EISENSTEIN IN GUANAJUATO: It's the new Peter Greenaway and very sexual. 'Nuff said.

OK. So it's gorgeous (that pretty much goes without saying regarding most movies by Peter Greenaway). With EISENSTEIN IN GUANAJUATO, black-and-white cinematography moves into color; the screen splits, then splits again. Sometimes we see black-and-white and color simultaneously. And as happens with Greenaway now and again (remember The Pillow Book?), there are a number of shots featuring uncut cock (belonging here to famed film director Sergei Eisenstein -- or at least the actor who's playing him, Elmer Bäck).

I would say that Mr. Greenaway, shown at right, is up to his old tricks, but these are rather new tricks, and simply for that color, exquisite sets and locations, not to mention all of the full-frontal beauty, the movie is worth seeing. As an exploration into the life and desires of filmmaker Eisenstein, I do not know enough about the filmmaker to be certain. But maybe Sergei himself would fall in love with this movie. I certainly did.

I want to see it again, too -- with English subtitles included, because, even though the film is spoken mostly in English, the accents of its two stars (one Finnish, the other Mexican) are so strong that I suspect I missed enough of the dialog to need a second viewing. Visually, too, it's such a knockout that it warrants another look.

Historically, the movie tampers with the time that Eisenstein, having departed the United States for Mexico in 1931, where he hoped to make a film (he did indeed shoot more than two miles of film stock), but instead -- as shown here, at least -- gets more involved with his guide, Palomino Cañedo (played by the quietly commanding Mexican actor, Luis Alberti), who opens Eisenstein's heart, mind and ass to new worlds of pleasure and ideas.

In addition to its gorgeous location photography and interior sets, much of the movie takes place in and around a very large bed (above) that proves pivotal to a number of scenes. In the role of Eisenstein, Mr. Bäck seems a rather inspired choice. The actor, below, who looks a good like like his real-life counterpart, combines a kind of loopy, clownish behavior with a physicality and sexuality that prove oddly charismatic.

In the role of his guide, Señor Alberti (shown below, right), a man of small, thin stature who possesses very large penile/genital package, seems born to disrobe -- which he does several times in the course of the film.

Greenaway uses this character of "guide" in ways both obvious and symbolic, never more so than in the film's prize sex scene in which this man of clearly Indian ancestry tutors our filmmaker in the joys of sex, as well as the philosophy of the conquered and conqueror, planting a flag in a place where, up till now, I don't think we've seen it dwell.

For all its visual pleasures -- including a couple of dramatic and gorgeous sudden changes of perspective -- Eisenstein in Guamajuato is also full of history (the entourage of Upton Sinclair makes an appearance here), ideas and provocations.

The filmmaker seems to have taken what is known of Eisenstein's time in Mexico and embroidered this with extravagant visuals that perfectly underscore what is going on physically and emotionally: exploration, loneliness, discovery, transgression.

If we get much more into the mind and body of the filmmaker rather than the guide, that's fine, as Palomino's character exists mostly to bring forth the repressed -- sexually and politically -- side of Eisenstein. What the filmmaker needs, as his wife tells him in one of the several phone conversations, "Is a secretary, a nurse, and a bum wiper."

Intercut periodically are scenes from the filmmaker's greatest hits, as well as some sexual animation that stands in for what arthouse/mainstream audiences are not quite ready to view just yet.

All in all, this is one hell of a surprising, eye-opening, mind-expanding ride. And I can't help but wonder what its viewers will think the next time they see one of Eisenstein's classics?

From Strand Releasing and running 105 minutes, the movie opens this Friday in New York (at the Angelika Film Center and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema) and in Los Angeles (at Laemmle's Royal and Playhouse 7). In the weeks to come, it will hit theaters nationwide on a limited basis. Click here, and then click on "Screenings"  to see all currently scheduled playdates.

Hitchcock/film buff heaven: Kent Jones' estimable adaptation: HITCHCOCK/TRUFFAUT

Unlike the recently-released Israeli documentary, Censored Voices, in which the attempt to bring to visual life some important audio tapes mostly fails to do so, the new documentary HITCHCOCK/TRUFFAUT, based upon the landmark book in which film directors François Truffaut and Alfred Hitchcock met and exchanged, over nearly one week, a wealth of ideas about cinema, the resulting movie, adapted, directed and co-written (with Serge Toubiana) by Kent Jones (shown below), succeeds brilliantly on several levels.

First off, it brings Hitchcock to life again, via his looks, his words, his voice and his movies. This is much more about Alfred than it is about François, which is certainly the way Truffaut wanted it. It was his idea to point out and then herald the artistic greatness in Hitchcock, and to show that this filmmaker was so much more than a mere "entertainer."  His book certainly did this, effectively adding enormous momentum to the already rolling idea that Hitch was the movie master. Mr. Jones has not tried to given us the book visually (it's already a hugely visual experience), but for those of us who've read it he has added some marvelous touches. For those who've yet to peruse it, he will certainly have turned them on to doing so.

TrustMovies had forgotten that Jones was responsible for some of the writing of that fine Martin Scorsese doc, My Voyage to Italy, as well as directing other good ones like Val Lewton: The Man in the Shadows and A Letter to Elia. Here, you might say that he updates Truffaut's original by adding some very smart, incisive interview snippets with some of today's finest filmmakers, who tell us what Hitch and his films have meant to them -- from Fincher to Kurosawa (Kiyoshi: Cure), Assayas to Linklater, Anderson to Desplechin, plus Bogdanovich, Scorsese, Schrader and James Gray.

Their comments are smart, useful, entertaining and often on the mark. Here's Bogdanovich on Psycho. "It was the first time that going to the movies was dangerous." (That was certainly my experience, as a 19-year-old at the time of the film's release.) And Linklater: "The world was ready for a film like that. It didn't know it was. But it was."

Intercut with the interviews, of course, are scenes from a number of Hitchcock's films (as well as from a couple of Truffaut's): We see a lot from the now-somewhat-reinstated Marnie (yes, the use of color and psychology), The Birds,  Sabotage and Saboteur, Notorious, and Rope, with most attention paid to Vertigo (above and below) and Psycho. Fincher talks of the guilt that seems to set off Hitch's work, while Schrader notes the fellow's use of fetish objects. And then we get something that the book used in words that is here both audial and visual. The famous interviews come to life on film!

We hear the master's magical voice and see him talking, motioning, joking, even thinking. I am not sure what your average movie-goer will take away from all this, but for us buffs, it's heady stuff indeed. As narrated beautifully by Bob Balaban, the movie is above all enjoyable -- like picking up the book itself, beginning to read, and then being whisked away into the films themselves (including, briefly, The 400 Blows).

Mr. Fincher, especially, makes remarkable points about Hitchcock's astute use of psychology, even if, as per the actors, he did not really allow them to use it in their performances if those performances went contrary to his plan for the film (Montgomery Clift in I Confess, is a prime example of this). Hitchcock/Truffaut is chock-a-block with thoughtful, intelligent ideas. "As Fincher puts it: "Acting is a great part of movie-making, but it is not the only part." Hitchcock puts it a bit differently: 'That's why all actors are cattle."

From Cohen Media Group and running just 80 exhilarating minutes, the documentary opens this coming Wednesday, December 2, in New York City at Film Forum and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema, in Los Angeles on Friday, December 4, at the Landmark NuArt, and in more than a dozen cities in the coming weeks. To view all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters, click here and scroll down.

DOC NYC 2013, arriving November 14, boasts an amazing line-up, with MISFIRE--about the life and death of The Shooting Gallery--a don't miss!

Each year it gets bigger and better. That's DOC NYC 2013, the annual array of documentaries short and full-length, that -- in its way -- hands you the world in eight days. This year's line-up, which you can access by clicking here, is a full-out amazement. I spent an hour just clicking on each individual event/film, then hoping that they call get a chance to be seen, either in theaters eventually or via cable/TV. For folk who love the documentary form -- though that form continues to evolve immensely from year to year -- this is probably the highlight of the movie-going year.

Because TrustMovies has been away of late, and in any case is trying to shift his blog over to covering mainly what's good (or not) on Netflix streaming, he had to miss many of the press screenings for these films. One movie he did manage to see -- and revel in -- is the documentary titled MISFIRE: The Rise and Fall of The Shooting Gallery from director Whitney Ransick, shown below, a fellow who was actually a part of The Shooting Gallery when that much-loved, much-lauded and early New York-based "independent film studio" came into being-- mostly by chance and due to the work of a group filmmakers who had met while studying at the State University of New York, Purchase -- back in the early 1990s.

The Shooting Gallery (TSG, as it would eventually be known) lasted only one decade but seemed to almost single-handedly set the standard and tone for independent film, particularly that subsection set here on the east coast. What Ransick's movie does, and extraordinarily well, is show us how TSG came into being, what it accomplished -- often, it seemed by chance and sheer luck -- and how the differing goals of the men in charge (making movies or making money) probably doomed TSG from the outset.

Ransick uses a plethora of talking heads here, but fortunately they all talk well, smartly and honestly, about what TSG meant to them, what happened from their perspective, and why. We hear from everyone from actors like Robin Tunney (we also see the early Edie Falco, below, left, with Adam Trese) to directors (one of the founders, Bob Gosse), the casting director, the guy in charge of music, accountants, marketing mavens and so many more.

Their words and memories help create the picture of young movie-makers hoping to create art but settling for the best they could do on generally minuscule budgets. Given all the talent involved, the firm had but a single hit movie (but what a hit!): Sling Blade. (TSG also released You Can Count on Me, but I'm not sure how overall profitable that one actually was.) Film buffs will have heard of other of TSG's output --- Laws of Gravity and Niagara Niagara for two -- but even someone like TrustMovies, who closely followed independent film, managed to miss other TSG movies such as Hand Gun (below) and New Jersey Drive.

Along about the time of TSG's big hit, the group gets some excellent advice from Chris Blackwell of Island Records & Films: "Stay true to yourself and stay true to each other because, collectively, you'll be much stronger than you can be as individuals." Smart words, but hard to do when, from the outset, founder Gosse and co-founder Larry Meistrich had diametrically opposed views of what was important. (Meistrich and his friend Steve Carlis, TSG's CFO refused to be interviewed for the film, and while it is difficult not to see them as the villains here, Ransick and the others don't demonize the pair. They're viewed more in sorrow than in anger.)

The movie offers a lot of humor, too. One of the funniest segments recounts the filming of a short called My Birthday Cake (above), the day after the lead actor had been dumped by his longtime girlfriend.

What finally brought TSG down? Remember the dawn of the Internet bubble and all those come-to-nothing IPOs? Sure enough, Meistrich and Carlis went whole hog down that road. When bankruptcy arrived, the little company owed something like 72 million dollars. Talk about cautionary tales! And yet Misfire seems anything but a downer. Instead it's full of life and expectations, the thrill of creativity and exploration. It'll make you proud of and excited for these young filmmakers (shown above), now firmly into middle age or beyond (shown below), even as it leaves you with some pain and sadness for what might have been.

One of the crew is now in Brooklyn, making pies (which are said to be quite tasty). "It was great," he tells us of the TSG days, "but it wasn't as real as what I'm doing now." The movie, running 78 information-, surprise- and emotion-packed minutes, plays at DOC NYC one week from today, Sunday, November 17, at 7pm at the IFC Center. Click here for tickets.

I would wager that Misfire is sure to gain a theatrical release, as it's a must-see, not only for those in the industry but for anyone even remotely interested in independent film-making and its history -- from both the creative and business perspectives.

An Alex Karpovsky mini-fest, as RUBBERNECK and RED FLAG appear on Netflix streaming

Maybe Alex Karpovsky (shown at right) is an acquired taste. If so, because he's been viewing the guy's acting work for quite some time now, TrustMovies suspects he has definitely acquired that taste. Just knowing Karpovsky will appear in a new film is an inducement to viewing it. And now that the actor has branched out into writing, producing and directing, there's even more reason to get to know his output. Since Cry Funny Happy in 2003, that memorably odd Karpovsky face -- on which, from just below the prominent nose on downward, nothing quite comes together and thus makes the face even more memorable -- has adorned a number of good to so-so movies that were almost always made more interesting by this fellow's appearance in them. Now, with two of his newest films -- written, directed and starring Karpovsky -- simultaneously appearing on Netflix streaming, here's an opportunity to sink your teeth and revel a bit in this guy's work as a filmmaker (which is every bit as odd but pleasurable as his acting).

If you had to place RUBBERNECK into a genre (it jumps a couple, actually), it would be that of the character study. And then the thriller. Yet the first thing you'll probably notice is that you're seeing Karpovsky -- whose acting roles have tended toward the dark and somewhat nasty -- playing a nice guy/schlub. What a surprise. Even better is how very well he handles this. He pulls you easily and a little sadly into his character of Paul Harris, a shy loner with only a sister and nephew for family, who works in a laboratory in the Boston area. One evening, at the company Christmas party, he finds himself engaged in conversation with a very pretty co-worker (lovely job by Jaime Ray Newman, below). Their conversation leads to, well, everything else that happens in this quietly jolting little movie.

According to what Karpovsky has said to the press, he had cast another actor in the leading role, but the guy dropped out suddenly and Karpovsky stepped in for reasons of time and practicality. I'm glad this happened, as the movie shows us more of the actor's versatility than we've heretofore experienced.

Karpovsky's storytelling skills are good (he co-wrote the film with Garth Donovan); he's able to convey a lot through a little. Where the movie goes -- how far and how fast -- is unexpected but well done. The filmmaker seems to have a fine visual sense, too, alternating consistently interesting shots in close-up, medium range and long distance (his cinematographer is Beecher Cotton and Karpovsky and Mr. Donovan collaborated on the film editing). Composition is excellent, too, as is the use of color. You really don't want to look away from the screen.

The filmmaker, shooting in the Boston area, used a cast made up of mostly local actors, each well-chosen and turning in a good performance. Despite all that happens here, and there is quite a lot of "event," Rubberneck ends up more of a character study than anything else -- a very good, and a very sad one, too.

With RED FLAG, Mr. Karpovsky is back to something closer to his "normal" screen self: a narcissistic, budding filmmaker up to his ears in road-trip personal-appearances and a problematic love life. Here he plays a filmmaker named Alex (I'm sure that's just a coincidence) who is doing a series of Q&As at one-time-only showings in some of our southern states for his documentary film Woodpecker (the title of a movie Mr. K. did indeed direct and co-write back in 2008), after just being given the boot by his girlfriend of several years (he says 4-1/2; she claims 7).

Red Flag is as light as Rubberneck is dark; both run well under 90 minutes and so do not outstay their welcome. Karpovsky has cast this film wonderfully well, too: with Jennifer Prediger (at left on poster, above, and below, right, much more fun here than she was in Swanberg's Uncle Kent) as an "amour" of our filmmaker,

and Onur Tukel (above, center, and below, right, of Septien), simply hilarious as the one friend who shows up to accompany our non-hero on his sojourn. (Tukel's riff on Shel Silverstein is classic.)

As Alex's ex-girlfriend, Caroline White (below, right) proves the most stable influence in the film, and also the most ill-used character. (Karpovsky's work will improve, I think, once he learns to better use and deepen his females characters.)

Also here in smaller roles are the likes of Keith Poulson, recently seen in Somebody Up There Likes Me, and filmmaker/actor Dustin Guy Defa (Bad Fever).  Karpovsky has stocked his movie with so much that the ideas and humor fall over each other tumbling out: back pain, reflexology, cliteridectomy, one-night-stands, stalkers, children's books They're all here. But, sorry: No late check-outs. Oh--and a splendid actress named Evonne Walton all but steals the movie with a single final scene that includes maybe two minutes of screen time but provides the best ending I've seen all year.

You can catch both these interesting films -- distributed by Tribeca Film -- via Netflix Streaming, as well as several others in which Mr. K acts but does not direct nor write. He and his work are worth knowing. (And now that I consider that photo just above, doesn't he also look a tad like a younger version of Italy's Roberto Benigni?)

Photo of Mr. Karpovsky, top, courtesy of 

Chris Tinkham and Under the Radar --

which has an excellent interview  

with the actor/filmmaker.

Serge Bromberg excavates (and diddles) HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO

What you will see in the new documentary HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO is more of a meditation on jealousy -- and film-making -- than any kind of "real" documentary you'll have viewed in your movie-going career. As famous a non-existent film as Terry Gilliam's never-happened Don Quixote movie (which is said to be not happening yet again!), Clouzot's "Inferno," I would guess, holds a similar place in the annals of French filmmaking.

In 1964, fabled French filmmaker Henri George Clouzot began directing Romy Schneider, then 26, and Serge Reggiani, 42, in his new film L'Enfer (Hell). By the end of three weeks, all enfer had broken loose, worst followed worse, and what existed of this film -- never completed -- was stowed away in a vault, until...   One day, Serge Bromberg (below, right), the co-director (with Ruxandra Medrea, below, left) of this documentary, found himself stuck in an suddenly out-of-service elevator with a woman who turned out to be Clouzot's widow.  Chatting away their time together while the lift was repaired, she told him the story -- a whopping good one -- of the history and making of that never-completed film.

On the spot, it seems, Bromberg decided he must bring that story to the screen. He and Ms Medrea now have, but they have also tried to pull off a number of other things: create a vision of what L'Enfer might have been, while giving us a sense of the character of Clouzot himself and what he was going through at the time (a heavy dose of hell/jealousy all his own).  To this end the two documentarians have diddled considerably with their basic premise, and although the result is only partially successful, so unusual is their film in so many ways that it becomes a fairly fascinating and certainly one-of-a-kind achievement.

Clouzot (shown above with Ms Schneider), always a perfectionist -- of a sort, at least; the French New Wave was critical of his "meticulousness" -- was evidently given an unlimited budget on this film. And while "unlimited" back then was hardly commensurate with even most limited budgets today, this proved enough to become probably the single biggest problem for the production.  The director began to "experiment."  And then experiment again. And then some more.  We see the results, which seem to make up a large portion of the documentary, and we can fully understand why Clouzot became so enrapt with his creations -- most of which use the lusciously pert Ms Schneider as their subject.

He experiments with unusual uses of color,

background,

effects.

And though the "stills" above give you a hint of what was created, they are no match for what the director actually accomplished in terms of "film."  His images are alternately striking, artful, creepy and strange. We also note how lighting can appear to change the same expression, and even discover a very early example of those fast-moving clouds that bore me silly -- decades, I believe, before anyone else used them. Yes, these may be no match for the special effects we see today, but as they are done by a movie master, they deliver the heft and visual appeal of an artist at work.

Schneider looks ravishing, as usual, and since she usually turned in a good performance, we could probably have expected the same from her here. We also get a taste of M. Regianni (Le Doulos), a fine actor not so well known on these shores. The oddest thing the filmmakers have done is to use present-day performers, who fit relatively well into the Schneider/Reggianni mode, and have them act out sections of the "Enfer" script.  Jacques Gamblin (at right, below, The Color of Lies) and Berénice Bejo (at left, below, OSS 117: Cairo Nest of Spies) do just fine with this, but because the idea is not particularly intrinsic, it ends up seeming more like filler.

We hear from other filmmakers, such as Costa-Gavras, of what was going on during the shoot, and we begin to see, hear and even feel the film -- and Clouzot -- beginning to fall apart.  It's odd and creepy, but if jealousy is indeed to blame, we don't really get close enough to the source of it to begin to understand it.  However, I warrant that we've all suffered from the green-eyed monster at one time or other, so putting ourselves in the place of the filmmaker, we can at least identify a bit. And the sense of sadness and waste only grows stronger as the documentary moves along and we learn what happened to Inferno and its would-be creators.  Even so, and with all the tsuris experienced from within and without, I left this movie with absolute surety of only one thing: The biggest curse any filmmaker can have fall on him is his producer giving him an unlimited budget.

Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno, a Flicker Alley/MK2/Lobster Films release, begins its theatrical run this Friday, July 16, at Manhattan's IFC Center.  You can find further screenings -- dates and cities -- here.