In GOING CLEAR: Scientology and the Prison of Belief, Alex Gibney tackles that so-called 'church'

My first experience with Scientology occurred back in the mid 1970s, when neighbors of mine in Pacific Palisades, California, who had formerly been touting the wonders of this "religion'" suddenly found themselves -- because they wouldn't continue to give it more and more of their money -- on the "outs" with the group. They were harassed just about into insanity, and I felt so badly for them I determined never to get within a mile of Scientology or its acolytes, nor to let anyone I cared about near this sewer of fakery and disgust. Over the years, as has been true of just about all really awful, creepy ideas (and the organizations that spout them) -- from Nazis, Wall Street and our banking system to ISIS, just over half of our current Supreme Court and nearly all of the Republican Party -- instead of quickly disappearing in deserved ignominy, these things seem to grow and grow until they conquer then finally do so much damage that they at last must be destroyed. This certainly seems the case concerning Scientology.

GOING CLEAR: SCIENTOLOGY AND THE PRISON OF BELIEF, the new documentary from the prolific and generally on-the-mark filmmaker Alex Gibney (shown at right, who has formerly skewered everything from Enron and our mideast wars to Jack Abramoff and the Catholic clergy), offers a two-hour crash course in what you need to know to stay away from this crazy cult. His film is well made and features a look at a number of folk -- from the famous to the not so -- who've bought into Scientology's "beliefs" only to eventually leave, disheartened and much the poorer (in ways both financial and spiritual). Gibney also piles up his evidence (often anecdotal, yes, but with plenty of history, statistics and even the so-called "ideas" from the "religion's" founder, L. Ron Hubbard, to back it up), before finally lay out as close to an ironclad case for fraud and fakery as any intelligent non-brainwashed viewer could want.

Of course, the documentary gives us a lot of John Travolta and Tom Cruise -- two Scientology stalwarts, whom the doc shows have shamefully allowed this cult to use their image for proselytizing, marketing and near-destruction -- but also lesser-known lights of Hollywood like actor Jason Beghe (above) and writer/director Paul Haggis (below) who were for years in thrall to the powerful group.

We also hear from people like Travolta's assistant, Sylvia "Spanky" Taylor, below, who had to flee with her very young child (whom the cult had reduced to sick-unto-death) and Hana Eltringham, who, as a very young woman, got sucked into things and only recently, as a senior citizen, came out the other side.

Gibney, as did author Lawrence Wright, in his book of nearly the same name from which the film has been adapted (Wright's subtitle, interestingly enough, was Scientology, Hollywood, & the Prison of Belief), also follows the money -- and we soon see where it has come from and to where it has led. The section involving Scientology lawsuits and the F.B.I. investigation proves, on its own, nearly shocking enough to seal the entire deal.

We get quite a history of that Hubbard guy, above, especially from his ex-wife and mother of Hubbard's child. This section brought to my mind another "religious" leader -- Mary Baker Eddy, founder of the Church of Christ, Scientist (the religion that I was born and raised into), and Mrs. Eddy's own quite checkered history, which the Christian Science church has long done everything it could to conceal. Supposed religious "icons" rarely if ever stand up to close scrutiny -- except in the minds of their often brainwashed followers.

Some of the movie's most interesting sections deal with those at the top of the Scientology food chain, specifically its current leader David Miscavige and one of his former henchman, a fellow named Mike, shown above, who has since left the "church."  Here we learn about the infamous "disconnects"  that members are forced to take from their families, as well as many of the dirty tricks played against those with the audacity to leave the fold, as well as against others in order to "blackmail" them into staying (this theory certainly might apply to Mr. Travolta's continued presence).

Among the more gossipy bits of information involve the search, discovery and training of a new girlfriend for Mr. Cruise. This is lightweight compared to most of what we learn here, but it, too, helps complete a tawdry pattern. All told, Going Clear (the title is Scientology-speak for arriving at one of the higher levels of the "religion," which is, as one fellow tells us, "full of crushing certainty that allows not a trace of doubt." Any philosophy or religion that doesn't encourage a little doubt now and then is already highly suspect.

Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief will open in theaters this Friday, March 13th -- in New York at Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater, in Los Angeles at the Arclight Hollywood, in San Francisco at the Presidio Theatre, and will then make its prime-time cable debut on Sunday, March 29 (8:00-10:00 p.m. ET/PT), exclusively on HBO.

In BLUE JASMINE, Allen and Blanchett channel Blanche DuBois via Mrs. Madoff

Woody Allen just keeps rolling 'em out. And while he doesn't really repeat himself (I don't think any alert viewer would mistake one of his films for another), it may be that he cranks these out a little too quickly, relying as ever on happenstance and coincidence to make the connections that real life can seldom provide. This works best in the comedy and rom-com genres, where we expect -- hell, we want -- our happy endings. When too-easy coincidence occurs in drama (whether it tilts toward the happy or unhappy makes little difference), the whole thing begins to look too much like a set-up.

So it is with BLUE JASMINE, which is saved, as Allen's films often are, by first-class casting and acting. As a writer, the guy seems to grow sloppier, while directing-wise he's even less fussy than in the old days and so more on-the-mark. Notice how he handles the repeated back-and-forth of time frames to present and past. These are sharp, clear and focused so that we quickly know where we are and whether it's now or then. It's as though he's telling us, "Look I don't have time to erect all the signposts; just follow along!" And we do.

What we follow here is the tale of an entitled, sleazy and basically nasty woman named "Jasmine" (she's changed to that name from something more prosaic), played by Cate Blanchett, above, whose marriage and fancy, moneyed life have recently collapsed. She's left New York City and the Hamptons for the much simpler and more affordable(!) world of San Francisco. This location shows how out-of-touch Mr Allen is with where working people can afford to live, but I guess the midwest would not have been as much fun for him to film. San Francisco is the home of her lower-class sister, Ginger (Sally Hawkins, below, left, with Andrew Dice Clay, who plays -- and very well -- her former husband).

Fully one-third to one-half of the film is set in the past, so we really get to see who Jasmine was, as well as who she remains -- even though her circumstances have turned upside down. Allen is crafting here a morality tale for our time -- the financial crisis and the economic downturn -- in which the great wealth of Jasmine's husband (Alec Baldwin, below, center, and fine, as usual) was evidently derived from fakery (think Bernie Madoff).

Yet the filmmaker's grasp of how the hoi polloi live is awfully limited. Even the manner in which Jasmine earns her living as a "worker" -- a short spell with an odd dentist (the amusing Michael Stuhlbarg) and then, nothing -- indicates that Allen has little understanding of or interest in how most of us pay our bills.

Ditto his creation of "working men" like Ginger's new boyfriend (the wonderful Bobby Cannavale, above, left) and his best friend (Max Casella, above, right) who remain walking, talking clichés. That Cannavale and Casella walk and talk damn well, goes some distance toward camouflaging this. But there are times when, watching Cannavale act, you think, God, he must have been dying for a bit of decent dialog! But none of the characters here, save Jasmine, are given any depth by their author.

Around the time Peter Sarsgaard (above) appears (then rather quickly disappears), the coincidences really hit home. Through it all, Ms Blanchett delivers a spot-on performance, with every moment real (and often grating). Cate's too smart an actress to try to sugar-coat her character, who is, let's face it, a horror who just keep growing more horrible. That the actress has played -- and quite well, I am told -- Blanche DuBois could only have helped her performance -- which is some kind of wonderfully strange concoction of Blanche and a character somewhat like Mr. Madoff's wife (but younger), who could not have helped but know what her husband was up to on some level but ignored it all to bask in the wealth. At this point in our film year, Blanchett would seem a shoo-in for an Oscar nomination.

Blue Jasmine is a lot of fun, though it is not particularly funny, as in ha-ha. (That's Louis C.K. with Ms Hawkins, above.) It is light on its feet, as shallow movies with weighty themes sometimes are. I think Allen may not have intentionally gone after a character study, but that's what, thanks mostly to Blanchett, he has achieved. It's a good one, too -- even memorable -- though everything else here pales beside it.

The movie, from Sony Pictures Classics and running 98 minutes, opens this Friday, July 26, in New York City (at the Angelika Film Center, City Cinemas 123, Lincoln Plaza Cinema), in Brooklyn (at the BAM Harvey Theater) and in Los Angeles (at The Landmark and perhaps elsewhere). From there, a national rollout will follows in cities across the U.S.

From here to fraternity: Will Canon's BROTHERHOOD opens in L.A. and Dallas

Doing for frat houses pretty much what Holocaust movies do for Nazi Germany, BROTHERHOOD, the new knock-your-socks-off movie -- his first full-length -- from Will Canon, starts with a scene that will have you holding your breath but doesn't let you take that breath until its swiftly-paced & sweaty-palmed 79 minutes are over.  "You know what they forgot about?" my companion offered, only minutes before the movie ended. Hello -- "they" didn't forget about a thing, as it turns out, including that "loose end." Mr. Canon, pictured below, is surprisingly deft in how he brings his movie home in a manner as appropriate and believable as it is fair and just.
And riveting.  

The movie begins with a hazing/initiation "prank" that is both beyond stupid and utterly believable, given our current times and the state (Texas, I'm assum-ing, as the movie was filmed there) in which we find ourselves. When things go wrong, escalating like mad, even as the participants are disintegrating badly, the film-maker captures all this with uncan-ny skill and precision, considering how crazy things become.  There is an immediacy to Canon's work and the performances of his up-to-snuff cast that keep the movie barreling ahead like there's no tomorrow -- which for some of these guys, there may not be.

The very speed the director maintains, together with the quite real sense of dislocation and fear that grabs both the pledges and the senior frat boys, pull us so thoroughly into the situation that these easily cover up any logic lapses that may occur (though, while the movie was going on, none were apparent  to me).

The reality built by the screenplay and dialog gives a wonderful sense of improvisation gone right, for a change. And the actors, to a man (plus a couple of excellent performances from women: Katherine Vander Linden, as the butt of a particularly nasty prank, and Jennifer Sipes -- above -- as an angry sorority girl) come through in sterling fashion.

This is a "guy" movie, however, and Canon and cast have done a fine job of differentiating characters surprisingly well, given the little time there is to manage this. Registering most strongly in the ensemble are Trevor Morgan as the pledge torn between fraternity admittance and doing the right thing, Lou Taylor Pucci (above) as the mistaken victim, Arlen Escarpeta (below) as an even more unjust victim, and Jon Foster (two photos below) as the SIC (sleaze-in-charge).

According to the press materials for Brotherhood, the movie is based upon an earlier short made by the filmmaker. For a rare change, here is a full-length film derived from a short that fully deserves its feature status.

In addition to providing a fast, fun ride, the movie nails the nastiness of so many fraternities, along with the sexism, racism and unbearably smug sense of entitlement of which they reek. Hardly a recruiting poster for Wi-Fi-Pi and the rest, Mr. Canon has, besides offering up some savory entertainment, produced a kind of public service announcement.

Brotherhood opens this Friday, February 25, in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5, while playing currently in Dallas at the Angelika Film Center, and opening in Brooklyn at the reRun Gastropub on March 11. The film is also available now via VOD. Check with your local TV reception provider for details.