Saturday, September 8, 2012

RED HOOK SUMMER: SPIKE LEE'S NEWEST LANDS SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE



The early word on the street about Spike Lee's Red Hook Summer was that it would be a return to his early storytelling concerns.  And, yes, there are plenty of signs that Lee was attempting to mine his back catalog with this new project.  There's the return to a decaying and poor urban setting, the Crooklynesque device of a kid coming of age via an extended stay in an unfamiliar place, and then, there's the very brief return of Lee as Mookie, his character from his 1989 masterpiece Do the Right Thing.  All these things do not, it turns out, add up into a Spike Lee film for the ages.  Even though it's not among his best, Red Hook Summer still contains moments that remind viewers why they paid attention to Lee in the first place.




The film opens up on young Flik (Jules Brown) traveling to stay with his grandfather (Clarke Peters of "The Wire" and "Treme" fame), a pious bishop of a small, struggling church in the heart of "da Red Hook."  Flik's never met his grandfather and the two immediately butt heads over technology (Flik's iPad), diet, and faith.  Hanging around the church, Flik soon befriends Chazz (Toni Lysaith), a girl his age who attends services there.  Chazz serves as a sort of tour guide to Red Hook, walking around with Flik to the neighborhood spots that his grandfather would probably rather he not visit, all while a playful antagonism/flirtation develops between the kids.





What's missing here is Lee's usually strong ability to commit to a dominant story thread amidst all the texture building side arcs regularly peppered into the mix of his films.  As a result, Red Hook Summer feels very uneven at times, sporting long passages searching for a larger theme to anchor them.  During the first third of the film, there's a never ending stream of r&b pop balladry mucking up the sound mix.  There's nothing wrong with the songs in and of themselves but their constant presence end up dampening the onscreen action; I kept wishing I could turn down the volume on just the music, feeling like the work would approach a more realistic and appropriate tone without it.





Eventually, the film does settle into something a bit more consistent.  The omnipresent music shifts away from being dominated by pop music, replaced mostly by a score written for the film by Bruce Hornsby(?!).  The strongest work here is done by Peters, most effectively in scenes when he's behind the pulpit, dramatically convulsing and raging against inequity and the ills of society.  But then the film takes a sharp left turn with a third act reveal that's shockingly off-kilter with the tone that Lee's established for his movie.  It's probably the best, most lucid part of the film, but it's so in conflict with the rest of the picture that it comes off like an excerpt from an entirely different, perhaps better, film.

For those in need of a scorecard, here's my final word on the picture: it falls somewhere in between the best and the not so great works in Lee's filmography.  Those who find his films interesting even when they're flawed - and film is plenty flawed - will find some things to latch on to here.  I found the movie soared unexpectedly in several moments, despite the long periods where it could barely get off the ground.





Red Hook Summer begins its run at the Hollywood Theatre on Friday, September 7th.  More info available here.


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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

THE LOVE SONG OF R. BUCKMINSTER FULLER @ TBA: A CONVERSATION WITH DIRECTOR SAM GREEN



The annual Time-Based Art Festival (TBA) usually has at least one film-related event intermingled with all its dance, theater, art installations and various other programming.  The 2012 edition of the festival is all set to knock it out of the park with this year's big film presentation, The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller.  The program is a live documentary directed and performed by Sam Green, whose 2002 documentary The Weather Underground was nominated for an Academy Award.

For the Buckminster Fuller piece, Green has transformed himself into an MC of sorts for his own multimedia presentation.  The show has him reflecting on the archival images and research he's gathered in real time, offering context about the life and times of his subject that couldn't be arrived at via the filmed materials alone.  Musical three-piece Yo La Tengo serves as the third element in the mix, providing a live score, supporting and elevating Green's work.

The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller had its world premiere this past May at SFMOMA.  Thanks to the NW Film Center and PICA's efforts, Portland's got it's dirty mitts on one of the first touring performances since the May premiere.

Sam Green was kind enough to offer up his time for a short interview in advance of the event.  What follows is a transcript of our conversation:







NICK: Film fans are probably most aware of your work because of your Oscar-nominated documentary The Weather Underground. Since then, you’ve made several shorts, including the excellent Lot 63, Grave C, and then, beginning with Utopia in Four Movements (2010), you’ve branched out into multimedia performance pieces based in non-fiction or “live documentaries”, including your current piece The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller

Did you have a history of performance prior to conceiving these live documentary projects?

SAM: No, I really didn't. And I still think of myself as a kind of accidental performer. I sort of backed into it. 

NICK: In your mind, what does the live presentational aspect of these projects add to an audience’s appreciation and understanding of a given subject? Conversely, is there anything that’s lost by moving away from the concrete safety of a film where, once the editing is finalized, there’s no risk of going off script?  

SAM: This is a great question. I am really interested in "liveness" these days and what the difference is between seeing a regular movie and seeing a movie that is performed live. 

A few years ago, Guy Maddin did a live film. It was called Brand Upon the Brain. I saw it at a film festival in Mexcio City. It was phenomenal! Isabella Rossellini narrated as the film screened. There was a live band. And even a group of people doing live foley! It was such a magic experience - people in the audience were giddy. 

NICK: That was great!  I saw it in Portland w/ Karen Black narrating.

SAM: Later Maddin released Brand Upon the Brain as a regular movie that screened in theaters like a regular film, and it was just so-so. 

There's something exciting about live events, I think. The unpredictability, the ephemeral nature of what you are experiencing, the fact that you are in a room with other people and are not checking your phone. Especially now, when filmmakers have to accept that more and more that people are watching their work on a phone, or one a laptop while they check email, I feel like the live film events I'm doing are a valuable way to hang on to the magic of cinema.




NICK: Can you conceive of a time where you would return to a purely cinematic presentation or embrace one rooted entirely in performance? 

SAM: I actually am still making normal movies, even as I do the live documentaries. I'm currently editing a short film about fog in San Francisco. I was just doing a residency at an art center in Troy, NY last week called EMPAC and they set me up to edit the fog movie in a huge theater! It was wild. (see photo below).
 



NICK: Buckminster Fuller was a man who wore many hats. He was an engineer, inventor, architect, and, as your piece forwards, a bit of a philosopher, too. The format in which you’re working requires you to take on several roles at once. 

Were you drawn to telling Fuller’s story in part due to the multi-disciplinary techniques you’ve developed for these live documentary pieces? Or, more to the point, did you find yourself identifying with elements of Fuller’s journey through life as you became engaged with telling his story?

SAM: I did a previous live documentary called UTOPIA IN FOUR MOVEMENTS. That piece was a kind of essay/poem about utopia and the fact that today we live in an anti-utopian age. I thought that the live form really worked for that piece because utopia has always been about a kind of collective experience. The idea of a bunch of people watching a film about utopia, all sitting alone in their own apartments is kinda tragic. So the live form actually came out of the subject of that film. 

With this new piece, I feel like the film fits, but for other reasons. Buckminster Fuller, perhaps more than anything else, was an amazing performer. He spent years and years traveling the world speaking all over the place and a big part of his fame and popularity came out of these campaigns. 

Fuller was legendary for speaking for five to eight to ten hours at a time. Sometimes at a college he would speak all night, and then take the few remaining students who were still in the auditorium at daybreak out to breakfast. He once did a lecture series called "Everything I Know." It's 42 hours long! (A video of it is actually on youtube in about 7,000 little parts). 

So the live element was very important to Fuller - he loved people and got a lot of energy from engaging with them. And that seemed to fit with this form. 
 



NICK: It’s quite a burden you’re taking on with a piece like this, representing an individual who can no longer speak for himself. 

In conventional documentary filmmaking, you’re often dealing with more direct and primary texts, since the folks you’re highlighting can tell their own stories or, at the very least, it’s other people interpreting your subject’s lives and actions. Here, though, you’re taking on the responsibility of being seen as the interpreter of the story, both as the narrator in the performance and for having conceived the piece. Obviously, you can’t distill every nuance of a person into a one-hour performance. 

When researching Fuller’s life and work, how difficult was it to select those characteristics, beliefs, and contributions that best described him?

SAM: Another great question. Obviously, there are hundreds of different films that could be made about Buckminster Fuller - there's the one that focuses on his geometry, there's a film about Fuller and his World Game project - you could make a movie that focuses on the trauma of his early life and how that shaped who he was. So you get the point: there's almost an infinite number of "angles" one could approach him with. 

In making movies, I'm always very clear that this is just my own take - the parts of the story that happened to resonate with me. I never make any claim to be making an authoritative film about Fuller. I think that in some ways, this is easier to do w/ a live film. You can see that it's just me up there talking - it's in some ways a humble form. 

In any event, what draws me most to Fuller is the fact that he really was a utopian - and I mean that in the best sense of the word. He had certain points that he made over and over again in interviews and speeches and in his writing. 

When you've looked at his work long enough, you start to see these themes reappear constantly. And one of his most consistent spiels was the fact that there were plenty of resources to go around - it was completely possible back in the 1920s, when he first started saying this, and still in the 70s and 80s, and even today - the fact is that there are enough resources so that every person on the planet could have a very comfortable life. 

The problem is not that there's not enough to go around - it's that we don't distribute things fairly. That's a radical thought and one that I think is more relevant and important today than it's ever been. 



NICK: Were there things that you discovered about Fuler that you really wanted to include but had to be set aside for the benefit of telling the best overall story? 

SAM: Oh, there are tons of things. When you are putting together a film, you fall in love with things, and then when you have to cut 'em, or you can't fit 'em in the piece, it's heartbreaking. Editors call this killing your babies. 

Anyway, there are lots. I was hoping in Portland to be able to include some photos I found in the Fuller archive of him at Oregon State University in 1953 building a dome with students. I couldn't figure out the right place to fit this in the piece, but I still love the photos.  (Note from Nick: Sam shared a few of those pictures.  The next 3 photos are among the ones he's referring to.)
  













NICK: This project is a collaborative presentation with the band Yo La Tengo. Besides being a popular indie rock group, they’ve developed a sizable body of non-album oriented work composing music for a variety of films. Probably the closest they’ve come to filling the role they’re playing in this project is with their live musical accompaniment for a presentation of Jean Painlevé shorts (toured around as The Sounds of Science). 

How did you hook up with the band for this project? Were they quick to come on board for it or did you have to convince them over time?

SAM: I saw the premiere of Yo La Tengo's Painlevé program at the San Francisco Film Festival about 10 years ago.  




NICK: Hey, I was there, too!

SAM: I was just completely agog at how luminous and fantastic it was. I was practically sitting there weeping! It's still one of my top 5 all-time film experiences. I've always loved the band's music, but seeing that really showed me that they could do music for film (which can be a whole different thing). 

This Buckminster Fuller piece was commissioned by the SF MOMA and the SF Film Festival earlier this year. When we started to talking about who might be right to play the score, I thought of YLT. Since they had already worked with the SF Film Fest, there was a relationship there. It didn't take a lot of convincing. 

I met with Georgia and Ira and explained the project and they were game. I think they like trying new things, and they certainly love film. You know that Georgia Hubley from YLT comes from a famous animation family. Her parents Faith and John Hubley were amazing filmmakers and animators, as is Georgia's sister Emily. 

NICK: I love the Hubley animations and once attended a workshop led by Emily Hubley at the NW Film Center.

Would you mind describing how the collaboration took shape over time?  

SAM: To put this piece together, I gave them ten different sections of footage - one section that's some great newsreel footage of Fuller's Dynamixon Car, for example; another section shows the huge dome he built at the Montreal World Expo - and they made music for those segments. 

That's kind of like the backbone of the piece. And then I wrote words around that. We got together a few times at their practice space in New Jersey and just went through it a bunch of times fine-tuning and really putting together the piece like that. 





NICK: I’m really looking forward to seeing the show next Wednesday. It’s pretty much the highlight of this year’s TBA schedule as far as I’m concerned. 

Am I correct in my understanding that Portland will only be the second city (after the premiere in San Francisco) where you’ve performed the show? Do you foresee touring the piece beyond the PDX dates?

SAM: We premiered the piece in SF in May. Then we are doing a show in Seattle on 9/11 - the nite before Portland. After that we have a few other shows this fall. You can see those dates at: www.buckminsterfullerfilm.com.





Sam Green and Yo La Tengo will perform The Love Song of R. Buckminster Fuller twice as a part of this year's TBA Festival at Washington High School on Wednesday, September 12th at 6:30pm and again at 8:30pm.  The program is a co-presentation of the NW Film Center & TBA.  More info available here.


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Friday, August 31, 2012

OSLO, AUGUST 31ST: NOT THE HAPPIEST THING OUT THERE



Oslo, August 31st might be the most depressing film I've seen all year; an honor that last year went to Steve McQueen's unnerving meditation on addiction, Shame.  Plainly put, this Norwegian import isn't about to alter anyone's opinion that there's a strong proclivity within Scandinavian cinema to delve into dark territories; redemption isn't what this film is about, folks.  It'd be a crime if its downcast subject matter ended up denying it an audience, though.  While there's no doubt that this is an exceptionally bleak work, the film does far more in its 95 minutes than just gaze into the abyss.  Oslo, August 31st is a work of great filmmaking, offering an emotional experience that lingers far after the curtain closes on the tale it tells.






The film follows Anders (Anders Danielsen Lie), a recovering drug addict who is given a day pass from his rehab program.  Before he leaves the institution, he makes an unsuccessful attempt to drown himself by walking into a lake while clutching a heavy stone.  Shortly after, he visits his old friend Thomas (Hans Olav Brenner) whose now domesticated existence runs counter to the days when the two men used to rage together.  Anders soon confronts Thomas with the plan he's been harboring: he's going to deliberately shoot a lethal dose of heroin.





Everything that follows that revelation becomes sharply divided into arguments for and against the decision.  Anders believes that it's too late to begin anew, despite only being in his early 30s; something that's reinforced by a botched job interview where his past seems to limit his future prospects.  Rebutting that perspective are the multiple meetings he has over the course of the day with friends and old lovers, as well as a brief, beautiful encounter that hints at the possibilities available to him, if only he can muster the will to seize them.

Director Joachim Trier understands the necessity for the debate to unfold organically, allowing very little hope that Anders will be turned from his stated objective.  We watch as he floats through Oslo like a disembodied soul, barely present as he listens in to conversations in crowded rooms, offering nearly the same presence when overhearing the interactions of others as he does in those exchanges in which he is actively engaged.  It's frustratingly sad to watch.  With all the reasons why Anders should choose life plainly on display, it's still impossible to shake the fear that he'll act on his grievous intentions.




With Oslo, August 31st, Trier gives us an incredibly powerful look at a dispossessed individual at the end of his rope.  He's crafted a humanely rendered depiction that motivates, instead of manipulating, the audience to care deeply for what happens to its protagonist.  It's moving, sorrowful trip through a city by a man who has given up on his life.  And as difficult as it is to watch as the film dives deeper into hopelessness, it would be far harder to look away from a film as perfectly conceived as this one.

Highly recommended.






Oslo, August 31st begins its run at Living Room Theaters on Friday, August 31st.  More info available here.


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Wednesday, August 29, 2012

360: JUST A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS



Fernando Meirelles (City of God, The Constant Gardener) and screenwriter Peter Morgan (The Last King of Scotland, The Queen) seem to believe that they're working at a very high level of collaborative storytelling with 360, a dreadfully dull, overly serious multiple arc piece that spends much effort moving its characters around a global chessboard without ever bothering to develop most of them into relatable or even interesting human beings.  Beginning with a voice over from Mirka (Lucia Siposová), a woman being photographed by the man who will become her pimp, the film announces its intentions (or is it pretensions?) to examine the rippling effects that choice has upon one's personal fate.




Mirka's entry into prostitution gives way to the story of Michael (Jude Law), a man looking to step out on his wife while away on a business trip.  So, of course, he's meant to be Mirka's first client, but it's not meant to be, so the film quickly transitions to a short passage about his wife Rose (Rachel Weisz), who is successfully engaging in an affair with a much younger man.  This is the pattern that the film sticks with for its entire running time; constantly flitting about from one semi-connected character to another, rarely allowing anything to stick other than the premise that life presents all of us with a series of "forks in the road."





Not too long ago, these kinds of stories involving interlocking characters connected through a series of coincidences and outlying forces were seemingly ubiquitous.  There have been a few great films (Nashville, Traffic, Magnolia) that illustrate how one might achieve this kind of narrative high-wire act, but alongside these successful takes stand many poorer examples (Babel and, especially, Fast Food Nation come to mind) of this particular mode of yarn spinning.  Regrettably, 360 has its foot mostly in the latter category. 




Like Babel, 360 takes itself far too seriously, but even Babel had the decency to treat its audience to a couple of fully fleshed-out scenarios (in Mexico & Japan) on the way to its overly high-minded and self-important observation about how "we" are basically all the same.  The best that 360 can muster is a halfway interesting interaction between a woman (Maria Flor) exiting a bad relationship and a grieving father (Anthony Hopkins) before abandoning those characters for yet another half-written story thread.  It's ironic that a film that wants to talk about the choices we make feels like the product of some very creative folks who were not able to choose only those stories that would best serve their work.  As it stands, 360 feels overstuffed and nonessential.





360 begins its run at Living Room Theaters on Friday, August 31st.  More info available here.


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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

GRINDHOUSE FILM FESTIVAL presents THE DEADLY SPAWN



Portland can count the the Hollywood Theatre's monthly Grindhouse Film Festival events among its many blessings.  Where else but at these screenings are you gonna have the opportunity to see 35mm prints of b-grade & Euro-horror fare with an enthusiastic audience of folks willing to imagine a world where these films are equal, if not better than, the established classics of the cinematic canon?  Or more specific to tonight's screening: where else are you likely to be treated to a non-digital presentation of Douglas McKeown's 1983 cult-classic The Deadly Spawn on a big ass screen?  Nowhere else, that's where.

Take it away, Grindhouse press release:

The Grindhouse Film Festival presents a rare 35mm print of The Deadly Spawn! This is one of the great crowd-pleasing horror movies of the 1980's. The Deadly Spawn (1983) A meteorite crashes to Earth, bringing with it an angry three-headed alien beast. The alien hides in the basement of an old house, and starts devouring it's residents and giving birth to hundreds of eel-shaped shark-toothed spawn. Now it's up to a young boy and a small group of teenagers to fight the rampaging spawn, kill the alien beast, and save humanity. This film is a low-budget 80's horror masterpiece. 35mm 80's alien horror trailers before the movie!





The Deadly Spawn plays one-night-only at the Hollywood Theatre on Tuesday, August 28th at 7:30pm.  More info available here.


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Friday, August 24, 2012

THE IMPOSTER & THE REVENANT: NOIR DOC & HORROR ROMP



Let's just get straight to the point:  Bart Layton's The Imposter is among a handful of must-see documentary features this year.  Relating the details of the 1994 disappearance of a child in San Antonio, Texas and, as the title indicates, the emergence some three years later of an individual claiming to be that missing person, the film winds in and around competing versions of the truth, employing dramatic re-creations, a clever editing scheme that delays reveals and heightens suspense, and intimate interviews with some of the most unreliable subjects this side of the Watergate hearings.  In The Imposter, the truth is never certain.





This is a maddening, fascinating watch, demanding an immediate post-screening breakdown with fellow viewers.  And, like the best mysteries, (much) more than a little ambiguity remains after the final shot hits the screen.  A mind-boggling treat of a film.  Do not miss it.

Highly recommended.





The Imposter begins its run at Cinema 21 on Friday, August 24th.  More info available here.





Bart (David Anders) hasn't been the same since he returned from Iraq.  You see, he didn't quite make it back alive but, then, he's not exactly dead, either.  The Revenant is a low-budget, horror comedy that embraces the campier side of Bart's unique problem.  Rather than adopting a gothic-inspired tone for this vampire-zombie hybrid, director D. Kelly Prior and crew play the situation for laughs, sending Bart and his best friend Joey (Chris Wylde) on nocturnal missions that revel in the more ridiculous end of blood-sucking pool.





The Revenant is at its best when it remains focused on Bart and Joey's adventures, which are generally cast as two guys up to no good during an endless series of nights on the town.  Whenever it moves away from this dynamic, the subplots that emerge (be they the one about the bereaved girlfriend or the expertise on the occult offered up by her Wiccan friend) end up feeling like needless filler.

To be perfectly honest, there's no reason why this film (or the majority of low-budget indie fare) needs to be two hours long.  There's enough good stuff going on here that one can imagine a much stronger version of The Revenant would exist if as much as a half an hour were excised from the overstuffed plot.  Still, fans of campy horror along the lines of Fido or Near Dark will find plenty to love here.






The Revenant begins its run at the Hollywood Theatre on Friday, August 24th.  More info available here.


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Thursday, August 23, 2012

DRUGSTORE COWBOY & OTHER ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE THE INEVITABLE


Drugstore Cowboy was the first film I ever saw with a conscious awareness that it had been made in Oregon. It screens tonight as a part of the NW Film Center's Top Down series.  The following is an unused essay that I wrote about the film about a year or so ago.




Thurston Moore has spoken of Lou Reed’s tales of junk-addled characters as being especially seductive to people who, like himself, had a relatively sheltered upbringing, something to do with the kind of degradation and darkness that is appealing only to those who are fortunate enough not to experience it. It was my own fascination with such themes that set me up as an ideal viewer of Gus Van Sant’s 1989 breakthrough feature, Drugstore Cowboy. It’s a film that over the years, whenever I stumble upon it on cable, I end up watching the entire thing, dropping more immediate concerns as I’m drawn once more into the curious ebb and flow of its hazy and understated narrative.




The picture, centered around a crew of addict/thieves who go directly to the source, breaking into pharmacies and hospital storerooms for their fix, resists the urge to depict its characters in either clichéd moralistic or nihilistic terms, the usual gold standard for cinematic explorations of junkie experience (see Otto Preminger’s The Man with the Golden Arm for the moralistic side of things and Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream for the “scathing ride through a personal hell” flavor).

Instead, Van Sant positions his characters as willful rebels, thumbing their collective noses at a society that promises freedom but, more often than not, delivers safety in routine, something that becomes all the more ironic when one realizes that Bob (Matt Dillon) and his crew are merely trading one form of routine for another. Still, there is an enchanting rhythm that forms around the adventures of these people, blurring together the days and nights while placing emphasis only upon the events and cycles impacting this cloistered circle of comrades in track-marked arms.




Drugstore Cowboy is Robin Hood without the poor as beneficiary, Oceans Eleven without the organization. In short, it’s a study in self-involvement masquerading, somewhat sporadically, as a heist movie. It depicts a narcissism flowing out of Drugstore’s near singular focus on Bob, his more than healthy sense of superiority in the face of contrary evidence and, eventually, his instinctual attempt to save himself when the going gets rough. Though adapted from James Fogle’s novel of the same name, the film owes more than a small debt to the junkie prose of William S. Burroughs, whose presence in the film, inhabiting the role of Tom the priest as a slow-drawling giver of sage advice, hints at a connection between the piety infused within Burroughs own visions of users in a junk-filled universe and the worldview espoused by Bob throughout the film. There’s a holy center to both Bob’s belief system and junk use in general that neglects acknowledgement of and adherence to social norms, a near-religious fever managing to help Bob float above it all, enabling him to feel as if he’s the only one who understands the game.




And speaking of floating, Van Sant channels some seriously trippy and evocative imagery related to drug use  during several key points in the picture, pulling the viewer into a space of surreality without constantly poking us in the eye with these visual inventions every time someone shoots up in the film. There’s the repeated floating objects placed against the cloud-filled Portland skies, representing at various times the oncoming rush of a narcotized state, Bob’s worries about hats on beds and incarceration, and even a slight homage to the discombobulating weightlessness experienced by Dorothy Gale in her journey to Oz. Van Sant also switches up film stocks a few times, nostalgically channeling the good old days, brilliantly using grainy, color Super 8 footage of Bob and his crew as they cavort around the streets of Portland. The exaggerated use of space and tracking shots in the scene where Bob and his estranged wife Diane (Kelly Lynch) part for the final time also springs to mind as one of the many perfectly visualized moments in the film.




To the credit of the filmmakers, the visual technique rarely gets in the way of the storytelling. The universality of that story, the notion Bob forwards when saying that, “most people…they don’t know how they’re going to feel from one moment to the next,” becomes a reasonable, albeit dreadfully flawed, rationalization for the path he and his crew have chosen. We’re all emotional animals, supremely uncomfortable with the unknown, whether it lies outside us or within us. It’s this humane rendering of Bob's disease, posited as a cure for an entirely different and more common illness, that of uncertainty, that makes the film so compelling, ultimately allowing it to transcend genre and stand as a singular piece, not necessarily about addiction as much as life itself.





The NW Film Center's Top Down Rooftop Cinema series presents Drugstore Cowboy on Thursday, August 23rd at 8pm.  More info available here.

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