First Position

FIRST POSITION                  B                     

USA  (90 mi)  2011  d:  Bess Kargman                        Official site

There’s always an untold story behind the story of documentaries like SPELLBOUND (2002), where cameras roll in the lead-up to picking a new national spelling bee champion, as the audience needs some idea how the filmmakers get so lucky in choosing eventual champions when deciding which contestants to follow more personally ahead of time in competition documentaries.  This first time director is a former ballerina, where her perspective is invaluable as she takes a behind-the-scenes look into the competitive world of youth ballet at the Youth America Grand Prix, where after passing earlier qualifying rounds in 15 different cities based on geographical regions, prizes and scholarships are awarded in the finals to the top dancers, often a determining factor in their prospective careers.  Kargman follows a half dozen dancers as they are relentlessly trained by their instructors, where the impact this has on their families is immediately apparent, as some willingly sacrifice their entire lives, others live vicariously through their children’s exploits, hoping their children can accomplish what they never could in their own lives, while siblings look admiringly at all the attention these dancers obtain, as so much praise and adulation is heaped upon those with promise at such an early age.  Some of the dance sequences are ravishingly beautiful, easily inducing the audience’s attention, but unlike Fred Wiseman’s ballet documentaries, Hargman shows only edited versions, where the totality is often lost on the viewer, especially during the competition performances themselves.  What might seem surprising is that the competition performances rarely meet or exceed the quality of practice performances, where under the studied and watchful eyes of their coaches they are pushed to the maximum. 

Likely the best example of the manipulative stage mother is exhibited by Satoku, the overly pushy mother of Miko and Jules, ages 11 and 9, whose every living second is lived for and through her two kids, home schooling her kids so they have more time to practice, where the older Miko is driven to be the best, while Jules goes through the motions, apparently to please his mother, while their Russian coach rolls his eyes at the regularity of his mistake-prone routines.  Jules, however, is a happy and huggable kid who surprisingly displays a healthy amount of common sense, even when those around him are lost in the obsessive search of approaching perfection, and even when his mother imposes a diet of broccoli and carrots every day on the entire family, as no one needs to gain a few extra pounds.  Almost defying belief is a young Romeo and Juliet couple of Aran, 11-year old son of a Navy father that continually moves around frequently, seen training with a cigarette smoking Frenchman who recognizes a unique talent that likes to fly around backstage on a skateboard, and Gaya, a somewhat goofy and always upbeat Israeli girl of the same age, whose mother choreographs her more modernist routines.  Apparently they train at the same locations, where they met, and instantly started doing everything together, where her excited vitality is a healthy balance to his more low key and even aloof personality.  They become one another’s strongest supporters, which translates to their parents as well, each pulling for the other.  The director doesn’t delve behind the scenes questioning what would happen if Aran’s family moves away.  

The oldest in competition is Rebecca, a 17-year old California girl who’s already driving (with a fuzzy pink steering wheel cover), who amusingly makes fun of herself as everyone at her school routinely calls her “Barbie.”  A look into her pink-themed bedroom reveals an overly pampered rich girl who defines herself as a “princess,” with street signs indicating Princess Way and Princess Lane, which has obviously been ingrained into her head since she was little.  Driven by a need to be perfect, it’s amusingly ironic that when we see her back stage resting before a performance with other dancers, she’s swigging Pepto-Bismol out of those pink bottles.  Probably the most compelling story is Michaela (14), a war victim and orphan from the Sierre Leone Civil Wars, an adopted American child with a fierce desire to overcome the stereotype that black girls don’t make good classical ballet dancers, as they’re too muscular and lack finesse, who also suffers from a skin pigmentation issue that leaves visible spots on her neck and shoulders.  In the perfectionist world of ballet where everyone spends so much time sculpting and perfecting their physiques, any noticeable imperfection stands out.  Of course, the backstage staring eyes of others only magnify what’s obviously different.  Perhaps the most spectacular dancer is Joan (pronounced Jo–on) Sebastian, a 16-year old kid from Colombia living away from his family in New York City, who lives with a fellow Latin American roommate, seen eating rice and beans every day, whose shirtless performance wearing only tights may induce rhapsodic shivers of sheer delight to some, as this kid is so physically developed, yet his flawless technique has already been perfected.  He dutifully calls home to his mother frequently, but this is such a sweet and likable kid, it’s impossible not to root for him.  Even his coach, a former dancer himself, is a constant delight.  One of the highpoints of the film is when Joan has a chance to return to Colombia for an all-too brief family visit, where a home cooked meal is something to be savored, where the instant love and affection is indescribable, but also where the hopes of the family’s economic future rests on his young shoulders.     

Choosing a diverse cross-section of kids aged 9 to 17, starting with a field of 5000 contestants, where only 300 make the finals, the competition is divided from ages 9 – 11, and 12 – 14, with prizes awarded to the top three, while older dancers exclusively seek scholarships to continue their training, as a pair of ballet shoes, which they go through every day, costs $80, not to mention the high cost of hand sewn costumes, a strictly regimented diet, rented studio space, a variety of coaches and personal trainers, some just for stretching, and often away-from-home living quarters, with some, like Rebecca, already seeking job offerings.  One of the hidden costs of pursuing this career is the untold number of injuries and ailments that accumulate, the same as any other professional sport, often requiring surgeries, where aches and pains, not to mention bleeding feet, are simply lived with as part of their daily routine.  Watching them contend with obvious pain issues may make some in the audience wince with discomfort.  While the lead-up to the qualifying rounds and to the finale itself is suspenseful, filled with superb performances, where the audience may actually root for their favorites, the finale is somewhat anti-climactic, showing little of the zest and spontaneity seen earlier, where the dance routines themselves feel quickly cut off.  There are behind-the-scenes untold stories, such as why Jules was allowed an extra competition do-over, supposedly because he was the youngest performer, but one suspects their conniving mother had something to do with it, and the director herself is guilty of a certain dramatic manipulation, where she intentionally misleads the audience at times.  But the overall enthusiasm for dance is exquisitely expressed, where the individual portraits of the performers are wonderfully engaging, where the dance routines and kids themselves couldn’t be more appealing. 

Crazy Horse

CRAZY HORSE                       B                   

USA  France  (134 mi)  2011  d:  Frederick Wiseman

Wiseman seems to have altered his documentary style somewhat, discarding the long, overall view for something smaller and relatively compact, dispensing with the long takes, offering several quick cuts even within 10 seconds, which is something we would never have seen earlier in his career.  After all the dreary and social unpleasantness Wiseman and his camera crew have unearthed for decades, revealing social realism through unedited cinema, perhaps now in his early 80’s, having allegedly shot more than 7 million feet of film in his career, it’s about time he retreats into the claustrophobic confines of the fairer sex.  One could think of worse projects than being stuck for perhaps months at a time behind the scenes of the Crazy Horse Saloon in Paris, known for offering the most sophisticated female nude review anywhere in the world.  Anyone who’s sat through BALLET (1995) or LA DANSE-LE BALLET DE L’OPERA DE PARIS (2009), using a style that shuns narration, emphasizing subject over individuality, knows Wiseman creates a rather hypnotic approach at studying the endless rehearsals and constant behind-the scenes-persuasion to present the cultural refinement and artistic beauty of ballet onstage, where his patience pays off in the end, as one can only marvel at the finished product, where dance sequences (including rehearsals) will be shown in their entirety, often ravishingly beautiful.  This is much different, chopped up into pieces like more mainstream documentaries, lacking much of the personal intimacy of his best work.  Nonetheless, even without his signature shot, as not one dance number is seen from start to finish, Wiseman does capture the flavor of the nightclub, founded in 1951 by Alain Bernardin, a sort of French Hugh Hefner of the erotic fantasy review business, as he originated the stylish, high art presentation, but committed suicide in 1994 at the age of 78, using a shotgun in his backstage office (not revealed in the film, as it’s something they apparently don’t like to talk about).  In this business, one doesn’t grow old gracefully.   

It’s fair to say that this erotic review features first and foremost the woman’s derrière, fixating on it as if the many forms it takes is the most resplendent example of the feminine form, the most visually enticing and sexually alluring, where the pronounced curve is nothing less than an art form and God’s gift to mankind.  No busty women here, as this is nothing like a stripper joint, instead each woman is carefully chosen for her athletic ability to move gracefully onstage and for having what one calls the money shot, the perfect posterior.  While the women are occasionally completely naked onstage, more often they wear G-strings or scant costumes where the tits and ass remain fully exposed, where one carefully choreographed dance called “Teasing” is completely dedicated to the wonders of the bare derrière.  But Wiseman’s discreet edits never allow it to become too sexy, as it would most likely be if seen in the club itself, where every table is seen with a champagne bottle placed in a bucket of ice along with two glasses.  While the glitz and glamor of the kaleidoscopic live acts are a colorful onstage spectacle, where we’re able to see short sequences, the more intriguing shots are the girls in rehearsal, still barely clothed, but without any costumes, wigs, and makeup, where they’re more relaxed and each girl has an identifiable charm and personality.  Without any narration, we never learn the identities of any of the dancers, as none are interviewed, and all perform several ensemble pieces where there’s uniformity in costume, where no individual star gets their name up on the marquee.  Even backstage where women are seen doing last minute costume or make up changes, few individuals stand out, so the way it's presented, it's all about product.  Wiseman adds just a touch of Paris, adding a few scenic outdoor shots of boats motoring down the Seine River or a few outdoor street café’s.

Behind the scenes at management meetings, however, it’s a continual jostling match, where despite the obvious talent of all involved, it’s a dysfunctional family relationship, where it’s a wonder anything ever makes it successfully to the stage.  The artistic director Philippe Decouffé, who choreographed the opening and closing ceremonies of the 1992 Winter Olympics in Albertville, France, seen as a Bob Fosse style relentless perfectionist and workaholic, pleads at length for time to break in and prepare new material, but the club operations manager, Andrée Deissenberg, insists there is no other option as the shareholders refuse to allow any break in the current onstage productions.  This forces Decouffé and the dancers to invent, rehearse, and stage all new material during existing working hours, as the show must go on.  The sad truth is management simply doesn’t care, where “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” is their working business model.  So long as there are beautiful girls dancing naked onstage, they’re giving the public what they want.  What do they care if the costumes are worn, if a dancer misses a step, or if the lights are off cue?  Ironically, Decouffé and Deissenberg have a history, as both worked together at the Cirque du Soleil before coming to the Crazy Horse.  It’s a battle of egos, as the costume designer can’t keep up with the new numbers, as Decouffé’s imagination simply runs away with him, where he’s continually adding new elements into existing works to keep the show fresh and alive.  The club does give Decouffé something of an alter ego in the form of Ali Mahdavi, a man he obviously loathes, an artistic consultant brought in to modernize the look of the routines, a guy who hogs the spotlight in front of Decouffé and the cameras every chance he gets, namedropping Fellini and Fassbinder to the international press as he exaggeratingly explains that working for the Crazy Horse is the highest pinnacle in art.  There is no mention of the shelf life in the career of a nude dancer, as none appear to be out of their 20’s, and at the tryouts, where interestingly a male transsexual auditions, plenty of even younger girls fit the bill looking to showcase their physiques for the future. 

Pina in 3D

PINA IN 3D                            B+                  

Germany  France  Great Britain  (106 mi)  2011  d:  Wim Wenders 

There are situations that leave you utterly speechless. All you can do is hint at things.      

—Pina Bausch

While well-intentioned, to be sure, the idea of extending the use of 3D technology into the art film is getting ridiculous (see the photos of German Chancellor Angela Merkel adjusting her 3D glasses at the Berlin Festival premiere), as the fact remains very few films are the better for it, as the merit of a film continues to rise or fall based on the overall quality and essence of the film itself, not the use of technology, and this film is no different.  Wenders was intending a collaborative effort with internationally acclaimed dance choreographer Pina Bausch, the longtime director of the Tanztheater Wuppertal (since 1973), but she died just days after being diagnosed with cancer in 2009.  The film is very much a reverent eulogy to her memory, where one by one throughout the film members of the dance troupe are singled out, many offering a reflection on a particular moment they shared together, perhaps the moment they truly felt accepted, while others simply stare at the camera in silence.  One prominent theme advanced by many is the idea that language alone is limited, that dance, and art overall, is an extension of our capacity to understand and better appreciate human expression, that beginning with the dancers themselves, each is responsible for discovering that unique voice within themselves, captured through constant tinkering and experimentation with movement, so that each personality continually radiates their own personal vision while working within a larger dance ensemble.  This mix of individuality within a community of diverse dancers perhaps best expresses Bausch’s artistic vision, combining theatricality with dance, conveying universal expressions of loneliness and alienation with the need for intimacy, mixing sorrow with exhilaration and joy, often comically absurd but always intensely engaging.  Not so much interested in the movement, more so the idea and motivating force behind the movement, Bausch remains a visionary force with a demand for autobiographical truth and authenticity.   

Unlike Frederic Wiseman, Wenders never shoots an entire work uninterrupted from start to finish, but instead interweaves excerpts from four major works, never identifying them by name or the accompanying music, but they include Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, Café Müller, Kontakthof, and Vollmond (Full Moon), often mixing various stage works with what looks like variations on a theme using improvisational outdoor settings, where Wenders takes full advantage of the streets outside with the overhead tram passing by, including scenes from inside the tram car itself, or a countryside rock quarry, a public swimming pool, an empty, museum like all-window room with the view of a forest outside, a beautiful city park, a meditative lakeside shoreline, or various architectural settings, where the surprise element of dance being performed in a natural environment has a special appeal all its own.  What the outdoors also brings is extra light, making this much brighter than the usually darkened 3D experience.  While the music is consistently outstanding, Wenders blends various theatrical pieces, moving from indoors to outdoors, where there’s always a smooth transitional feel, constantly changing the dancers, the costumes, and the stage, where the focus keeps evolving, as if we’re part of a continuing drama that is playing out in human form.  In one of the more quietly intriguing pieces, featuring phenomenal physical dexterity, a woman crawls through a wooden chair on the floor as a man adds another chair on top of that one, which she steps through, continually adding chairs on top of that which she and another dancer safely climb through as the tower of chairs grows ridiculously high, needing a chair to stand on in order to place yet another chair high atop.  Whatever issues one may have with the tame or rather conventional manner of the filmmaking itself, leaving much unexplained and unfathomable, it is a joy from start to finish, as the dance onscreen is simply extraordinary and has rarely been presented with this degree of love and artistic beauty.  

We grow familiar with many of the dancers after awhile, probably picking out several favorites, where the diverse cultural background, as many as 17 different nationalities, includes European and Asian, also Central and South American, including indigenous natives, where many are naturally shy and weren’t sure what to expect from Bausch, who was a constant presence but rarely spoke to them, where one mentioned she uttered a single phrase to her in twenty years.  There’s an interesting mixture of young and old, as one dancer is the child of two original dancers, while Kontakthof has young dancers suddenly morph into another version of themselves as older people, still doing the same dance routine.  Café Müller, the dance of a blind woman in a room full of chairs, is beautifully featured, along with Bausch’s Masurca Fogo, in Almodóvar’s TALK TO HER (2002), a dance Bausch used to perform herself in the early 70’s (seen briefly), and receives an extended treatment here, something of a heartfelt homage to the man seen frantically removing the chairs who has now died as well.  The two pieces given the fullest expression are the opening and closing pieces, the violent, ritualistic battle of the sexes in Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, performed on several tons of dirt hauled onstage, an enthralling piece making use of a red scarf where a woman is sacrificed to a group of threatening men for the supposed good of the community, a precisely choreographed gang rape scene where you can hear the dancers panting audibly.  The closer is Vollmond (Full Moon), a jubilant work featuring a dozen or more different musical selections, given a modernistic twist, where a gigantic monolith style rock sits off to the side while the stage is beset by falling rain, where at first dancers playfully speed through the water with rowing sticks, eventually bellyflopping on their stomachs doing the breastroke, but eventually the dancers grab buckets of water to splash against the rock, where the spray comes flying off in a near waterfall effect, leaving everyone sopping wet.  Wenders has created a delightful if loosely structured piece that can be hypnotic at times, something of a dance mosaic weaving in and out of meticulous formations that is most fun when the dancers can simply let loose and inhabit new worlds.     

Richard Garriot: Man on a Mission

RICHARD GARRIOT:  MAN ON A MISSION       B-                   

USA  (83 mi)  2010  d:  Mike Woolf                Official site                  

Man on a Mission - Trailer - YouTube (1:29)

           

During the middle of the biggest financial meltdown since the Great Depression, a time when people are out of work and losing their homes in record numbers, when there are more homeless children attending schools than any other time in our nation’s history, when businesses are dissolving and schools and states are bankrupt and can’t find the funding for essential programs, this director decides to make a film about a gazillionaire?  Going into the film one has to wonder who’s really interested?  What could that possibly have to do with anyone’s actual life these days?  If the guy wants to spend his fortune jumping off cliffs in Acapulco, or dining in the best establishments in the world, collecting stamps or Maserati’s, build schools, adopt orphans, teach himself Chinese, or learning to hang-glide, it’s his right to do as he pleases.  But why should anybody care?  When it turns out the guy wants to donate $30 million dollars to the Russian space industry in order to become the 6th private citizen allowed to travel into space, one can’t exactly be surprised.  The whole world is on a Reality TV kick where they can make a television show and now a movie on just about anything, and in a sense, that’s exactly what this is, as the film is a kind of infomercial on one man’s mission into outer space, documenting his every move in preparation for the flight as well as the 12 days he spent aboard the International Space Station.  What’s most surprising, however, is the film is a kick, especially the bouncy and always upbeat music from Brian Satterwhite and John Constant (from Candi and the Strangers), which from the opening sounds a bit like Ennio Morricone from the Sergio Leone films, which couldn’t be more curiously atmospheric.  As it turns out, Richard Garriot was a geeky kid who felt every kid’s dream was to be an astronaut, which was accentuated in his own childhood because his own father actually flew as one of the first science officers on two space missions, 60 days on Skylab 3 in 1973 and 10 days aboard Spacelab-1 in 1983, which was the 6th mission of the Space Shuttle Columbia.

Nearsightedness prevented Richard from ever becoming an astronaut, even after successful laser surgery, but he built a fortune designing video games, creating his first interactive game at 17 just for fun, where each successive attempt was more successful, eventually selling over a million copies.  His wealth allowed him to follow in his father’s footsteps by purchasing a seat from Space Adventures, a USA based space tourism company, aboard a Russian Soyuz spacecraft for $30 million dollars.  This film documents his extensive preparation for an October 2008 mission, which includes a great deal of scientifically induced physical stress in order to simulate anticipated conditions of space travel, where nearly everyone gets space sickness almost immediately upon exiting the earth’s atmosphere.  What separates this film from other space missions is the more personal point of view, as it doesn’t include the data heavy NASA slant, where almost every move is scientifically calculated.  Instead, Richard is still a geeky guy with a pleasant social demeanor, who can’t help expressing his gratitude at every step of the journey, as he knows how unique an opportunity this is, the first American father and son team to ever venture into space.  By the time he passes his final exam, where his every move is evaluated by scores of Russian military advisors, he’s on his way to Baikonur in Kazakhstan, the home of the Russian space center, where he’s greeted by his father, and the family of others headed into space.  The actual liftoff is nothing less than breathtaking, where the beauty and grace belie the physical sickness that must accompany being shot out of a cannon straight up into the atmosphere with sufficient force to break the gravitational field.  Since Richard, looking a bit like Paul Giamotti, is just an ordinary guy, not a trained astronaut, one can only imagine what kind of punishing ordeal this must be. 

Richard’s point of view remains being awestruck at every turn, trying to get the hang of objects floating in thin air, keeping food from flying away, where you don’t move from place to place as much as float, where he gets along well with the other cosmonauts, hooking up to relieve several others at the International Space Station, one of whom has that wild Kaurismäki hair that resembles the Leningrad Cowboys (Home - LENINGRAD COWBOYS * Buena Vodka Social Club), where some will remain for months while Richard will return to earth with the replaced cosmonauts.  What’s most impressive is the view of earth from outer space, where what surprised him the most was the condensed areas of population, as the rest of the earth simply didn’t look like that.  He compared the actual Space Station to the Fritz Lang movie METROPOLIS (1927), where the American section was clean and bright, actually looking sterile and antisceptic, while the Russian sector was darker and more lived in, showing plenty of clutter and general disorganization, which perfectly matches the contrast between Kubrick’s immaculately clean look of 2001:  A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968) and Tarkovsky’s SOLARIS (1972) where the rundown space ship is seen in a state of disarray bordering on chaos.  One amusing scene on the Space Station shows 3 weightless men attempting to chase one another in a circular cylinder, much like a hamster running wheel.  Richard takes great care to contact ham radio enthusiasts from outer space, something his father did as well, where there’s a special connection between both of them that’s rather extraordinary, as his father shares his every move and most likely planned or coordinated his activities in space, which includes being there when the aircraft returns to earth.  The idea of encouraging other civilians to purchase a ticket to space is ridiculously absurd, considering the price, yet this is a walking advertisement for exactly that. 

Note – While not in the film, apparently there is an 8-minute science fiction film shot in space by Richard Garriot while aboard the International Space Station, assisted by two fellow Americans and one Russian cosmonaut called Apogee of Fear, written for him by Tracy Hickman, which apparently makes numerous references to classic science-fiction movies including The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), Forbidden Planet (1956) and Galaxy Quest (1999).  The movie has finally cleared NASA’s scrutiny for public release, as it was Garriot’s intention to include it in the documentary MAN ON A MISSION, but it was still under administrative review, apparently done without NASA’s knowledge and consent.