SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR JUNE 2021

 

So...we're back?

Between the beginning of last month and this point at which I am writing to you, our life during COVID-19 has changed significantly due to infection rates going downwards, the public becoming vaccinated against the virus and life seeming to open itself up in full again with the lifting of government mask mandates. 

As for me, in my city, I am already seeing less and less mask wearing (especially at the grocery stores), and I have also been keeping tabs on how individual private businesses would be handling the lifting of mask mandates within their spaces (some businesses are requiring staff to continue wearing masks while optional for the public, while others are still requiring masks to be worn, possibly due to the size of the stores in question). For myself, I am still continuing to wear my masks, mostly due to my teaching profession and how the children are obviously not able to be vaccinated as of yet, and partially due to my own trepidation which falls into equal parts psychological and personal due to the cynical realities of human behavior.   

As for returning to the movie theaters, that is a tricky one for me to navigate because it is difficult to jump back onto the horse and not having been on one for so terribly long, and even as much as I have missed it. Truth be told, I ventured inside my first coffeehouse since possibly February 2020 nearly two weeks ago and I also had my first fast food since possibly the very end of 2019 (!), just this previous weekend. So, racing into a movie theater feels very much like jumping into the deep end without knowing how to swim. 

That being said, I know that I will have to try and especially if the pandemic numbers continue to shift downwards. My loose mental plan is to maybe return in late July to see the latest Marvel movie "Black Widow," but until then, I will continue to try and screen films here at home, something I hope I will have more time for as the main school year is about to wind down. 

At this time, I have one review that I would like to try and write for a film I viewed a few months back and from there, we'll see. Returning to a certain fullness of writing power, such as it is, is a process and I am hoping that if you have stuck with me for this long, you will be happy to hang with me a bit longer.  

To be continued...

BLACK ART MATTERS: a review of "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light"

"BLACK ART: IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHT"
Produced and Directed by Sam Pollard
**** (four stars)

I have an experiment that I am asking you to undertake. 

I am asking you to think about any times during your lives in which you may have visited an art museum. Simply casual visits. Not for research or anything. A regular outing. Now...when going to an art museum, how many works do you remember seeing that were created by Black artists and then, please think to when was the very first time you ever saw work created by a Black artist? Nothing that you necessarily had to seek for. But, what was just...present.

Additionally, there is this: One can easily go through life never having set foot within an art museum and still be aware of the existence of Monet. Or Leonardo da Vinci. Picasso. Vincent van Gogh. Yet, are you able to remember when you became aware of a Black artist of some prominence? Not in a class or through a lesson. But through the osmosis of just living life in America, an America dominated by Whiteness.

This particular experiment is one I utilized upon myself as I began watching Sam Pollard's brilliant, beautiful documentary "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light," and truthfully, I honestly could not devise an answer. But what I did discover through viewing was a greater window not only into the art world, and a selection of the Black artists, historians, dealers and collectors who populate that world. Pollard's film delivered unto me a greater view of Blackness itself, making his work function just as highly as many of my favorite documentaries: a film that transcends its subject matter and extends itself into themes grander and more encompassing to the human experience overall. 

Utilizing the landmark 1976 exhibition Two Centuries of Black American Art, as curated by the late artist/scholar David Driskell as a leaping off point as well as a bookend, Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" approaches to primarily accomplish what Driskell achieved 45 years ago: to honor the work and legacies of Black artists and therefore, educate the public at large to the existence of these Black artists and their legacies in order to widen the perception, conversation and appreciation of the art world in its entirety.

Including interviews with David Driskell, both archived and conducted especially for this film before his passing on April 1, 2020 due to complications from COVID-19, Pollard's film introduces us to Black artists from before, during, afterwards, and including those who were ultimately inspired by Driskell's watershed exhibit. 

While every figure Pollard presents expands the mosaic of the art world as a whole, delving into each artist's signature style and process also expanded the nature and purpose of each artist's creative process as well.

We meet Radcliffe Bailey (painter, sculptor, mixed media artist), who utilized 500 discarded piano keys and constructed a sculpture representing the Middle Passage. We are also introduced to both Kehinde Wiley (portrait painter) and Amy Sherald (painter), each of whom were graced with the privilege and responsibility of creating portraits of President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama.  

The room sized Black silhouette paper artwork of Kara Walker (painter, print maker, filmmaker, installation artist, Professor) showcases an artistic honesty about the Black experience through a grim surrealism that is perceived as being confrontational and polarizing even among Black audiences, some of whom characterize Walker's work as being exploitative while others champion the rightfulness of its often disturbing nature.      

And then, we also are presented with the purposefully representational art of Kerry James Marshall (painter/Professor) whose own work was conceived through his being inspired by the representational work of Charles White (painter, visual artist), as well as being a reaction to the reality that when visiting art museums, it is rare to see Black people in pictures let alone seeing images of Black artists creating art. Furthermore, Marshall's process fully challenges and therefore, upends the nature of what colors actually are. As he states pointedly, "Black is not the absence of color. Black is particular kinds of color." Meaning that with the three bases of Black (Ivory, Carbon and Mars) that one could purchase at an art store, a full spectrum of colors could be created from the base of blackness. For me, a nearly lifelong perception of what Black is was shattered, altered and re-shaped into what Black can be.

With regards to the necessity of Black artists and Black art being firmly recognized as being essential pieces of the American canon--for as David Driskell expressed with finality, "The American canon is not complete without it."--Pollard's film wisely delves deeper into the nature of inclusion, from the museums that are reluctant to showcase Black artists to tensions within the very groups that are already marginalized. 

When the film turns its attention to Faith Ringgold (painter, writer, mixed media sculptor, performance artist), an unapologetic Feminist and activist, whose refusal, despite her immense artistic skill and creativity, from being admitted into The Spiral, a New York based collective of African-American artists during the 1960's, the questions raised are palpable. Who decides who gets to be invited into or excluded from the canon of significant Black art? Who gets to decide what is significant Black art and what isn't?  

From matters of inclusion, we reach the topic of diversity within Black art and the art world in full, from the need for Black curators, Black museums, Black art journalists and critics and even further, prominent Black art collectors, individuals, like Swizz Beatz for instance, who can assist to raise the profile of Black artists within society, which even more crucially, helps us to elevate each other. From elevation, we are then able to inspire, just as witnessed by the image of then 2 year old Parker Curry gazing in awe at the portrait of Michelle Obama. For through the art that arrives from Black artists, we, as Black people, have the opportunity to feel seen in spaces where we are typically not. And if we are able to see ourselves and each other here, then we can be inspired to be seen and recognized everywhere.

For a film that runs just a hair under 90 minutes, Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" covers a tremendous amount of material with an energetic, fully involving grace that results in an engrossing experience. Pollard's warmly provocative style showcases every artist in succinct detail yet as rich and complex as the art they each create. In fact, so engaging all of the artists are as interview subjects, conversationalists as well as creative figures, Pollard could have easily helmed completely individualized documentary films for each person. 

Most urgently, yet gently so, Pollard's film delivered one revelation after another, from ones of the nature like the aforementioned fallacy of Black being the absence of color but revelations that for me, proved themselves to being more primal. Some of them were more "a ha" moments certainly. But, what I am speaking of are the deeply significant revelations, those that began with feelings of sadness, incredulity and even a taste of self-directed anger or disappointment, which then ultimately built themselves upwards towards a sense of validation and liberation. 

At this time, I wish to return to the experiment I asked of you to undertake at the outset of this posting. It was during a sequence filmed at the Art Institute of Chicago when I forced myself to seriously think back to the times when I ventured to art museums during my life. I think to the times as a child and teenager, when I went to the Art Institute, either with family or on school field trips. I think of the times as an adult, going to the same museum, or visiting Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art in the early 1990's as well as copious trips to the Chazen Museum of Art in Madison, WI, a location where I have taken children on several school aged field trips over the years. And it was here, a mere 12 minutes into the film as I watched and reminisced, it hit me how much that I had taken at face value and therefore, taken for granted that I really had not seen representations of myself within the art presented. 

I concede that maybe I did see some examples but do not remember. And yes, there is certainly Chicago's DuSable Museum. Yet as that location is not exclusively an art museum and is considerably more of a historical museum, I tend to keep each specific museum separate in my brain...which in and of itself, also may be indicative of the larger and more seriously problematic issue. I, as an African American living in a society purposefully designed for Whiteness, had been conditioned to not readily see examples of myself and in doing so, to not even question our absence. 

To think about it within this moment, the feeling is more than insidious as it stretches to every fabric of American society but keeping strictly to the medium of the arts, it was the same for television and the movies regarding for whom stories were told and centered around and who had been given access to make them. Even within literature, if not fully described by the author suggesting otherwise, when visualizing characters, my brain would default to imagining, seeing Whiteness. Unless given permission, representations of Blackness were not included and if invited, it was through a more marginalized capacity, always reminding me that I am part of a world for White people rather than being a Black person in a world for everyone.

By being marginalized at best and ignored at worst, I felt ashamed that I did not know of really any of the figures presented within "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light," when what we see within the film are a collective of world class talents and creators whose names should be as easily recognizable as their European counterparts. Of course, we know of Jean-Michel Basquiat or Gordon Parks but those are just two Black figures when the world is, at the very least, aware of White artists from a variety of eras and genres, and no one even has to be an art aficionado to have heard of Monet, Picasso, and/or a Da Vinci. To that end, I should have known about David Driskell, Faith Ringgold or Kerry James Marshall and more. 

When everything is said and done, I feel that if "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" is asking anything at all of us as viewers, it is pushing us to question where do we expect to see Black people in the world? Or even more pointedly, as Black people, where do we expect to see ourselves in a world designed for Whiteness and even then, why do we have these expectations? Are we only meant to be seen in the field of athletics, on stage holding a microphone or as a headline or chalk outline? 

When it is predicated that we are only to be seen in specific places and space, if any at all, then that enforced fallacy becomes a certain reality...even when it defies logic. For instance, logically, I knew as a child that Black people existed all over the world but I vividly remember that when I saw my first British Black person on television, that was the moment I realized that we really did exist beyond America and Africa. I needed to see that image in order to help myself see us. As a life long rock music fan, I remember when I first saw the images of the members of the bands Fishbone and Living Colour, Black men making up Black bands creating the music that Black people are not supposed to play, despite the fact that Black people invented it. Regardless, I needed to see those images in order to help myself see us. 

Over and over again while watching Pollard's film, I saw the images I needed to see in order help myself see us, to help myself to see the world of Blackness that is not overtly seen, acknowledged and recognized in a world of Whiteness. Much like the film's subtitle and the artists the film celebrates, Blackness in its totality, complexity, variety and nuances feel to operate in the absence of light, and for now, Pollard's film is that light designed to present a reality that we are fooled into thinking does not exist.  

Thanks to Pollard's film which introduced me to a host of Black artists, and furthermore, Black historians and educators, Black curators and collectors, Black writers and journalists, now I know of their work and for that, I am exceedingly grateful to this film for expanding my consciousness, perception of myself and my own sense of what Blackness is and can be. Again, logically, I know that there are Black artists and that Black art exists. But when one does not actually see it, the brain is fooled into somehow thinking that it does not exist. This is why representation matters so powerfully for if we can see it, yes...we can be it! 

Sam Pollard's "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light" is a testament to the continued and ever evolving renaissance of the art world and canon as created by Black hands, hearts, minds and souls. It is a lushly executed experience that invites as it provokes, enriches as it engages you in mental debates with yourself and what you once felt to be valid, and deftly informs of how much truly exists even when the proverbial spotlight is completely turned away. 

I gently urge you to seek out this film upon your streaming platforms, bask in its superbly warm glow...and be illuminated!!

DEATH LOOP: a review of "Two Distant Strangers"

 

"TWO DISTANT STRANGERS"
Screenplay Written by Travon Free
Directed by Travon Free & Martin Desmond Roe
**** (four stars)

This film was traumatizing. 

In this past week, I, along with the remainder of the nation (and I would assume, considerable sections of the world outside of the United States) awaited the results of the Derek Chauvin trial, the Minneapolis police officer who placing his knee upon the neck of George Floyd for nine minutes and twenty six seconds, resulted in Floyd's murder via asphyxiation. The tragedy, all captured on a cellphone video courtesy of then 17 year old Darnella Frazier, the world all saw the exact same horrifying, inhumane footage, sparking a global level of moral outrage and solidarity within the entire Black Lives Matter movement that had been unlike anything witnessed prior. 

And even still, there were no guarantees of that proverbial moral arc of justice swaying in the proper direction, which is entirely due to the history and continuation of the systemic racism contained within policing towards Black people in the United States. We all saw the same thing but that did not mean justice would arrive. And in my mind, if we lived in a world where the likes of George Zimmerman could walk free after pursuing and murdering Trayvon Martin (a child, no less), and the officers who murdered a sleeping Breonna Taylor still had not even been arrested, then I did not harbor much hope in attaining justice for George Floyd. 

So...I essentially avoided the trial. Just seeing bits and pieces on the evening news. But, I tried to maintain some sense of ironic detachment, I guess because I honestly do not think I could handle a ruling that would potentially give police, plus armchair warrior racists, a full throated green light to hunt and kill Black people knowing consequences would not exist. 

All of these thoughts, plus so many more, weighed upon me heavily as I watched the short film "Two Distant Strangers" from Directors Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe, a work that just won the Oscar for Best Live Action Short Film at the 93rd annual Academy Awards...and deservedly so as this is a ferociously inventive, emotionally devastating experience that merges a dark magical realism,  with intensely brutal realities to struck me at the core of my mounting fears and anxieties that are inexcusably connected to living as a Black man in America. And still, it is essential viewing.     

Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers" stars a most impressive Joey Bada$$ as Carter James, a graphic designer and comic book artist who awakens one beautifully sunlit day in the bed of Perri (Zaria Simone), the morning after their first date. After some flirtatious banter and the clear promise to re-connect, all Carter wishes and intends to do is to return home to his beloved dog dog, Jeter. 

After exiting Perri's building, Carter stops for a quick cigarette yet unexpectedly bumps in to a passerby, accidentally spilling coffee upon his shirt. The brief, slightly heated exchange between the miffed passerby and the apologetic Carter catches the attention of Officer Merk (a frightening Andrew Howard), who instantly and wrongly profiles Carter, questions the wad of cash inside of his backpack, the cigarette itself and then, proceeds to illegally search Carter's belongings. As if happening like whiplash, Carter's life descends into nightmare as he is attacked by Officer Merk, wrestled to the ground and choked to death on the sidewalk, while being entirely filmed by a local street merchant upon her cellphone and with his gasps of "I can't breathe!!!" desperately uttered from his lips. 

And then...Carter awakens in Perri's bed. Gradually convincing himself that what he had experienced had been nothing but a horrific dream, Carter becomes unsettled as he experiences several moments of deja vu as he prepares to return home to his dog. Yet shockingly, just as before, Carter is encountered by Officer Merk again leading to a confrontation that results in Carter's death. 

And once again, Carter reawakens in Perri's bed.

While it may seem that Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers," is essentially Harold Ramis' "Groundhog Day" (1993) merged with say, Ryan Coogler's "Fruitvale Station" (2013), the film is by no means an affair that approaches the frivolous or exploitative. In fact, as Free expressed himself in a recent interview on MSNBC's essential "American Voices" with journalist/host Alicia Menendez, the film allows viewers over the running time of 29 minutes, "to experience what it feels like to be Black for 24 hours."  

Dear readers, I urge all of you who do indeed choose to watch this film, to not take Travon Free's description as hyperbole or self-congratulatory hype. As I expressed at the outset of this posting, the film was decidedly, and rightfully, traumatic to endure. If the experience of watching this film for you proves itself to being equally upending, then the filmmakers have performed their job exceedingly well by creating a powerfully effective piece of cinema filled end to end with pitch perfect performances, sharp and multilayered storytelling, and a brisk yet fully complete sense of pacing fueled by the work of Editor Alex Odesmith and sumptuously visualized via crisp Cinematography by Jessica Young. 

Additionally, and most importantly, Free and Roe have found a disturbingly inventive way to add their undeniably impassioned voices to our continuing national conversation about the status of policing in America, state sanctioned violence that is predominantly leveraged against Black and Brown people continuously without consequence and the desperate pleas from people of color to anyone who will listen as we exclaim that our lives are of equal importance and inherent value of existence as our White counterparts. The sheer empathy contained within every moment of "Two Distant Strangers" is palpable to the point of being primal.    

With its hybrid of an almost science fiction level of fantasy and brutal realism, "Two Distant Strangers" ultimately serves as an allegory. The story of Carter James being repeatedly and relentlessly pursued and murdered by Officer Merk, where both figures exist in a vicious, violent time loop, or better yet, a death loop, is fully representative of the status in which Black Americans find ourselves within 21st century America. For every time Carter James finds himself murdered by Officer Merk, regardless of the situations in which both characters find themselves, I found myself thinking of the real world Black people who have murdered, either via the police or by the hands of racist vigilantes, as well as wondering to myself, "Will I be next?"

The beauty of Joey Bada$$'s performance as Carter flows from the ease at which we already feel as if we know him fully within the film's first scenes. He is clearly and instantly warm and affable, intelligent and professional, romantic and sensitive, clever, caring and so obviously in love with his canine companion. Yet, with each murder and subsequent reawakening, Bada$$ conjures up crucial levels of humanity to this character, which makes every time he dies and every time he returns to the start of his day in Perri's bed (plus his reactions to every time he re-opens his eyes) deepen with the pain, sorrow, anger and fear at viewing a life wrongfully ended for no other reason than he was breathing. While Carter James exists as one character, every murder of him took me to another news story about yet another Black person either harassed, profiled, pursued, hunted and/or killed and the effect for me existed beyond being sobering. It felt like sinking and being unable to re-emerge.  

To that end, Officer Merk represents not solely a person but the entire systemic, institutional racism that by its design was created for the purpose of Black people not being able to rise, advance and in far too many cases, obtain the means to survive it. He is the ultimate perceived inherent goodness, fairness and justice of White people and the White systems created and upheld, regardless of the content of character and deed. In turn, Carter James, as envisioned through Officer Merk, is the perceived inherent maliciousness of Black people, always suspect and untrustworthy, always up to something nefarious and criminal, forever embodying all that is evil, regardless of reality, rooted in fantasy and in need of being snuffed out.

Andrew Howard's performance is fearsome as well as insidious, as it is a confrontational work that toys with us, in the same way that the character toys with Carter and his perception of how he can possibly navigate and maybe even circumvent this dark time loop in order to make his way back to his dog. Yet, unlike "Groundhog Day," where Bill Murray's character had to grow and discover how his own behavior affected his ultimate outcome, Carter is bested every single time and finds no sense of resolution no matter how he chooses to engage with his fateful day. And as wrenching as the film is, what saves it from being excruciating is the sense of hope contained within Carter's resolve. That despite everything Officer Merk throws at him, regardless of how many times Merk kills him, somehow, someway, he will get back home to his dog. Just as with all Black people because even with all of the tragedy we, as a people, have endured...we remain!     

At this time, I feel the need to express myself in a more personal manner as a means of the thought and emotional process I experienced as I watched "Two Distant Strangers."  Obviously, I am just one Black man and my individual experience as a Black man in America is not remotely representative of every Black man in the nation. In fact, within the breadth of my life, I count myself to have been extremely lucky to have not been on the receiving end of any levels of racism that approached the dangerous or life threatening. 

To that end, I have been a Black face in predominantly White spaces for most of my life and therefore, it is an experience I am more than used to. But since my college years, and especially as I have aged, I became increasingly aware and now am entirely cognizant of those inexplicable uncomfortable feelings that arise when those very feelings are projected or directed towards me. Enduring the stream of micro aggressions, the coded language and attitudes that have grown from undercurrents to the more overt and in turn, I have had to equally endure certain level(s) of code switching and public stifling of my complete self so as not to trigger retribution from the prejudices of others. 

What feels most foreign, and now more prevalent than I have ever experienced, is that foreboding sense of feeling unsafe, an elevated sense of danger, that creeping doom due to the overall intensity of the societal tenor regarding people pf color as enabled by over a decade's worth of flame fanning and igniting by right wing media, right wing politicians and unquestionably, the words and actions as delivered by the previous President of the United States. 

There are behaviors I engage with today that I never would have thought of even as recently as one year before (or at least pre-COVID-19). A need to stick strictly to familiar locations. Ensuring that I am safe at home before the sun falls for the evening. And most of all, every night when I do return home from work, I send a text to my Mother in Chicago, informing her that I am indeed back at my house safe and sound. I need to impress upon you that this is something I have never done before in my adult life and I am doing this solely because she is as scared for my safety as I am scared for myself. And all I am trying to do after a day's work is to just get back home.   

Vibrant and devastating, exhilarating and enraging, superb and sorrowful, Travon Free and Martin Desmond Roe's "Two Distant Strangers" deftly plunges into the pulse, tragedy, fight and trauma of the Black Lives Matter movement. Again for those who still proclaim to not understand the meaning of the statement, Black Lives Matter is a cry to a howl to a scream to stop killing us for we are human beings with families, friends, passions and dreams just like anyone else and we deserve to live and be treated and valued as human beings. 

That is exactly where I found myself as I viewed this short film.

On Tuesday, April 20, 2021, after 10 hours of deliberation, Derek Chauvin was found guilty on all three counts of second degree murder, third degree murder and manslaughter in the death of George Floyd. I exhaled a sigh of relief after expecting the very worst because, and please remember, the outcome of this trial, as obvious as it was considering what the entire world saw, was, in actuality, not obvious. The fact that the outcome of the trial was not obvious is disheartening and acutely distressing as the historical lack of consequence has outweighed basic humanity countless times that it is difficult to even believe in a system that is inherently biased against Black people. 

But yes, this time, for George Floyd, the right outcome arrived. Yet, true to the form of this nation, we could not even have 24 hours to bask in our relief.. Hell, we could not even have 5 hours before being emotionally pummeled again by the news of 16 year old Ma'Khia Bryant, shot and killed by police in Columbus, Ohio. This is precisely why I have to scoff at the notion that justice was attained for George Floyd despite my relief at the trial outcome. In fact, what I felt the very most was deep sadness. I do not believe that George Floyd ever wished to become a martyr for a global cause for racial justice. All George Floyd wanted was to return home and see his family again. 

George Floyd just wanted to go home. And like him and like Carter James, we all just want to go home.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR MAY 2021

 

As we begin again...

While I am not really able to make any promises (and perhaps, this is a way of remaining somewhat cautious), I am hoping that the month of May will bring Savage Cinema back in earnest...even though life at the movies has not returned to the fullness of anything resembling normal as of this time. 

I will say that your friendly neighborhood film enthusiast is indeed fully vaccinated!! (How about you?) Even so, I am unquestionably more than conscious that our global pandemic is nowhere near being something that we can relegate firmly to the past, and to that end, I am not feeling so comfortable to return to the confines of a movie theater regardless of how much I miss it. It is still going to be some time, as far as I am concerned. 

But that being said, there is more than enough material for me to catch myself up on and I actually have notes for a few films I have seen over the previous few months that I can refer to for all new reviews...maybe. You see, dear readers, so much time has passed since I happened to see these films that having notes to refer to or not, the memories of those films are not as fresh as I would prefer them to being when I get down to writing a review. I am going to try and see what I can do and if it proves to not being as successful as I wish, then those reviews will be transformed into a new batch of "Savage Cinema's Short Takes." Only time will tell.

But yes, I am hoping that I can now fully return to this blogsite where I can write and share to my heart's content about this thing that I have loved so very much for so much of my lifetime. Thank you all for your patience with me and let's see where this month will take us...

SAVAGE CINEMA UPDATE FOR MARCH 2021

 

Eagle eyed readers of this blogsite might have already noticed something different about this month's entry as opposed to all of the other monthly openers over these past 11 years and that is I am giving an update rather than providing "Coming Attractions."

As of this writing, we are essentially near the middle of the month and I am just now having the opportunity to write an introduction to the month's activities...which is the latest that I have ever written an opener. Secondly, today is March 13th, and one year ago was the very day where life essentially was altered completely due to COVID-19. It was the last day of my school being open before closing for nearly three months and of course, life went into lockdown, including all of our nation's movie theaters.

As life is going through another evolution with the arrival of the vaccines, and therefore the world feels to be gradually opening up again, life has indeed gotten even busier than it already is for me, which has then seriously impeded my time writing--a development that has provided me with considerable frustration, to tell you the truth. It is not as though I have nothing to write about. I have notes for two film reviews just waiting for me to tend to them and shape into brand new postings but I have not had ample time whatsoever to write them. 

Perhaps this month might be a month where Savage Cinema goes into a short hiatus. I am not sure but as filled as life is and as fast as this month is speeding  along, I cannot promise anything regarding new reviews just yet. But rest assured, Savage Cinema is not ending. It is just on a little bit of a pause for the time being. 

Keep watching this space and who knows, maybe by summer time, our theaters will be safe enough to venture into again. Please keep wearing your masks and remaining socially distanced. Please get your vaccination when it is your turn. Keep having hope. 

To be continued...

FIRE IN THE HOLE: a review of "Malcolm & Marie"

"MALCOLM & MARIE"
Written and Directed by Sam Levinson
**** (four stars)
RATED R

"I feel like once you know someone is there for you, and once you know they love you, you never actually think of them again. It's not until you're about to lose someone that you finally pay attention."
-Marie Jones

It is forever striking to me to see how authentic a film is able to be while existing in a form that is completely inauthentic. 

That phenomenon is indeed the magic contained within the art and artistry of the movies and cinematic storytelling. The ability to manufacture a fully invented world, even one that is designed to resemble the very one in which we all exist, through means of an imagined story and characters populated by actors, combined with all of the technicians and creative departments, to gather bits and pieces of information in order to stitch it all together into a narrative created to elicit an emotional response and recognition from a viewer is something akin to a miracle to me. What's more is when the inauthenticity at hand is elevated, and the approximation of our perceived reality is upended, and yet the results remain emotionally recognizable. 

This sensation easily occurs from the greatest flights of fantasy. Or even take any film from a filmmaker like Wes Anderson or Quentin Tarantino, to name two filmmakers currently working and still producing work of exceedingly high quality. Both of those filmmakers revel in the meticulously completed invention of worlds that are not quite like our own real world but remain emotionally resonant, the sense of truth is unshakable even when the surroundings are filled with artifice. And yet, and also filtered through the sensibilities of each and every viewer, we all know only too well that feeling when the magic is not happening, when the fantasy feels false, when the story is not being believed, when that very inauthenticity reveals itself.  

Which brings me to Sam Levinson. 

Writer/Director Sam Levinson is a real curiosity for me. As he is the son of Writer/Producer/Director Barry Levinson, a filmmaker who has more than served as an inspiration with my love of film, as well as writing, with a body of work that includes nothing less than the likes of "Good Morning, Vietnam" (1987), "Rain Man" (1988), "Wag The Dog" (1997) and his "Baltimore series" which consists  of "Diner" (1982), "Tin Men" (1987), and "Avalon" (1990), Sam Levinson has already demonstrated that he possesses more than enough skill, talent and high cinematic style to burn. 

His HBO series "Euphoria" (2019-present), which he adapted from an Israeli series and largely wrote and directed himself, is a resoundingly dark teenage drama centered around the precarious recovery of high school drug addict Rue Bennett (played by Zendaya) and her connections to a collective of classmates as they all navigate the arenas of sex and sexual identity, body image issues, and pornography, in addition to drug addictions and the standard rites of passage via teenage angst.  

It is a compelling, and consistently riveting series but it is also an excessive one, bombastic to the point of being nearly irresponsible as Levinson has populated his cast with a full arsenal of gorgeous, model ready individuals engaging in all manner of debauchery which is visualized in a veritable sound and vision assault that exists somewhere between and the final third of Martin Scorsese's "Goodfellas" (1990), Oliver Stone's "Natural Born Killers" (1994) and Danny Boyle's "Trainspotting" (1996). 

Sam Levinson's approach throughout the series threw me off guard and not always in the best way, for when he zeroed in upon that authenticity, he held me tightly in his grasp, especially through his actual screenwriting which is often strikingly literate, deeply perceptive and elegantly profane. But when he stretched his visual palate, sometimes the result came off as exploitative or even grotesque. 

This was most notable within an episode when Rue, consumed with debilitating depression and struggling with sobriety, holes up within her bedroom compulsively watching a reality series while refusing to just allow herself to rise and go urinate, resulting in a dangerously inflated and infected bladder. For all of the emotional realism, we were also greeted with a perspective from that infected bladder, and in doing so (and while I certainly appreciate the risk taking), the realism was undercut by stylish overkill, thus deflating the authenticity, taking what could have been viewed as a stark warning and serving it up as the sort of desensitized damage usually witnessed in a Bret Easton Ellis novel.   

I watched the entire first season but have since struggled to commit myself to anything more should the series make a full return, partially due to its own hiatus as well as the effects of COVID 19, as the balance of authenticity/inauthenticity felt to be favored more towards sensationalism for my tastes. Yet, I remained curious as to what else Sam Levinson might pursue, as he unquestionably captured my attention.

With "Malcolm & Marie," Sam Levison has firmly proven to me that he is indeed the real deal, armed with a creative vision that affirms his creative personality is fully independent of his Father's work. In addition to being the first Hollywood production to be written, financed, produced and filmed during the pandemic last Summer over a period of a mere 16 days, the film showcases Levinson, working alongside his skeleton crew and two person cast in a feverishly focused collaboration ensuring that the style and substance remained in lockstep. 

What has resulted is a sharply stark, beautifully stylish and emotionally exhausting dark night in the soul of a couple that is magnetically riveting, strongly multi-layered and refreshingly bold to behold in this era of sequels, prequels, franchises, and all movies containing characters in costumes and capes. "Malcolm & Marie," by contrast, is a film of increasing and unflinching rarity and daring that speaks volumes with all of its unblinking revelations.     

Sam Levinson's "Malcolm & Marie" stars Zendaya and John David Washington as the titular couple, Marie Jones, a recovering drug addict and aspiring actress and Malcolm Elliot, a filmmaker and Marie's lover. The film, essentially playing out over real time, brings us dead center into a bracingly intense night once they return home from the successful premiere of Malcolm's debut directorial feature film, an experience that promises to bring him to the next plateau within his budding film career. Yet for  himself and Marie, regarding their life together, there is no next plateau if they are not able to comprehend, navigate and wrestle through their present. 

Sam Levinson's "Malcolm & Marie" is a fiercely driven, impassioned film that hurtles upon its own ruthless, ferocious energy and an often brutal emotional force. Both Zendaya and John David Washington deliver career defining and career elevating performances that make each of them absolutely magnetic to regard.

Over the film's first 13 minutes or so, Sam Levinson sets his stage brilliantly and completely, giving us the proper firmament to ground us spatially and emotionally. It is expertly staged and filmed. Malcolm & Marie returning home from the film premiere and on first view, the emotional levels are established. Malcolm in a state of..ahem..euphoria, while Maria is guarded, quieter, colder. Regard how Levinson tracks the camera through their home, allowing us to witness Marie in more stillness and silence as she uses the bathroom and then, prepares a pot of macaroni and cheese while Malcolm is rapturously uncoiled, brashly dancing to James Brown throughout their living room, including the window sills. No real dialogue of major significance has been said as of yet but we have our scene set perfectly, signaling the turbulence to come, and I remained rooted for the remainder of the film.     

Working beautifully in collaboration with Cinematographer Marcell Rev, who has visualized this film in luminous, startlingly crisp Black & White, provides an elegant darkness to an experience that feels like a couple's therapy session as boxing match. As harsh as the film often is, it is not a cynical or callous experience. On the contrary, it is the type of film that truly remains in exceedingly short supply, at least regarding the genre of the movie love story. For every movie we have seen in which we witness characters falling in love, Levinson however, has delivered a much more compelling narrative: the precarious nature of relationships when trying, fighting, and nearly failing to remain in love. 

And yet, a lot of the criticism that I have seen on-line from viewers to some reviews is directed towards the relentless, and often abusive nature of the fights witnessed within the film and how that brutality ultimately pushed some viewers from spending the complete running time with these characters. I have found that this understandable reaction is largely due to the nature of how and why people watch movies these days. 

Believe me, I get it. The average movie-goer, especially in our increasingly vitriolic society, does not wish to view something so emotionally and psychologically taxing when they essentially wish to unwind. I am honestly unable to recount to you how many people that I know that have expressed to me over the years that when they go to the movies they simply do not wish to think, that they just want to be entertained. I understand. 

But for me, a person who regards the movies as an art form, this is a dangerous precedent to be set when it comes to viewing the movies for viewers have gradually begun to treat the movies as being more disposable, which saddens me. To become so impatient. To become so conditioned to be given a climax every few minutes. To become so passive that one just cannot afford to feel uncomfortable. That simply depletes the movies of their inherent power as art does not always make you feel comfortable and nor should it. Art is designed to force you to take a step away from comfort zones to experience existence via the means of fictional characters and if done to its finest, we will see ourselves and understand ourselves and the people and world around us. 

With "Malcolm & Marie," Sam Levinson has assured that the action in the film is the dialogue and the level through which those words and actions are expressed through the performances. Therefore, all of the violence exists completely in the words. For it is in the dialogue where we view the arc of the night, which is ultimately the arc of the full relationship for all of its peaks and devastating valleys.  In doing so, we are given a front row seat into how they love and how they abuse each other.  Yes indeed, I know it is not enjoyable to watch a film during which the principals are fighting so much but trust me, "Malcolm & Marie" is not a film about people fighting. It is exceedingly more multi-layered and meaningful than anything so shallow, like any piece of so-called "reality television" during which those shows are only about watching people fight. 

For Zendaya, she has certainly already delivered her unquestionable charisma, wry charm and dramatic strengths within Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: Homecoming" (2017) and "Spider-Man: Far From Home" (2019) as well as the aforementioned "Euphoria." With "Malcolm' & Marie," Zendaya has unearthed a previously unseen gravitas that affords her considerably unflinching power, so often in sequences in which she runs a quieter, more stoic visual counterpoint to the often roaring Washington. 

Marie Jones is not exactly a "still waters runs deep" kind of a character, considering the turbulence of her life, addictions, sobriety and sanity. But she operates within a systematic design of multi-layers that affords her the searing ability to cut exact swaths through all of Malcolm's idiosyncrasies, his self-righteous ego, his explosive megalomania, and tortured artist pose (whether justified or not as a Black filmmaker in a White industry) and sucker punch him with one expertly delivered jab that upends him.

Returning to the film's opening sequence, as Malcolm, flying so high from the reaction to his film (and buzzed on some alcohol), struts and prowls through their living room rallying against the racist tendencies that occur when some White film critics tend to provide racial readings and politicizing Black filmmakers they otherwise would not with White counterparts, Marie slyly states, "Malcolm, you're writing an Angela Davis biopic right now." When Malcolm slams film critics as being college educated elitists, Marie, through the veil of her cigarette smoke, softly yet sharply proclaims, "Malcolm, you have a college education." 

Marie has seen and heard all of this before and again and we can feel her mental exhaustion with being Malcolm's cheerleader, support system and sounding board throughout the entire gestation and creation of his film...a film in which her own life story served as inspiration, therefore, a work of art that would not exist without her and yet, every piece of it remains thankless.

Marie's rage is more than justified. And still, her grudges border on the supernatural with how unwilling she is to let Malcolm off of the proverbial hook. Maybe he doesn't deserve to be but the ways in which she twists the knife, so to speak, lead to many moments and periods during which she needlessly challenges him, provokes him and even abuses him. 

For some, I would wonder if they felt if the ways in which Marie communicates with Malcolm are all justifiable as a means for which to emotionally reach him. Again, perhaps so, as Malcolm is indeed so deeply inside of himself and his own needs.  

But there is something to be said for just being honest about one's intentions from the beginning. Is it fair for Marie to tell Malcolm that everything is OK when it is not? Is it fair for Marie to tell Malcolm to not worry about any slights when she honestly feels otherwise? These are the smaller moments that keep Malcolm unbalanced and therefore, his responses to her responses are used against him.

Even further, Marie can read Malcolm easily. She knows what will push his buttons and she seems only to eager to push them. As Malcolm rightfully detects tension, he questions all of the moments of the premiere night which may have caused her pain. He guesses (we know correctly), she deflects (we know she's lying) and all the while, it is Marie's hands on the wheel of their relationship in those moments because it keeps Malcom guessing when she could just express herself openly but refuses to. As Malcolm presses, because she knows that he will do so, Marie then expresses, "I promise you, it's not a good idea. Let's just talk tomorrow...It's not that big of a deal...Malcolm, I promise you. Nothing productive will be said tonight." Again she is not only lying, she is setting up bait she knows Malcolm is unable to leave alone. And yet if he did leave her bait alone, that would only enrage Marie further as she is also more than willing to exploit her own personal trauma and therefore Malcolm's fears to prove a point

Those specific steps in their dance of intimacy pepper and permeate the entire film and believe me, Marie is no monster and I do not feel that Levinson presented her as such. As misguided as her tactics are, she is so often resoundingly correct with her assertions, her criticisms, her grievances, her fury, her intense hurt and sorrow with how far and deeply Malcom has taken her and their relationship for granted, combined with her own sense of guilt, shame and relentless self-loathing due to her past and present as a recovering drug addict. Zendaya hits every note and level with pitch perfect precision and a level of empathy that wounds. She, like the film itself, cuts to the bone. 

As Malcolm, John David Washington is unleashed with a tremendous performance that provides him with his best role to date plus the confirmation that his talents are also within the genes as passed down by his Father, Denzel Washington. Yes, on-line commentary towards the character of Malcolm Elliot has been downright harsh, to the point where he is being seen as a new poster child for toxic masculinity. Hell, he even eats that bowl of mac and cheese (and serves himself seconds) with fury. While there is much to be explored and said about the specific topic, relegating him to the role of a monster is not only spectacularly unfair and fully devoid of nuance, it strips him of the humanity of which he is equally deserving as Marie. 

I would not think it to be unfair that much of Malcolm's rage throughout this night stems from the fact that after the arduous task of writing, directing and releasing a film, which has now received wide acclaim, all he wishes for is a night of celebratory release, a victory lap for himself. Unfortunately, this one desire is constantly being denied by Marie who seems to undercut his triumph at every step. whether through those aforementioned passive aggressive jabs and even lengthier commentaries (her monologue during which she imagines his dark future as a successful, sell-out filmmaker serves as a warning to remain grounded is nonetheless exceedingly cruel) and even more histrionic moments that serve as grim reminders of the turbulent trajectory of their relationship involving her addiction and his role as her care taker.

A sequence midway into the film is striking in its emotional brutality, one that is simultaneously directed towards Marie as well as being filled with self-doubt and self-lacerating. The sequence takes place shortly after Marie's dressing down of Malcolm's possible filmmaking future, to which she chides him as being "mediocre" instead of the visionary he wishes himself to be. It cuts deeply for Malcolm and from there he flies into a vicious monologue of how much Marie actually did not influence his art, which then goes into more personal territory involving past lovers he claims to have discarded, a fate that could be Maire's future should he just snap his fingers. 

It is an ugly sequence. Undoubtedly, especially as he is launching his vitriol while she is at her most physically vulnerable as she is taking a bath. But yet, listen to Malcolm's words as you study his face which Levinson keeps in a tight close up. Malcolm's eyes betray his violence. Of course, he knows 100% how deeply Marie inspired, influenced and contributed to his film, a reality that undercuts his desires to be that singular cinematic visionary. Yet, Marie's words forced him to face his fears of being disposable. So, what does he do but to try and make Marie feel equally disposable. Yes, Marie does seem to take a tally of her grievances against Malcolm, but he is looking to draw blood and the levels to which he eviscerates her is close to unforgivable.

But his trauma goes much deeper than just this night and his longing to be a celebrated artist. His trauma is housed in his honest love for Marie and his desire to tend and care while also existing in a state where he does feel resentful as being the caretaker is a thankless role to play. What Maire perceives as Malcolm's neediness is indeed Malcolm's love, concern and worry that Marie's past psychological instability will once again rear its terrifying head, potentially leading to tragic results. At points during the film when Marie disappears from view and Malcolm is compelled to seek her out, listen to how he repeatedly says her name. It is not out of need. It is out of fear. 

"It's about you being so scared and selfish that you have to break me down. Second guess everything I do...God forbid that I am secure enough in my own opinion that I don't need you...You just need a reason to be needed. Because if I don't need you, then what the hell am I doing with you, Marie? You want control because you can't imagine the reason I'm with you is because I love you."    

Malcolm is absolutely right when he makes these statements but while he is looking at Marie, he is also speaking to himself. 

Indeed, Sam Levenson's "Malcolm & Marie" is a rough ride but I felt it to be impassioned and purposeful. In a film comparison that I feel Malcolm would appreciate, considering it would go against the grain of the "white lady from the L.A. Times" he is constantly rallying against in his rants, I felt to film to be a close cousin to Mike Nichols's "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?" (1966), his cinematic adaptation of the rapacious Edward Albee play. 

Like that film, and in addition to its structure of one long, dark night in the life of a couple, Sam Levinson gets so much of the rhythms and details of how fights like these in relationships begin and flow. How they flare upwards, subside, and then, ignite all over again due to recriminations, resentments and a desire for one-upsmanship. I also loved how he utilized verbal silence and allowed that very silence to speak for both Malcolm and Marie, as well as scenes where songs playing upon their home speakers work as interior monologues our conversations. Even how they are dressed speak to their contradictions and juxtapositions. Marie, often more scantily clad, can be seen as being more open and less guarded but we realize that is not often the case. While the tightly dressed Malcolm, in dark suit and tie seems more closed off than he actually is. 

But again, "Malcolm & Marie" is not a film about a fight. And frankly, it is not solely about a relationship. It is entirely about authenticity and even authorship and therefore, ownership, for who claims the right to tell the story of your life, to ultimately define you? 

And that is why I sincerely hope and wish for everyone who tries this film to go through the fire and reach the film's final monologue, which is a jewel of a piece of writing and performance. Delivered by Marie, the speech is what the entire experience is leading towards and ultimately, it is the speech that the film superbly earns, which made me feel that all is not lost for these two. But just as these characters experience, for us as viewers, to get to the dawn, we have to go through the night. 

Sam Levinson's "Malcolm & Marie" is a film so worthy of discussion and debate as it so proudly stands itself straight upwards and demands to be noticed and experienced to its fullness. It refuses to be disposable and disregarded and nor should it be. To me, it speaks superbly to the vivid detail and excitement the movies can bring and cinematic spectacle can be regarded in the gift of performances, writing and direction just as much, if not more, than all manner of CGI bombast and operatic comic book mythology. 

For what is greater than the art and act of life being lived? Is there anything that could be more authentic?  

SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR FEBRUARY 2021

For all of the time at home, it is surprising to me with how I have somehow found myself with having less time to watch movies, and therefore write about them. Especially as there is considerable material that I wish to see. 

Just as with all of you, I am certain, life during COVID has more than performed quite a number upon me. All of the uncertainty and anxiety has more than compounded itself, leaning the fullness of its weight upon the stresses that have already existed as present parts of life. And yet, the solace and release I have always received through the art of the movies throughout my life, while still existing, I have found it more difficult to engage with. Be it an increased lack of time due to extra work or even a lack of motivation due to emotional and psychological fatigue, my movie watching has decreased and I miss them plus writing about them.

So...this month, I make no promises other than to just try. To try and make the time that is just for ME and full confession, that it a difficult thing for me to accomplish when all of the responsibilities of life demand my attention.

To think, the last time I set foot in a movie theater was nearly one year ago late this month. Please keep wearing your masks, washing your hands and keeping distant. Please get the vaccine when you have the opportunity to do so. 

I want to be in the dark theaters with you again.