Down and Out With the Dolls

 

Director Kurt Voss

Voss with Lemmy Kilmister

Lemmy Kilmister

DOWN AND OUT WITH THE DOLLS                  B                                                             USA  (87 mi)  2001  d: Kurt Voss

The Paper Dolls are the band I’d hope would rise above the bullshit and make it...Guess not.  —opening narration from Lavendar (Melody Moore)

Having worked with Allison Anders on Border Radio (1987), the two UCLA grads also collaborated on SUGAR TOWN (1999), a look at the lives of struggling LA scene rock stars, as aging rock musicians who were big in the 70’s and 80’s face midlife crises, career slumps, financial woes, and God knows what else, while this film is loosely based on Portland visual artist, production designer, producer, and co-writer Nalini “Deedee” Cheriel's life as a musician and the stories she would tell her friends Kurt Voss and Zoë Poledouris, who wrote the music for the film, about this time in her life playing in The Hindi Gods (with Voss) in Los Angeles, and several all-girl bands, including Seattle-based Teen Angels, Juned, and Eugene-based Adickdid.  Voss embodies the independent spirit and do-it-yourself filmmaking ethic who specializes in depicting the interpersonal relations of rock personalities, making shoestring-budget movies, with a flair for behind the scenes portraits of ignored or forgotten artists.  A raunchy, wry, and in-your-face tale of the fast rise and fall of a fictional all-girl, indie Portland rock band, the Paper Dolls, modeled after Pacific Northwest grunge and riot grrrl bands like Sleater-Kinney and Bikini Kill, the subject of Sini Anderson’s The Punk Singer (2013), punk-inspired indie and alternative rock bands that emerged in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s.  Demonstrating the continuing influence of punk, both in terms of sounds and anti-authoritarian attitudes, representing defiantly anti-mainstream values in a market that was seeking to co-opt alternative culture, riot grrrl bands stressed gender issues and sexism within indie music scenes, often featuring feminist lyrics and fiery performances, and were much more opposed to engagement with mainstream media than many grunge acts were, and therefore at the time of its emergence in the early 1990’s was far less popular than grunge, yet its influence has continued to grow over the years and has inspired a number of films like this one.  A depiction of the struggles musicians face while dealing with the music industry, this exposes issues that were frequently addressed following commercial breakthroughs within indie cultures, leading to well-worn debates on the effects of selling out and mass media’s detrimental effects upon the integrity of these underground subcultures.  The film had little to no distribution, no name stars, and was barely seen in theaters, but it does an excellent job revealing why rock bands break up so easily, as members are such divas, and behind the scenes all hell is breaking loose.  The film is populated by fanzine writers, music label owners, producers and other people who work in the independent music scene, while bassist Janis Tanaka of L7  and former Nymphs frontwoman Inger Lorre are among the Dolls hangers-on, along with a character named Alcoholly (Jennifer Shepard), emphasizing musical performances such as rehearsals, live performances, and a studio recording, where despite the film’s comic moxie and sardonic tone, the musical performances are authenticated by the input of musicians who actually play their own instruments, making music the driving force of the film.   

A compelling, satirical, and occasionally campy look at women in the underground music scene, and while the production values are a little rough around the edges, the core of the film is the authenticity of the music and the characters, featuring an independent record store, where one of the women works a day job, Lavendar (bassist Melody Moore), and a local bar where two of the other women work, Kali (Nicole Barrett, songwriter, guitarist, and lead vocal) and Reggie (drummer Kinnie Starr).  With a rather spare narration from Lavendar’s point of view, the entire story plays out in flashback mode, as what starts the wheels in motion is an argument in the local bar with Fauna (Zoë Poledouris), lead singer of a Goth band The Snogs, and her partner and bandmate Paulo (Mikael Jehanno), leading to the break-up of their band.  In the immediate aftermath, Kali asks Fauna if she wants to front their all-girl band, but receives only a dismissive look.  But when she’s thrown out of her home with Paulo and kicked out into the street with all her earthly possessions, she has an entirely different perspective.  Kali is a worshipping fan with a teenage crush on Levi (Coyote Shivers), lead guitarist of a New York-based band, The Suicide Bombers, seen performing a solo set in the record store, a guy she knew when they were much younger, having grown up in the same town.  Meeting the next day in a bar, their conversation is interrupted by Fauna, who literally throws herself back into the mix by agreeing to join their band, not only because she is desperate, but she sees this as an opportunity to get closer to Levi, who has status within the indie music world, as The Suicide Bombers have already signed with local indie label Pop Up Records, on the verge of going nationwide and becoming breakout stars, and she sees this as an opportunity.  Fauna may be opportunistic and mostly unpleasant, but she is also a commanding performer who acts as an inspiration for Kali and helps to improve the band, deciding to move into “The Dollhouse” together, a home allowing them space to rehearse while honing their songwriting skills, but their closeness may also drive them crazy.  While the band is comprised of archetypical figures, a self-obsessed, ambitiously-driven diva lead singer, naïvely idealistic yet comically sincere guitarist, pragmatically down to earth bass player, and go with the flow stoner drummer (apparently bringing her own bong to the set), their first informal performance, playing to a small audience in a make-shift backyard, is dynamic, where Fauna is a compelling, confident performer who grabs all the attention as she strides around the small, impromptu stage in a commanding fashion.  The dynamism of the performance is heightened by the way it is filmed, with quick edits, shot in weird angles, facilitated by digital cameras, which accentuate the film’s raw and hyperreal aesthetic, offering a more kinetic feel.  Even Kali has to admit, “Chalk it up to the benefits of creative conflict, but with that show The Paper Dolls sounded better than we ever had before.”

Kali writes the band’s songs with a sensitive, wide-eyed innocence, driven to write by an autobiographical need for self-expression, in stark contrast with Fauna who is star-driven for success, loosely based on Courtney Love, lead singer of the alternative rock band Hole, who herself was involved in the Portland rock scene when she was younger, a controversial figure who was ambitious and highly motivated, which put her at odds with the riot grrrl movement at times, and reportedly punched Bikini Kill lead singer Kathleen Hannah at the 1994 Lollapalooza festival.  One of the more memorable sequences in the film is the arrival of the Suicide Bombers in a small club, shown in a slo-mo sequence, envisioned like a girlish teenage fantasy.  At one point during a rehearsal, Fauna cynically attacks one of Kali’s songs in a nasty, patronizing manner, driving a schism between the honesty and raw authenticity of Kali and the ambitious commercialism of Fauna, which eats away at their friendship.  Making matters worse, Fauna has made a beeline towards Levi, driving a wedge between them, knowing how he could jumpstart her career, where her character represents naked ambition in the film, where her cravings for fame and money also lead her to sexually seduce men in positions of power, such as Levi and the record label owner, Bill Black (Alan Charing).  While she proves almost impossible to work with because of her conniving and manipulative selfishness, Fauna acts as a catalyst in bringing about the group’s demise.  Lavender is also frustrated, as she has put her relationship with longtime boyfriend Clark (Shawn Robinson) on hold to fully commit to the band.  Now, with Clark growing increasingly distant and jealous (he’s a frustrated musician himself), Lavender is beginning to weigh the cost of success.  She also senses the battle brewing between Fauna and Kali for the affections of Levi, and is concerned that her friend Kali, so youthfully innocent, will be the big loser.  Motörhead's Lemmy Kilmister (former roadie for Jimi Hendrix), in a rather bizarre cameo as an aging roadie speaking with a Cockney accent, happily moves into Fauna’s bedroom walk-in closet because the rent is so cheap.  Drummer Reggie doesn’t know it, but she has a looming problem of her own, as her proclivity for casually seducing and then discarding female fans has seriously angered one of her groupie conquests, Heather (Sierra Feldner-Shaw).  Mistaking Reggie’s casual hedonism for treatment one would receive at the hands of a male rock star, Heather feels used and jilted.  Seeking revenge, she has enlisted the help of Mulder (Brendan O'Hara, who is himself a DIY musician), Reggie’s long-suffering roadie boyfriend, a rather pathetic figure that she keeps around to help haul around the heavy equipment.  The good-natured Mulder has no vindictive feelings toward Reggie, but as she rarely sleeps with him, the sex-starved Mulder is quickly, if reluctantly, seduced by Heather into aiding her in a scheme to humiliate the sexually amoral drummer.  All comes to a head during a two-day rave at the Dollhouse, where the party, intended as the band’s glorious coming-out, degenerates into debauchery marred by drunken recrimination and mudslinging.  Where it all leads is to death and destruction, followed by a rebirth into new and completely unexpected directions.  So You Want to Be a Rock 'N' Roll Star YouTube (2:07), you might ask?  This plays out as an easy to like cautionary tale. 

Note

Nicole Barrett who plays Kali, was killed after being hit by a car while trying to cross a highway on foot in Thailand on July 17, 2014 where she was attending a Buddhist education course, Portland musician killed in Thailand car collision.  

Down & Out With the Dolls  entire film may be seen on YouTube (1:25:21)

2023 Top Ten List #4 Showing Up

Writer/director/editor Kelly Reichardt

Reichardt on the set with Michelle Williams

Reichardt and Williams at Cannes

 

 

 

 

SHOWING UP                      A-                                                                                                   USA  (107 mi)  2022  d:  Kelly Reichardt

The portrait of an artist takes an unusual turn, immersing viewers inside a defunct art school, the Oregon College Of Art And Craft in Portland, which shut down in 2019, one of the nation’s last remaining craft-focused degree programs, first opening in 1907 as part of a movement reacting against changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution.  According to a recent New Yorker article (The End of the English Major), “In 2022, a survey found that only seven per cent of Harvard freshmen planned to major in the humanities, down from twenty per cent in 2012, and nearly thirty per cent during the nineteen-seventies,” a pattern that is reflective across the national landscape, mirroring a society that denigrates art and literature as purely frivolous, having little to do with the economic realities of the future.  This film begs to differ.  Establishing an alignment within the artistic community, Reichardt takes us through the college from room to room, like a Frederick Wiseman exposé, offering a wordless commentary on the making of art, as this becomes the predominate focus of the film, filling the classroom spaces with Portland-based artists whose pieces are seen throughout the film, exposing viewers to more artworks in this brief timespan than they have likely seen in years, which is a remarkable accomplishment.  Working with actress Michelle Williams in their fourth collaboration, initially seen as a homeless woman trying to find her stolen dog in Wendy and Lucy (2008), then part of a wagon train heading west bound for the Oregon Territory in Meek's Cutoff (2010), and as a domineering matriarch hellbent on building that perfect home in Certain Women (2016), this couldn’t be a more unglamorous role, wearing no make-up, looking frumpy in colorless attire with an unstylized, pageboy haircut, exhibiting little flair or personality, strangely inhabiting the same desolate universe as Barbara Loden’s Wanda (1970), whose very character is personified by a lack of personal drive.  There’s not an ounce of artifice anywhere to be found on the screen, becoming an unflinching portrait of a dour woman who takes little pleasure in doing anything other than working on her art, which dominates every waking minute of her life, spending her time doing small ceramic sculptures of women in various states of motion, while colorful watercolor drawings decorate her studio walls, yet her only companion is a finicky cat who rules the roost with persistent meows.  Returning to Oregon, notably Portland for the umpteenth time, known for its DIY counterculture lifestyle, perhaps more than any film since Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye (1973) this perfectly encapsulates that West coast vibe, where there’s a chill about each of the secondary characters, as nothing is ever rushed, yet they exhibit something eccentric and individualistic about the West coast that simply doesn’t exist anywhere else in the country.  Despite her inestimable talent, Kelly Reichardt is not a household name, though her films can be overpraised to the hilt, yet some find it hard to engage with the lack of onscreen drama.  Still, she can always be counted on to make low-key, quietly naturalistic films in her own distinct style, using minimal plot devices to build contemplative, meditative spaces about ordinary people living life on the margins, where her vast catalogue of independent films also includes River of Grass (1994), Old Joy (2006), Night Moves (2013), and First Cow (2019).  Lizzy Carr (Michelle Williams) lives in a cramped apartment over a garage that she’s turned into a studio, renting space from a longtime friend and fellow artist who lives next door, Jo, played by Hong Chau, so good in Alexander Payne’s mystifyingly weird Downsizing (2017), who makes more dramatically eye-appealing collages of yarn, fabric, and metal that occupy greater dimension and space.  The two exhibit a passive-aggressive relationship throughout the film, not exactly rivals, as their work is so different, yet their approach couldn’t be more different.  Jo is a more celebrated artist-in-residence at the school, surrounding herself with a roomful of admirers, where her home can sometimes resemble a party atmosphere, releasing the tension after being cooped up in an art studio all day, while Lizzy struggles to find time after hours, working alone at home, where solitude works for her, undisturbed by outside forces as she embodies an unspoken ambivalence, where the fragility of her work resembles the intricacy of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie.  While Jo earns money from the sale of her work, Lizzy does not, yet in something of a pleasant surprise, Reichardt is completely nonjudgmental about implying any instrinsic value, allowing viewers to decide.  In that sense, her observational style is diametrically opposed to the ostentatiousness of Ruben Östlund’s The Square (2017), which does nothing but make value judgments about class distinctions in a calculated contempt for art.  However, not since Rivette’s LA BELLE NOISEUSE (1991) has a film so comically dealt with some obsessional human eccentricities involved in creating art.

This is the sixth collaboration with Portland screenwriter Jon Raymond, while working with cinematographer Christopher Blauvelt for over a decade, developing a comfort zone working together with films unraveling in a relaxed pace, where there’s something calmly appealing about this film, with an underlying humor that’s often missing from her other films, yet it also carries with it a profound sadness.  Lizzy supports herself by working in an uninspiring desk job at a campus office (where a dog sits in the doorway) which is inexplicably run by her mother Jean (Maryann Plunkett), which allows her access to the facilities, seemingly existing in a state of personal dissatisfaction, where part of her frustration is designing posters for other featured artists, routinely seen sitting alone outside on the steps eating out of her tupperware container, just staring off into space, watching the “Thinking and Movement” class out on the grass, or roaming through the various rooms in an attempt to escape the drudgery of her job, where it’s clear this takes her away from doing what she’d prefer, which is working on her art.  Ironically, she’s surrounded by a multitude of student artists who are doing exactly that, as hanging out is an essential component to making art, each working at their own unhurried pace, where the filmmaker presents the panorama of their works as a kind of collective collage of creative inspiration, where stenciled onto one of the classroom walls is a sign that reads “Do Not Mix Chemical Dyes with Natural Dyes.”  Reichardt works with such a deliberately low-key approach that it resembles a documentary style with fictitious interludes, yet what’s immediately clear is just how ordinary the artists appear to be, as they could be anybody walking down the street, completely unrecognizable from the wide breadth of humanity, yet the extreme degree of focus in their work is as unique as it is exemplary.  With just a few days before an upcoming exhibition, Lizzy’s life is continually interrupted by unexpected events that take her away from what she needs to be doing, starting with her cat, waking her up in the middle of the night as she’s nearly mauled to death a captured pigeon, having already nibbled on one of the wings, leaving it incapacitated and unable to fly, quickly disposing of the bird by sweeping it up and placing it out the window on the end of a broom, leaving it to its fate somewhere else, but like bad karma, it comes back to haunt her.  Jo discovers the injured bird the next morning and immediately attempts a rescue, enlisting Lizzy to help her wrap the wing in a bandage, place the bird in a cardboard box, and leave it right back with a stunned Lizzy to look after before running off to her art studio, as she has two upcoming exhibitions, and a prospective buyer from New York, hilariously described by Guy Maddin in a wonderfully illuminating interview as “It’s almost like a Preston Sturges gag as directed by Kelly Reichardt,” (A Need to Focus: Guy Maddin Interviews Kelly Reichardt About Showing Up).  Meekly reminding Jo that she has no hot water, she’s alarmed at her dismissiveness, but it will have to wait due to more pressing needs.  This is what amounts to drama in this film, as the saga of the injured bird becomes the link between these two women, each passing it off to the other, with Jo expressing less and less interest, while Lizzy develops a certain fascination, alarmed enough to take it to the vet, who suggests there’s little else to do, reminding her that “it’s a pigeon.”  Babysitting duties create a dilemma, as she’s obviously forced to keep the cat away from the bird while she works in her studio, but we see the paws underneath the door, like an ominous reminder.  The quirkiness of the set-up, along with the instant likeability of Jo, who’s mind always takes her to places that demand our attention, like a force of nature, is something rare in film today, as this is a woman who steadfastly follows her instincts, in stark contrast to Lizzy, who seems to be on the short end of the stick most of the time, where this little saga only escalates the mounting tension between them, as Lizzy has no place to shower, becoming a grating nuisance that wears on her after a while, as she’s in a daily battle for basics like hot running water and a decent wage, remaining dedicated to her craft with no discernible financial reward in sight.  Yet we can’t help but be mesmerized by the diverse collection of her artworks that she readies for the exhibition, as each of her “Little Women” exists in their own space and time, exuding distinct personalities that their creator seems to lack.  She enlists the aid of Eric (André Benjamin, aka André 3000, co-founder of Outkast whose flute playing can be heard near the end), an amiable guy who runs the kiln at school, always giving her time to heat and glaze her collection, while others continually drop in to see her latest creations, where there’s a student-generated interest that’s much more enthusiastic than anything we ever see from her, which is one of the fascinating aspects of the film.     

An Artist-in-Residence in the Film Arts program at Bard College since 2006, Lizzy’s life resembles the director’s own, an undervalued artist struggling to make ends meet, writing, directing, and editing films on a shoestring budget while supplementing her income by teaching college students, which also provides her with health insurance, something she doesn’t have within the film industry’s Director’s Guild as she works so infrequently.  With claims that independent filmmaking has not been open to women in any way, Reichardt has spoken candidly about the reality of making low-budget films, saying, “It also just means that I’m not getting paid, and I’m in my 50’s.”  The opening title sequence is beautifully orienting, as it simply lingers on various paintings lining the walls of Lizzy’s studio, which has a way of imprinting the subject into viewer’s imaginations.  Lizzy’s intense fixation on caring for the injured pigeon is mirrored in her complicated family dynamics, as her parents are bitterly divorced, and she’s seemingly the only member of her family that’s consistently concerned about Sean (John Magaro, the gentle frontier chef in First Cow), her unstable brother prone to frequent bouts of paranoid conspiracy theories (described in Variety as a little like one of R. Crumb’s brothers), seen digging a giant hole in his back yard, clearly agitated that Lizzy doesn’t hear the voices that are speaking to him, “You have to listen to what’s not being said,” claiming she’s not listening hard enough.  She’s following in the footsteps of her father (Judd Hirsch), an accomplished pottery artist who’s now retired, yet she’s concerned that two nomadic bohemian guests have moved into his home with no indication of leaving, yet he’s not bothered, as he seems to enjoy their company.  The combined stress of caring for the bird, looking after her family, surviving without hot water, and trying to get her sculptures done in time takes an exasperating toll, leaving Lizzy thoroughly exhausted, yet for all her accumulated fatigue, her exhibition is rather inspiring, as her pieces are unique, like little pieces of herself, well-attended by the people who matter most to her.  While her parents get into a personal dispute that expose the family dysfunction, all is well with the world.  However there’s a beautifully designed sketch involving the bird that plays out through the entire film, often darkly humorous, though it takes everyone by surprise when it suddenly takes flight within the indoor exhibit, drawing the interest of the entire gallery who are spellbound by the unexpected turn, and flies away, with all the patrons moving to the outdoor sidewalk to watch.  It’s a liberating moment that feels effortless, but unusually refreshing, as this kind of thing never happens in a Kelly Reichardt film, as she never resorts to sight gags, but it achieves the desired effect, as there’s such a sense of relief afterwards, as all the built-up tensions are washed away, suddenly of little consequence.  Lizzy and Jo go looking for the bird in the trees, but never seem to find it, and go walking down the street chatting together as if they’re best friends, which they very well may be, while the camera offers a bird’s eye view from one of the tree branches overlooking it all.  It’s a magical moment that delivers, like a much appreciated wave of fresh air that has the effect of joyously cleansing our souls, eradicating all the unnecessary content.  Among her better edited films, viewers are left with a stream of artistic images of rotating art projects, almost like a video instillation, each capturing that moment of surprise when first seen, offering generous support for the creative student artists of the future, where a film like this elevates the cultural significance of art, which is typically among the first programs cut out of public schools, which only shortchanges developing lives.  To put it bluntly, no men are making films like this.  With a nation obsessed by the male-dominated brutality of gun violence and weaponized political views, quiet, contemplative films offer such a peaceful alternative, providing painstaking visual detail of people working on their art, offering a celebratory tribute to the work of rarely seen artists, including Jessica Jackson Hutchins, Michael Brophy, Chris Johanson, Storm Tharp, Johanna Jackson, and others, embracing the idea that artistic communities are a haven for friendship and for working, and that a lack of community, or an each man for himself scenario, is a bad idea, emphasizing what a difference a creative outlet can provide in establishing a human connection while strengthening the ties of any community.  Lizzie’s works are by CYNTHIA LAHTI, a largely unrecognized artist based in Portland, while Jo’s are by Israeli-American artist Michelle Segre, a MacArthur Fellow working out of a Bronx studio, while it’s notable that the uncredited Portland location scouting was done by Janet Weiss, the former drummer for the all-girl rock band Sleater-Kinney.