When I first saw the trailer for Joyful Noise, I did a double take.

“Did I just watch the trailer for a movie starring Queen Latifah and Dolly Parton?” I posted on Facebook, demanding that someone corroborate what I witnessed on my TV while watching (probably) The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I did a quick Google search and discovered that my eyes had not, in fact, deceived me — this movie existed and would be opening soon in a theater near me. I immediately decided that I had to see it. I adore Dolly Parton (though it really bums me out that she’s had so much work done that she looks a lot like Madame these days) and putting her in a film with Latifah could make for a wildly good time.

Written and directed by Todd Graff (Camp), Joyful Noise tells the story of a small-town Georgia church choir that, after the untimely death of its director, Bernard (Kris Kristofferson), is taken over by its assistant director, Vi Rose Hill (Latifah), despite the fact that Bernard’s widow, G.G. (Parton) is a member of the choir and one of the church’s biggest benefactors. Vi Rose prefers a traditional approach to gospel, and she is quickly at odds with the rest of the choir members, including G.G. and Vi’s teenage daughter, Olivia (Keke Palmer), who want the choir’s sound to evolve into something more contemporary. Enter G.G.’s troubled teen grandson, Randy (Jeremy Jordan), who is a talented pianist and singer and who agrees with his grandmother that the choir needs a more modern sound. Randy also has the hots for Olivia, much to the chagrin of Vi Rose, who doesn’t want her daughter dating anyone, especially the grandson of her nemesis.

Eventually, Vi Rose agrees to let the choir do more modern, pop-inspired songs, in hopes that they will help the choir win a coveted first-place finish at the annual Joyful Noise choir competition. However, the church’s pastor (Courtney B. Vance) does not approve of the choir’s new direction and tells them if they don’t revert to their more traditional sound, the church will withdraw its sponsorship of them, leaving them unable to compete at Joyful Noise. This riles up G.G. and Vi Rose, who, despite their differences, decide to work together to make the choir’s dream come true.

Is this movie heavy-handed, with dialogue that, most of the time, sounds like a mash-up of every T.G.I.F. sitcom of the ’90s? Yes. Is its humor broad, predictable and stereotypical? Yes. Does it misuse the great Jesse L. Martin, who plays Vi’s estranged husband, by not allowing him to sing or dance even once? Yes. Do I think you should see it anyway? Yes, but only if you go into it knowing that all of these things are true. You must go into this film with the desire to see Latifah and Parton (side note: if I were a drag queen, I would choose Latifah Parton as my drag name) try to out-sass each other. You must not expect cinematic genius in any form — just have fun.

Here are some random notes I jotted down while watching the film, which should help give you an idea of why it is so ridiculous, you should watch it:

• Dolly Parton’s choir robe is tailored to look like an evening gown. Of course it is.
• There are few things more wonderful in this world than watching Dolly Parton sing a Michael Jackson song.
• Akeelah can sing! (Of course I’m referring to Keke Palmer, who also starred in Akeelah and the Bee.)
• This movie is Sister Act meets Bring It On. Only, you know, without nuns and cheerleaders.
• The extras casting director deserves all the awards. The people in the audiences of the choir competitions are my favorite.
• Rick Astley! (Not really — when you see the movie, you’ll know who I’m referring to.)
• Vi’s son is the best — he likes Kajagoogoo and the Left Banke.
•  LET JESSE L. MARTIN SING! Just a few bars of “La Vie Boheme” or “Santa Fe,” PLEASE? (Seriously, him not singing really disappointed me.)

Also, you should see this  movie at a theater full of as many people as possible. Seriously, you guys: the audience you see this with will make or break your Joyful Noise experience. My audience was clapping, cheering and yelling at things like “mmmhmm” and “girl, please!” at the screen throughout the film. They laughed at the dumbest, most unfunny shit and, while I rolled my eyes throughout most of the movie, I liked that they were having such a good time. They were there to see it for an entirely different reason than I, the cynical, snobby pop culture writer, was — they were there to have fun at the movies. And by the end of the film, so was I.

Joyful Noise opens nationwide today.

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As Bechard described when Jeff Giles and I interviewed him on the most recent Popdose Podcast, The Replacements thumbed their noses at convention at every turn of their career, so why not make a documentary that reflects that? And given how the surviving members of the band haven’t been too willing to bring up the past, it doesn’t make sense to try to drag it out of them. Besides, anybody interested in seeing this is probably familiar enough with The ‘Mats so that, when they talk about, say, “I Will Dare,” those opening chords will start ringing in your head without having to hear it on the soundtrack.

Instead, Bechard (and Hansi Oppenheimer, from whom he inherited the production) assembled over 100 people to talk about The Replacements. These range from established critics to ordinary fans, with plenty of musicians and celebrities thrown in (see the trailer below for but a few of the people you may recognize).

The movie begins with the ‘Mats as one of many post-punk bands in the rising Minneapolis scene of the early-80s. They get their demo into the hands of local music guru Peter Jesperson (who was also not interviewed for the film), who promptly signs them to his Twin/Tone Records label and manages them for most of their career. After three brilliant albums and an EP on Twin/Tone, they sign with Sire Records after 1984’s Let It Be.

The beauty of The Replacements was that, on any given night, they were either the best or the worst band in the world. The first half of Color Me Obsessed leans towards the latter, with plenty of hilarious tales of onstage drunkenness centering mostly on the antics of guitarist Bob Stinson, whose penchant for wearing tutus and/or standing in garbage cans became the stuff of legend. Bechard even tracked down the guy who caused Stinson to famously miss the first three songs of a gig in Trenton, NJ in 1985 because Bob refused to end their pinball game.

But their famously sloppy concerts only tell one side of the band’s story, and just as you think you’re not getting the other, the movie switches to the appeal of frontman Paul Westerberg’s gorgeously painful songs. Writer Robert Voedisch talks about how their music comforted him while growing up alone on a farm to the point where he imagined that bassist Tommy Stinson was his older brother. It was aternately hysterical and heartbreaking. In other words, the entire Replacements catalog in a nutshell.

Bechard’s masterstroke was in using Voedisch intermittently in the first half so that we could already develop a relationship with him by the time he opened up. Without the earlier segments, Voedsich could have been dismissed as a nutjob. Instead, we became invested in his story. As he talked, I thought about my own obsession with The Replacements when I was in my early-to-mid-20s and knew exactly how he felt. I wanted to jump out of my seat, run up to the screen, and give Voedisch a hug.

But the rise of Westerberg as his decade’s greatest chronicler of angst coincided with the demise of the band. Bob Stinson was fired after their major label debut, 1985’s Tim, due to his substance abuse problems. The decision effectively ended the band, even though they carried on for three more albums and 1987’s Pleased To Meet Me is considered one of their best. Not even a minor hit with “I’ll Be You” in 1989 could keep the band from imploding two years later.

Each new album is chaptered with on-screen text listing the songs, how many copies it sold (both on original release and the 2008 reissues) and in comparison with the biggest-selling album of that year, and the grade Robert Christgau gave it in the Village Voice. Christgau was interviewed heavily for the film and, in his typical manner, he provides the phrase that best describes the magic of The Replacements, “controlled chaos.”

The film works without their input because Bechard’s love for the group is so apparent that I never felt like I needed to hear their side of the story.  And by not using their music, the movie, as Jeff pointed out in our interview, is as much about fandom as about The Replacements. So even if you’ve never bought into the cult of the ‘Mats but you have a group that you’ve cranked up to ear-splitting levels in a dark room to help you deal with your pain, you’ll see elements of yourself in here.

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Limitless

As the film begins, we meet Eddie Mora (Cooper), a well groomed New Yorker standing perilously along the edge of his penthouse balcony. Outside the reinforced steel doors of his apartment, bad men are trying to break in. It’s a dire situation and Eddie isn’t going to let them get him. He tells us in voiceover that he’s going to determine how he leaves this world and leaping from the skyscraper where he lives is likely a better way to go than what the thugs in the hallway are going to do. As he stares down at human ants and the Matchbox cars driving around, Eddie inches toward oblivion. How did it get to this point? What went wrong for Eddie? In a frank, matter of fact manner, Eddie begins to tell us.

Flashback to a long haired, scruffier Eddie, slouched over and barely making ends meet. Eddie is a writer, living off a book advance and the goodwill of his gorgeous, understanding girlfriend, Lindy (Abbie Cornish). He’s yet to produce a single page of the novel he owes, spending more time socializing and talking about the book rather than actually writing it. His editor is frustrated and Lindy’s had enough. She breaks up with Eddie and does her best not to call him a loser. Time is running out and if Eddie doesn’t produce something soon, he’s liable to wind up homeless.

In a city of millions, Eddie has a chance encounter with his ex-brother-in-law, Vernon (Johnny Whitworth), a former drug dealer now peddling for a pharmaceutical company. Vernon is testing NZT, a new drug supposedly FDA approved that taps into the human brain and allows the user to access the full potential of their mind. When you take NZT, you see the world more clearly and you’re more focused. Like any good pusher, legal or otherwise, Vernon offers a free sample to Eddie.

Skeptical, Eddie returns to the dump he calls home. Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Clothes and trash scattered around the apartment. Out of desperation, Eddie swallows the clear tablet of NZT and his world changes. Suddenly he recalls nuggets of memory he’d long forgotten, little pieces of information that help him out of a jam with his landlord’s wife and into her bed. The world has changed for Eddie, he feels more confident and motivated and the first thing he does his write most of his overdue novel in a matter of hours. His writing isn’t some drug induced stream of consciousness blather; it’s a smart, bold statement that stuns his editor. Eddie quickly realizes that he needs more NZT.

Here, director Burger begins employing a series of visual elements that place us inside Eddie’s brain. As he works around the clock to clean his apartment and write his book, on screen we see five and six Eddie’s, simultaneously working. Letters literally rain down on him, as the words flow from his mind on to the computer. As Eddie attacks Wall Street and begins to make millions, insanely difficult equations play out as flipping tiles on the ceiling. Later, when Eddie begins to recognize the harmful side effects of NZT and he begins to lose portions of time, blacking out, Burger seamlessly moves Eddie from scene to scene in cuts that feel organic, but also have a jarring effect once we (and Eddie) realize that he’s not in the same place, or even the same time of day. Wisely, the director does not use the same effect twice. He has enough in his arsenal of tricks to throw something new at the viewer each time Eddie experiences something new. My favorite is the seemingly miles and miles film used to capture a single take that covers three city blocks.

As the film progresses, the slick Eddie we saw standing on the ledge emerges before out eyes. A bad deal he made with a Russian loan shark (Andrew Howard) haunts him throughout the story; a man in tan coat (Thomas Arana) seems to be stalking him with a concealed knife in his jacket; and the police suspect that Eddie had something to do with the murder of a beautiful socialite. Meanwhile, he tries to keep his addiction to NZT at bay while he works with Robert De Niro’s character, Carl Van Loon, a mega mogul, to broker the largest merger in corporate history. The difficult question that Limitless asks is “what are you willing to do for power and wealth?” Would you take a pill that gave you that, even if it meant coming apart at the seams if you didn’t have it? Like many of  Phillip K. Dick’s great  stories, this film uses science fiction to study addiction, morality and our roles in society.

Limitless is based on a novel by Alan Glynn and was adapted by veteran screenwriter, Leslie Dixon, who saw the movie potential of the little known book and optioned it on her own. The script sometimes slips into ‘B’ movie clichés, especially with some of the dialogue, but these are minor complaints for a film as entertaining as this one. The supporting cast is top notch. De Niro gives one of his strongest performances in recent memory, Cornish is excellent in the role of Lindy, Howard is menacing and funny as the Russian thug, and Anna Friel turns up, nearly unrecognizable, as Eddie’s ex-wife and a recovering NZT user.

Still, the movie’s success hinges on how much we associate with Eddie and stick with him, even as his morals begin to decay. It’s a credit to Cooper’s talent that we do stay on Eddie’s side as he takes us on his journey. This is  star making performance, one that proves that Cooper can carry a film. Likewise, Burger shows that he is continuing to grow as a director, both visually and as a storyteller. Limitless isn’t going to change the world and revolutionize the cinematic world, but it does remind us that popular entertainment doesn’t have to be dumb to be enjoyable. There’s no reason we can’t use our brains a little while we wash down a handful of popcorn with a tasty soda.

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The boy just happens to be John Lennon.

But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Of course he’s not just John Lennon — he’s an onscreen character (played by Kick-Ass‘s Aaron Johnson) whose future life is one of the most thoroughly explored and well-loved stories of the last century. Nowhere Boy attempts to cross-cut his psyche-shattering family drama with a depiction of the Beatles’ origins, via a blend of imagined scenes and well-documented events – most importantly the Woolton Fete where John met Paul. The fact that such a large segment of the film’s target audience is already familiar with the particulars imposes a certain duality: Can it faithfully tell a tale that’s already known to millions, while simultaneously appealing to moviegoers who aren’t steeped in Beatle lore? (And you thought the only connection between Lennon and Harry Potter was those National Health spectacles…)

Nowhere Boy manages to work on both levels, but only in fits and starts. The key to its success, both as a cinematic character study and as a contribution to the Beatle-biography oeuvre, is its portrayal of John’s mum, Julia – who has always been the most enigmatic personage in the Fabs’ backstory. For Beatles fans, Julia was the ethereal “ocean child” from the White Album, she of the “seashell eyes,” the “windy smile,” and the “hair of floating sky”; later, she was the “Mother” whose abandonment (“you had me, but I never had you”) was famously the climactic linchpin of John’s “Primal Scream” regression therapy.

Here, as written by Matt Greenhalgh (Control) and portrayed brilliantly by Anne-Marie Duff, Julia emerges as a desperate figure — manic-depressive yet attempting to build a normal life from the ashes of her error-strewn past. Duff, heretofore best known to Americans (if at all) for her roles in The Magdalene Sisters, Notes on a Scandal and 2009’s The Last Station, dominates the screen with an intensely emotional performance that careens from high to low with Julia’s bipolarity. Julia’s efforts to become a positive influence for John are perpetually undercut by the quaver in Duff’s voice and the look of terror in her eyes – terror that she will once again succumb to the demons that led her to lose him in the first place.

The film portrays Julia’s relationship with John as fruitful but pathological. She teaches him to play his first instrument, a banjo; it is with her that John first hears “Rocket 88,” often considered the seminal rock ’n’ roll song, and with her that he first sees newsreel footage of Elvis Presley; and she’s the one to whom John turns when trouble is brewing at school, or at home with his Aunt Mimi. However, Julia’s attempts to make up for lost time turn uncomfortable and, for a while at least, verge on incestuous – and eventually both mother and son are devastated as the truth about her abandonment and instability are revealed. Duff’s Julia practically steals the film from its central character; that’s a mixed blessing, at best, even if it’s a satisfying development from the perspective of Beatleologists seeking cinematic documentation of John’s historically crucial neuroses.

Ah, but there’s the rub, to quote another English poet. Our interest in Julia’s fragile psyche, to which we are introduced through imagined scenes, is entirely grounded in what we already know about John The Beatle. Under the tutelage of a first-time commercial-film director, the art photographer and video artist Sam Taylor-Wood, Johnson hits all the well-remembered marks of John’s puckish personality – his creative whimsy, his lack of tact or sentimentality, his defensiveness, his propensity for launching withering insults – without overplaying the role. His performance is less showy than, say, Ian Hart’s as Lennon in Backbeat (1994). Still, it feels authentic … which is, oddly, the most important quality Johnson needed to achieve here. Whether you’re an entrenched Beatlemaniac with full knowledge of John’s history, or merely a casual fan with an understanding of his legendary stature, to some extent we all know what the future holds for this film’s protagonist. And every scene and characterization in Nowhere Boy is inevitably colored by that knowledge, for better and – less frequently — for worse.

On the “worse” side of the ledger is the film’s treatment of John’s stiff-upper-lipped Aunt Mimi, played by Kristin Scott Thomas. It’s a role seemingly custom-made for the actress, who has allowed herself to become one of filmdom’s most typecast performers by playing one character after another pretty much like this one: an ice queen whose frustrating façade appears impenetrable, right up to the moment it is penetrated. The English Patient (ugh), The Horse Whisperer (double-ugh), Random Hearts (triple-ugh), Gosford Park (much better), and more recently I’ve Loved You So Long (luminous!) – by now we know what to expect when Scott Thomas appears on screen, and her Mimi is no different.

Unfortunately, Greenhalgh (who based his script on memoirs by John’s half-sister, Julia Baird) hasn’t given Scott Thomas much to work with. For much of Nowhere Boy Mimi is a caricature, a black-clad (even before her carefree husband dies), unfeeling symbol of austerity and repression against whom teenage John has no choice but to rebel. It is only when John begins to recognize the dark side of Julia’s whimsy that Mimi begins to emerge as a recognizably human character, and she only earns our sympathy after Julia’s tragic death. (Come on! It’s not like this is some huge spoiler – John gave it away himself on “My Mummy’s Dead” in 1970 – though my wife, not an expert in everything Lennon, did gasp and call out, “You’re kidding!” when the car ran Julia down.)

By that point the film has introduced the other key figures of John’s teen years: his boyhood BFF, Pete Shotton, and the rest of the original Quarrymen; a slight, pasty-faced Paul, who is allowed into the band after the aforementioned meet-cute at the Woolton Fete; and Paul’s friend George, who despite his youth can already play a mean guitar lick. Of these, it’s actually Pete (played by Josh Bolt) who leaves the strongest impression on the film. He’s the normal kid swept up in the tempest of John’s oversize personality, the foil for – and often the victim of – Lennon’s legendary prickishness.

That irascible quality occasionally pulls the viewer out of the film, forcing us to think, “Would I care about this asshole if he weren’t growing up to be John Lennon?” Taylor-Wood’s direction doesn’t help; she doesn’t get in the way of her characters, but her telling is rather unimaginative — particularly considering her conceptual-art background, as well as the possibilities offered by John’s stunningly inventive drawings and written musings, which we see here only in passing. It’s intriguing to imagine what an edgier filmmaker like Mike Leigh, who so frequently has forged a gritty humanity from the ill-tempered characters and picturesque urban settings of northern England, could have done with this material.

Still, Nowhere Boy is worthwhile viewing, both for Duff’s riveting performance and for its satisfying depiction of a key chapter in the Lennon/Beatles story. In the latter regard, it nearly meets the standard set by the wonderful Backbeat, which picks up precisely where Nowhere Boy leaves off. Authenticity was, if anything, a bigger issue for Backbeat; it required its actors not only to impersonate characters whose personas were still fresh in the memory, but to re-create small details such as the Beatles’ onstage demeanors (John’s bow-legged stance, George’s little jigs) and the iconic poses from Astrid Kirchherr’s Hamburg photos. In Nowhere Boy, the moments that will make Beatle completists smile are wardrobe-related – costume designer Julian Day has faithfully re-created the outfits worn by John and the Quarrymen in a famous photo from that Woolton Fete, as well as the white-jackets-and-Western-bow-ties look that John, Paul and George sported the first time they were photographed together.

Interestingly, though, the filmmakers found it necessary to put those original photos on screen at the film’s conclusion. Were they flaunting their attention to detail – or were they acknowledging that, in 2010, not so many people have strong memories of those details? Are the Beatles receding from pop-culture monolith to historical artifact? Nowhere Boy‘s dismal box-office receipts to date (on both sides of the Atlantic) offer a hint, but time (and future attempts at portraying Beatledom on screen) will tell. One thing’s for sure, however: If you devoured the Beatles’ Anthology albums and were enraptured by the hauntingly scratchy early recording “In Spite of All the Danger,” you’ll thrill to its use in Nowhere Boy – and you’ll welcome the song fully, at long last, into the canon of Beatles classics. Play the following clip:

One more quick note, as I remain preoccupied with the film’s positing of a borderline-incestuous relationship between John and Julia: During production of Nowhere Boy, Sam Taylor-Wood (then age 41) and Aaron Johnson (then age 18) commenced a romantic relationship; she divorced her art-dealer husband, they became engaged, and in July she gave birth to their daughter. Not that there’s anything wrong with that…

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Written by Paul Virach and directed by Mat Whitecross, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll is a kindred spirit of Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz, using a similar story structure that cuts back and forth from the events that happened in the past and a cabaret style concert by Dury and the Blockheads in which Dury (Serkis) acts as a master of ceremonies to comment on some of the pivotal moments in his life. As the film opens, Dury walks out with the very distinct limp of a man paralyzed in one leg. A lone spotlight shines down on him and he starts the show. Suddenly, the band kicks in with a raucous explosion of music and the film’s stunning opening credits roll. From that moment, we realize that we’re in for a ride, exploring the inspirational, sometimes insane, sometimes sad life of Dury and his family.

Dury contracted polio as a boy and the disease not only left physical scars, it also left deep emotional scars. Flashbacks provide us with selective information about his childhood: his father (Ray Winstone) places him in a home for boys with disabilities, abandoning him at young age. Life in the home was hard and Dury has to suffer the ridicule of his peers and a domineering adult supervisor, wickedly played in the film by Toby Jones. All of these scenes take place while he is dreaming or recalling something horrible, so we’re never quite sure whether Dury had a mother or siblings or how he wound up living in London during the late 60’s and early 70’s. While that information would have been nice, in the end it’s not so important to the narrative of this movie.

As the film progresses, we learn that Dury is married to a lovely woman, Betty (Olivia Williams) and that they have two children, including his son, Bax (Bill Milner). Although Betty and Dury remain married, they do not live together and Dury is allowed to see other women. He falls in love with Denise (Naomie Harris) and they begin living together. It is while living with Denise that Dury begins writing the group of singles that would garner him critical and popular acclaim in the UK. Songs like “Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick,” “What A Waste,” and “Reasons to be Cheerful.”

While Dury rises to the top, his young son, Bax, struggles with his identity. Constantly picked on and beat up by his classmates, the young boy begins skipping school. Betty sends Bax to live with Dury and Denise in hope that being around his dad will help him. The father and son develop a strong relationship, with the boy idolizing his dad and Dury doing his best not to be the kind of man his father was. Despite the rampant use of drugs and alcohol that happen around Bax in the bohemian apartment Dury and Denise share, Dury is extremely protective of the boy. One of the nicest aspects of this film is watching the relationship between Dury and Bax grow.

Cutting back and forth between the concert interludes and the scenes of Dury’s life, we get to witness the creation of his two most pivotal songs: “Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll, and “Spasticus Autisticus.” The latter song, released in 1981, was written in response to that year’s International Year of Disabled Persons. Dury was asked to write a song to help promote the International Year of Disabled Persons, but he found the whole thing patronizing. With brutally honest lyrics and a chorus that goes “I’m spasticus, autisticus” (inspired that famous “I am Spartacus” scene in Spartacus”) the song was banned by the BBC.

Like most music biopics, Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll follows the rise to fame and the rock bottom moments in the musician’s life, before his redemption by the end of the movie. Unlike so many rock biopics, this films is visually inventive, a true cinematic joy to watch. I’ve already compared it to Fosse’s masterpiece; I would add to that Todd Hayne’s rock and roll joyride, Velvet Goldmine. Andy Serkis is magnetic on screen, embodying every inch of Dury’s twisted mind and body. It is a spectacular performance that needs to be seen. But he doesn’t overshadow his cast mates. Naomie Harris is wonderful and holds her own against the showier part that Serkis has, while Olivia Williams shows restraint and grace as Betty. Most remarkable is the performance by young actor, Bill Milner. His Bax must undergo so many emotions throughout the chorus of the movie that a lesser actor might buckle from the pressure, adult of young performer.  The rapport he develops with Serkis to create the believable relationship of father and son is remarkable.

You don’t have to know much about Ian Dury to appreciate this movie. It is one of the best in its genre and I guarantee that once the movie ends you’ll be humming one or two of Dury’s tunes and searching them out on Amazon soon thereafter.

The film is available streaming through YouTube as a part of a partnership with this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. You can access it here.

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In the film, Roger (voiced by Vincent Gallo), is an average worker from Stockholm. One morning he leaves his tiny, one-room apartment that he shares with his TV addicted girlfriend, and heads for work. On the way, he begins hearing a man’s voice in his head. It’s not a hallucination; Roger actually has someone speaking to him in his mind. How is that possible? Roger asks the voice these questions. The more questions Roger asks, the deeper he gets into a dark conspiracy and the terrifying secret that every aspect of his life (and the lives of the rest of the working class) is being controlled and monitored.

At the same time, Roger also meets Nina (Juliette Lewis) a model famous for having her picture on the world’s number one dandruff shampoo. As he has often fantasized to Nina’s image, Roger follows her. She confronts Roger; and then takes pity on him. Nina becomes his accomplice, helping him find the answers to the voice in his head and more.

Metropia is a tale of a dystopian world that contains obvious shades of George Orwell and Phillip K. Dick. An oppressive corporation and the intrusive technology it uses to invade your privacy are right out of 1984 and Dick’s best paranoid short stories. The script does a good job of zeroing in on the themes it wishes to cover, however it lags in places, with moments of tediousness. In other places the plot jumps around without really connecting. The performances by the voice actors are all outstanding. Gallo can sometimes be polarizing in his live action films. However, in Metropia his performance is effective. Lewis’s voice comes off a little wooden in the film, but I have a feeling she was directed that way to capture her character’s soul sucked life. The cast also includes the great Stellan Skarsgård and his equally talented son, Alexander.

On any other occasion I would tell you to proceed with caution when watching a movie like Metropia. However, this is an animated film that has such a distinct and unique style that it’s a must for any fan of animation or anyone who enjoys stunning visuals. Director Saleh’s vision involved using an animated process that takes actual photographs, alters them in a heavily stylized manner, and then animates them in the computer. One look at the film’s trailer and you’ll know what I mean. As I said, the look is distinct and if you’re a fan of animated films, especially that rarity- adult animation- you may want to check it out.

Metroipia was a selection for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. The filmmakers struck a deal with the festival to make this film immediately available through streaming on You Tube until June 16th. You can access it here.

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Omid Djalili stars as Mahmud Nasir, a loving husband, doting father and something of a “relaxed” practicing Musilim living in London. His son, Rashid (Amit Shah) is engaged to marry Uzma (Soraya Radford), whose stepfather is a fundamentalist/radical Muslim Arshad Al-Masri (Igal Naor). Apprehension fills the Nashir household as the whole family must receive the approval of Al-Mari in order for Rashid to be allowed to marry Uzma. Mahmud thinks it’ll be a piece of cake.

Nothing is ever a piece of cake.

While cleaning out the home of his recently deceased mother, Mahmud makes a shocking discovery. He was adopted. Even more shocking, and distressing considering the impending visit by Al-Masri, is that Mahmud learns he was born Jewish.

This news sends Mahmud on a personal journey that is hilarious, coupled with moments of real poignancy. When he discovers that his birth father is on death’s door at a Jewish nursing home, a snarky rabbi (played by Matt Lucas of Little Britain) informs him that he won’t be allowed to meet his father until he “becomes more Jewish.” As he has no Jewish friends, Mahmud turns to his recent Jewish acquaintance, a bitter, divorced American cabbie that lived across the street from his mother: Lenny (Richard Schiff, The West Wing). Lenny, who seems to be perpetually drunk or high, reluctantly takes Mahmud under his wing to teach him how to appear Jewish. This leads to some of the funniest moments in the movie, including a bah mitzvah where Mahmud winds up giving a toast.

The Infidel does an excellent job combining social commentary with uproarious laughs. Djalili is flat out hilarious, yet he constantly surprises you with his tender moments, especially when suffering for the way he ultimately hurts his family by trying to conceal that he’s a Jew. Schiff is a pure delight. Typically cast in white collar, suit wearing, uptight government workers, in The Infidel, he cuts loose as Lenny. The two stars have impeccable comic timing together and whenever they share the screen it is a joy.

David Baddiel’s screenplay is full of laughs, with clever insights into Jewish and Muslim cultures. Although the third act kind of stumbles, it is still satisfying and uplifting. Likewise, director Josh Appignanesi keeps the pace moving along briskly, but creates wonderful tapestries for his actors and the scenes to play out. The Infidel is the type of movie that never gets made by big studios, which is a shame because laughter is universal, even if religions are not. Thank God, or Allah, there are independent producers willing to take risks and give us films like this one.

The Infidel was a selection for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. The filmmakers struck a deal with the festival to make this film immediately available through streaming on You Tube until June 16th. The rental price is a bargain: $5.99! You can access it here.

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So begins Julian Kemp¹s clever romantic comedy, My Last Five Girlfriends, adapted (by Kemp) from a novel by Alain de Botton. The bleak opening aside (and it’s really not that bleak), Kemp¹s film brings to mind the work of Terry Gilliam, if he was working from a script by Richard Curtis. As Duncan (a touching and very funny Brendan Patricks) slowly drifts away to his supposed death, we enter his mind as he replays those last five relationships. Kemps uses an amusement park metaphor to represent the hero’s love life. He approaches each attraction with optimism, taking in the ups and downs, the joys and fears of each relationship. The theme park is Duncan World and each woman is a different ride.

There is Wendy (Kelly Adams), lovable and fun, but never got over her ex-boyfriend; Olive (Jane March), who is a little uptight; Rhona (Cecile Cassel) who is hyper sensitive; and Natalie (Edith Bukovics) who is a bit needy. Each of these women is just a warm up for Gemma (a delightful Naomie Harris), the woman for whom Duncan falls the hardest. The first four women comprise the first half of the movie, while Duncan’s love affair with Gemma occupies the latter half of the movie. The relationship between Duncan and Gemma is sweet, natural and ultimately heartbreaking.

Patricks has a natural charm that makes him easy to watch and someone to root for. His chemistry with all five actresses is real, especially with Harris, whose smile lights up any scene she’s in. As much as you’re rooting for Duncan, you’re also rooting for the two of them to succeed. It should come as no shock that these two don’t make it. After all, the film is called My Last Five Girlfriends. However, it’s still terribly sad watching things fall apart. Sad, but funny.

In addition to writing truthful characters that are both funny and smart, Kemps uses the film medium to create whimsical and inventive visual tricks to tell his story. While being pleasantly entertained by the romantic comedy of the film, there’s no doubt you’ll also be equally entertained on a visceral level.

My Last Five Girlfriends was a selection for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. The filmmakers struck a deal with the festival to make this film immediately available through streaming on You Tube until June 16th. You can access it here. At just $5.99, My Last Five Girlfriends is worth that price, and much more.

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It begins with, what else, Lindsay and Jenny, two obnoxious New York City girls on a trip in Germany, who seek out a nightclub in hopes of rendezvousing with a cute boy. But, oh no, they get lost! And their tire pops! And they don’t know how to change it! So, they stumble through the woods in their negligee nightclub clothing, landing at the house of Dr. Heiter, in hopes of using the phone to call for help. But Dr. Heiter has other plans, of course, and sets his trap, offering them water spiked with Rohypnol.

After bringing in a loud, angry, Japanese tourist — Katsuro — Dr. Heiter has his subjects. While keeping them restrained in a makeshift medical ward in his basement, Heiter reveals his plans. A world-renowned doctor who made his name separating Siamese twins, Heiter now aims to conjoin, creating one being via three connected digestive systems. (Which he succeeded in performing on his “beloved three-dog,” recently deceased.)

Upon hearing their disgusting fate, Lindsay makes a foolhardy attempt at escape. Bypassing any opportunities to use the phone, she attempts to drag out her now unconscious friend, and is caught. The movie is only halfway through by the time Heiter succeeds with conducting the operation, so after he unveils his creation, the question is begged: where can this possibly go next?

Heiter treats them as his three-dog, training them to do various tasks with a few reprimands in between for resistant behavior. There is, still, the obvious gross-out of (ahem) the digestion process, the most disgusting scene, during which Heiter screams “Feed her!” and “Swallow it, bitch!”

Things pick up a bit when Heiter discovers that poor Jenny, stuck at the end, is dying of blood poisoning (while Lindsay suffers from constipation, presumably not wanting to shit in her friend’s mouth, a nice touch), and minutes later two policemen arrive at the door looking into the disappearance of tourists whose cars are left in the area. Heiter prepares his best preying mantis routine, eager to swap one of the cops for Jenny.

For such an original idea, though, the rest of Human Centipede‘s attributes are rather plain, including the ending (horrific though it is). This is true especially in regard to the characters of Jenny and Lindsay, who embody typical “female in a horror flick” stereotypes. They spend most of their time on screen screaming, whimpering and without clothes on (or in wet clothes, if they’re wearing them). Katsuro is the only one of Heiter’s victims who sees any character development — though granted, he’s also the only one who can actually talk for the second half of the film.

Human Centipede does benefit from the strong performance of Dieter Laser as Dr. Heiter, who no one will want to run into at night after viewing this, as well as from its few jabs of unexpected, dark humor. As for gratuitousness, the film was surprisingly (and thankfully) devoid of it, with camera cutaways and conveniently placed bandages that concealed most — though not all — of what would have been vomit-inducing.

In the gesture of favoring concept over gore, Human Centipede‘s stereotypical transgressions are forgivable. But if writer/director Tom Six does go forward with his plans to turn Human Centipede into a trilogy featuring bigger centipedes and, presumably, bigger grossouts, it may be best to favor one’s stomach and pass on the sequels.

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It all began for Withers in a tiny coal mining camp called Slab Fork, West Virginia. He grew up as a small, asthmatic stutterer, and realized early on that his only hope of getting out was to join the Navy. He was stationed in Guam, and after being discharged he worked a number of jobs in Los Angeles, notably one that saw him installing toilets in 747′s. He had toyed with the guitar for years and never saw it as a viable career, but then he began to write songs. He was rejected by all the major labels, where it was felt that at 32 years of age he was simply too old to be starting a career in music. He finally found a home at Sussex Records on the basis of a demo he had submitted. Sussex owner Clarence Avant assigned Booker T. to produce the first Withers album, and Stephen Stills played guitar. The album, Just as I Am, was released in 1971, and contained Withers’ first massive hit, “Ain’t No Sunshine,” for which he won a Grammy for Best Rhythm and Blues Song.

Withers released his second album, Still Bill, in 1972, and it contained another huge hit, “Lean On Me.” Later that same year, Live at Carnegie Hall was released. When Sussex became the target of an IRS investigation and was shuttered, Withers got a deal with Columbia, where he was signed in 1975. There were more hits, including “Just the Two of Us” and “Lovely Day,” and more Grammys, but Withers was not comfortable at Columbia and ended his association with the label after the 1985 album release Watching You, Watching Me.

Withers walked away from the music business, but that’s not to say that he ever walked away from music. He installed a studio in his home, and according to his wife he’s been making music all along, but not releasing any of it. As Withers himself says, he lacks the desire to show-off. The film traces his extremely tentative steps back toward the spotlight. We see him first as an observer, then as a participant in a recent Brooklyn concert paying tribute to his music. We are there when Withers calls songwriter/guitarist Raul Midon to arrange a collaboration on some new music that Withers has been working on, and we watch them work together in the studio. In one of the most moving scenes in a very moving film, we see Withers’ daughter Kori, a talented singer herself, emerge from the long shadow cast by her father as they work together in the studio.

Filmmakers Damani Baker and Alex Vlack, who initially had difficulty in gaining access to Withers, finally secured a four hour interview. Those four hours eventually expanded into more than 300 hours of film. They secured the participation of Dr. Cornel West, Tavis Smiley, Sting, and My Morning Jacket’s Jim James, among others. Their cameras follow Withers on his visit to Slab Fork, providing the context for the story that follows. They accompany Withers when he is honored by a New York theater company made up of young people with stuttering problems. Withers weeps as he’s inspired by the children who were, in turn, inspired by him, and we’re weeping right along with him, as we are when he breaks down with pride after hearing his daughter sing. Through it all, we’re treated to reflections on a well-lived life from Withers himself.

Bill Withers turned 70 years-old while Still Bill was being shot. He’s had time to consider his life, and he’s used that time very wisely indeed. He made an epic choice 25 years ago, and for him, it was clearly the correct choice. As wonderful as it would be to have new music from Bill Withers, after seeing this film, I almost hope he resists the temptation to re-enter the arena. But if and when he does, I’ll welcome him back. Spend some time with this film, you’ll see what I mean.

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