chicagocinema.net

"I saw a man, he danced on the breakwater." The prophet Elijah gets jiggy with it down on the lake front.

This is very old news, but the always informative and funny blog of  Lynn Becker hipped me to the new section on Chicago in films that the brilliant folks who run Forgotten Chicago have started on their site, entitled Drama, Documentation and Discontinuity. As befits the subject of their blog, they concentrate on older films mostly from the “Daley I” drought years of the 50’s and 60’s.

Much like the rest of their work, the new section is a fascinating blend of historical info and trenchant meta-commentary. I was so inspired by their fine work that I finally rented Goldstein (1965), the first film by eclectic writer/director Philip Kaufman.

Although the film falters overall (as fabulous as Kaufman’s later work was, his debut project was an amateurish aping of French new wave film), the parts are greater than the whole and it functions as a valuable record of several important Chicago persons, places, and things (yes, a celebration of the noun!). Aside from the buildings and locations, Goldstein showcases some of the most talented actors and performers ever to call Chicago home, particularly those from the earliest days of Second City/Compass Players.

Some of the buildings not mentioned in Forgotten Chicago are:

Block 37 before it was razed, sat vacant for a few decades, and became home to the current monstrous structure that occupies the land.

Soldier Field- What a Spartan place it was back then! With nothing but uncomfortable looking bleachers ringing the inside of the classical coliseum.

A shot of the now-unused spotlight on top of the Palmolive Building blazing away (you can really see why residents of the John Hancock Building immediately put the kibosh on the lamp as they moved in just across the street.

An amusing chase sequence through a large sausage factory was also a treat.

As far as some of the amazing performers featured:

Del Close- One of the greatest improvisational gurus of all time and creator of the long form improvisational framework known as Harold, which revolutionized improvisation. Charna Halpern (and later Del himself) used it as the backbone of perhaps the most innovative and eclectic improv theater companies ever, the io. The long form also revitalized Second City when concepts central to it were integrated into main stage shows. Some time I’ll tell the story of how Del scared the utter living bejesus out of me when I was a young stand-up comic.

Viola Spolin- Those people whose young lives were rocked upon reading Improvisation For The Theater won’t need to ask who she is, everybody else needs to do some clicking. To sum it up, she conceived the first games and exercises that formed the foundation of what we know today as improvisation.

Nelson Algren- Yeah, that’s right, Nelson Freakin’ Algren. In all his brilliant prose writing, Simone De Beauvoir exciting resplendence. Right there in his authorial lair. Nelson tells a story whilst the camera pans around his apartment, lingering longingly over his array of nudie centerfolds scattered amidst the books, photos, and awards. The slow pan of Algren’s books is a valuable document in itself (I need to go back and freeze it again and jot all those titles down).

There also were quite a few other early SC alums in the film, including Severn Darden, Anthony Holland, and Jack Burns (from the comedy duo Burns and Shreiber).

Goldstein is a wonderful glimpse into many aspects of Chicago’s past. Just let it wash over you though, and don’t expect it to make any sense.

There are many shots of this man wandering through mid-1960's Chicago.

There have been many instances where great composers were not the best conductors. The Book of Musical Knowledge (Arthur Elson- 1915) opines as such: “In general, composers make poor conductors… To begin with, composers are seldom broad enough to judge the music of all others properly…Then, too, many composers lack the needed executive ability. When conducting, they are apt to listen dreamily to the music instead of guiding it.”

Even the great Beethoven was apparently a mere mortal when conducting, even his own brilliant works; “Beethoven knew the instruments well, but was not really a good conductor. Later on, when he became deaf, he still continued to lead; but the results were so bad that finally the musicians agreed to follow the first violinist, and disregard Beethoven’s irregular motions.”

Something similar to this phenomenon is at play with The Poker House, which recently premiered on DVD. The Poker House was written by artist/writer/actor Lori Petty, and the plot was drawn from actual experiences from her own childhood growing up in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Petty has fashioned a brilliant and blistering script from her memories of growing up with her two sisters in a combination brothel and gambling joint (the aforementioned “Poker House”) where a motley assortment of junkies, gamblers, pimps and thieves gather at all hours to enjoy poker, drugs, and prostitutes; most notably the girls’ mother, Sarah (Selma Blair), who is deeply addicted to drugs and is totally in the thrall of her dealer/pimp, Duval (Bokeem Woodbine).

The action is all arranged to take place in one day (the far southwest suburbs of Lemont and Lockport fill in as 1976 Council Bluffs, Iowa), and illustrates the trauma that the 14-year-old Petty (called “Agnes” in the film) and her two younger sisters endure in their efforts to create an island of safety and normality amidst the horrifying and dangerous environment in which they are forced to live (basically fending for themselves). Despite the toxic home life, the girls take care of each other and all manage to not only survive, but to maintain good grades and an informal support network outside of their chaotic home. Agnes is even able to be a star athlete and hold down several part-time jobs, including one at the local paper.

The story itself is bracing, intense, yet ultimately heartwarming, a testament to the ability of children to adapt and function in the worst of circumstances and the triumph of love and creativity in the face of neglect and abuse. The problem lies in the fact that Petty, instead of finding a skilled veteran director who could do justice to this incredible story (or at least saving this particular story for her second or third directorial effort), takes the task on herself in her debut behind the camera.

Her lack of directing experience hampers the film in several ways, but it is her schmaltzy old Hollywood aesthetic that creates the main flaw of the film. It’s as if Charles Bukowski, Flannery O’Connor, and Raymond Carver co-wrote the greatest indie coming of age screenplay ever, but the project was given to Garry Marshall to rework as an After School Special. Something this raw and gritty requires a more realistic treatment, and Petty’s showbizzy flourishes and unfortunate music choices (except for the incredible recreations of old school 70’s soul) ring false and saccharine.

Sometimes when an actor directs (especially when other actors in the film are close friends), they become too acquiescent to the comfort of the actors and are afraid to prod and push them out of their comfort zones and into a better performance. Selma Blair (who was the victim of horrible miscasting to begin with) might have been believable as the girl’s pathologically self-centered and morally bankrupt mother, given a director that could have pushed her harder and perhaps even been a bit cruel (like Peter Weir supposedly did to Rosie Perez in Fearless, 1993) to get her into the requisite emotional place to most appropriately play the character in the scene.

Petty, who is close friends with Blair (and no doubt felt that Blair was doing her a favor by appearing in the film), could not summon that wherewithal, and Selma’s performance reflects that. The fact that Blair was playing a character based on a person who was not only alive, but was also someone she probably knew (Petty and her mother are now apparently on good terms despite everything) undoubtedly added another level of awkwardness to the process, with disastrous results.

Despite all my problems with it, I still feel that The Poker House is worth a look by folks. Bokeem Woodbine is tremendous as the charming yet feral pimp/dealer/boyfriend, and Jennifer Lawrence (who plays Agnes) has the screen presence and uncanny beauty of the greatest old Hollywood child stars, such Elizabeth Taylor and Natalie Wood; but also possesses the acting chops of a Jodie Foster or an Ellen Page. The girls who play the sisters (Sophia Bairley and Danielle Campbell) are also great finds, and Petty directs the children extremely well.

This film does have much to offer, it just could have been so much better in the hands of a more experienced “conductor.” Without trying to publicly psychoanalyze Lori Petty, there seems to be a disconnect between Petty and her true feelings about what she went through as a child (her flippant and distracted manner during the director’s commentary is particularly enlightening in that regard) that greatly hampered her ability to take on this material. * While I have nothing but respect and awe for what she has endured and been able to accomplish in her life; I sincerely wish she had given the job of directing her story to someone else.

*Update 11/2: UPON FURTHER REFLECTION, I can’t believe I was such a dick to have written that! I have every right to criticize her aesthetic choices, but no one can (or should) ever tell a victim of abuse how they should feel about their abuse. I apologize to anyone who read that statement and had an attack of boiling blood (and to Ms. Petty). As a survivor of various kinds of abuse I should know better, but got caught up in my own pomposity and really stepped in it.

I thought about just going back and deleting it, but decided I’d leave it up and strike through it as a “teachable moment” for anyone who might wander by- Please don’t ever try to tell an abuse survivor what their “real feelings” (WTF Mike?!) are or should be. It just ain’t right.

Made in 2002 by writer/director P.J. Hogan (Muriel’s Wedding, My Best Friend’s Wedding), shelved by its studio for several years, then released directly to the Starz Cable Network and then to DVD with virtually no mention, Unconditional Love is another of those gems which has fallen through the cracks of the capricious Hollywood distribution system. Kathy Bates (Misery, Fried Green Tomatoes, Fred Claus) stars as frumpy Chicago housewife, Grace Beasley, who idolizes a cheesy love crooner, Victor Fox, played with manic glee by Jonathan Pryce (Brazil, Pirates of the Caribbean). When her husband (played by Dan Ackroyd) leaves her the day before Victor is murdered in Chicago (on his way to a television appearance where Grace was to finally meet him); Grace is inspired to hop a flight to England to attend his funeral.

In a bizarre turn of events (few things in this film aren’t bizarre), she bonds with Victor’s grieving gay lover, Dirk Simpson, played by Rupert Everett (My Best Friend’s Wedding, voice of Prince Charming in the Shrek films). After arranging a comeuppance for Victor’s homophobic sisters (Lynn Redgrave, Stephanie Beacham, and Marcia Warren), Grace and Dirk return to Chicago to solve Victor’s murder and bring his killer to justice. This quest leads the pair, along with Grace’s daughter-in-law (Meredith Eaton, who almost steals the movie), on an odyssey through the bowels of downtown Chicago in pursuit of “The Crossbow Killer” (Did I mention that Victor was killed by a serial killer?). And if all that weren’t enough, Julie Andrews does a cameo that will forever change the way you look at her.

The film makes good use of Chicago as well, featuring the Billy Goat Tavern for an extended scene (more than I’ve ever seen), as well as long sequences in the dark and often foreboding underground areas that the Goat leads to. Many films have showcased lower Wacker Drive, but Wacker is actually just one of a whole array of streets in Chicago that have a “lower” version. Lower Randolph, Michigan, Columbus and numerous other streets, byways and subterranean loading docks combine with pedways and tunnels to create a vast labyrinthine “Underground Chicago.” And since the underground is where the Crossbow Killer lurks, Unconditional Love lingers there for a long time with hilarious results. The lower portion of the Michigan Avenue bridge even comes into play during the film’s climactic scene.

Now I could definitely see how this movie could not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it tickled me to no end. If you’re yearning for a comedy that feels completely different and has a sense of humor that is by turns twisted, silly, painfully clever, and delightfully campy (Jonathon Pryce as the Liberace-esque/Iglesiasish/Humperdinkian love crooner is worth the price of admission in itself), Unconditional Love will definitely float your boat.

The Company is an interesting film that was poorly received when it was released in 2003, mostly because it didn’t conform to certain expectations that film goers had about it. It was marketed as “a Robert Altman film,” and while Altman was the director, he was basically a hired gun and not as intimately involved in the entire process as he was with his other films. Therefore, audiences went to it expecting to see a Robert Altman film when The Company was, for all intents and purposes, actually a Neve Campbell film. Allow me to explain.

When Neve Campbell was nine years old, she entered residence at Canada’s prestigious National School of Ballet, training full time and performing in numerous productions. Dance was her first love and the focal point of her life until her late teens, when she transitioned into acting.

Throughout the first several years of her acting career (first gaining fame in the television series Party Of Five and continuing through the Scream franchise and other films) she dreamed of mounting a project that would be her homage to the world of the dance. A film that would illustrate both the artistry and intense athleticism involved in the form, and the complete emotional, physical, and spiritual commitment required by it.

After an abortive attempt to produce this project through a major studio, she found a home for it with an independent production company. She and collaborator Barbara Turner spent four years visiting Chicago and interviewing members of the city’s renowned Joffrey Ballet Company in order to glean enough narrative material for Turner to fashion a script. Campbell also took classes with the Joffrey during that period (between her acting gigs).

Once the project became a go, Campbell then began the laborious process of returning to world class dancing form after an absence of almost ten years. She trained over eight hours a day for four months on her own, then spent another month and a half training eight plus hours a day with the Joffrey itself to learn the dances required. To further complicate this already near impossible feat (imagine an NBA player trying to return after a nine year hiatus), she broke a rib just four days before she began the Joffrey training period and was in constant pain throughout the rest of the preparation for and shooting of the film.

Because the film had multiple characters and involved large amounts of naturalistic improvisation (it would have been impossible to get a troupe of dancers who weren’t actors to sufficiently master large amounts of dialogue), Campbell knew the film would be “Altmanesque” in many respects and would require a director with a similar toolkit to Altman’s. But much to her amazement, Turner (who was an old friend of his) and Campbell were able to get The Master himself to consent to direct the film.

This turned out to be a blessing and a curse for the project, because while they were blessed with Altman’s considerable genius, they were cursed with an audience who expected the biting satire and brilliant ensemble acting of Mash or Nashville or Short Cuts. And although The Company is many things, it is certainly not a biting satire or expose of the world of dance, and while it features several fine actors (including Malcolm McDowell and Neve herself) it isn’t the full on thespian onslaught that is Short Cuts, The Player, or any of your prototypical Altman films.

The plot of The Company is very simple, it highlights a year in the Joffrey Ballet Company, focusing on Campbell’s character, an ensemble dancer who has a chance to take on a featured role. The film follows the trials and tribulations of the dancers, with an emphasis on the challenges of being both a committed artist and world class athlete. Most of the cast is comprised of the “real” dancers of the Joffrey, and the movie contains several of the company’s actual dances in their entirety.

Many people who saw this film when it was released (myself included) were put off by the fact that it doesn’t contain much in terms of dramatic arc or character development (again expecting an Altman experience), but this is also true to the realities of being a dancer in a top tier ensemble. When you spend 8 1/2 hours a day in a grueling training regimen (one you’ve adhered to since your were nine or ten years old), there really isn’t a lot of time left over for anything else. To inject artificial drama or action into the film would have betrayed the truth of the material and rung very false.

It is also unfair to compare The Company to other Altman films in terms of acting because he was mostly working with a group of dancers, instead of several dozen of the best actors in the business. Even Neve Campbell isn’t really the star of the film, the Joffrey Ballet (really the Art Form Of The Dance) is the star of this picture. It was only after seeing this film on DVD years after its theatrical release (and reading more about the project) that I was able to appreciate these distinctions.

So if you enjoy the dance, particularly the Joffrey’s wonderful brand of it; The Company could be a very entertaining and satisfying rental for you. Just don’t go into it thinking “Robert Altman Film.”

You can learn much more about the making of The Company here and here.

And after you’ve watched the movie itself, check out the bonus feature on the DVD entitled “Play All Dance Sequences From The Film” and be blown away by the artistry of the Joffrey Ballet.

While I have been and will continue to be an advocate for films unjustly given short shrift by the Hollywood distribution system; I am the first to admit that there are many movies which fail to get released in theaters simply because they are completely and unrelentingly awful.

Such is the case with Baby On Board, which was shot in Chicago in 2008 and unceremoniously released straight to video in June of 2009. I can’t even begin to explain how terrible [I feel] that this movie is, how painfully unfunny and wrong on several levels, but I’ll try.

The emotions I felt watching this film were similar to those experienced when seeing a really really terrible amateur comic perform on an open mic night; it’s uncomfortable on one level just because they’re not funny, but the true awkwardness springs from the realization that this person actually thinks the things they are saying are humorous. The scorn almost turns to pity as you start to meditate on what their life must have been like for them to be so emotionally and culturally retarded that they would actually write down and memorize this material and present in public as a comedy act. “What happened?” becomes the primary thought in your mind.

Here is what I think can be the only sane explanation for how this script came into existence: The two guys who wrote Baby On Board (yes there were two of them, and I’m not going to provide their names because this crime must have been committed while they were juveniles) did so when they were both 9 years old. After having skimmed through some older relative’s stack of Hustler and Penthouse magazines, they became inspired to write a romantic comedy. A few hours later when the script was completed, the boys made a blood oath with each other. “We will never change a word of this script. No matter how much we learn about men, women, dating, sex, biology, marriage, or the realities of day to day existence; as Satan as our witness, someday we shall get this script made into a movie with every letter and comma intact.” And then perhaps they killed a puppy to consummate their nefarious pact.

Since we live in an unjust and sometimes cruel world, not only did they manage to get this script made, but they persuaded some fine actors to participate in this abomination it. It’s especially painful to see the wondrous Heather Graham (whom I’ve adored since Drugstore Cowboy) vainly laboring away in an attempt to animate this befuddlingly puerile and dull witted material.

Now I could really tee off on this piece of cinematic goat vomit film and continue on indefinitely about how much I hated it, but I will lay off at this point. I just don’t want any of you good people to be in a video store, see this movie on the shelf and think, “Hey! Heather Graham, Jerry O’Connell, John Corbett, and Lara Flynn Boyle; how bad could it be?”

Very Very VERY bad, my friends.

NOTE: After reading Roger Ebert’s do’s/don’ts of film criticism (although I don’t consider myself a film critic- and for the love of god neither should you all), I’ve been shamed into making a few changes and adding this post script:

Heather Graham and Jerry O’Connell play an ad executive and divorce lawyer (respectively) whose lives are thrown into turmoil when she unexpectedly becomes pregnant. John Corbett plays O’Connell’s best friend, Lara Flynn Boyle is Graham’s boss.

If you are under the age of 15 and/or think that There’s Something About Mary and American Pie were the greatest films ever made (I mean in a literal Citizen Kane, The Godfather 1 and 2 kind of way), you may very well enjoy this movie.

My apologies to all the good and talented people who were involved in making this film for my extreme snarkyness. I know you have families to feed and can’t always choose the work you do. But my emotions run pretty high when I see what I consider bad comedy (10 years as a stand-up comic will do that to you).

The IMDB says that the movie was taken away from the director by the producers and drastically reedited, which may have contributed to the problem a little (but not much).

Of all the Chicagoland shot films that I was hoping to see before handing in the manuscript for Hollywood On Lake Michigan, 2nd Edition, Were The World Mine was probably the one that I was most sad to have missed out on. I had heard great things about this empowering gay musical made on a shoestring budget, and how the film’s makers were desperately trying to get it a mainstream theatrical release.

Unfortunately, that mainstream release never materialized, and I was forced to wait until it was recently released on DVD. While the film was definitely worth the wait, viewing it made it painfully clear what a travesty of cinematic justice it was that this delightful little picture never received the exposure it deserved. Hopefully, the DVD release will bring it some wider recognition.

Were The World Mine is an enjoyable film on several levels; an exuberant and charming musical, a touching and tender coming of age story, a meditation on the nature of love and acceptance, and a wacky, surreal and sometimes campy comedy.

The project grew from a short musical screenplay, written in 2003 by Tom Gustafson, about a young gay teen who finds solace and strength in the words of Shakespeare (the piece was inspired by his experiences growing up gay in a small Illinois town). Gustafson’s partner, Cory James Krueckeberg, was impressed by the script and they both embarked on an attempt to actualize the work.

Gustafson, a graduate of Northwestern University, used contacts developed from working as a casting assistant on Road To Perdition and Master And Commander: The Far Side of The World to marshal resources and assemble a devoted team of collaborators and crew members. Krueckeberg, an accomplished actor, designer, and director; also drew upon his tenure in the Chicago theater community to assist the cause.

The result was Fairies, a short musical film. Fairies received a rave response at a screening in a Boystown venue, and they were quickly able to raise money for festival submissions. The film ended up appearing at over 75 festivals around the world. A year later, during a flight from LA to New York, they decided to expand Fairies into a full length feature. By the time the plane landed, Gustafson and Krueckeberg had already sketched out the framework for the picture.

After the pair completed the script (working in conjunction with talented Chicago composer Jessica Fogle on the songs), Gustafson and Krueckeberg then methodically set out to acquire financing for the feature film. Their efforts were a primer on the right way to fund and create a low budget independent movie; using staged readings of the script to garner interest in the project from potential investors, presenting a well constructed business plan to those investors, and doing research to locate all other possible funding sources. Meanwhile, they were also working hard on a production schedule so as to be able to hit the ground running when the financing came through, and searching the country for the talent to perform the various roles in the film.

Although many big name actors who expressed interest early on disappeared once the extent of the film’s gay content became apparent to them, casting people Carrie Barden, Mickie Paskal and Jennifer S. Rudnicke were able to assemble an amazing group of performers, the proverbial mix of seasoned veterans and talented newcomers.

Big name actors (and/or their agents) weren’t the only ones afflicted by uneasiness over the film’s gay content, investors were shying away as well, and for a while it looked as if financing would not materialize. But Gustafson, Krueckeberg and producer Peter Sterling were able to secure the final funds required. Pre-production reached a fever pitch in preparation for the shooting of the film, which was done in the Chicago area and took an amazingly short 4 weeks (it almost seems impossible when you watch the movie).

Were The World Mine is the story of Timothy, a shy and creative gay teen who often retreats into his musical daydreams in order to endure life in a private boys school and a stultifying small town. When he is cast as Puck in a school production of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, he becomes more aware of his talents and starts to blossom under the tutelage of his arty English teacher.

This process reaches full flower (pun mandatory) when he discovers a love potion recipe for Puck’s purple pansy secretly encoded in Shakespeare’s text (the pansy causes those sprayed by it to fall for the first person they see). Timothy creates the potion, then uses this magical flower to turn his whole town gay, most notably the hunky rugby player for whom he has been pining.

Tanner Cohen, who plays Timothy, was really quite a find for the production; possessing strong acting skills and an incredible voice (not to mention an uncanny resemblance to Nick Stahl). Cohen deftly captures the nervous insecurity of Timothy, but also really brings it in the musical numbers.

Nathaniel David Becker, who makes his film debut as Jonathan (the rugby playing love interest), has an excellent voice, handsome looks and solid acting chops. He should be able to write his own ticket in the musical film/theater world; in fact he already seems to be a bit of a gay heartthrob.

The supporting cast is unbelievably strong: the devilishly quirky Wendy Robie (Nadine from Twin Peaks) plays the English/Theater instructor (in a role she reprised from Fairies), revered Broadway stage performer Judy McLane shines in her first film work as Timothy’s mother, Daytime Television fixture Jill Larson (Opal on All My Children) is an absolute hoot as McLane’s eccentric employer, veteran Chicago character actors Christian Stolte and David Darlow do their usual brilliant jobs, and newcomers Zelda Williams and Ricky Goldman are adorable as Timothy’s best friends and confidantes.

In addition to the fine acting performances, the musical numbers really knocked my socks off (and I’m not generally a fan of contemporary musicals). Cory Krueckeberg seamlessly melded Shakespeare’s words with his own clever lyrics, Jessica Fogle’s melodies were excellent (catchy without being cloying or fluffy), and Tim Sandusky’s work on the score, arrangements and production was absolutely first rate (of course, he has a reputation for that in Chicago). Todd Underwood’s choreography was joyously kinetic but not too busy or cliched, Elizabeth Powell Wislar’s costumes were fab, and Director of Photography Kira Kelly was able to achieve a beautiful look with limited resources.

Hell, there wasn’t much about this film that I didn’t like. I know this big of a rave about a picture of this sort from a big butch breeder like me might seem incongruous, but hey, sue me. I call ‘em like I see ‘em.

Gustafson and cohorts worked hard for a wider mainstream release for the film and it’s a shame that they weren’t successful, because Were The World Mine is truly “The Gay Teen Musical For The Whole Family.” Seriously. Although there’s a certain intensity in the romantic moments that generates a bit more heat than the hook up scenes in your average WB-style teen dramedy (which comes more from having better actors being directed well); WTWM is much less salacious than the teen centered offerings on any network. The most graphic action in any of the love scenes is a chaste kiss and warm caress, which is positively Disney-esque compared to the bump and grind explicitness in standard teen fare (actually, WTWM has been likened by many to Disney’s High School High). And I think we can all agree that young dudes with their shirts off isn’t exactly pornographic (those who don’t agree probably wouldn’t have read this far anyway).

Of course it’s two guys doing the kissing, so the knee jerk reaction from mainstream execs (particularly gay mainstream execs) when confronted by a film that forthrightly portrays romantic affection between two males is to pronounce it “too gay.” Those two words are the bane of the existences of all gay filmmakers/artists/musicians/etc. seeking to expose their work to a wider audience.

The fact that this cowardly mantra is so often recited by corporate cultural gatekeepers who are themselves gay is especially puzzling. Particularly about something as heartfelt and wholesome as Were The World Mine. In a interview included in the WTWM press kit, Gustafson wonders:

Maybe it’s really that purity and innocence that scares people into saying the film is too gay? I think to some people, this innocence is even more dangerous than films that portray gay characters in very crude and sexual ways. Historically, ‘gay’ has been more prominent, and as a result more accepted in a way, as a dirty little secret involving bathroom stalls or sex clubs than when it involves real love, religion and the long term commitment of a marriage like institution. Regardless, it’s a strange irony to say that an incredibly innocent film is too gay. In some way I think it comes from a shameful place, and I think some of the non-straight people in the industry react this way to things as a defense mechanism. The same way our main character escapes an unsavory reality with daydreams, these people escape reality by saying it’s ‘too gay’ instead of putting support behind it and risking ridicule.

Whatever the true motivations of those who denied this film its due, the fact remains that it was a poor decision. With both filmed and live musicals pulling in the public in droves in recent years, Were The World Mine could have really made a splash had it been given a chance.

Hopefully, the recent DVD release will at least help get this picture seen by some of the legions of people, gay and straight, who would enjoy it.

Which is the really crux of the matter at hand, not to mention one of the most frustrating things about the capricious and arbitrary way that films are distributed by Hollywood, the fact that so many great pictures never get brought to the attention of the people who would most enjoy them.

Aside from the sheer injustice of it, it’s just bad business.

Tanner Cohen and Nathanial David Becker bring the sexy in Were The World Mine.

This poster, used for the international theatrical release of The Unborn, illustrates how integral to the plot it was for Odette Yustman to be in her underwear.

Some salient info that I didn’t want to bury at the end of the previous manifesto (things got very bloggy there, please pardon me):

Veteran Chicago Special Effects Coordinator John Milinac, who I interviewed and featured in Hollywood On Lake Michigan, 2nd Edition, encouraged me to catch The Unborn when it was in theaters last Winter. John was the SE Coordinator on the film, and he discussed how intense and freaky some of the effects were, and that it really should be seen on the big screen. Unfortunately, I was too busy finishing the manuscript to spare the time.

After catching it on DVD last week, I contacted John to discuss how he and his crew pulled off some of the effects, but he was too busy to chat, as he is finishing up work on the remake of Nightmare On Elm Street (which wraps next week). So we made arrangements to talk about The Unborn (and the various tricks and illusions he employed) once he has a bit of time. [I'll also see what he can tell us about Nightmare On Elm Street.]

So here is what I propose, Gentle Reader: If you wish, you can rent The Unborn and view it sometime in the next week or so; then come back here and discover how the major mechanical effects were actualized by John and his crew.

Keep in mind that the Special Effects Coordinator is in charge of the physical effects that happen in front of the camera, so he won’t have much insight into any CGI or other visual effects done in post-production. He’s also responsible for general physical effects like running water, fireplaces, appliances and the like; so on the off chance you have any questions about how he made the shower run or anything exciting like that…feel free to leave your query in the comments section. [Oh the wonders of Internet 2.0!!!].

BTW- The Unborn was shot mostly in Lake Forest and the northern ‘burbs; although there is one brief exterior scene Downtown on Wacker Drive (across from the Christian Science Temple), another interior scene in what looks to be the Aon Tower, and the Harlo Grill in Melrose Park also has a brief cameo (looking absolutely gorgeous). And (of course) the mandatory awe inspiring overhead shots of the lakefront and the Chicago river.

I ended up watching both the theatrical version and the “unrated” version, and the only “extra” footage seemed to be about 2.5 seconds of relatively chaste (albeit well executed) simulated sex betwixt the protaganist and her hunky beau. Apparently by “unrated” they mean “not quite PG-13 anymore.” So don’t be expecting some bonus Veerhoevenesqe (Veerhoevian? Veerhoevarian?) orgy of demonic lust and violence.

I kind of stopped watching horror pictures at some point in the mid-1980’s, mostly because they became so different from the horror movies I loved as a kid.

Having cut my teeth on the Hammer Studio films of the Christopher Lee/Peter Cushing Era and the Shock Theater oeuvre of 50’s and 60’s chillers, I spent many a late night cringing in terror at those gruesome Gothic-tinged offerings in front of a old black and white set in my room.

Sure, they were cheesy, and most of them don’t hold up today. But they were perfect for the sensibilities of a kid; with their overblown acting, simply drawn characters and ponderous plot machinations. The low budgets, stodgy public mores and the primitive state of special effects at the time kept them from being too graphic or showing a lot of the various monsters, so the filmmakers learned to do without all the intense visuals contemporary horror films rely on. It was all about what you didn’t see with those movies that made them so chilling, the idea of the monster. This was also perfect for the fertile mind and ability to suspend disbelief of a child. The details you filled in with your imagination were scarier that any amount of fake blood or monster costume could possibly be.

The more existentialist horror films of the late 60’s and early 70’s also understood the “less is more” concept. Films like Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and Burnt Offerings (1976) spared the gore and effects, but laid on the atmosphere and the feeling of imminent doom. Even The Exorcist (1973), lauded (and condemned) at the time for its intense and graphic special effects, was mostly about the build-up.

But the success of Friday The 13th (1980) (and the boatloads of cash the sequels pulled in) resulted in a new formula and paradigm in horror films:  A bunch of obnoxious stupid people (often teens) are rapidly killed off in gruesome and graphic fashion by a vicious and sadistic (yet often oddly charismatic) character who has supernatural powers and/or inhuman strength and abilities. The “Slasher Film” became the norm, and this paradigm shift caused me to bail out of the horror genre. I didn’t stop watching horror films altogether, but I definitely backed off and let the genre “see other people.”

Now, I’m a huge fan of clueless people being killed (I’d like the idea to become public policy, in fact), but when everyone in the entire film is annoying and stupid it really destroys the drama. You can’t buy into the movie if you don’t really care if anybody lives. I’m also not afraid of a little gore, but once the buckets of blood start flowing there’s really nowhere else to go and the movie can’t build any suspense. And since you know the least abrasive and dim witted people are going to be the last ones killed or will vanquish the homicidal slasherbeing (at least until they churn out the next one)– Why bother to stick around?

It isn’t like the earlier movies didn’t follow formulas or have repugnant characters or let the blood flow on occasion; but they didn’t always use the same formula or make everyone odious, and they at least attempted to build some sort of suspense before hauling out the red corn syrup.

This brings me to The Unborn, which was just released on DVD. [Good Lord. Over 500 words before I even mention the movie at hand! I'm already turning into Jonathan Rosenbaum. Somebody stab me with a giant knife or something!]

The Unborn definitely isn’t bereft of formula or cliche (especially the “preternaturally hot female protagonist who spends inordinate amounts of time in her underwear”), it has its moments of semi-graphic violence (especially towards the end), and it certainly throws down a fancy visual effect or two; but I found myself buying into the movie in a way that I haven’t since I was a little sprout all huddled in front of the TV in my room.

The main thing that made The Unborn remind me of those bygone days was that it attempted to create a little drama before trotting out the sound and fury. Although it turns on the trippy suspense at the get go with a creepy dream sequence, it gives the audience time to get acquainted with the characters and generates some dread and anticipation before totally going for the throat.

What’s more, the aforementioned characters aren’t completely shallow, brain dead idiots. Not that they’re little Mother Theresas or extremely deep, but they seem to possess a thought or two, and (most important) you aren’t rooting for them to all die 10 minutes into the film.

The film was written and directed by David S. Goyer, who is most known for writing the scripts for Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, as well as the three Blade films. Jane Alderman [featured in Hollywood On Lake Michigan], who helped cast the film, told me that Goyer did not like to even use the term “horror movie.”

I don’t want to give too much of the plot away, so I’ll merely say that it involves a young woman (actress/model Odette Yustman) who battles against an evil spirit who wishes to possess her. A few of the plot elements are lifted from other horror films, but they’re reassembled very well, and the acting is as good as you’ll find in this genre; especially the cameos from James Remar (as the girl’s father), Idris Elba (who played Stringer Bell on the unfreakingbelievably excellent HBO Series, The Wire), and Gary Oldman (yes, the Gary Oldman) as a helpful Rabbi.

Which leads me to another aspect I enjoyed about The Unborn; the fact that the main character and her family are Jewish (albeit non-practicing) and the central “myth” (for want of a better word) of the film is based around the Kaballa and Hebrew mysticism. That’s right, a Jewish exorcism movie. Now this hardly constitutes some sort of B’nai B’rith cultural watershed moment, but it was a nice change of pace not to have to hear all the shopworn Book of Revelations-type cliches for once. Plus, why should us goyim always have all the fun battling insensate supernatural evil? There’s an interesting moment where Yustman’s character mentions that she doesn’t want “a Christian exorcism,” only to be reminded that “this sort of being predates Christianity or Judaism, perhaps even humanity.”

Of course, all of the things that I liked about the film (its leisurely pacing, the relative lack of graphic violence and tons of over the top special effects) are anathema to youngsters who cut their teeth on post-Friday The 13th fare. Therefore, although The Unborn did pretty well at the box office, if you go to any of the online reviewing sites (such as Rotten Tomatoes or the IMDB) you’ll find post after post about how completely awful this film is (many “real” critics dumped on it as well).

And I will grant you, this isn’t a piece of great cinema; but if you’re yearning for something slightly reminiscent of the kind of horror film they made back before the dawn of the Slasher Era, something that will give you some plot development along with your minimum RDA of gore and mayhem, then definitely rent The Unborn.

Uncle Nino is not only an example of the rare species, “the family movie that doesn’t suck”; it is a member of that rarest subset, “the family movie that is poignant and entertaining for all the various age groups of the family.” It is (unfortunately) also an example of that not-so-rare phenomenon, “the great little independent film that is crapped upon by the cold uncaring film distribution system.”

A labor of love of writer/director Robert Shallcross, Uncle Nino was actually shot in 2003 and wandered in the wilderness of studio indifference for several years unable to find a distributor. This despite a great reception at film festivals and a huge grassroots cult following (it sold out a theater in Grand Rapids, Michigan for an entire year). After much work by those associated with the film, it received a halfhearted limited release in 2004/2005 (again garnering a rave response). More corporate lethargy ensued before the film was finally released on DVD in June of 2009. Hopefully now Uncle Nino will finally get its due from a wider audience.

Joe Mantegna plays Robert Micelli, an overworked ad exec who has lost touch with his wife and children. In fact, the entire family has lost touch with each other, each living in their own world, unable to communicate except via arguments and screamed conversations from separate rooms. Basically the average suburban American family in the current age.

That autistic pattern is broken when Mantegna’s elderly Uncle Nino (deftly portrayed by Pierrino Mascarino) unexpectedly arrives from Italy. At this point, you’re probably saying to yourself, “Gosh, I bet Uncle Nino’s Old World charm and simple ways cause everyone to reevaluate their lives and the choices they have made; resulting in them all rediscovering the value of family and of a less complicated, not as goal directed life.”

And you’d be right, cynical smart ass; but it’s about the journey, not the destination. And Uncle Nino gets there with style and an easy grace. Whenever the movie threatens to dip into total bathos or hokieness, the actors and director manage to avoid veering off the Cliffs of Schmaltz. It sometimes feels a bit like an After School Special, but a really really good one. Besides, it’s a family movie, not a Tarantino flick; so back off.

Joe Mantegna’s real daughter, Gina (who was 12 at the time), plays his daughter in the movie and does a fabulous job. The two were able to translate both the bond and the angst from their actual relationship, and it gives their scenes a veracity beyond the standard Father/Daughter family film dynamic. Anne Archer, who had worked with Mantegna several times before, has the role as his wife, and their familiarity and comfort with each other adds to the genuine feel of the film.

Making Uncle Nino was truly a family affair for Mantegna; not only did he get to work with his daughter for a summer back in his hometown of Chicago (the Northwest ‘burbs, actually), but he took his whole family with him for an extended reunion with all of his relatives, who were scattered in the towns around where the film was shot (Joe and family ended up just crashing with them during down time). In fact, most of the extras in a large crowd scene toward the end of the film are members of the Mantegna clan.

So, to sum up: if you’re having a jones for a sexy high-octane shoot-em-up or a bracing look at the seamy underbelly of suburban America; give Uncle Nino a pass. But if you’re looking for something to pop in the DVD player at a holiday gathering that will keep the little ones and the old folks entertained, yet won’t bore the tweens and young adults (and you) to death; and even might elicit a few tears and hugs all around— Uncle Nino is a fantastic choice.