Catfish

I was originally going to write about This Film is Not Yet Rated, which is a documentary that consists of repeated jabs and uppercuts to the Motion Picture Association of America, the cloaked-in-secrecy board which controls the distribution of films in the United States through its omnipresent system of rating films for content.

I liked it because, in a lot of ways it was obliquely related to the topic we covered last week (why certain films rather than others enjoy more popular access) and its themes were eerily similar to those very well imparted by Dirty in This Filthy World and F@%k.

Basically, it was a compelling take on how the vocal minority of douchenozzle letter-writers and affluent, white, conservative, God-fearing housewives anonymously and effectively censor directors, with a little Magnum P.I. thrown in for good measure. It ends up being something akin to Religulous, without the comedy, and left me pissed off, but not pissed off enough render me incapable of making meatloaf that night. At the end of the day, is it really that important to the everyman and our nation’s youth that Kevin Smith got an R-rating for Jersey Girl instead of a PG-13? I think fucking not.

Instead, I got involved with Catfish, which was a far more enjoyable view and played nicely off The Social Network, which I watched the night before.

Catfish is a documentary in which filmmakers Rel Schulman and Henry Joost follow Rel’s brother, dance photographer Nev, into a blossoming technology-dependent relationship that unfolds primarily over Facebook. The progression of their journey is simply absorbing. The most intriguing portion of the film captures the transformation from virtual to reality and how blurred the line between the two has become for the vast majority of us.

There were only a couple of aspects of the movie that didn’t sit particularly well. As both the characters of the movie and the ones who are making it, it was weird that, even though I thoroughly liked the movie, there something very slightly and distractingly dislikable about the three. I couldn’t shake the feeling that to get to know them more personally would be to enter into a world of colored cocktails, pretentious art critique, and hipster grab-assing.

Also, although the trailer is what hooked me in the first place, it is completely misleading. I’m sure that desire to drum up interest is one of the major reasons why they presented it as a thriller (which it is most certainly not, in the traditional sense anyway). They weren’t aboveboard (unnecessarily so) and there is something off-putting about that. Of course, this marketing decision is their prerogative and I guess they get the last laugh because it worked on a sucker like me.*

Minor gripes aside, the story is cleverly portrayed and exceedingly relevant and relatable. The suspenseful plot twist that slowly takes hold mid-stream is as good as advertised, although one does get the sense that Nev, Rel, and Henry knew it was coming far in advance rather than in real time.

There is much meta-commentary that analyzes the innumerable complexities created by the juxtaposition of our technology and culture. For me, the film forces a step back to examine the jarring implications of this for interpersonal relationship.

The Internet is now the dominant outlet for our energies and has become a new medium for experiencing our lives. This is an obvious statement, but in surrounding ourselves with constant connectivity we are generally unaware of the extent to which this is true. To see the full consequences play out as an observer is certainly illuminating.

Catfish is well worth your while and is just plain delightful. Go.

*You see what I did there? Making a criticism and immediately backtracking, is one of my strengths as a person.

p.s. Green and yellow, bitches. (Lil’ Wayne, who knew?)

This Filthy World and F@%k - A Documentary

I give you a documentary week two-fer. One filmed night of the delightfully self-indulgent John Waters lecture series This Filthy World and the achingly political F@%k: A Documentary. At their heart, these are both pieces about limits, taboos, self-expression, and independence. Both tackle subjects which shock and inspire.

Waters took to stages nationwide, discussing his youthful delinquency, homosexuality, landmark films, and the little nuggets of autobiography which help chart his unique talents and joys. Even for those yet to sample the work of this self-proclaimed "Filth Elder", the delight he takes in his ability to shock is endearing. Whether discussing his favorite heroine, Divine, or the glee with which he took to the absurdity of Waters' obsession with cult cinema (or crapping in a box for shooting the next day), Waters' emotional response to all who made him feel comfortable with himself and his work moves and grounds the piece. Reknowned for popularizing "bad-taste cinema", the almost stand-up style suits his brand of stories, story-telling, and the hysterical underpinnings of each.

On the other end of the spectrum is the slightly aging, F@%k. A traditional, political documentary, F%$k pits hyper-conservative "pro-censorship" figureheads against the supposedly avant-garde "free speech is inherently uncensorable" liberals (Hunter S. Thompson appears, so does Ron Jeremy).
I say traditional documentary because it delves into the history, syntax, and social ramifications of the most infamous word. Fortunately, the range and views of the cast keeps the train rolling. There is some porn, there is creative editing, there is a cartoon by Bill Plympton, and there is an obvious agenda - to shock or illuminate. Again, traditional documentary. It is a bit dated, but for an interesting view of an increasingly popular word, it holds its own.

Two Go's for the price of one review.

Exit Through The Gift Shop

I wake up. I stand somewhere near the cabinets and grab at cereal and tea. I settle into my chair for the day and punch a clock. While most of us are suited for the daily grind, some are woefully ill-equipped and flounder. Others skip the grind altogether and create an alternate landscape in the streets, mining the contours of their imagination as they map out an entirely different route. Thanks to the internet and 21st century networking, their gallery literally becomes a global stage. Far be it for me to imagine what a street artist virtuoso feels, but I felt like for 90 minutes I had an honest look. Banksy, as a character and filmmaker, is mesmerizing. I found myself drifting between different thoughts:

The celebrity endorsed, cool branded power of the cosmopolitan art world. The price tags on modern street art have both everything and nothing to do with the social value of that work, everything that becomes important does so without qualification…it just happens. This movie deconstructs the artist and then just leaves him there in pieces.

Without a doubt, watch the bonus features. I would recommend the 14-minute LIFE REMOTE CONTROL (Lawyer’s Edit).

Banksy directed this Simpsons opening. Fox agreed that if they chose to run it, they could not edit one frame. This makes me like both Banksy and The Simpsons so much more.

Just remember as you watch the first 40 minutes of this movie that Banksy created this documentary. Banksy had final edit. Thierry shot all the street footage. Let that soak as Mr. Brainwash makes his first appearance. The characters change places and yet we never see a metamorphosis. It’s a tremendous, unfolding plot. I loved every turn.

Banksy and Thierry’s trip to Disneyland is CRAZY. Although, I was disappointed that the waterboard didn’t make an appearance.

I love quick, throwaway celebrity cameos. No lines, no real purpose, yet attached to the credits. Watch for Beck in the first five minutes. He’s trying on clothes in the vintage store. Then there is Pitt/Jolie and Jude Law posting up at Banksy’s London show. Christina pops in. It’s like quotational wallpaper.

Jay Leno makes stupid faces for a living. I like seeing him participating in a human moment with a (seemingly) crazy man who accosts him with a video camera outside a restaurant. When pressed, he smiles like a clown, then exits stage left. Just seemed fitting I suppose.

Be sure to read up on Shepard Fairey before you watch this. I think his poster got some play in 2008. Street Art as Commodity. Street Art as Expression. The scene with Wendy Asher is subtle, but I feel central to the film. She is a collector of notable art, some falling into the street art variety. Her musings on her collection shaded the “street art consumer” as a hollow, hoarding sort that used the creativity of others to fuel their own image. Money vs. Art. Hype vs. Art. Cluttering your hallway with blitzkrieg of famous outsiders. That really flipped the switch for Thierry’s final act. Fascinating journey from start to finish.

Come February 27th, Exit Through the Gift Shop

should get some hardware at the Oscars for Best Documentary.

:::Murmurs through the crowd:::

"Banksy is SO hot right now."

Go