The film opens to a very average suburban neighborhood before peeking into one house in particular. The loud and exaggerated sounds of rough sex are heard as the camera moves in on the vacuous face of a teenage boy—our main character. An unseen narrator relates the boy’s predicament: he lives in a home of rough folk, his mom and dad thinking nothing of engaging in boisterous sex in his presence, nor for that matter doing drugs and partying with other men. The narrator reveals himself to be the boy’s neighbor, and muses about the mom’s seeming indifference to the boy inbetween observations about how much he’d like to have sex with the older, permanently panty-clad woman.

The film in a way is a quest, albeit of the inward, self-reflecting type, as this neighbor attempts to empathize with and ultimately make sense of the boy. But for what reason? What is spurring the neighbors oratory? That is indeed what the film works up towards, but the exercise is perfunctory—you already know.

The short film thus exists as a meditative elegy, from the neighbor to the boy, and the visuals support the creation of such a mood, using frequent slow-motion to imagine scenes of alienation the boy might have experienced. Yet this empathy is disturbingly buttressed by the sexual fetishization of the mother, as the camera lingers erotically on the body she so frequently flounts in and around the home. Sexual longing on the neighbor’s part is part of his explanation for the boy’s state, yet that means the neighbor must in a way confront his complicity, a feeling if that is expressed in his voice, if not completely registered in his head.

There is no moral to the story per se, and if this elegaic mood fails to find spark within you, then you will find the short film bland and possibly even distasteful. Upon playing Sundance in 2008, many accused writer-director David Michôd of misogyny in the film’s depiction of sexuality. However I find the elegaic streak that Crossbow mines to be rare and wonderful in film, and kudos go to Michôd, because it is difficult to pull off. Indeed the film is strikingly reminiscent to one of the best films of this vein, Sofia Coppola’s work, The Virgin Suicides, a movie structured very similarly, with its title that undermines suspense, and its observant narration that wrestles with the exquisite sadness of seemingly senseless tragedy, and how it relates to sexuality and nostalgia.

Michôd is an Aussie who is part of the increasingly famous Blue-Tongue Collective, whose films have been featured numerously on this site and others. Spider and I Love Sarah Jane have appeared on our lists of our favorite reviews from 2009 and 2008 respectively. However I believe that this is the best short from the group that I’ve seen so far. Blue Tongue’s output relies heavily on surprises and twists, and nominally Crossbow is no different, and yet in practice the focus on atmosphere and mood rather than narrative trickery creates a feeling that the other films we’ve reviewed cannot match. Indeed Miracle Fish the Oscar nominee from this past year, is truly a film that I think wishes it could be Crossbow:  both films center on vacant, disaffected boys that suffer from some sort of abuse, before ending in violence. However whatever feeling the empty school in Miracle Fish tries to convey simply does not come across powerfully, unlike the images of the mother and the activity around the house in Crossbow, nor does the violence at the end of Miracle Fish,seemingly random, hold any sort of weight against Crossbow’s slow unfurling, made all the more powerful by how clearly it is foreshadowed.

Michôd has, like many of his other compatriots in the group, moved on to features. His debut, Animal Kingdom, played Sundance this year. I have yet to have a chance to see it, but will be taking the opportunity as soon as I can in order to see the continued development of this fascinating young  filmmaker.

via jasonbkohl.com

It’s a story so familiar that it almost demands the use of cryptic metaphors and symbolic imagery. A visual poem—what I consider Un Tour De Manége to be. And you know how I love poetry (The Spider, At the Quinte Hotel).

Stylistically, Un Tour De Manége is stunning. It’s rainbowed watercolor-like warmth reflects the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child exploring color for the first time. Far it is from the cold, lifeless characters common to 3D animation. Applause please for Les Manéges— filmmakers Nicolas Athané, Brice Chevillard, Alexis Liddell, Francoise Losito, and Mai Nguyen. All students of the seemingly unstoppable, Gobelins in France. They are so good with their visual storytelling—you can faintly see dandelion seeds floating out to sea as the girl is first separated from her mother—a subtle summation of the events unfolding. The characters play the parts but the details tell the story.

In the end, our little heroine is rescued from the dark depths and reunited with her mother. And thus, the ride begins again…

A young  girl watches TV, her mother absent. Edits imply a great passing of time. She sleeps some. She suddenly goes outside with her dog and after some exploring in the middle of a batch of tall grass, she meets a man. They share a charged and intimate moment. He touches her, picking off a small bug on her shoulder which he places in her hands. Across the field is her mother dishing out an icy glare. The girl walks back to the house. That is the film. It is up to subtext and beauty to give life to the experience: the ennui of a girl ignored, the simple joy and wonder of the outdoors and its unmediated experience,  the power of the man’s unflinching gaze. I cannot believe he is a stranger. The mother’s reaction is confirmation of as much. Suddenly an untold backstory fills in the edges of the picture. A story of love and loss, or maybe mistakes and regrets, a story that gives context to little innocent girls abandoned and ignored. The details are left to the viewer to guess, but their absence makes the film richer for it.

It is impossible to describe the grace of this film through words, but that’s why we link to the video as well. As it behooves me to try, I will start with the fact that is shot in 35mm using the ultra-wide 2.35:1 ratio. Great care is given to the cinematography, the caressing light of the television screen, the excellent focus pulling, all of which lends the seemingly ordinary events a sense of cinematic grandeur. Would have loved to have seen this on the big screen. The second technical element that deserves highlighting is the sound design. The outdoor scene is wonderful with the soft sounds of the wind, the birds and the bypassing cars. They help add to the lazy Sunday languor of the piece, yet rather than be mere background they draw you into an immediacy of the moment,  sharply attuning you to the vibrancy of a place and time. The care and attention to the details in both image and sound is not merely stylistic, it places us into the mind of the young girl, simultaneously oblivious and yet hyper-aware,  providing us with the vividness and romance which so often are the lasting hallmarks of momentous encounters for lives so young.

Alicia Duffy, where are you? Produced in 2002 by Breakthru Films, the company that produced Suzie Templeton’s Peter and the Wolf, and with help from the UK Film Council, this professional-quality production succeeded in its goals, winning a BAFTA nomination and playing Cannes. Yet it is the last entry on Ms. Duffy’s IMDB page. As designers and animators are increasingly taking over creative aspects of film, overwhelming us with advanced editing techniques and increased computer intergration, this is a calling card for a filmmaker who knows how to tell a story visually, with patience, space and emotion—the exact kind of qualities which I feel could use a comeback. So Alicia Duffy, please direct again.

She’s naturally enough concerned for her son in all respects, even including the possibility of his eloping with the Moonies. Moms worry themselves with things like that. Or flying saucers. She (and he) put down his problems to transferring from Catholic School to Public School. Traumas like that have a debilitating effect on one’s adolescence. Back to the disease. How exactly he acquired AIDS is not exactly clear, though it appears to be largely the responsibility of a contaminated hamburger consumed in the classroom. Hamburgers are the root of all evil and guilt for a good Catholic boy in a non-Catholic school.

Some homespun advice from Mom and semi-official advice later leads to further neurotic behavior: a period where they abstain from the cup at communion and instructions to her boy to stay clear of sharp toys. All goes well until he has cereal at his friend Ryan’s house. Ryan loses his trousers and throws a puppet at the boy’s face. It’s AIDS time again, and this time almost too much for mom and son to bear.

Made with Mirage, now TVPaint, the hilarious mix of styles—real images of hamburgers, paired with black and white movies contrasting with gaudy coloured animation conspire to share one modern nuclear family’s guilt. You’ll love it. Suburban angst.

Score: 7/10
A Sundance 10/10 film: now online

So of course this February Tropfest 2008 played out to great success once again. And thanks to a really great marketing and distro agreement, all of us non-Aussies, (or I suppose you Aussies who couldn’t make it to a screening as well) get a chance to join in on the fun through the magic of video that streams through a series of tubes!

Marry Me, a short based on the experiences of the filmmaker, Michelle Lehman, while growing up, won the whole enchilada, and is a very sweet film about childhood. The teaser caption for the film describes it as a story about “a little girl who likes a little boy and a little boy who likes his BMX bike”. The premise reinforces gender stereotypes, but a solid kick of grrrl power at the end solidifies the contemporary feel. Still it’s the purity, and irony of the premise—girl chases disinterested boy—that brings a smile to one’s face, especially knowing that in 10 years those roles will be switched and he’ll be kicking himself. What really makes the film click though are excellent performances from the very young actors, which is an extremely impressive feat. (Believe me I know).

As fine a film as Marry Me is, the true star this week is the Tropfest Video Vault, which allows viewers to stream all 16 chosen finalists from their computer, as well as an extremely healthy selection of finalists and winners from past years. It is the most comprehensive online offering from a major short film festival that I have come a across, and simply another goldmine for online short film fans. (Update: check out Tropfest’s new Youtube Channel)

To make a person think, to make him consider new ideas, new options, or just the value of old ones, the rug needs to be pulled out. The viewer needs to be left stranded—confused—with no clear standards and a mish mash of reality. The viewer needs to be disturbed.

The filmmaking team of director Dawn Boyd and writer/producer Michael Aronson know disturbing and Daddy Why? is a masterpiece of psychological dysfunction. In five minutes, it calmly, slowly, and lovingly rips apart the notion that the world is a reasonable place and we know our place in it. So, how does what is essentially a dialog on death manage to be so twisted? Easy: with a small girl and a bunny.

The setting is the backwoods of nowhere on a chilly autumn day. A young father (Kevin Fraser) is walking with his daughter Camilla (Emily Power) who happily carries her pet rabbit. Camilla has questions, and they have nothing to do with school or clothing or dinner or toys or TV. No, Camilla has questions about death. Daddy isn’t the quickest skater on the pond, but he does his best and while he lacks enthusiasm, he obviously cares for his daughter. Somehow, that just makes it so much worse.

Daddy Why? took several years to make because the part of Camilla is not one that parents crave for their daughters. If handled incorrectly, it is the stuff not of dreams, but of prolonged therapy sessions. Well, the wait paid off as Power is cute and believable (and apparently neuroses free).

There’s not a lot of camera tricks and no narrative knots or cheats. This is a simple picture. It is also a creepy one. A very, very creepy one. Complexity would only be distracting. Will it cause you to think? I can’t say, but it won’t leave you comfortable, and that is enough.

Chris Ware, American cartoonist and graphic novelist, teamed up with animator, John Kuramoto, to create a simplified world of geometric-based illustration. It’s a chilling true life story told with playfully bold visuals.