Streaming: Netflix's version of Marvel's DAREDEVIL proves noirish, nifty stuff

After the big-nothing that comprised the earlier version of twelve years ago, the new DAREDEVIL that debuted last week via the Netflix streaming service provides just about everything that the former dud lacked -- from the noirish and dank cityscape, in which bad things keep happening to good people, to the dark, monochromatic outfit our hero wears to hide his identity, to the wonderfully indeterminate time frame in which this story seems to exist.  (Is all this taking place it now, in the recent past, or maybe the near future? We can't really tell nor does it much matter. The place exists as a kind of ever-current depiction of the "big, scary, hugely corrupted city.")

TrustMovies is only now into the fourth episode of the thirteen that incorporate Daredevil's first season, each one coming in between 48 and 59 minutes. The tale -- of a boy, blinded in an accident in which he saved the life of an old man, now grown into a young man who has honed his other senses to their keenest levels so that he has become a lawyer by day (above, left, with his partner, played by Elden Henson) and vigilante by night, working out of Hell's Kitchen in the kind of uber-corrupt city that New York is always threatening to become -- seems a fine one for the episodic-yet-connected sort of series that Daredevil appears to be, at least at this point in its unfurling.

Bingers will probably do the entire first season in a day or weekend. It will most likely take me at least one week, given my episode-or-two-per-day approach. But I'm already hooked -- especially by the casting of Charlie Cox as Matt Murdock, a great "everyman" hero whose open, welcoming face and more-than-fit body makes him seem surprisingly real, but just a little more handsome and sexy (and a lot more alert) than your everyday "everyman." This is a the kind of character, coupled to a performance by the actor, that audiences will root for -- big-time.

Created by Drew Goddard (shown at right), the series makes clear from the outset that we will be fed Matt's backstory, in which his father figures most prominently, in bits and pieces, as is appropriate. The action scenes, of which there are plenty, are done extremely well -- cleverly straddling the line between real and just a little more than that -- while the casting of the female leads, Deborah Ann Wohl (below, right) and Rosario Dawson (at bottom, right) in the initial episodes, provides strength, smarts and pulchritude.

Best of all, perhaps, there are almost none of the increasingly leaden and over-used "special effects" that have rendered the Iron Man and Captain America franchises, for any vaguely intelligent audience, more and more difficult to sit through. Dardevil instead counts on smart plot mechanics, great action, and a top cast of professionals to hold us fast.

The writing (those first two episodes are by Mr. Goddard) is fine for this kind of show -- sharp and intelligent but in a quiet, economical, almost underhanded manner. And the direction of the first two episodes by Phil Abraham (Mad Men and The Sopranos) provides everything we need to become immediately involved and very well entertained.

There is simply so much of what they now call "content" available to view these days, that having the opportunity to see yet another series from yet another provider may not seem like anything special. If Daredevil adheres to the interest, pace and style of these first few episodes, I'd call it a keeper, for sure.

Alan Govenar's YOU DON'T NEED FEET TO DANCE introduces a bubbly NYC immigrant

You may not need feet to dance, but you do need a less heavily-accented voice to narrate your movie about an exceptionally energetic, positive-thinking emigrant from Guinea, West Africa, in New York City. The subject of Alan Govenar's new documentary is a fellow named Sidiki Conde, who, as a child, contracted a case of polio that left him with tiny, thin and mostly useless legs and feet. How he contends with this handicap -- in fact, turns it into something uniquely his own, as he negotiates his way around the city (of course, he lives in a fifth-floor walk-up apartment) managing to earn his living by making music and dance while teaching others with handicaps -- is the meat of this inspiring and surprising film.

The last time we wrote about filmmaker Govenar, shown at right, he was covering, rather beautifully and nostalgically, the beat generation in Paris in his documentary The Beat Hotel, using all sort of interesting film techniques to bring back Ginsberg, Burroughs, Corso and their ilk in those good old Left Bank days. His new film could not seem more different, as the camera, all in color this time, remains on Sidiki and his immediate surroundings almost every minute, as this sexy, funny and utterly vital fellow acts as our tour guide and narrator of his life here in New York City.

It's as narrator that I might have wished for more, mainly in the form of English subtitles with which to decipher his words. I certainly understood many of them, but key words and phrases along the way were lost in his lilting but often fudgily imprecise pronunciations. (Maybe the eventual DVD release will provide those subtitles.) Meanwhile we have energetic visuals to sustain us.

Mr Govenar begins his film as Sidiki awakens and starts his day with a bath -- his strong, muscular torso clearly makes up for his lack of useful legs and feet -- then dressing and winding his way down those five flights and off on his way to the local Mosque. (He's Muslim and so we see him praying along with the other men; "He's an inspiration to me!" notes the Imam.)

Indeed this is a man for whom nearly everything seems both doubly strenuous and yet, given his positive attitude, somehow uplifting. A friend insists that Sidiki is not disabled because he can do all things that others can do. Yet this seems a little too Norman Vincent Peale.  He tells us of his history, and we see a few old photos, but mainly the movie concentrates on the now, as he teaches classes for the handicapped, practices his music and does some busking on the city's streets and in its parks.

Toward the end, we learn how old the man is, and it's a surprise. Given his looks and his energy level, I would have guessed ten, even twenty years younger. (His outfit also suddenly changes from red to blue, indicating, I would guess, that a new day has dawned.) In the final few minutes, when he speaks of his now dead mother, the movie at last wraps us in some deep feeling.

Early on we learn, unless I misunderstood what he was telling us, that the man's own children are dead ("I didn't have enough to give them a life"). While I think that Govenar might have probed more deeply and uncovered more layers to Sidiki, I also suspect that M. Conde prefers to keep things on the level they remain: light, inspirational and uplifting.

As the movie goes along, you'll become aware that we have not yet seen Sidiki dance. When the moment finally arrives, I have to say it is a bit of a disappointment because, as energetic as his dancing is, it also makes you realize how important to dance is the lower half of the body. I'm happy to have learned of Sidiki, and hope I'll someday see him on the street or busking in the park, so I can approach him, thank him for his life and work and put some money in his basket.

YOU DON'T NEED FEET TO DANCE, from First Run Features and lasting 88 minutes, opens this Friday, March  22, in New York City at the Quad Cinema. Though this is the only currently scheduled playdate, as with other FRF films, this one, too, should eventually be available on DVD.

MUNDO ALAS--performing arts & the handicapped--opens in hope of Oscar bid

Prepare to be greatly moved, probably in spite of your-self. Here's a documentary involving a large group of handicapped performing artists joining together to tour their country -- Argentina -- and perhaps open their countrymen's minds to... change, among other things.  MUNDO ALAS, which I believe translates Winged World, is the name of their tour -- and of the documentary about it and them.  Filmed over time by three directors, chief among them León Gieco (shown, center, below), Argentina's most important folk-rock singer/songwriter, whose idea the tour was, the movie was also directed by Fernando Molnar (below, left) and Sebastián Schindel (below, right), both of whom have more film-making experience than Gieco (though the latter, with his performing artists, provides the heart of the movie).

Distributed by the appropriately named Outsider Pictures, the film pulls us into the lives of these "others" by introducing them, their situation and their skills individually, before uniting them for their tour, via that big pink bus (shown on the poster, top), through the Argentine provinces. These are -- to use that Biblical phrase -- the blind, the halt, the withered and more: Alejandro, a young man with motor problems who plays the guitar, and Carina a blind young woman who sings. Another young man, Demián (below), wheel-

chair-bound, shows us how he negotiates stairs, drives his car, and finally partners a gorgeous ballet dancer while still in his chair.

A group of Down Syndrome men and women dance the tango, while Francisco, a paraplegic who is surely, in ways simply physical, the most needy of them all, plays his harmonica extraordinarily well.  "The only thing I need is for you not to treat me as a handicapped person but as a musician," comes the statement that hovers over the entire film. This will seems difficult initially but becomes easier as the documentary progresses.

The filmmakers give us first the idea of the film, allowing us to get used to it slowly via each individual that we meet. We see his or her home and/or workplace (yes, some of these people hold down good jobs), then we see a portion of their music or dance, and finally their tour begins -- during which we come to know them and their situations much better -- all in tiny slices offering up choice moments.  For instance? The joy of discovering their first hotel, having breakfast, planning and rehearsing, or Francisco -- as he seems to be trying to play soccer (yes: that's a jolting moment).

If you're anything like me, you'l find your eyes welling up often and at odd times.  Yet the filmmakers don't push anything and, god knows, these performers/subjects wouldn't be caught dead asking for your sympathy. Emotional overflow is inevitable, I suppose, when you watch fellow human beings -- up against lives that would send most of us into permanent, depressive tailspins -- struggling hard and using everything they possess. 

As the film movies along, doors seem to open in your mind: Demián will have you looking a wheelchairs rather differently, and Francisco's ode to Beto, his manager, is a love song, the likes of which you've never heard. Love comes up now and again, and one of the more interesting portions has Mr. Gieco explaining to Demián how that whole concept might work.

"Once the movie is released, we will get many job offers," suggests one of our performers, and sure enough, later on in the film, the group meets with management at EMI.  What transpires is fascinating but not unexpected. It's not so much that these people can sing or dance or play instruments (which they do, and well) but what this means to them.  And finally to us.  The film closes with a concert in Buenos Aires' enormous Luna Park, and, as the credits roll, we learn what some of the members of the group are currently doing. (One of them is involved in a wedding.)  

It's difficult to imagine that our Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences won't shortlist Mundo Alas, which opens in New York City on Friday, August 6, at AMC's Empire 25 and the following week, August 13, in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Sunset 5.  

Important note: Co-director and musician León Gieco will perform songs from “Mundo Alas” in-person at NYC’s AMC Empire 42nd St Theater August 6, 7 & 8th.  His live concert begins at 7:45 PM, with the screening following at 8:15 PM. Advance tickets can be purchased at the theater.