One False Move

 

Director Carl Franklin

Bill Paxton

Cynda Williams and Billy Bob Thornton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE FALSE MOVE       A                                                                                                           USA (105 mi)  1992  d: Carl Franklin

Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel gave me a career.  I get a little choked up.  What happened was that IRS Media was primarily a straight-to-video company and weren’t really equipped to market films theatrically.  They didn’t really have a lot of faith in “One False Move.”  What happened is that my wife, Jessie Beaton, who produced the film, got it booked and Anne Thompson saw it at the Palm Springs Film Festival and John Hartl saw it in Seattle.  Then Sheila Benson saw it and took it to the Floating Film Festival.  That is where Roger Ebert saw it and he and Gene Siskel just became champions for it and talked about it on whatever show. They single-handedly became our marketing.                                                                           —Carl Franklin, Carl Franklin, Director of ONE FALSE MOVE – rogerebert.com             

Released just days after the Los Angeles uprising following the Rodney King beating by police, when all four police officers were acquitted on charges of using excessive force, in direct conflict with the publicly viewed videotape that proved otherwise, this film offers a new twist on Robert Siodmak’s Oscar nominated film noir THE KILLERS (1946), coming on the heels of the Coen brother’s Blood Simple (1984), suggesting film noir is back with a vengeance in this strikingly original neo-noir work transporting the setting to the American South, which allows novice black director Carl Franklin to provide a commentary on unresolved American race relations.  Made on a shoestring budget, part of the indie movement of the 90’s, the film deals with the question of violence and race in some really powerful, problematic, and disturbing ways, listed as the #1 film of the year by Gene Siskel, Gene Siskel: 1969-1998, and #2 on Ebert’s list, Roger Ebert: 1967-2006, both fervently advocating for a socially relevant film that was initially targeted for a very limited release before heading straight to video.  Opening in an urban setting, the sight of some shockingly gruesome murders, the escape takes us through a meandering odyssey of desolate country roads, cheap motels, and diners, yet every move calls attention to that horrific atrocity opening the film, where the brutal savagery of the crime is simply staggering, and by extension, the violent history of the nation itself.  Co-written by Billy Bob Thornton and Tom Epperson, while exquisitely shot on 35mm by James L. Carter, much of it in Cotton Plant, Arkansas, a mostly black small-town with a population of just over 500, and home of gospel singer extraordinaire Sister Rosetta Tharpe, about two hours from Hot Springs, where Thornton grew up, at times with no plumbing or electricity, bringing authenticity to the screen, yet what’s perhaps most effective is the stripped-down simplicity of its style, with a director in full command of character and mood, where the quiet moments render the most emotional weight, offering a surprising turn, as the film is chock full of Southern charm and intricate small-town detail that might surprise viewers, as they don’t expect to be taken into this vastly unexplored landscape in film noirs, which made their name in the 40’s and 50’s through gritty urban environments.  Eddie Muller, founder of the Film Noir Foundation and programmer of the Noir Film Festival, impressibly describes the film as “one of the best crime movies made in this country in the last 50 years.”  Something of an extension of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989), with more of an emphasis on a contaminated white immorality, at the time of release few knew the director was black, as most simply assumed he was white, yet what’s so subtle are the slowly developing racial inferences, largely revealed through white characters, yet this film traverses where few others are willing to go, exploring how white privilege perpetuates generations of hidden racism, from taking advantage of special perks that only whites can experience, to refusing to accept responsibility for their mixed-race children, typically denying paternity and moving on from them, leading completely separate lives, pretending as if they simply don’t exist.  Playwright Sam Shepard explored the idea of separate families in Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984) and Robert Altman’s Fool for Love (1985), yet neither explored any racial connotations, setting this into a unique realm, adding a racial dimension, where the full force of the subject creeps up on you, with viewers having no idea where this is heading, as the crime spree captures all the attention, getting all the headlines, while this little aspect of the story only really comes into play at the end, punctuated by a devastating emotional finale that is simply chilling.  While the opening is easily one of the more disturbing moments anyone could possibly experience in a theater, bordering on a snuff film, where a pleasant party atmosphere of casual drinking and dancing is interrupted by a ferociously violent home invasion, leading to a monstrous serial killing carried out by two guys with no moral compass whatsoever, the profanity screaming Ray Malcolm (Billy Bob Thornton in a ponytail), his knife-wielding, silent assassin partner in crime, Pluto (Michael Beach), while Ray’s girlfriend Fantasia (Cynda Williams, who got married to Thornton after filming was completed, but divorced before the film was released two years later) passively watches the murders of her friends while an eerie video of the party revelers filmed just moments earlier plays in the background in what turns out to be a spectacularly heinous drug theft, stealing a hidden stash of cocaine and money, immediately getting high and hitting the road. 

With terrific performances and a brilliantly written screenplay that explores the humanity in everyone, Los Angeles homicide detectives Dud Cole (Jim Metzler) and John McFeely (Earl Billings) are the salt and pepper cops assigned to the case, quickly identifying the perpetrators from the party video left behind, hearing Fantasia say she was heading for Star City, Arkansas, as she has family and a small child there.  Calling the local sheriff there, we’re immediately transported into an alternate universe, as Dale “Hurricane” Dixon (Bill Paxton) has that eager, enthusiastic charm of the good ol’ boy network, seemingly having all the time in the world as the LA cops can’t get a word in edgewise on the phone, but they do discover Dixon knows Fantasia from her past days in Star City, trying to warn him that these diabolical killers may be on their way there, and that they would be joining him shortly.  Most of the film actually takes place in a sleepy, small-town hamlet where little ever happens, with Dixon introducing the jaded city cops to an entirely different lifestyle, skipping out on his breakfast bill, stealing candy bars from behind the counter, while acting like the entire town is at his own personal disposal.  The two LA cops are literally dumbfounded at how blithely routine police procedures are ignored, as Dixon barnstorms his way wherever he goes, announcing himself and his companions long before they get there, removing any element of surprise, showing little comprehension for just how dangerous these abominable criminals have revealed themselves to be, fully admitting that he’s never once had to pull his gun in his entire career.  Nevertheless he invites the detectives to his home, sharing a home cooked meal, meeting his wife Cheryl Ann (Natalie Canerday), who announces she’s never seen her husband more excited, where they are treated like local celebrities, with the proud sheriff showing them off wherever he goes.  Where they would advance with extreme caution, Dixon simply barges his way in, impulsively jumping into family gatherings, asking an old, near-deaf uncle if he’s heard from Ray, or whether the mother has gotten word from Fantasia, exposing their entire reason for being there.  Dixon easily diffuses a domestic dispute, where an out-of-control, axe-wielding husband is drunkenly threatening to kill his wife, with the LAPD guys pulling their guns, but Dixon restrains him simply by talking like a friend, showing no aggressive demeanor, and the man quickly gives up without resorting to any violence.  It’s quite a contrast to the urban style of police encounter, guns drawn in anticipation of a far messier outcome.  Despite his natural spunk, the LA guys make fun of him behind his back, overheard one day, as they’re ridiculing his naïveté, colloquial speech, and lack of professional training.  In spite of his innate ineptitude, Dixon can’t wait to work on the case, where his recklessness and unbridled enthusiasm brings an endearing Southern charm, where his brash humor and infectious delight have a positive effect on viewers, yet as McFeely points out, “Hurricane is waiting on the bad guys the way a kid waits for Christmas.”  Paxton plays the role with a great deal of charisma, given a certain misguided nobility, viewed as the luckiest guy in the world, as he has a good job, a wife, a family, a home, where his heart is in the right place, even as he blunders into a situation and makes it worse, often interjecting terms like “colored boys” and “niggers,” completely unreflective and oblivious to the crude offensiveness of the language, especially in front of black officer McFeely, who is consistently slighted in favor of his white partner Cole.  Moving from an uncompromising crime genre to a more intimate character study, many may relate to this down-home aspect of his character, believing these are minor indiscretions, but by the end of the film they help create a fuller picture of just what kind of impact he actually has.

Coinciding with the portrait of small-town life, the camera also followers the killers on the run, going through a psychological meltdown after they quickly run through the cocaine, with Pluto cutting off the supply, wanting to have enough to make some money when they get to Houston.  After stopping in a convenience store where a state trooper is chatting with the cashier, that same trooper stops them on the highway while viewing their out-of-town plates, but as he pulls the two men out of the car, Fantasia walks up from behind and shoots him dead, where the store surveillance footage puts a face on them, confirming their identity.  What happens in Houston is equally problematic, yet another drug transaction gone wrong, as they are leaving dead bodies behind wherever they go, running out of options, splitting up however, allowing Fantasia to head home to meet her family (stealing their money before she leaves), while they will meet up with her there.  Fantasia turns out to be Lila Walker, having grown up in Star City, with the cops visiting her mother and brother Ronnie (Kevin Hunter), who have been taking care of her 5-year old son Byron (Robert Anthony Bell).  One thing Franklin emphasizes is a Christian aspect to Southern life, suggesting this is part of the white privilege imposing itself on blacks, often distorting their lives, repeating the negative stigma of blacks easily falling into a life of crime, yet excusing their own role, with the film openly challenging the role whites play in undermining black lives by refusing to support economic needs within that community, like providing jobs or medical care, or devoting adequate tax dollars for structural repair commensurate with white communities, something that simply doesn’t happen even when the majority population is black.  After generations of neglect, a moral rot may set in, where the everyday mindset is that blacks are simply viewed as inferior, opening the doors to white supremacy.  This film provides an alternative moral vision that suggests racist beliefs can negate black growth and cause severe harm which may be at the root of black crime, as there are so few viable options.  When Lila slips into town and meets her brother, she tells him, “I already look guilty.  Looking guilty is being guilty for black people; you now that,” suggesting criminality is not so much a choice but an unavoidable fate for many black Americans.  The grotesque brutality of the opening suggests this moral vision is not only deeply ingrained in the American South, but modern urban centers like Los Angeles, where blacks continue to live under a presumption of guilt, as only whites can be presumed innocent.  Dixon has been eyeing Lila from afar, finding her staying in an abandoned home outside of town, with her brother bringing her son for a visit, but once they leave, Dixon moves in, apparently having a history with her, as it soon becomes clear he’s the father of her child, something he refuses to acknowledge, taking advantage of her as a teenager caught for shoplifting, where “helping her” turned into having a sexual affair with her, underaged and a virgin at the time, so there is no question who the father is.  Still, he ignores the child, living an alternate “white” reality where blacks aren’t welcome, yet this single incident may have led her to flee the vicinity.  As they wait, she sensually appeals to his manhood for special favors, while he also discovers a handgun in Lila’s purse, setting her up as a typical femme fatale, a damaged soul down on her luck, trying to use her wit and guile.  Her compelling backstory is revealed slowly and calculatingly, offering a completely different view of Dixon, who is hardly the choir boy he appeared to be, yet the more time they spend together the more viewers come to realize Dixon’s role in why the killers are heading for Star City.  In the course of the evening, Lila reveals that she, her brother, and her son are all the progeny of absent white fathers, staining their lives in indescribable ways, inflicting psychological damage, producing shame, a subject discussed in Toni Morrison’s first novel The Bluest Eye, which may explain her poor choice in boyfriends, eventually hooking up with Ray, a perverted “white trash” criminal lowlife who routinely abuses her, a reflection of her own low self-esteem, yet part of a tradition that was passed on from mother to daughter.  In fact, Lila’s experience mirrors that of America, as black women have been historically terrorized by white men since the days of slavery, having no recourse or legal protection, yet the “white” twist on what amounts to rape is to call it “helping,” part of a long history of patriarchal white privilege that allows them to abdicate their responsibilities.  The extent of Dixon’s own contribution to Lila’s downfall comes as a shocking surprise, a devastating revelation that powerfully elevates the dramatic weight of the story.  Knowing the other two killers are coming to meet her, he agrees to let her free if she lures them into his trap where he’ll be waiting, alone, with no back up, an underdog sheriff finally having the opportunity to mix it up with the big leagues.  The bold finale has a slow, cinematic lead-in that amps up the tension, juxtaposing the arriving car carrying the killers, the police vehicle searching for Dixon’s whereabouts, and a black man playing a blues harmonica, with an accompanying blues-tinged theme played on electric guitar by child prodigy Eric Gale, one of the great session musicians who unfortunately died not long afterwards.  This masterful sequence leads to a stunning climax, which may leave some breathless in the elegance and graceful simplicity of the captured moment.       

Our Brand Is Crisis (2015)

OUR BRAND IS CRISIS                 B                    

USA  (107 mi)  2015  d:  David Gordon Green            Official Movie Site

David Gordon Green uses Sandra Bullock in the social activist, Julia Roberts Best Actress role from ERIN BROCKOVICH (2000), transported to the mean streets of La Paz, Bolivia in this clever fictionalized remake of Rachel Boynton’s 2005 documentary film by the same name, where Bullock actually assumes the role of real-life Clinton political strategist James Carville who was improbably hired to resuscitate the flailing campaign of one of the political candidates in the 2002 Bolivian presidential election.  Brought out of retirement by an old friend Nell (Ann Dowd), who’s certain she’s the right person for the job, though she’s been living in near seclusion, “Calamity” Jane Bodine (Sandra Bullock) seems to have lost touch with the human race, initially showing no interest whatsoever in getting her feet back into the fire of another political campaign, then doing a complete reversal after discovering the opposition candidate, currently running away in the polls, is being managed by her professional nemesis Pat Candy (Billy Bob Thornton), a master of the dirty tricks campaign.  With that she tosses her hat into the ring, making a dubious arrival on her lengthy flight into the mountainous region of La Paz, stumbling down the stairs off the plane, immediately suffering from altitude sickness, surrounded on all sides by mountains, where the city elevation varies from 10,500 to 13,500 feet.  Something of a medical wreck for the first couple of days, she belongs in the infirmary, barely able to stand, much less run a campaign, keeping a low profile in order to observe just how objectionable and dysfunctional her candidate really is.  A former President, Pedro Castillo (Joaquim de Almeida) is behind in all the polls as he was literally loathed and despised when he “served” in office earlier, viewed as aloof and uncharismatic, developing a tin ear when it comes to listening or responding to the needs of others, but is known for being his own man, stubbornly set in his ways, wealthy and aristocratic, where money appears to be no object, which explains how Jane was literally plucked out of obscurity.  

Just when you think this film is going nowhere, as you quickly tire of Bullock’s continual sick gags, a return to the physical comedy of the silent era where she barely utters a word, all it takes is the slimy appearance of a snake-like Candy himself to get everyone’s blood boiling, as he’s a slick marketeer, where his lovable ads cover up the fact that he’s a completely unscrupulous human being that may as well be the devil incarnate, as the guy loves political trash talking, getting in your face and personal, all done with the arrogance and southern charm of moral duplicity, where he’d sell out his own mother in a nanosecond.  What’s perhaps most astonishing is that Jane has little regard for actual Bolivian politics herself and makes no attempt whatsoever to learn, running a campaign where it’s never about “issues,” but instead resorts to an all-out frontal assault, waging a war generating tabloid-style headlines, where winning is the only object.   When it becomes clear her candidate simply doesn’t have the charisma needed to win, she resorts to denigrating the other guys in the race, starting salacious rumors, planting false stories on TV and in the newspapers, effectively placing the other candidates on the defensive.  While much of this is played for laughs, as the degree of comic absurdity is remarkably clever, even for the lowest of gutter politics, but there’s also an underlying level of decency playing out throughout as well, as represented by Anthonie Mackie as Ben, one of the American consultants who is something of a straight shooter, providing an unshakable moral center throughout, but most significantly personified by a local kid named Eduardo (Reynaldo Pacheco), a decent guy and a true believer, even if he comes across with the innocence and naïveté of Daily Planet photographer and would-be cub reporter Jimmy Olsen.  Eduardo’s claim to fame is a photograph taken when he was a baby being held in the arms of President Castillo, symbolic for depicting Castillo as the father of the nation, making Eddie a steadfast supporter for life, though his views sadly change on Castillo’s first day in office.  While the film attempts to show democracy in action, with behind-the-scenes meetings, making use of polls and support groups, developing a candidate’s image in one breath while tarnishing the opposition in the next, going on the road for multiple campaign stops where literally anything can happen, the film is more obsessed by the cynical shenanigans of professional smear artists, the ones who willingly start false rumors or make outrageous accusations, at least planting the seed of doubt in the minds of the voters.

  

Of particular interest, there are repeated images of seemingly spontaneous grass roots demonstrations on the street drawing swelling crowds, beautifully captured by Green’s longtime cinematographer Tim Orr, as well as campaign visits to the more remote hinterlands, where Green’s eye for detail is remarkable.  The insight into the cultural diversity of this tiny nation is utterly captivating, though the film is mostly a comic portrayal of imported arrogance and betrayal, leaving behind a real-life horror show, where Castillo is based upon the exploits of Sánchez de Lozada who was twice elected President of Bolivia, spending his childhood years receiving an education in the United States, studying literature and philosophy at the University of Chicago, resulting in the fact he never developed a natural Spanish accent, leading many Bolivians to refer to him as El Gringo.  While the back and forth chemistry between Billy Bob Thornton and Sandra Bullock leads to hilarious overkill, amusingly rising to the level of contemptuous and personally hateful, the poison interjected into Bolivian politics is no joke considering the backwardness and poverty levels in Bolivia, which was the second poorest nation in the hemisphere after Haiti prior to World War II, though there is enormous mineral wealth almost exclusively mined by outside colonial interests prior to the nationalization of the industry following the 1952 revolution, where there were 14 coups d’états in the 20th century alone, with only China, Greece, Haiti, and Thailand with more throughout their entire histories.  Still to this day, 8% of landowners own more than 95% of the farmable land, or put in another way, 615 landowners own more than half the farmable land in the country, while hundreds and thousands of peasants are forced to serve them for little or no pay.  Nearly two-thirds of the population are indigenous people, the largest of any Latin American nation, where more than 90% of them are illiterate, while 80% speak no language other than their own, which means they can’t understand the official governmental language of Spanish.  While this is a unique demographic, to say the least, especially the incomprehensible and mostly illiterate rural vote (described at one point where winning them over would be like an American candidate having to sway 200 million Apaches), the cynicism asserted by the American politicos reduces legitimate social concerns to a Wild West shootout, winner take all, where the sad fact of the matter is the winner is no more experienced, trustworthy, or driven to promote healthy social changes than the guy they’re kicking out, as the election campaign doesn’t produce political messages or ideas but is all about mudslinging and annihilating the opposition’s credibility.  Ironically, the “loser” of this election, populist candidate Evo Morales, is currently the sitting President of the nation elected four years later in 2006.  Talk about long term consequences — a year after winning the 2002 election de Lozada resigned and fled back to America after being chased from office after a reported massacre by armed Bolivian troops at a public demonstration over the Bolivian gas conflict, where strikes and roadblocks brought the nation to a standstill, resulting in 67 deaths, largely protesters and bystanders, but also some soldiers and policemen, where de Lozada’s extradition request to stand trial in Bolivia is still under appeal more than a decade later.