Half-Nelson

 

Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden

HALF-NELSON        A                                                                                                                   USA  (106 mi)  2006  d: Ryan Fleck

There’s a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart that you can’t take part, you can’t even passively take part, and you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop, and you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it that unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all.                            —Mario Salvo, student activist and leader of the Free Speech Movement at a rally in UC-Berkeley, California after the students seized control of an administrative building on campus, 1964

Reminiscent of Jon Voight’s empathetic humaneness in Martin Ritt’s CONRACK (1974), yet also the anguished impressionistic journey in Lynne Ramsay’s MORVERN CALLAR (2002), which takes place nearly entirely inside someone’s head, this is a muddled odyssey through the present day and age, as seen through the eyes of a sympathetic white 8th grade teacher in a predominately black inner-city school in Brooklyn, who scores crack on the side and thinks he can handle the situation.  While teaching history, he asks his students to explore the two opposing forces that confront one another in determining change, as “Everything is made of opposing forces” and “turning points,” both sides fighting for what they believe is right, which he contends is the catalyst or determining factor of history.  Yet it’s also seen through the eyes of a young student in his class who actually catches him smoking crack in the bathroom, but is sympathetic and keeps her mouth shut, as her brother is in prison for selling crack, while the dealer, in a favor to the brother for not turning him in, owes her family.  An expansion of Fleck’s short film GOWANUS, BROOKLYN (2004), as it takes place in the abandoned lots and desolate streets of an ungentrified Brooklyn neighborhood near the Gowanus Canal, co-written by the director and his live-in partner Anna Boden, who also edited and produced the film, Ryan Gosling (in his first Oscar nomination) is unerringly believable as the teacher, Dan Dunne, who isn’t selling anything in the classroom except the freedom to speak one’s own mind while making their own choices, though he’s held on a tight leash by the school principal, often appearing in class in a disheveled state from his previous late night binges.  His open defiance of authority and institutions raises red flags, as he frequently veers away from the “official” curriculum, yet that’s what’s so compelling about this film, as a teacher’s moral dilemma in the classroom comes down to a struggle to do what’s right as opposed to being blindly told what to teach by an often faceless administrative entity.  And while his own choice selection is hazardous, not to mention personally destructive, this issue is not side-stepped in the film, and his deplorable behavior is a force to be reckoned with, including a drunkenly pathetic attempted rape scene, but so is his commitment to stick with these kids, to be honest and not sell them a bill of goods.  Thinking that he can write a children’s book about dialectics on the side, instead he spends all his free time getting wasted, seemingly without friends, with no stable relationships, remaining aloof and emotionally disconnected.  The title is a reference to an immobilizing wrestling hold that is difficult, if not impossible, to escape from, evoking a metaphoric sense of entrapment.  Born out of a frustration with the malaise hanging over America following 9/11 and the Iraq War, this film is about a developing friendship between an adult and a child, with each taking turns taking care of each other, avoiding any overt sexual overtones, as Shareeka Epps plays the inquisitive Drey, a 13-year old latch-key student caught between moving forces, a dead end school, a tired single mother who works too hard to have any time for her, a brother in prison, a dealer that offers money and protection, and a white teacher who, despite his personal problems, actually makes sense.  Her hesitation in exploring each world is the heart and soul of the film, as she’s remarkably appealing, tough and soft at the same time, with an open mind to finding a new way other than the route of her brother or the dealer, but she doesn’t know where to find it.  An amalgamation of race, class, idealism, and self-destruction, with a nod to the rebellious instincts yet surprising honesty of J.D. Salinger’s Holden Caulfield, the film is also about finding forgiveness.     

The always compelling Anthony Mackie plays Frank the dealer, and in the model of Coppola’s THE GODFATHER (1972), which features likeable men who kill for a living, or Craig Brewer’s HUSTLE AND FLOW (2005), which features a likeable, hard-working man who pimps for a living, Mackie has his own appeal, is soft-spoken and considerate, and doesn’t push Drey too hard while gently attempting to persuade her to take over her brother’s business, luring her deeper into his world.  When Dan sees the paternal and potentially dangerous influence, he attempts to intervene, and in an especially effective scene, he confronts Frank in front of his own home and tries to steer him away from Drey, but realizes he’s hardly the role model to be making this request, as his example is no better.  Frank, in a masterful stroke of understated psychological swagger, completely takes the air out of his sails, and therein lies the real complexity of the film.  When have drug dealers been painted with ambiguity and complexity?  And if we’re to be honest, how can we blame black dealers for being dealers, considering the bleak economic options in their ravaged communities and the lure of a lucrative lifestyle?  In fact, what drives the demand for dealers in the first place?  Who are the biggest drug consumers?  In America, it turns out to be the comfortable middle class whites, who may be in denial about the consequences of their actions, like Dan in this film, believing he can handle it, while remaining oblivious to the economic disparity between blacks and whites, and the social injustice contrasted between the races, considering who the police routinely target.  But this film places the responsibility front and center on the white middle class, on the Baby Boomers, the ones who marched against the war in Vietnam, or for voting rights in the South, the ones who supposedly offered an alternate moral view, as reflected by the black and white newsreel footage that Dan shows his kids, such as Attica, where, with the exception of the Indian massacres of the 19th century, the police assault on prison inmates and their hostages was the bloodiest one-day encounter between Americans since the Civil War, or the assassination of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected representative in the U.S, or Cesar Chavez, whose boycotts helped establish rights and benefits for migrant farm workers, or America’s CIA advocating the overthrow and assassination of a freely elected leader of Chile, Salvador Allende, replacing him with a U.S. puppet, General Augusto Pinochet, now up on war crimes charges, while Henry Kissinger expressed the U.S. view that the issue was too important to leave to the Chilean people, or Mario Savio leading the Berkeley free speech rally, with students suggesting they could help open up a crack in “the Machine.”  Why believe in a system that takes away your rights, or takes away your freedom?  While explaining to his students the ways they are oppressed by the system, that the Civil Rights movement is essentially about the injustice of the system, where protests were created to expose that unfairness and have their voices finally heard, Dan, a true child of the 60’s, one of the most misunderstood decades in the movies, makes the connection that by truthfully analyzing the problems of the past, which all of us are a part of, we might find some clues into how to solve these problems in the future.  Like disillusioned characters in a Jean Eustache film, whatever happened to this moral optimism from the 60’s, this belief that people could work together to fight against social injustice?  Everything’s become so comfortably compartmentalized now, so specialized, each looking after only their own interests, which is the modern era status quo, there’s no longer any belief that we are all in this together or that concerted action can make a difference. 

This kind of film could never be made today, where a wave of censorship and conservatism has not only swept across the country, but around the world, as corporate sponsors would never approve of overt drug use and the message that sends, completely missing the larger point of making such a daring and provocative film.  So rather than allow viewers to learn from a film like this, it’s instead tossed into the dustbin of history, like an ancient relic.  Radically departing from the cliché of historical cinematic educators who appear in the teacher savior role, this completely subverts that genre, as Dunne’s left-leaning political orientation stands in stark contrast to those seen in other teacher films, as there are no miracle transformations happening here, with kids seen sleeping in his class, or missing altogether, and no one is spared from the looming trauma of the streets, even the teacher, whose personal struggles with drug use complicate his classroom impact, yet there is a sense of triumph over adversity, with just the briefest hint of hope, choosing moral complexity over easy solutions.  Enhanced by the edgy, somewhat vacuous style, the film at times resembles an amorphous blur, yet it’s grounded in the raw vulnerability of several brilliant dramatic performances, shot on gritty 16mm, often in tight close-ups by Andrij Parekh, capturing every emotional nuance.  But identifying with the film isn’t easy, as it’s disjointed, sometimes out of focus, and the handheld camera keeps physically being knocked around a bit, so there’s a rough quality, a mood of ambiguity, with occasional eerie industrial or electronic sounds along with a psychologically probing indie soundtrack by Canada’s Broken Social Scene.  Despite the film’s unsparingly honest, near documentary style, never lapsing into cheap sentiment, it occasionally departs from naturalism, such as a noticeable scene when Drey visits her brother in prison, which takes place in perfect quiet, unlike the raucous noise that is typical of overcrowded prisons today, or when the students stare straight into the camera and repeat memorized moments in history, like similar set-up scenes in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (1977), but it also perfectly captures the wretched state of Dan’s wasted mind when a proud parent comes up to him in a bar to thank him for his daughter’s success at Georgetown and he can’t even remember her.  Still, this accurately points out how badly we need good teachers with challenging, inquisitive minds like Dan in the public school system, despite his obvious damaged goods, as his painful honesty is heartfelt and believable, made all the more compelling because the unconventional person behind the message is so openly flawed.  Kids remember being in his class, and not the automatons pushing standardized testing that school boards would prefer, as he is not condescending, yet Dan finds it difficult to find a balance between the demons of his dark personal life and the positive outlook needed to plant the seeds of discovery and self-realization in the classroom. The power dynamic between the teacher and student is inverted in this film, as the wisdom and maturity Drey exhibits in reaching out a hand of friendship, particularly during Dan’s heavy descent into drugs, is something we don’t normally see, actually finding a connection and a chance at redemption.  Born to radical parents on a commune in Berkeley, and growing up in the same area, director Ryan Fleck shares much in common with Dan’s travails, as picking up on the residue of leftover 60’s themes comes with paying a high price for disillusionment, where the loss of that collective spirit feels so defeating, as the crushing reality is that the catastrophic circumstances that so many of these kids come from are not getting any better, despite all good intentions.  This film begins to explore finding a way out by linking some of our cultural connections to our human imperfections, by literally building a bridge of mutual tolerance.  Well worth a look, as you won’t find anything like this in theaters today.   

The film that changed my life: Ryan Fleck | Do the Right Thing  Ryan Fleck from The Guardian, April 17, 2010

Gone Baby Gone

GONE BABY GONE           B            

USA  (114 mi)  2007  d:  Ben Affleck 

I always thought it was the things you don’t choose that makes you who you are. 

—Patrick Kenzie (Casey Affleck)

A surprisingly complex film that isn’t over when it’s over, that leaves you wondering how you got from point A to point B when so much in between seemed ridiculously contrived, almost defying belief, yet somehow in the end, there’s still plenty to like about this film, much of it from going against the grain.  First of all there’s Casey Affleck (Patrick Kenzie), absolutely nobody’s version of a hero, especially fresh off his performance where the title of the film outright calls his character a coward, THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD (2007), recalled awhile back as one of the crazy lunkheads in Gus van Sant’s GERRY (2002), who now appears as one of the strangest leading characters, as he could just as easily be anyone, the kind of guy who disappears unnoticed in a crowd.  But here he’s Patrick Kenzie, a private eye with a gun and a beautiful babe (Michelle Monaghan), a short-fused badass who stands up to punks on the street as well as thugs in all walks of life, keeping his brain on alert while the world is spinning out of control all around him.  This is as improbable as Elliot Gould playing a mumbling Philip Marlowe in a sun tinged take on Raymond Chandler’s film noir world in Robert Altman’s THE LONG GOODBYE (1973), which by the way also caught us off guard, but worked.  Second of all there’s the man behind the camera, a former tabloid king whose acting career and reputation have fizzled to record lows, as he’s become an easy target, routine fodder for jokes condemning him as a lamebrain to the second hand bin.  What’s he trying to do here, take on the persona of George Clooney as a clever mastermind behind the camera?  And third there’s Morgan Freeman, a man whose reputation is rock solid in his role as chief of police, a man’s man, a leader of men, the kind of guy you would want to have in your corner in a time of trouble, as he’s wise enough to pass for several men.  And finally there’s Amy Ryan (at the time of the release, who?), as unsympathetic a character as the screen has seen in ages, and yet it is this director who remains undaunted by her scandalous behavior, who by the end of this film makes us all question ourselves, like who are we to judge?  Yet judgments are made throughout this film, most with enormous consequences, which makes this a highly provocative crime thriller about a stolen baby, where a private eye and his good looking partner are called upon to look through the cracks and scour the dregs of what the police usually overlook or can’t see. 

Opening in first person narration, this initially has the feel of a literary warhorse like SOPHIE’S CHOICE (1982), where the poetic thoughts invoke something outside our comprehension, beyond our grasp, yet then veers into the working class neighborhoods of Boston in a completely unpretentious view of the world, where a baby has gone missing and a distraught family is on the news begging for her safe return.  Suspicious of the police, the family hires this improbable young couple, hoping they know people who don’t talk to the police.  Into the seedy underworld they go, with the beautiful girl following his every move into the gutter, through back room bars, into the homes of crack dealers, where we learn that the foul-mouthed crackhead mother (Amy Ryan) with the missing girl moves within these circles, a mother who may have put her own daughter at risk just for a chance to get high.  Eventually the private eyes team up with a couple of veteran detectives (Ed Harris and Nick Poole), an unsavory relationship from the outset, each openly suspicious of the other, where Kenzie is told to “Go back to your Harry Potter books.”  What’s most surprising perhaps to the viewer is Affleck’s immediate ascension to lead man on the case, where he appears more like a cop than a cop, yet he’s not supposed to be a cop, just a guy from the neighborhood.  This is the first of a series of improbable occurrences that stretch one’s credulity, but Affleck makes it work with his profanity laced chutzpah, standing up to thugs and hoods like he’s been doing it all his life, showing the kind of balls that gains immediate acceptance into a cop’s world.  As the danger mounts, so do the unsavory characters.  The division between male and female is tested, as they’re challenged in very different ways.  The tense atmosphere makes it hard to separate the good guys from the bad, as they’re continuously interwoven into each other’s lives, mirror reflections of this kind of sick underworld where intense flare ups are routine, where staring down the barrel of a gun becomes the measure of a man, not the kind of world most of us would choose to enter, which makes it all the more intriguing when we witness moral leaps of faith.

This brooding contemplative thriller is a series of mood swings that moves like a chessboard across this murky landscape, where every action causes an unexpected reaction, with inexplicable consequences that only grow darker as the film progresses.  Monaghan is overly pretty and never feels right when the going gets rough, but the rest of the cast has a hard edge that’s been through tough times.  Written by MYSTIC RIVER (2003) novelist Dennis Lehane, we’re once again asked to examine modern day morals under siege, where there’s a thick layer of grime like quicksand just under the surface pulling us all too easily into this morass of moral ambiguity where it’s much simpler to look the other way, and righteous indignity has a youthful, idealist resemblance to Crusader Rabbit with a witty arcane charm that feels instantly outdated and out of place.  Despite some off-the-rails plot twists, this is a film of ideas where the believability of the actors makes all the difference in the world and the strong performances are supported by the weight of the film, a surprisingly strong effort that never bows to the outsider money interests of happy endings commercialism and maintains its integrity right through to the end in a shot that visually recalls the final shot of Ryan Gosling in HALF NELSON (2006), but offers a bleaker ray of hope.