Matthew Heineman's multi-award-winning and Oscar-nominated documentary, CARTEL LAND

TrustMovies is not certain why, but there does seem to be a hex on making an acceptable film about what some people call the "drug wars" and the country of Mexico -- whether that film be a narrative (like Oliver Stone's crass, slick and sleazy violence-porn Savages, Ridley Scott's ludicrously pretentious The Counselor, or the Denis Villeneuve's more recent starts-out-well-then-turns-ridiculous Sicario) or documentaries from Bernardo Ruiz's limited-in-scope and somewhat shallow Kingdom of Shadows to the film under consideration here: CARTEL LAND. Is this because the subject is simply too awful, crazy, ugly, impossibly huge and hydra-headed to even begin to pin down? Or perhaps it is due more to the fact that so much dishonesty, venality and betrayal is embedded here that any film tackling the subject runs the risk of embroiling itself in the very culture it depicts.

Whatever, this latest drug cartel documentary via director Matthew Heineman (shown at left), which has found its way into the five films nominated for Best Documentary "Oscar," though one of the better examples TrustMovies has encountered in all of these docs and narratives, still ends up making one question what has been left out of the movie as much as what is actually in it. The film blends two narrative strands, one of which involves an American-set group of para-military vigilantes who say they are trying to stop this violent Mexican drug war culture from entering our country (hello: It has been here for decades now) and is much less interesting and important than the second strand.

That would be the tale of a "noble," small-town Mexican doctor, José Mireles (shown above), who appears to have determined to rid the area surrounding his town of Michoacán of these drug lords and their crews. Why this is so necessary is explained early on, as townfolk tell of the slaughter of a particular family of fruit-pickers. We do not see this but only hear of it, but the telling is particularly horrible. (It was enough to prevent a good friend of mine from even continuing with the film.)

To achieve this riddance Mireles organizes a group of vigilantes who become surprisingly successful in their task. The police and elected officials, corrupt as ever, not only offer no help but actively try to dissuade these "Autodefensas" from bearing down on the particular drug cartel involved in the Michoacán area. So far so good. But when an accident involving a plane crash derails Mireles, and the good doctor turns over the running of the Autodefensas to a cute little gnome-like fellow known as Papa Smurf, things begin to fall apart.

How and why we see glimpses of,  and this is enough to make us question the reliability of just about everyone involved -- including the filmmaker. Director Heineman managed to get enormous access to Mireles and his Autodefensas, so much so that we finally discover things about this good doctor and loving family man that begin to call into question quite a lot. As usual, it appears that power corrupts, and the more powerful a man or group becomes, likewise the more corruptible.

Given what Heineman has chosen to show and tell us, we can't help but wonder what more damning tidbits he may have left out. Clearly, Mireles had control over what he allowed the director to see, hear, and maybe report on, so we wonder why we're discovering certain things but not some others. Ah, it's a conundrum, and the question of who is betraying who consistently crops up.

As for the American set of vigilantes, early on its leader explains that the Southern Poverty Law Center has labeled his group "extremists" -- and than proceeds to unintentionally explain why this is true. While it is clear that the filmmaker wanted to show us vigilantes on both sides of the borders, it seemed to me that those on the American side were much less interesting or productive (but perhaps more trustworthy?) that those to the south.

As usual with these drug movies, any kind of understandable truth proves so elusive that the viewer's patience eventually wears thin. That's the point, I guess. Of course, "truth" is always problematic. But where Mexico, America and the drug cartels are concerned, it is so multi-layered and out of reach as to seem non-existent. And that, dear reader/viewer, is fucking depressing.

Cartel Land, distributed theatrically by The Orchard and running 100 minutes, is available for streaming now via Netflix and elsewhere. 

Bobcat Goldthwait's GOD BLESS AMERICA proves the cultural vigilante's wet-dream

If you thought Bobcat Goldthwait's earlier films -- Sleeping Dogs Lie and The World's Greatest Dad -- were transgressive, wait till you get a load of GOD BLESS AMERICA, his latest combination of smackdown and provocation. Up yours, America, would seem to be the message here, and there are going to be a lot of Americans who welcome and agree with it. It is not, I think, the problematic America of decades past at which Bobcat is directing his middle finger, not the America that simultaneously held such promise and despair, but today's USA, which promises only more despair -- no matter which crappy politicians the wealthy and corporate manage to grease into office. Ah, but Mr. Goldthwait, pictured below, has just the remedy we need.

A very good friend of mine with whom I attended the press screening -- he's an intelligent, cranky, 70-year-old with relatively high standards -- announced to me as the end credits finished rolling, "I have never seen a movie that was more about me."  That my friend is also a mild-mannered picture of civility, while the me of the movie is a rampaging, murderous vigilante is, well, something that should give us all pause. The movie itself will give us shocking, gut-busting laughs, as its "hero," fed up with the increasing stupidity and incivility of the modern world takes it upon himself (with a little unasked-for help from a local high-school girl) to, as the movie's priceless tag line puts it, "take out the trash, one jerk at a time."

The thing I like best about Bobcat as a filmmaker is that he lets the chips fall where they may. If he tackles a problem, he really wrestles with it. With each new film, he's grown more disciplined until, in this one, he's decided to take no prisoners. His filmmaking skill may still remain below his talent as a provocateur, and that's just fine. We already have plenty of skilled movie-makers. We don't have nearly as many hypocrisy-puncturers and balls-to-the-wall social critics like Mr. Goldthwait. 

My cranky but civil friend remarked on the filmmaker's occasional lack of continuity (something my longtime companion is also skilled at noting, while I am not), but let's talk about what's really good about this film -- in addition to its premise and execution. That would start with its well-chosen leading man: Joel Murray (above, and bro of Bill), who proves an inspired choice for the role of Frank. He gets exactly right the sense of "otherness" that eventually engulfs and then appears to becalm those of us who will identify with Frank. Really, though, this calm only masks our anger at the world around us, where black is now white, good evil, corporations humans and so much else touted as true that is patently false. And all of it as uncivil as can be -- from our schools to the workplace to television entertainment (below).

Murray goes from very believable, quiet sadness to depression, into fantasy and from there into action -- without missing a step along the way, And we're with him too, and much further along in his crazy, violent endeavor than we might expect.

As his partner in crime, Roxy, an "outsider" high-school student who has her own reasons for going on the rampage with Frank, Tara Lynne Barr is a good foil for Murray's gravity and odd grace. Her character is nowhere near as strong as his, however, but the act-ress is charged with enough energy and charm to carry us along.

Other than our two vigilantes, most of the rest of the cast are the victims (save the notably uninterested medical professional, above) -- and a scurvier, clueless, more entitled bunch of scumbags would be hard to find. Which of course makes us not care for them while they're with us and mourn them not at all when they're gone. As the film moves along, it becomes clearer what Frank's rationale really is. I'll use only one scene -- in the movie theater -- for emphasis so as not to spoil anything else.

It is not the political view of the other guy (or gal) that the filmmaker and his hero disdain unto death. No, it's the lack of civility these people bring to the table (and everywhere else they go). In that movie theater, a group of rowdy, thoughtless teens won't shut up during the movie. One young woman in their party desists and suggests that her companions tone it down. She is spared, and they are "offed." Another patron in the theater, although he made no noise and was not rude, decides to use his cell phone camera to record the carnage: bye-bye. Priorities, people!

There's a weird morality at work here. Or course, we root for the vigilantes, even though we know they've gone too far. But there is also a great release, a catharsis of sorts, to be found in what's going on.  This is most profoundly true during the American Idol-like satire in which a fat, talent-free contestant (below) is unmercifully mocked by all. What happens to him -- and why and with whose help -- may be Bobcat's most vicious, yet saddest, comment on the depths to which we can sink.

God Bless America is funny, all right, but it succeeds best as a nasty, no-holds-barred satire, the edge of which cuts us all. The film opens this Friday, May 11, in a dozen major cities across the country, with many more to come in the weeks that follow. (In New York City, it's playing at the Landmark Sunshine Cinema.)   Click here to see all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters.

Once again, children, what did the hungry rabbit do? Donaldson's SEEKING JUSTICE

The headline above -- part of it, anyway -- is a kind of code that lets you know you're among friends. Or maybe enemies. Its use is one of the more enjoyable aspects of SEEKING JUSTICE (terrible title!), the latest in the burgeoning mini-genre of disposable Nicolas Cage movies. We've just come off Ghost Rider 2 (disposable big-budget variety), and the end of last year gave us one his his worst, Trespass. (Well, Mr. Cage must get those debts paid down, so let's crank out another film!) This new one is infinitely more enjoyable than Trespass, for it has Roger Donaldson (below, of  The Bank Job) at the helm, rather than Joel Schumacher (of Twelve) -- even if its credibility factor is awfully low.

Seeking Justice is a conspiracy movie of the the vengeance-is-mine-sayeth-the-vigilante mode, in which, by the finale, everyone in New Orleans (the film's setting) including your second cousin's mother-in-law seems to be involved in said conspiracy. This sort of thing tends to dampen the "surprise" element, not to mention the suspension of disbelief. And yet, in its rambunctious, goofy way, the movie often works, keeping you interested in, if not glued to, what's going on on-screen. Donaldson achieves this via his usual combination of smart, tight action; growing suspense; and believable performances by all -- even if the plot surrounding those performances is anything but.

Mr Cage (above, left) proves quite fine as a school teacher, who -- after his wife (January Jones, above, right) is assaulted -- is approached by a rather mysterious fellow (Guy Pearce, below, left, doing his "strange" number to a fare-thee-well) who has a plan for taking revenge on  the culprit. If only Cage will consent to it. Oh yes, and then do Pearce one little favor.

As usual with this kind of movie, the build-up is much more interesting (not to mention credible) than the resolution. So be prepared to enjoy what you can: the occasional surprise along the way, some good action sequences, and Mad Men's Ms Jones, acquitting herself more gracefully here than she managed in last year's better film Unknown. Also doing good work are Harold Perrineau (as Cage's friend and school principal) and Xander Berkeley (as a questionably friendly police lieutenant).

Seeking Justice (from Anchor Bay Entertainment, 105 minutes), opens this Friday, March 16 in New York, L.A. and maybe elsewhere. In NYC, you can catch it at the AMC Empire 25, Loews' Kips Bay and 19th Street East, and the Village East Cinema. The film's web site promises to have SHOWTIMES -- with cities and theaters, one expects -- up soon. Once they are, click here to see them.

BOY WONDER, Michael Morrissey's mixed bag, is available now via VOD and DVD

Responsibility for the interesting but flawed film BOY WONDER most definitely lies with its writer/director/
producer Michael Morrissey. In this, his first foray into writing and directing (he's acted as producer on a number of house-and/or-home-related TV series), Morrissey (shown below) cleverly conflates a few different genres, from neo-noir and vigilante thriller to women-in-jeopardy and the more recent, would-be super-hero film. His questionable "hero," Sean Donovan, long ago saw his mother murdered during a car-jacking gone wrong, and he's never forgiven the murderer -- nor himself. But hey, he was only a kid at the time.

Older now (he appears to be one of those typical "elderly" high school students we so often see in the movies), Sean (played by Caleb Steinmeyer, below) is determined to protect abused women everywhere (in the Brooklyn area, at least), and so here he is saving the ladies and killing the guys. His modus operandi is a bit strange, however: He first interferes, allows himself to be beaten up, and then pulls knife or gun and gets down to the real work at hand. From a psychological standpoint of guilt and self-punishment, this makes some sense, and if the first part of the film were not so full of questionable moments, it would be easier to go along with it all. But little (and not so) things begin to rankle.

First there's the quite unbelievable conversation that Detective Ames (Zulay Henao, below, right) has with an arch villain named Larry Childs (James Russo) -- right in the middle of a courtroom. Later Ames finds Sean alone in the police station at night and appears to accept everything he says at face value. And, boy, is Sean ever privy to an awful lot of woman/child abuse. Literally everywhere he looks, something bad is going on. Plus, some of the villains seem a bit more attuned to reality than is Sean: "You didn't save her; you made it worse," one of them tells the kid. Most damaging of all is the fact that we have a hero who's a one-note whack job, and would, in any real world, long ago have been committed to a hospital.

But then small parcels of further information get dropped in our laps, and as we learn more about the situation, it deepens and begins to interest us. Sean's dad, for instance, is not (or at least was not always) the fine, loving father we initially see. And what's with that odd chemical compound the kid's been looking up on the internet? Coincidences abound, and soon it begins to look like everything is connected. The ending moves from shocking to delicious to ironic and darkly funny.

Should you stick things out, you'll probably be glad you did, for that finale is indeed crackerjack. If you give up halfway along, however, no one would blame you, for the movie, finally, falls somewhere between the near-rave, three-and-one-half stars that Roger Ebert gave it, and the deadly pan that The New York Times reviewer Jeannette Catsoulis handed out.

Boy Wonder, from Inception Media Group, hit the streets this past November 8 on DVD, and has been available via VOD since late October. Further good news: Netflix starts renting it out this Tuesday, November 22.