Tyler Cornack's BUTT BOY arrives for Easter Sunday. And, no, it's not a gay porno film.

It is, however, just about everything else you can imagine, should you decide you mash one genre into another into another into another until you've exhausted the field, yourself and perhaps your audience, as well. 

BUTT BOY, the new film directed and co-written (with Ryan Koch) by Tyler Cornack (who also co-stars) is an utterly weird combination of (all deadpan) comedy, workplace/business satire, fantasy, family movie, kidnap thriller, police procedural, and neo-noir featuring kinky-sexual-pleasure. There's no science-fiction, however (even if the publicity material suggests there is), because there's absolutely no science present here, just some bizarre fantasy.

Mr. Cornack, shown at right and in some of the stills below, has created something different, all right, and for a good portion of this 100-minute movie, his initial quiet, suggestive style -- perhaps due to a very low budget not allowing for many special effects, which he saves in any case for his finale -- keeps us guessing and often in thrall.

The story here takes us into the seemingly tired, boring workplace and marital life of a man named Chip (Cornack, below), who, during a routine visit to his urologist/proctologist. experiences something so life-changing that he discovers he is able, and so begins, to suck various items -- these grow larger and larger -- up his butt. When a local child goes missing, things come to a halt and suddenly it's nine years later, when Chip's s addiction re-surfaces.

Oddly enough, the movie Butt Boy most reminds me of is the very recent film, Swallow, in which a newly-married and wealthy housewife begins swallowing small-but-dangerous items until something needs to be done about this.  The style and theme of both films are quite different however, but the premise of a woman who inserts odd objects down her mouth and a man who does this up his butt seems bizarrely similar. (Even one or two of the swallowed/sucked-up objects are rather alike.) 

Swallow is a serious film, while Butt Boy is anything but, and so, for a while, the deadpan comedy -- as a suspicious detective (Tyler Rice, above) tracks our non-hero -- helps keep things afloat. How and why this detective has managed to put together his theory is neither intelligent nor believable (one single clue is all it takes?), but once past this point the movie opts for total fantasy and then, during the final third, the special effects kick in and the film becomes downright silly/crazy.

One must  give Butt Boy, along with Cornack, credit for doing something original, at least, even if his movie goes on for ten to twenty minutes too long. With this kind of thing, less is definitely more. And during the first half of the film, Cornack's elliptical, suggestive style works well with his deadpan humor; then the too-muchness takes over.

Those who prefer "too much" may embrace Butt Boy more easily than did TrustMovies. Either way, this is pretty much a one-off kind of film -- something you might have seen in days of yore from Troma Entertainment, but handled with more taste and subtlety (for awhile, at least.) And the film's final "they are risen!" moment makes it a shoo-in for coverage today, Easter Sunday.

From Epic Pictures and running 100 minutes, the movie makes its debut -- now that theaters seem a thing of the past -- via VOD, digital streaming and Blu-ray disc, beginning this Tuesday, April 14. Click here to learn how you can view.

4th annual AMERICAN FRINGE FESTIVAL opens in Paris, November 15-17, with nine new films

We don't normally cover openings in Paris, but in this case it's a festival of new American movies, "on and of the margins of the U.S.," as the press release explains, and featuring the international premieres of nine independent films. Another reason for coverage is that the curators of this fest are two people that TrustMovies has very much enjoyed knowing and working with over the past years: Richard Peña, former program director of the Film Society of Lincoln Center, and Livia Bloom Ingram of Icarus Films, both of whose film knowledge and personal taste we've found to be very much worth our attention.

Notes Mr. Peña, à-propos this fest, “Much of what is acclaimed as ‘indie production’ in the U.S. today differs little from Hollywood commercial product in anything except budget. American Fringe reveals that the defiant and irreverent spirit that drove independent cinema pioneers is still very much alive if not often enough seen or celebrated. Moreover, in addition to exploring new cinematic ideas and forms, these films often focus on the margins of American society⁠—regionally, sexually, politically.” Bloom Ingram adds, “Each year, as we view the latest new American films in search of our annual selection for American Fringe, I’m inspired anew. Though these nine artists may still be ‘under the radar,’ each film is a singular display of talent, craft, vision and commitment to fierce independence.”

From what I can gather, the films will be shown at Paris' prestigious La Cinémathèque française  You can learn all about this year's program (in English) at this site, and in French at this one. While I had big plans to see several of this year's movies, I ended up having time to view only two -- though both were very much worth my time.

GREEN HOUSE -- directed by Armando Lamberti and written by Lamberti and the film's star, Brian May (shown above and above) -- proves a deadpan hoot boasting maybe the most gorgeous color palette I've seen in ages. I could watch it again just to drown in that uber-saturated cinematography (by Matthew Cherchio). It also offers perhaps the most all-out annoying character to be seen in cinema this past decade. As played by Mr. May, this is a guy you'll want to grace with a fat lip about every 60 seconds. This has got to be some sort of record-setting asshole, and Mr. May gives him an all-stops-out nastiness coupled to a certain reticent quality that helps render the character bizarrely special.

The movie's ending, as well as its end credits sequence, delights in a fuck-you-all insouciance that you'll either revel in or hate. Either way, Green House is something else indeed.

At the other end of the spectrum is the remarkably moving, thought-provoking and utterly serious documentary entitled SEADRIFT -- about the eponymously titled seaside community in Texas where, back in 1979, a Vietnamese refugee made national news by shooting and killing a local crabber. How and why this happened is explored in hindsight by filmmaker Tim Tsai by looking at historical records and interviewing the surviving folk from both the original local (and very white) Seadrift shellfishing community, and that of the immigrant Vietnamese who were "rescued" and moved to the USA, once we Americans pulled out of Vietnam after wreaking havoc there for more than a decade.

Mr. Tsai is even-handed in his exploration of now and then, of the locals and the Vietnamese, and what he shows us are people on both sides who were buffeted about by circumstance in some cases beyond their control. How the Vietnamese were summarily dumped into locations like Seadrift without any preparation for either them or the communities into which they were thrust could hardly help but stir up bad feelings. It was, as one participant notes, "a fast culture shock."

From early annoyance through eventual anger and finally violence, the documentary progresses. Of course we see nationalism and racism front and center (hello, KKK!) but we also see, eventually, some coming to terms with past sins and present feelings so that growth is made. One of the major moments comes as the daughter of the victim of the shooting talks about how one of the most famous wartime photos from Vietnam, together with the subject of that photo, has changed the way she looks at things.

Seadrift ends with an historical/political idea so on-the-mark it ought to be heard worldwide -- and certainly by those who still feel, after all that has transpired over there, that the USA had a good reason to be in Vietnam.

In addition to these two worthwhile films, there are seven more (including one short subject) on the American Fringe schedule. You can view all the programs by clicking here (for English) or here (for French). And if you happen to be in Paris this week, well, lucky you!

Note to filmmakers: 

There is no fee to submit your film 

to the next edition of American Fringe. 

Simply go to this site, enter your name, email, film title, 

logline, and screener link; your film will be considered.

On Blu-ray/DVD: Iceland's Foreign Language Film submission, Grímur Hákonarson's RAMS

Though lauded with critical hosannas (95% critic-positive on Rotten Tomatoes), RAMS, the supposed "deadpan comedy" that was Iceland's entry into the BFLF Oscar race, didn't make even the Academy's shortlist this past year. It's an odd film, all right, and although he realizes that comedy, especially, is a matter of taste, TrustMovies must admit that he laughed only once during the course of the entire movie -- at a scene involving a very heavy piece of farming machinery depositing its current load at the entrance to the local hospital.

The rest of the time, TM just sat there, not uninterested, but waiting for something, anything, perhaps that other shoe, to finally drop. As written and directed by Grímur Hákonarson, shown at left, what surprised me most about Rams was how obvious the film is as to where it is going and what it will expect of its audience -- all of which is very nearly assured from the opening couple of scenes. Very quickly we learn how important sheep farming is to this little country, and also that some of said sheep are sick unto death, probably via a greatly-feared infection called "scrapie." We also meet the two brothers -- old men who've not spoken in 40 years and yet farm sheep on large plots of land immediately adjacent to each other.

This is dead serious subject matter, and as written and directed by Mr. Hákonarson it is played more seriously than humorously. And not only by the two actors who plays the brothers -- Sigurður Sigurjónsson, as Gummi, and Theodór Júlíusson as Kiddi , shown above, with Kiddi on the left -- but by all the other performers who essay townspeople, farmers, veterinarians, police and so forth.

The tone here is very dry, however, as befits deadpan, but the incidents that pile up are not particularly believable and grow less so as the movie moves along (sheep illegally hidden away in the basement, bleating their hearts out and being overheard by a newcomer who is told -- and buys this -- that the sounds are being made by cats).

On the plus side are some lovely landscapes (verdant in summer and snowy in winter), perfectly valid performances, and the very idea of sheep farming and what it means to the local community -- which is brought home quite well, whether you perceive all this as comic or no.

By the finale we've gone through the entire expected scenario -- from the deadpan/barely-existing/would-be laughs to the farcical elements to the inevitable moments expected to move us. I might have been moved, but this film has such an utterly "manufactured" quality about it that I couldn't rise to the occasion. Perhaps you will; god knows, most of our critical establishment have.

From Cohen Media Group and running a mere 93 minutes, the movie makes its Blu-ray and DVDebut this coming Tuesday, June 28 -- for purchase or rental. Better than the film, I felt, were the DVD extras, in which the filmmaker give a very short interview in which he explains that he really wanted to credit all the individual sheep because they were that good (they are!).  Also included is a choice little short film that Hákonarson made back in 2007 entitled Wrestling, which features an odd Icelandic combination of wrestling plus dance moves and involves a love story between the two major wrestlers that plays out, again, in deadpan style. It's worth seeing. 

Roy Andersson completes The Living Trilogy with another profound, deadpan winner: A PIGEON SAT ON A BRANCH REFLECTING ON EXISTENCE

Whether or not you already know the work of Swedish filmmaker Roy Andersson, his latest very dark and often very funny foray into humanity and our foibles, A PIGEON SAT ON A BRANCH REFLECTING ON EXISTENCE, will be a must-see. There is literally no moviemaker anything like our Mr. Andersson (shown below) whose work is singular --
and then some.

His compositions are painterly -- they may remind you of Edward Hopper (with much brighter lighting) -- while his theme is about as weighty as they get: humanity in all its sad, silly, horrible glory. His style is deadpan in the extreme and runs the risk of eventually allowing a certain sameness to set in. And yet the combination of all this remains provocative, funny, moving and quietly horrifying throughout.

What is missing, perhaps, once you have seen the first or second film in this trilogy -- respectively Songs from the Second Floor and You, the Living -- is any element of surprise. You'll pretty much know what you are getting, and it will be mostly more of the same. And yet, when "the same" is as good as what Andersson dishes out, you'll probably line up for seconds. (And thirds: This is a trilogy, after all).

As weighty as are his themes and ideas, they are brought to life in the most quiet, nearly routine fashion.  This film begins with three encounters with death (one of which is shown above) -- as though we're getting the beginnings of several Six Feet Under episodes all at once, but in Andersson's inimitable style.

From there we go to a dance class in Flamenco, in which the teacher clearly has a untoward (and unreturned) attraction to one of her students. We meet a few of these characters again, along with many others with their special problems, especially two middle aged men (below) whose job it is to sell novelty products to their peers. (Yes, those vampire fangs are supposedly very big sellers!) This will no doubt bring to mind the fellow from Songs from the Second Floor who hawks crucifixes.

We come to know these two fellows pretty well, and take sorrow, as well as some laughs, from their economic predicament (and especially from their pretty awful living quarters, run by a particularly unfeeling bureaucrat). The film also moves back in time to the days of WWII, below, to give us a memorable scene in a bar, which we also visit in more modern days.

Barrooms and drinking play an important part in all Andersson's movies, offering characters a respite from their troubles but not, unfortunately any real connection to each other. Among the movie's several  pièces de résistance are one scene in which dark-skinned people are force marched into a very odd looking object (below) and then.... This manages to combine slavery with The Holocaust in such a way that we watch open-mouthed and spellbound in horror -- and yet not a drop of blood is shed, within our purview, at least.

Another fine few moments occurs while a lab technician chats on the phone even as her subject -- a petrified, imprisoned monkey -- is given grueling electric shocks. At many points along the way, the rather standard phrase, "I'm happy to hear you're dong fine!" is repeated by one person to another. It is especially shocking during that monkey moment, in which it is used to to underscore our habit of animal abuse, just as, elsewhere, it offers up the abuse of humans by other humans.

It is a dark and ugly world Mr. Andersson inhabits and films -- in often brightly lit scenes of great depth (in terms of both what the camera takes in and its message to our soul). In what may be the most bizarre and hypnotically fervid section, a local bar is invaded by soldiers (shown below) who are clearly from another era. They sweep all the women from the bar and then bully the remaining men.

Who they are and why they are here matters less than what they do and want. A later scene offers up the results of their visit, showing us war's defeat, along with the utter uselessness of "royalty." If arthouse audiences can be coaxed out of their too-mainstream shell to take a look at Andersson's work, I suspect many of them will be converted. What they will see is simply too strange and amazing to be easily shrugged off.

A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is probably as good a place to begin as any in this trilogy. My favorite by far is Songs from the Second Floor, but that may be because it was the first I encountered. Andersson's themes do not change, only the individual scenes by which he brings them to life (or death). That is plenty.

The movie, from Magnolia Pictures and running 100 minutes (the longest of Andersson's three, but the other two are only 98 and 95), opens this Wednesday in New York City at Film Forum and Lincoln Plaza Cinema, and will hit another 23 cities/theaters in the weeks to come. (Click here to see all currently scheduled playdates.) I noted with surprise and dismay that none of these theaters is in the Los Angeles area (Angelenos will have to travel to Santa Barbara to see this one). Surely there might be one single theater in all of L.A. willing to offer its clientele an edifying challenge like this? 

Madeleine Olnek's back! THE FOXY MERKINS is another bizarre charmer with occasional guffaws

Remember Codependent Lesbian Space Alien Seeks Same? If you managed to see that weird little movie, you're not at all likely to have forgotten it. Its creator, director-and-co-writer, Madeleine Olnek, is back two years later with another small wonder that is likely to have a similar effect on you. And if THE FOXY MERKINS is not quite all that its predecessor was, this may be due mostly to the subject matter -- space aliens -- mixed with a certain loose, low-keyed style. There is indeed something about this odd combo that has resulted in a few unfor-gettably charming successes on the independent film front: The History of Future Folk, One-Eyed Monster and Ms Olnek's earlier movie.

There's one other very good thing that inhabits the two full-length movies that Ms Olnek (shown at right) has made: their star (and co-writer of this film), a young woman named Lisa Haas, shown below, left, whose entire acting resume is made up of Olnek's two films plus two more shorts by another filmmaker, Laura Terruso. Ms Haas is something else. Once witnessed in either of these films, she will re-main in your mem-ory as one of the sweetest, most bizarre movie stars (and she is a star!) you've ever seen.

Once again, as in Codependent Space Alien, Ms Haas is playing a woman (this time named Margaret) who is apparently clueless-to-just-about-everything, including how our society reacts to obese people. Her style is utterly deadpan, but nothing like the knowing deadpan of a Bill Murray or the some of those irony-sotted comic performers who dot today's TV screen. No. Ms Haas remains always sweet and alert, hopeful and game. And this is her great strength as both a performer and as the character who holds together Olneks' films.

There is one scene here (I think it happens twice, actually) in which Ms Haas must rise from a bed in an extended few moments in which she is fully nude and full-frontal, with her folds of fat on the kind of display that we are not used to seeing. That she carries this off so beautifully and, well, so fully -- she is at once sad, funny, brave and utterly dear -- gifts us with one of the true amazements of this movie year, putting immediately in the shade all those great "acting" performances of the Birdman cast.

The story this time 'round has Haas intent on earning her keep by becoming a lesbian hooker. To this end, and after some unsuccessful early attempts, she falls in with a thinner and more conventionally attractive woman (the equally oddball Jackie Monahan, also from Codependent Lesbian Alien and a co-writer here) who proclaims herself heterosexual, even though she, too, earns her keep via lesbian liaisons. These two have their ups and downs, as we alternately chuckle, marvel, question and guffaw. (A particularly good scene takes place at New York's Cinema Village, where one or another version of Lassie -- yes! -- is screening.)

Much fun is made of everything from closeted Republican lesbians to role playing in police attire, Talbots clothing store, and composting -- and in the end we meet an adorably cute Italian young man (Gian Maria Annovi) who used to know Margaret's mother. We also get another chance to see the terrific Alex Karpovsky, who is now making his mark in Girls but earlier graced Olnek's other movie. He is, as usual, wonderfully weird, goofy, and slightly dark -- first as the merkin salesman (don't ask) the ladies meet in a cemetery, who later somehow graduates to become a high-level honcho at CNN.

So where can you see this unusual film? It opens tomorrow, Friday, December 5, at the Made in New York Media Center by IFP (30 John Street in DUMBO, Brooklyn) for a one-week run. You can procure tickets and/or directions by clicking either of the links preceding.

Teorema meets deadpan in Michiel ten Horn's oddball THE DEFLOWERING OF EVA VAN END

Remember Teorema? That was the 1968 film from Pier Paolo Pasolini (3P, as he is affectionately known to some of us) about a hot young visitor (Terence Stamp) to the home of a wealthy Italian family who sexually seduces every member of that family (mom, dad, sis, bro, even the maid!) in the process turning their lives upside down. We've got a new movie on the scene that does something similar -- THE DEFLOWERING OF EVA VAN END from young Dutch filmmaker Michiel ten Horn -- although the seductions here are not sexual (except in a single instance, the least believable in the movie, that rather oddly substitutes sleep-fucking for sleep-walking), while the film is handled in a style of near-complete deadpan.

Despite the déjà vu that the film may engender in some of us senior movie buffs, Deflowering proves a good deal of fun, thanks to Mr. ten Horn's (the filmmaker is shown at right) use of deadpan style and the fact that the "guest" in the house remains every bit as mysterious as that in Pasolini's movie. Here our invited intruder is a German exchange student named Veit (Rafael Garelsen, below), who arrives to the Netherlands home of the van End family as a kind of surprise. This is because the teenage daughter of the house, Eva, is never paid one bit of attention by anyone else in the family. Thus her announcement of the student's imminent arrival goes by unheard.

The movie is a kind of wake-up call, provided by ten Horn and his screenwriter Anne Barnhoorn, via their near angelic guest, Veit -- beautiful of visage, highly intelligent, innately kind with impeccable manners -- who intuits exactly what each member of this family needs and then helps them find it. If this sounds a tad heavily pre-planned, it is.

Yet because each family member (that's the group, above) is chock full of very definitive characteristics (most of them pretty bizarre) and the deadpan humor used to display this, along with the odd interaction (or lack of) the family shares with each other, you'll quickly see where things are going, but you'll still have some fun getting there.

Performances are as good as can be expected under this fairly tight film-making hand, with mom perhaps the most interesting and human of the bunch and the titular Eva (Vivan Dierickx, above, in her film debut) the least. Well, she's going through that tough teen-age time with no help from anyone except Veit, so what can we expect?

From cuddly bunnies to bruising beatings, competitive eating to inner peace, it's all here and all pretty low-key funny. Ten Horn's oddball family odyssey should prove one of the more bizarre films of your movie-going year and yet another in the library of endlessly interesting movies from Film Movement, Deflowering arrives on DVD this coming Tuesday, December 3 -- just in time for gift-giving... to the especially quirky among your friends and relations.