exist. ...So I spent a week driving around Austin. I went to every vintage store you could find. And the last place I walked in the door was Storyville on 51st and Duval, and it was eerily right on. It was so much how I had written it, down to there being this sort of back room behind the counter, which is what I had written. And the counters were low, so it also made sense that someone in a wheelchair would be back there. ... So that more than anything seemed like a sign from God that we should be here.”

- A look at the new wave of Australian films well-represented at this year’s festival. Could this be Ozsploitation: The Sequel? “Australia has given us tales of crazy villages in the outback (Welcome to Woop Woop), cross-dressers on the rampage (The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert), and, of course, hard men with big hearts (Crocodile Dundee), but this year at South by Southwest, Australia's Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade wants us to know it's not all about kangaroos and costumes anymore. The filmmakers of seven Down Under films, which range from slashers to piss-your-pants drollery, will attend SXSW 09, the result of a government grant for the Australia International Cultural Council through film body Screen Australia.”

- A visit to the editing room of Tim McCanlies (Secondhand Lions), as he works around the clock to finish The 2 Bobs in time for its SXSW screening. “For two days, McCanlies and Reisch have been going through the film with a fine-tooth comb and a digital equalizer, raising and lowering volumes so that vital bits of plot information come through and less vital bits recede into the background, and cutting frequencies in the tone of certain actors' voices so they don't sound like they're speaking from inside a well. They watch and rewatch shots over and over again until the untrained ear becomes completely numb to the experience.”

SXSW Preview: Ten Must-See Narrative Features (Part Two)

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 17:00:00 GMT

Can there possibly be more SXSW Film Festival preview? Why, yes! We have five more narrative features that may be of interest you.

MODERN LOVE IS AUTOMATIC

This looks like fun – two roommates, one a nurse, the other a mattress salesman. Loraine “is drawn into a secret, seedy world of lonely men, cheap motel rooms, and whips and chains” while Adrian “dreams of becoming a glamorous fashion model.” Director Zach Clark tells eFilmCritic, “I like to make movies about things that are awesome” and promises full frontal nudity in the first ten minutes. The title comes from a Flock of Seagulls song, but let’s not hold that against it.

(Screens March 15th at 7:30 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 19th at 9 pm, March 21st at 7:15 pm, Alamo South)

THE PARANOIDS

Luciano is an aspiring screenwriter in Buenos Ares who is shocked to learn he’s the basis for a character on the hit TV show The Paranoids, produced by his childhood friend Manuel. “When Manuel leaves on a business trip to Chile, his beautiful new girlfriend Sofia (Jazm’n Stuart) decides to stay with Luciano, a turn of events that amounts to a nightmare for her fearful host.”

(Screens March 16th at 2:30 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 19th at 2:15 pm, Alamo South)

PONTYPOOL

Canadian director Bruce McDonald (Highway 61, Hard Core Logo) returns with a blood-soaked zombie tale he insists is not a horror movie. I know, it seems like the day is fast approaching when there will be nothing but zombie movies, but McDonald insists this one is different. It has “elements of screwball comedy…a little French semiotics ... a little political allegory. ... It's a very curious movie.”

(Screens March 14th & 15th at 11:59 pm, Alamo South)

SPLINTERHEADS

Producer Darren Goldberg describes Splinterheads as “a cross between a punk rock romance and a balls-out comedy set in a carnival.” Small town schmoe Justin Frost (Thomas Middleditch) falls for “sexy con artist” Galaxy (Rachael Taylor, hubba hubba), and wackiness ensues. Turkey legs optional.

(Screens March 14th at 7 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 17th at 1:30 pm, Paramount Theater, March 19th, 12 pm, Alamo South)

THE SQUARE

Former stuntman Nash Edgerton’s directorial debut is already available on DVD in its native Australia, but it has its North American premiere at SXSW. It’s a neo-noir about a construction supervisor and his mistress who get in over their heads when they steal from her criminal husband. “In an escalating spiral of blackmail, kickbacks, cover-ups, arson and murder, they find themselves in a nightmare of unforeseen events stemming from their simple plan.”

(Screens March 13th at 7 pm, Alamo South)

Part One

SXSW Preview: Ten Must-See Narrative Features (Part One)

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 19:00:00 GMT

Our 2009 SXSW Film Festival preview continues with a look at the most promising narrative features on the slate. (You can check out my documentary picks here and here.) I’ve left out the big ticket items that are due in theaters soon, like Adventureland and I Love You, Man. They don’t need my help.

BEESWAX

Mumblecore maven Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha) returns with this legal thriller “for anyone who finds 'legal thriller' to be an oxymoron.” Real life twins Tilly and Maggie Hatcher star as identical twins Jeanne, who is paraplegic, and Lauren, who isn’t. The pair find themselves dealing with a vague threat from Jeanne’s partner in a vintage clothing business, Amanda. New SXSW producer Janet Pierson has a supporting role, which is certainly an ingenious tactic by Bujalski.

(Screens March 14th at 2 pm, Paramount Theater)

THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION OF LITTLE DIZZLE

Strange. Odd. Twisted. These are words that crop up frequently in reviews of Little Dizzle, which debuted earlier this year at Sundance. A cleaning crew of misfits, hallucinatory cookies and a strange new toilet-based life form are the ingredients that could only add up to a fun time at the movies. Presumably.

(Screens March 15th at 9:15 pm, March 19th at 4 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 21st at 11 am, Alamo South)

EGGSHELLS

This 1969 “American Freak Illumination Time & Space Fantasy of the exploding Austin inevitable” was the first feature directed by Tobe Hooper and has long been considered a lost film. But it’s lost no more! A print has been found, and Hooper’s hippie poltergeist movie will finally see the light of day. Or the dark of theater, I guess.

(Screens March 17 at 7 pm, Alamo South)

LESBIAN VAMPIRE KILLERS

Once you’ve come up with the title Lesbian Vampire Killers, do you even have to bother writing a script? Won’t the financiers immediately start lining up at your door? Actually, the title is slightly confusing: are the lesbians killing vampires or are the vampires also lesbians who are being killed by someone else? Judging from the trailer it’s the latter, but hey, either way works for me.

(Screens March 16th at 11:59 pm, March 18th at 11:30 pm, Alamo South)

MAKE-OUT WITH VIOLENCE

The Deagol Brothers would have you know that, although it involves an animated corpse, Make-Out with Violence is not a zombie movie. Rather, it’s “a dreamlike coming-of-age tragicomedy.” And a “rock musical wherein the living love the dead and break into silence instead of song.”

(Screens March 14th at 8 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 17th at 9 pm, March 21st at 9:30 pm, Alamo South)

SXSW Preview: Ten Must-See Documentaries (Part Two)

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 19:00:00 GMT

Continuing our weeklong SXSW Film preview, here are five more documentaries for your viewing consideration:

IT CAME FROM KUCHAR

Kuchar is not a Middle Eastern country you’ve never heard of; it’s the surname of twin brothers from the Bronx who have been making no-budget underground films together since the 1950s. The Kuchar filmography is more than 200 titles strong, including I Was a Teenage Rumpot, Pussy on a Hot Tin Roof and Fill Thy Crack with Whiteness. Jennifer Kroot’s documentary “interweaves the brother's lives, their admirers, a history of underground film and a 'greatest hits' of Kuchar clips into a hilarious and touching stream of consciousness tale.”

(Screens March 14th at 5 pm, Alamo South, March 19th at 1:30 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 20th at 11:30 am, Convention Center)

MONSTERS FROM THE ID

Did the sci-fi cinema of the 1950s inspire a generation of scientists? And now that Hollywood no longer glorifies the scientist in quite the same way it did during the Atomic Age, what will inspire the American youth of today to pursue science as a career? “Monsters From The Id weaves the intersecting themes of over 30 films in order to tell the untold story of the Modern Scientist and his role in inspiring a nation.”

(Screens March 13th at 9:45 pm, Alamo South, March 18th at 11:30 am, Convention Center, March 21st at 2 pm, Alamo South)

NEW WORLD ORDER

In the late 90s, I used to fall asleep watching Alex Jones ranting on late night cable access television in Austin, never dreaming that one day he would be hero to Conspiracy Theory Nation. This documentary from Darkon director Luke Meyer focuses on Jones and the conspiracy movement, from anti-globalization to the “9/11 was an inside job” crowd.

(Screens March 13th at 7 pm, Alamo South, March 17th at 11:30 am, Convention Center)

THE WAY WE GET BY

This may not be of interest to everyone, but as someone who grew up near the tiny Bangor International Airport, I’m intrigued by this look at the troop greeters – senior citizens who meet soldiers returning from Iraq at their port of entry on the way home (or their last stop on their way out).

(Screens March 15 at 11:30 am, Convention Center, March 16th at 12 pm, Alamo South, March 19th at 7 pm, Convention Center)

WINNEBAGO MAN

Jack Rebney became a YouTube sensation when the outtakes from his Winnebago sales video hit the internets. Now he’s a recluse, but filmmaker Ben Steinbauer has tracked him down to find out the shocking secret origin of…Winnebago Man.

(Screens March 14th at 7 pm, Alamo South, March 18th at 6 pm, Alamo Ritz, March 20th at 1:30 pm, Paramount Theater)

Part One

SXSW Preview: Ten Must-See Documentaries (Part One)

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 19:00:00 GMT

The 2009 SXSW Film Festival kicks off on Friday, so what do you say we spend the week previewing some can’t-miss attractions? We’ll start with the documentaries – five today and five tomorrow – then move on to the narrative features.

ALONG CAME KINKY…TEXAS JEWBOY FOR GOVERNOR

From singing Jewish cowboy (“Asshole from El Paso,” “Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed”) to mystery writer (A Case of Lone Star, Road Kill) to gubernatorial candidate, Kinky Friedman has done it all. Along Came Kinky chronicles Fridman’s 2006 unsuccessful run for the governorship of Texas.

(Screens March 19th at 7:30 pm, Paramount Theater)

AMERICAN PRINCE

The great lost Martin Scorsese film (note: not so lost) is American Boy, a profile of Steven Prince, who memorably played the gun salesman in Scorsese’s Taxi Driver. Thirty years later, director Tommy Pallotta catches up with Prince, now living in Austin and still graced with the gift of gab.

(Screens March 14th at 7:30 pm, March 17th at 11 am, Alamo South)

BEST WORST MOVIE

I had no idea there was any such thing as a cult of Troll 2 until a few months ago, when the Alamo Drafthouse hosted a Rolling Roadshow screening of the movie in Morgan, Utah. Who would go all the way to Utah to see Troll 2? Find out in Best Worst Movie, the behind the scenes story of what some consider to be the worst movie ever made (but which is actually #41 in our Unwatchable countdown – perfect timing!).

(Screens March 14th at 9:30 pm, Alamo South, March 16th at 4 pm, Paramount Theater, March 20th at 9:30 pm, Convention Center)

DRUNKEN ANGEL: THE LEGEND OF BLAZE FOLEY

SXSW has a long, proud tradition of musical documentaries, particularly ones about eccentric or troubled musicians (The Devil and Daniel Johnston, You’re Gonna Miss Me), and here’s the latest. “Born in a tree house, killed in a friend's living room, 86'ed from his own funeral, Blaze Foley is now a bona fide country music legend.” He’s also the subject of the Lucinda Williams song that gives this documentary its title.

(Screens March 18th at 7 pm, Convention Center)

FOR THE LOVE OF MOVIES: THE STORY OF AMERICAN FILM CRITICISM

How’s this for self-indulgence? A film critic previewing a movie about film critics made by a film critic. Gerald Peary talks to many well-known film critics, including some who are still employed, about their love of movies and the history of film criticism. Participants include Roger Ebert, Elvis Mitchell, Andrew Sarris and, for some reason, Harry Knowles.

(Screens March 16th at 8 pm, March 18th at noon, Alamo Ritz, March 21st at 4 pm, Alamo South)

In Other Blogs: 100% Watchmen-Free Edition

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 16:30:00 GMT

It’s enough already! I blame myself for piling on, but surely we can find some intriguing blog entries out there on subjects other than the movie that rhymes with Blotchmen. For instance, Arbogast on Film is looking back at an apocalyptic fantasy from the olden days. “Maybe the world did come to an end in 1988. I don't want to be glib but I'm hard pressed to think of anything that has surfaced in the interim that really is something to tap dance about. There was an electricity back then, a crackle in the air that's missing now, the void filled by buzz, which isn't the same thing. None of us knew the backstory of MIRACLE MILE (1988) at the time of its release; we didn't know that the property had been kicked around Hollywood for the better part of a decade or that its author, Steve DeJarnatt, had written the script for Warners but had bound himself to the project as a director, which queered the deal. We didn't know DeJarnatt (well, we didn't know DeJarnatt) had bought the script back from the studio for $25,000 and that Hemdale stepped in with an offer to produce for just under $4 million, which got the ball rolling. Nope. All of this happened while we were sleeping, and when we woke up MIRACLE MILE had happened.”

At Hollywood Elsewhere, Jeffrey Wells speculates on rumors that Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life will feature…dinosaurs? “Some 18 years ago I over-wrote a very long piece about Malick, a where-is-he? thing called Malick Aforethought…I remember researching and describing an ambitious film that Malick wanted to film in the wake of the 1978 release of Days of Heaven, called Q. (A title later appropriated by Larry Cohen when he made Q, The Winged Serpent.) And I remember a passage about a dinosaur sleeping and dreaming in a sea of magma -- I remember that much. The story spanned millenia. We all know there's a 20th Century portion in which Pitt (I think) plays Penn's dad in flashbacks. I realize this all sounds a little vague.”

If you’re attending SXSW without a film badge, Slackerwood offers some tips. “Movies shot in Austin or with Austin ties may fill up quickly. Sometimes cast and crew members and their families are invited and a number of seats are reserved. On the other hand, these are the movies that often draw more ticketholders than badgeholders, because the audience is full of locals wanting to see their neighbor or coworker's movie. So if you get there early, you might be okay.”

At The House Next Door, Jeremiah Kipp talks to Daniel Bird about Central European New Wave Cinema. “In Poland I am a cultural outsider. I try to read films in cultural context, but my response is, ultimately, personal. I am English, after all. But I have been living in Warsaw on and off since 2002. Yes, there are culturally specific aspects to many of the films I write about. Sometimes an understanding helps the appreciation of these films, but not always. Zulawski's Diabel makes a lot more sense if you know something about the Warsaw student riots in March 1968. But what attracts me to a particular film is its bizarre quality. I guess you could say such films seem bizarre to a cultural outsider. But then I think the only person in the world who finds Diabel 'normal' is Zulawski himself.”

Finally in List-o-Mania, the AV Club offers 24 graphic novels besides, uh, you-know-what that they’d like to see made into movies. Like all right-thinking people, they’d love to see David Lynch adapt Daniel Clowes’ A Velvet Glove Cast in Iron. “Seeing the two work together on this eerie, unhinged story, which blends elements of Twin Peaks and the Manson family’s worst nightmares, would be a rare treat—or a total disaster. Luckily, Clowes has already anticipated the latter possibility; in the pages of Eightball, where Velvet Glove first appeared, he wrote a hilarious what-if story of its Hollywood adaptation, complete with happy ending, product placement, and cheesy classic-rock soundtrack.”

The Screengrab Highlight Reel: Jan. 31-Feb. 6, 2009

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 22:00:00 GMT

What the fuck is it with you? What don't you fucking understand? You got any fucking idea about, hey, it's fucking distracting having somebody clicking on a link in the middle of the fucking Highlight Reel? Give me a fucking answer! What don't you get about it?

I’m trying to tell you about the fucking Screengrab Predicts the Oscars: Winners (Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six and fucking Seven)! Do you want me to fucking go trash your blog? Then why are you clicking my links? Why are you clicking on posts about Christian Bale Goes Apeshit or Christian Bale Freakout – Remixed! like I’m some kind of fucking trained chimp for your amusement?

Fuck’s sake, man, you’re amateur! I’m trying to fucking figure out a clever way to mention Screengrab Review: Fanboys and The Three Catastrophes of Terry Gilliam and fucking Star Trek Showdown IV: Shatner’s Last Nerve and you’re distracting me! Are you professional? Fuck it, do your own Highlight Reel.

Five 3-D-tastic Films

Coming Soon: 55 Remakes!

A Few Minutes with Neil Gaiman

SXSW Lineup Announced

Five Films for a Super Bowl Hangover

SXSW Lineup Announced

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 19:45:00 GMT

I don’t know if the groundhog saw his shadow or not, but either way it’s six weeks until the happiest time of the year, SXSW. The full film festival lineup has been announced, and highlights include:

American Prince – Remember Martin Scorsese’s documentary American Boy? No? Well, surely you remember the guy who sells Travis Bickle his guns in Taxi Driver. That’s Steven Prince, who director Tommy Pallotta catches up with in this new documentary. (I must admit, this is a brilliant way to ensure Martin Scorsese watches your movie. I’d follow up on his other documentary subjects, Charles and Catherine Scorsese, but sadly they’re no longer with us.)

Best Worst Movie – “When an Italian filmmaker, an Alabama dentist and fledgling Utah actors filmed the low-budget horror movie, Troll 2, they'd no idea that twenty years later they would be celebrated for making the worst movie ever made.” Troll 2 is coming soon to Unwatchable, so I’ll be the judge of that.

Beeswax – Last year’s Baghead was the first mumblecore horror movie, and this appears to be the first mumblecore legal thriller. Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha) writes and directs.

Winnebago Man – A movie about this guy:

For the Love of Movies: The Story of American Film Criticism – A documentary about film critics? Brilliant! I predict this will get no bad reviews.

Check out the full roster here.

Morning Deal Report: J-Lo’s Clock is Ticking

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 15:15:00 GMT

Are we still calling Jennifer Lopez “J-Lo”? It seems like that sort of nickname should be reserved for someone who’s still famous. Maybe Plan B will get Lopez back on the A-list. Per Variety, the “story centers on a single woman (Lopez) who turns to artificial insemination to answer her ticking biological clock only to meet the man of her dreams on the same day as her positive pregnancy test results.” Oh no! I’ll bet you a shiny nickel the dream man turns out to be the semen donor.

SXSW has announced its opening night film. “The South by Southwest (SXSW) Film Conference and Festival announced today that the DreamWorks Pictures film I Love You, Man will be the 2009 Opening Night film. The De Line Pictures comedy, co-written and directed by John Hamburg (Along Came Polly, co-writer of Meet The Parents, Meet The Fockers, and Zoolander) stars Paul Rudd, Jason Segel and Rashida Jones. The film centers on a man who, upon getting engaged, realizes he has no close male friends and must find someone to be the Best Man at his wedding. The South by Southwest Film Conference and Festival runs March 13 – 21, 2009 in Austin, Texas.”

Two quick sequel notes (or possibly new elements on the periodic table, I'm not sure): Rob Zombie has signed for H2, the sequel to his own remake of Halloween. Presumably this will not actually be a remake of Halloween II, although it “picks up right as the first remake ended, following the aftermath of Michael Myers' murderous rampage through the eyes of the sister he hunted.” Olivia Wilde has signed on for TR2N. If you don’t know what that is…well, it’s the sequel to Tron. “Jeff Bridges will return in the role he played in the 1982 original, about a hacker who is abducted into the world of a computer and forced to participate in a series of gladiatorial games.” The Dude abides.

Related:
Take Five: Halloween
Unwatchable #71: "Gigli"

The Screengrab Holiday Special: Movies We're Thankful For (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 15:15:00 GMT

I grew up right next door to Thanksgiving Town, USA: Plymouth, Massachusetts, former home of the Pilgrims and Wampanoag Indians and future home of Plymouth Rock Studios and a nice big casino.

My next door neighbors used to work at Plimoth Plantation, where docent actors dress up in 17th century drag and mosey up and down the streets of a life-size replica Pilgrim settlement, discussing crops and Calvinism, while modern Native Americans in traditional buckskin attire give their side of the story in a nearby encampment.

So I like to think I know a thing or two about Thanksgiving. And let me tell you: it’s not all about the yams.

In fact, before the Macy’s Day Parade and the advent of that delicious Brundlefly monstrosity known as Turducken, the fourth Thursday of November was all about chowing down eel and corn and celebrating a bountiful harvest. In fact, as I learned on a recent visit to Plimoth Plantation, the name for the annual kick-off to the Christmas shopping season is actually a compound word that literally means “giving thanks”!

And so, as we here at the Screengrab prepare our traditional Turkey Day feast of pretzel sticks, jelly beans, two slices of toast and a handful of popcorn, we’d like to just take a few moments to express our gratitude for the people, places and movies that made us the full-on film geeks we are today.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM THE SCREENGRAB!

ANDREW OSBORNE IS THANKFUL FOR:

WHAT’S UP, DOC? (1950 & 1972)

Forget Mickey Mouse: Bugs Bunny was there from the start, teaching me the importance of carrots, proper directions to Albuquerque and a wised-up appreciation of life (for all its feathered frenemies, megalomaniacal Martians and gun-toting Fudds). So I was a bit disappointed when I realized What’s Up, Doc? (the first movie I can remember seeing in a theater) wasn’t a cartoon...but Peter Bogdanovich’s madcap screwball homage soon won me over with its igneous rocks and silly accents and, especially, that endless, blissful car chase through the streets, alleys and staircases of San Francisco (and, eventually, San Francisco Bay). All that (plus a gratifying act three cameo by Mr. Bunny himself!) made this goofy-smart romantic comedy my first favorite movie, and it only got better with time as I grew up and came to appreciate the chemistry of Ryan O’Neal and Barbara Streisand (both at their cinematic finest) and the comedic brilliance of the irreplaceable Madeline Kahn, Austin Pendleton and Kenneth Mars. But the real reason this movie’s on the list is so I can say thank you to my film geek parents for always bringing me to whatever movie they went to go see on a Saturday night (even when it scared the bejesus out of me), thus instilling a life-long love of pop culture that’s guided my cinematic view of the world ever since. (Thanks, Mom & Dad!)

STAR WARS (1977)

I’ve already written an embarrassing number of posts about the life-changing religious experience of seeing this movie as an excitable, impressionable ten year old nerd, but looking back on it now, I can only say...George Lucas, all is forgiven. (And besides, what’s Thanksgiving without the Star Wars Holiday Special?)

THE BIG CHILL (1983)

Given the embarrassing Baby Boomer reverence for Lawrence Kasdan’s self-congratulatory, navel-gazing Love Generation touchstone of growing up and selling out (not to mention the way the film pretty much ruined all the songs on its mega-hit Motown soundtrack by making them go-to clichés for every subsequent entry in the “Diane Keaton dancing around a living room” genre), this one almost wound up on last week’s Guilty Pleasures list. But despite all the people who deride the film as just a shallow rip-off of John Sayles’ Return of the Secaucus Seven, I have no guilt and nothing but love for The Big Chill. I first saw it after a particularly painful orthodontist’s appointment in my junior year of high school, and though I may not have been the intended target audience, I took the movie instantly to heart, partly for its evocation of the sixties (an era I romanticized desperately in the Just Say No Reagan eighties), but mostly for its celebration of the enduring power of friendship.

JOHN WATERS & DIVINE

Then, after high school, I stopped Saying No and dove headfirst into the psychedelic wonderland of college, that freaky, institutionalized Rumspringa when America’s sons and daughters move away from home and go batshit crazy for a year or three. After spending the first eighteen years of my life as an upright goody two-shoes, I was itching to break bad and take a walk on the trashy side...and when it comes to desperate living, I quickly discovered there was no better tour guide than John Waters and his large and lovely muse, Divine. From Mondo Trasho to Hairspray, Baltimore’s favorite son and fake daughter warped my young adult mind with their glorious bad taste, healthy disrespect for convention and pre-punk aesthetic, while also serving as self-made role models of DIY ingenuity for those determined to live a life less ordinary.

DAZED AND CONFUSED (1993)

In 1993, my then-girlfriend and I attended an L.A. cast and crew screening of Dazed and Confused (with, if memory serves, my future Screengrab colleague Scott Von Doviak). We didn’t know any of the soon-to-be-famous actors in the stellar ensemble cast (including Matthew McConaughey, Adam Goldberg, Parker Posey and Ben Affleck) when the lights went down, but when the lights came up, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by characters we’d only just met but felt like we’d known forever: hey, look! It’s O’Bannion and Darla! And over there! It’s Wooderson! (All right, all right, all right!) A few months later, I got dumped by the aforementioned girlfriend, but numerous subsequent screenings of Dazed and Confused helped to ease the pain, and today I remember Richard Linklater’s last day of school and first night of summer vacation at least as fondly as my actual high school experience.

PULP FICTION (1994)

Some movies you see and forget just as soon as the lights come up. Pulp Fiction was not one of those movies. In 1994, I spent every last dime I had (and a lot of dimes that I didn’t have) attempting to surf the Spike, Mike, Slackers & Dykes indie renaissance with my own no-budget 16mm production, Apocalypse Bop (starring the indomitable Mr. Von Doviak), which I’d spent the summer directing back in my home town near Thanksgiving Town, USA. At the time, I was living in Los Angeles, and so when the movie wrapped, I decided to road trip back to the West Coast with a couple of friends from the Bop shoot. Stopping for breakfast in Austin, Texas, one of those friends met a girl and couldn’t stop thinking about her, so when we finally reached California, he called her up and asked if she wanted to go see Pulp Fiction with him on opening night. She said yes, and so he turned around and flew right back to Austin. Meanwhile, my return to L.A. woke me up from my filmmaking fandango to the cold, hard reality that I was unemployed, with no prospects and no money to pay my rent. I had exactly twenty dollars to my name. And I’m happy to say I spent that twenty dollars on popcorn and a ticket to go see the opening night of Pulp Fiction with my pals in the San Fernando Valley, while my other friend was watching the same movie on the same night on his cross-country date in The Lone Star State. He wound up staying in Austin for the next several years, and days after watching Jules and Vincent Vega strut across the screen to the strains of “Misirlou,” my own bacon got snatched from the brink of disaster by an out-of-the-blue offer to go work on a war movie in the Philippines. And so I’m eternally grateful to have once been young and foolish enough to have those kinds of adventures, living in extremis at exactly the right time and with exactly the right people the night Quentin Tarantino got medieval on our ass.

SXSW, THE PROVINCETOWN FILM FESTIVAL & THE MEAT CITY BEATNIKS (2009)

And speaking of Austin, the city of Slacker has been, at different times, my literal and spiritual home away from home for years now, and never is it more glamorous (or crowded) than the middle of March, when the capitol of Texas plays host to the South-By-Southwest music and film festival, a fantastic collision of pop culture, booze and barbecue that makes Thanksgiving look like Arbor Day. Every spring, it renews my faith in the vaunted “indie film” spirit (even though I’m old enough to know better), and then every summer, I take another, mellower sip of the indie Kool-Aid (not to mention the world’s best Bloody Marys) at the Provincetown Film Festival, with John Waters presiding as patron saint in the same way Richard Linklater is the Mayor of South-By...and with all that friggin’ indie spirit washing over me, it was only a matter of time before I succumbed once again to its siren song, so I’ll just wrap up this list with thanks to my collaborators on The Meat City Beatniks, an indie film musical (co-written by me, Scott Von Doviak, Eric Jacobson and Jim Dryden) and starring Elliot Dort, Ben Gallant, Sheree Bass, Matthew Woodward, Rob McKim, Ms. Amar, Joe Gallo, Michael Sesling, Kellianne MacFarlane, Bill Christensen and Amy Jeglinski-Osborne...a production which (thankfully) I mostly managed to wrap in 2008 and which will (hopefully) premiere in 2009...so stay tuned! (And have a Happy Thanksgiving!)

Click Here For More Thanks From Scott Von Doviak, Phil Nugent, Paul Clark, Leonard Pierce & Sarah Clyne Sundberg

Contributor: Andrew Osborne

Watch It For Free: Crawford

Scott Von Doviak — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 16:00:00 GMT

Oliver Stone’s W. is due in theaters a week from Friday, and those of you who want to do a little homework ahead of time have a golden opportunity today. The documentary Crawford, which I reviewed during SXSW this year (and Andrew Osborne also chimed in on) is streaming for free online for your cubicle-viewing pleasure. It’s the story of George W. Bush’s hometown – but not really of course, because he just moved there before the 2000 election to secure his Texas good ol’ boy image. For everyone crossing days off the calendar until the end of the Bush era, it’s a must-see. Hit the jump for the linkage.

Hulu has your free Crawford today.

Screengrab Review: Choke

Andrew Osborne — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 18:00:00 GMT

While attending Austin's South-By-Southwest Film Festival in March of this year, I caught a screening of the big-studio adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk’s novel Choke, which I’m told is daring and provocative and, apparently, beloved by hipsters. The theater was filled with big studio Men in Black armed with night vision goggles and whatnot to prevent any pirating of their upcoming release...odd, considering the much more likeable and successful Knocked Up got screened at the 2007 festival without nearly so much off-putting, paranoid nonsense.

Anyway, Choke tells the story of sex addict Sam Rockwell and his sex addict friends (including Joel Grey?!!?!?) and their struggles with sex addiction, which is apparently a terrible problem in Los Angeles and, uh, probably other places (like the story's New Jersey setting, Palahniuk's Washington State stomping grounds and wherever David Duchovny happens to be at any given moment)...although, to be fair, I’m guessing the condition is more of a problem for sex addicts who don’t get to screw around with gorgeous starlets like Kelly Macdonald and Bijou Phillips.

Rockwell’s character also likes to pretend he’s choking in restaurants, because the attention it brings him makes up for the love he was denied by his wacky, now Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother (played by recent bad-mom specialist Anjelica Huston).

Ho-hum. Not a bad movie exactly: there’s some funny bits involving a colonial theme park, a sit-up-and-take notice performance by Gillian Jacobs as a stripper named Cherry Daquiri (not her real name) and, of course, plenty of sex and nudity...but it all just winds up playing like the pilot for some new Showtime series I'm never gonna watch. Sam Rockwell is once again likeable yet not quite likeable (or relatable) enough to really care about, and I left the theater wondering how many better (or at least more interesting) movies, say, the Baghead mumblecore crowd, the documentarians behind Man On Wire or Young@Heart or any number of unheralded SXSW and other below-the-radar indie filmmakers could have made with the millions they spent making (and marketing the shit out of) this utterly disposable "edgy" studio offering.

Related Stories - Trailer Review: Choke, Sundance: The Final Roundup, Greta Gerwig and the SXSW Invasion

Independent Film Festival of Boston: The Zellner Brothers & Goliath

Andrew Osborne — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 16:30:00 GMT

Goliath, a quasi-mumblecore tragi-comedy by the Zellner Brothers of Austin, TX plays this weekend at the Independent Film Festival of Boston. The indie feature, about a man who loses both his wife and his beloved cat in the same harrowing year, was first reviewed here at The Screengrab by Scott Von Doviak during the 2008 South-by-Southwest Film Festival.

David Zellner and his brother, Nathan, have been crafting distinctive independent cinema since 1996, but I first became aware of them at a terrible film festival called 30th Parallel that leeched onto the back of the 1997 SXSW fest, analogous to the Slamdance/Sundance arrangement, but much shoddier (and short-lived, since 30th Parallel barely made it through its first and only installment).

I know about the 30th Parallel Fest, because it featured the Texas premiere of my own indie film, Apocalypse Bop. The whole misbegotten affair kicked off with a back room hotel reception marked by a sad tray of vegetables and the absence of any members of the 30th Parallel staff to greet us. This led to some awkward bonding among the invited filmmakers as we all stood around, confused, waiting for some information about what we were supposed to do. Then, eventually, we all left.

Because just about every movie theater, auditorium and/or other screening venue in Austin was booked for SXSW, 30th Parallel mostly screened its selections in the back rooms of bars, which wasn’t a terrible idea in theory. Unfortunately, the Zellner Brothers had the misfortune of premiering their surrealist mime masterpiece Plastic Utopia on “Melrose Monday” at some 6th Street dive, meaning that many of the 30th Parallel films screened that evening were drowned out by blaring Melrose Place-themed trivia questions from the front of the bar.

Additionally, the 30th Parallel projectors were seeming World War II-era relics that kept jamming and breaking down every few minutes...and, even when they worked, they often caused the projected films to stutter, blur and, occasionally, melt.

And yet, it is to the Zellner Brothers’ credit that, despite all the hellacious distractions, I not only sat through the entire, tortured screening of Plastic Utopia, but came away considering it one of the most brilliantly deranged independent films I’ve ever seen, a surrealistic cult classic that, sadly, has never inspired nearly the cult it deserves.

Yet, while not cult figures on the level of, say, John Waters, Kevin Smith or Jim Jones, the Zellners have slowly built a small, devoted following, in Austin and elsewhere, despite their tiny budgets and occasional peculiar experiments like 2001’s Frontier, a faux foreign film in a fake foreign language (Bulbovian) starring an older, puffier Wiley Wiggins (of Dazed and Confused fame).

Recently, the Zellners have devoted themselves to dry, absurdist short subjects which highlight the pair’s strengths: unexpected, offbeat writing and visuals combined with their own very likeable recurring screen personas: David, the excitable, put-upon cynic and Nathan, the mellower zen weirdo.

The shorts (available for viewing at ZellnerBros.com) opened the door to the influential Sundance Film Festival, which recently premiered their latest feature film, Goliath, once again starring David and Nathan, with cameos by Wiggins and mumblecore poster boy Andrew Bujalski.

The film, in terms of tone and subject matter, plays like the bastard child of Little Children and Year of the Dog. Goliath, the titular tiger-striped tabby owned by David Zellner’s protagonist, goes missing and his recently divorced owner goes more than a little insane, eventually scapegoating a neighborhood sex offender (played by Nathan) as the source of his troubles.

The film plays out in a deadpan naturalistic style that left me yearning for a little more of Plastic Utopia’s antic narrative drive and visual invention, yet nevertheless hooked me with its own peculiar rhythms, dry wit, occasional slapstick, Asian porno drumming (yeah, you heard me) and its sometimes harrowing depiction of the hazards of love and pet ownership...without giving too much away, I’ll just note here that if you’re a tender-hearted pet lover, this may not be the movie for you.