Why is the Sorkin/Boyle STEVE JOBS flopping? See the movie and you'll readily understand.

Forget all the current "We're shocked, shocked! What-went-wrong?" nonsense that the industry is now offering up about STEVE JOBS. All you have to do is sit through this repetitive, standard-issue biopic (until it crescendos into a finale of schlock sentimentality) to understand why audiences are staying away. Neither the writing nor the direction are good enough to enlighten us on anything important, and though the half-dozen major actors do a bang-up job, they're merely disguising how weak this movie is. (It's no Social Network, for sure.)

The more interesting question here is. What in the world were most critics thinking when they typed out those ridiculous hosannas?

Michael Fassbender (above, right, with a terrific-as-usual Michael Stuhlbarg) never gives less than a sterling performance, and he does so again, playing the title role. But screenwriter Aaron Sorkin and director Danny Boyle try to take the middle road (for every good point, our guy is given a bad point) all the way along and so leave him (and us) mostly high and dry. Seth Rogen does little more than whine and complain about his Apple 2-sters being left out ("Wah!!!!), while Kate Winslet does her best Mittel-European accent, come-and-go as it is, in her role as Miss Make-It-All-Better. Poor Katherine Waterston is allowed a batch of one-note anger, so that only Jeff Daniels (below) makes his near-perfect mark as the ill-used and ill-using John Sculley.

Moment-to-moment the acting is good enough to carry us along, but by the close and we learn that all this is just about a father-daughter feel-good thing, you're likely to leave the theater in a confused-and-heading-toward-foul mood. Surely there is more to Mr. Jobs, his life and career, than this?

So don't feel guilty at all about missing the theatrical run. Wait for the DVD and see something else instead. (Bridge of Spies, maybe: it's old-fashioned yet quite timely and very well-made). 

Sunday Corner: Lee Liberman goes DANCING ON THE EDGE with Stephen Poliakoff

Writer-creators Stephen Poliakoff and Julian Fellowes were attracted to the same hot topic when they wrote screenplays about the rise of jazz between the great wars, shining light on glittery elites whose following attracted the public through their patronage of black artists. The Cotton Club was all the rage in NYC while the royals juiced the trend on the British side of the pond, helping to make jazz musici-ans celebrities of the 1920s & 30s.

Fellowes' version of the jazz trend had cousin Rose flinging with black bandleader Jack Ross in Downton Abbey while Poliakoff uses his entire vehicle DANCING ON THE EDGE to throw fuel on the subject of race, class, sex, and jazz for 6 episodes in which poverty, hunger, and immigration issues lurk around the edges. Little by little tensions grow in our story as the elite pursue their latest hobby, trouble stalks band members, and German diplomats in town are already revealing their racist hearts in public

Chiwetel Ejiofor (above, l) leads a terrific cast as black band leader Louis Lester, along with charming Matthew Goode (above, r ), playing irrepressible rogue Stanley Mitchell, music impresario and editor of a rag called "The Music Express". Stanley, most at home in his paper's lair, is thought by some reviewers to have dubious motives, but I found his enthusiasm contagious as he recognizes the band's potential and organizes one gambit after another to promote and protect them. Stanley makes bits of mischief for Louis but always has his back -- the band has one foot in the world of high society but also uncomfortable exposure to police and/or the alien immigration authorities.

Louis's saga as an up-and-comer begins when Stanley hears a snippet of the band at a grungy dive club and knows they are something special. He has a commission in his pocket to recommend a new band to the Imperial, a once fashionable palace that is now dowager country (above, the stand-in for the Imperial). He organizes a booking for the instrumentalists and singers, Jessie and Carla (Angel Coulby and Wunmi Mosaku, third and fourth from left in photo below). Gradually the band grows an audience including a small group of influentials whom we get to know well (plus Prince George and Edward, Prince of Wales, the "playboy" princes who were serious patrons of Duke Ellington and Florence Mills, among others).

There's Walter Masterson (above, second from l) an American money bags with extreme sexual proclivities and hazardous morals (John Goodman), Lavinia Cremone (a splendid Jacqueline Bisset, 5th from r), an aristocrat who still mourns three sons lost in World War I but is newly aroused to do good in the world; Mr. Donaldson (Anthony Head, 4th from r ), an urbane fellow and silent manipulator; Pamela Luscombe (Joanna Vanderham -- Denice in The Paradise, 6th from r) and her high-strung, troubled brother Julian (Tom Hughes, far l) are rebellious offspring of rich, racist social climbers ("We are going to have a party for mummy and fill the house with blacks and Jews" says Pamela); photographer Sarah, daughter of a Russian emigre with a mysterious past, who has an affair with Louis, (Janet Montgomery, on Ejiofor's arm, left center).

In episode 3, a band member is stabbed and later dies. Our society patrons come into focus as evidence appears against Louis that will make his conviction likely of a murder he didn't commit. Who is genuine and who is not figures here as some deliberately aim to implicate Louis, some look the other way, and others take personal risks to help him escape. Lady Cremone (Bisset, below) swings one way and then the other. A hotel manager complains: "You brought the roof down on all of us, Stanley -- you brought the band here." Masterson's response is to throw money around (as above, with singers Jessie and Carla).

The murder plot is resolved by the end of the fifth episode but Poliakoff (pictured below) adds a sixth episode in the form of Stanley's interview with Louis, an unsatisfying discussion of questions we never had and anecdotes we didn't need. The addition of this episode speaks to a lack of discipline, as though Poliakoff, shown below -- who both wrote and directed the series -- had some thought streams he couldn't shoehorn into the body and added this vehicle to include them. It lumbered.

The original score glitters but is not as titillating as the raw, edgy music of the early jazz era. But despite its flaws, Dancing's story-in-chief and the ensemble of players are very engaging and leave us wanting more. We get that the subject of race is topic A, crossing social red-lines topic B, and both will remain ever thus. But rather than this being a message movie, particularly, 'Dancing' offers good company, entertainment, hypocrisy revealed with wit, and a window on the lively era that roared into the 30's, oblivious to the rise of The Third Reich.  A BBC2 production, Dancing on the Edge  first appeared over here on Starz and is now streaming via Netflix.

(The above post was written by 

our correspondent Lee Liberman.)

Wes Wheadon's WHEN BETTE MET MAE proves an original, exemplary hybrid documentary

Did you know that Bette Davis actually did meet Mae West -- and toward  the close of each of their legendary careers. TrustMovies didn't realize this, yet on the face of things, why wouldn't they have met -- and long before the evening that they finally did? Turns out they were fans of each other's work but chance and circumstance had decreed that they be kept apart until one autumn night in 1973 when... it happened. The film's director, Wes Wheadon, was present as this "creation" because he was a friend of both the cocktail party's host, Charles Pollack, a West Hollywood designer, Pollack's house guest, Ms Davis, and their guest, Ms West. And what a night it was -- even if, as it turns out, the (I am guessing) surreptitious tape recording Wheadon made ran out long before the evening did.

Mr. Wheadon, shown at right in present day (and  further below at the time of the event), has had the delightful and enterprising idea to hand us a very unusual combination of memorabilia and documentary using the actual tape for the audio along with acted/lip-synced visuals handled by a smart and well-cast group of actors portraying the folk who were present on this surprising, entertaining evening. His movie, WHEN BETTE MET MAE, runs only a little longer than that tape -- 63 minutes -- but for fans of both or either of these extraordinary leading ladies, the documentary will prove catnip indeed.

Shown above are, left to right the real  Davis, Wheadon and West, while below is the acting ensemble made up of Karen Teliha, Brandon Larcom and Victoria Mills, each of whom does a splendid job of  both impersonation and lip-syncing, while bringing to life these characters.

If the tape sounds a little grainy and heavy with background noise, so be it. The characters and the actors playing them soon win out over any audio defects present. And the conversation, though a little heavy on the oh-I-think-you're-so-wonderful stuff (I'm sure they did, but enough already!) eventually moves on to other more interesting subjects like work, career, men, children, acting and -- best of all -- being so popular that one is constantly impersonated..

The things we hear and learn about that latter subject are eye-opening (why West preferred  the work of Charles Pierce over that of Craig Russell, for instance), and why Davis had to put career ahead of husbands and children is another most interesting topic.

The evening -- and the movie -- is full of history and famous names, as well, so viewers may indeed learn something along with the fun of watching these two women go to town on their respective characters. Both Teliha (above) and Mills (below) have done impersonations of the respective actresses and are clearly quite gifted at it.

Narrated by whiskey-voiced Sally Kellerman, the film, as was the evening itself, is pretty much sui generis. I'm imagining that Wheadon had to wait until such time that no one else was still alive who could object and perhaps skewer the deal. But here it is at last: a meeting of minds and characters so redolent of Hollywood's heyday that I can't imagine there is not a very large audiences out there (in addition to the huge following of gay men to whom these icons mean so much) just ready to pounce on this piece of recreated, magic memorabilia.

When Bette Met Mae, is now available via Google Play -- to rent or to own. It is also expected to become available via iTunes this coming Tuesday, October 27.

Jeffrey Schwarz & Allan Glaser's TAB HUNTER CONFIDENTIAL: an engrosssing, enriching, informative look at the lives--real and manufactured--of a 1950s Hollywood star

Back in the mid-20th-century, who didn't have a crush on Tab Hunter? That uber-adorable blond boy of German ancestry, whose gorgeous face and sveltely muscular body set the screen ablaze from his first big role (opposite Linda Darnell), almost immediately became the nationwide idol of teenage girls (and boys with certain proclivities), going on to make a couple dozen film and/or TV appearances over a ten-year period that would ensure his entry into the Hollywood pantheon. Critics may have come late, if at all, to his actual acting ability, but nobody, I suspect, could gainsay the guy's ability to turn heads, hearts and libidos his way. Now comes a new documentary, TAB HUNTER CONFIDENTIAL, that not only tells the actor's story -- damned well, too -- but might easily stand in for a textbook case of how the Hollywood dream factory created then sold those dreams to a more-than-willing public. The film is also one of the best documentaries made thus far about the career and lives -- real and manufactured -- of a Hollywood "star."

The creation of producer Allan Glaser (shown at left) -- the actual identity of whom becomes apparent toward the end of the documentary, at which point it couldn't seem more pleasing and appropriate -- and director Jeffrey Schwarz (below, right), the film should prove catnip to Hunter's many fans, most of whom are now senior citizens. Beyond this, however, the movie may very well capture the somewhat younger audience who knows Hunter from his later work with John Waters, Paul Bartel and Divine (Polyester and Lust in the Dust).

Mr. Schwarz's fine work (he both directed and edited the documentary) weaves together Hunter's career with his life, his family (an older and much-looked-up-to brother, a mother with mental problems and an absentee dad), and the necessity of remaining in the closet due to his homosexuality -- which was not only a Hollywood career-breaker but illegal and grounds for imprisonment back in the 1950s. Schwarz allows Hunter to tell his own story, abetted by a terrific library of archival photos, clips from various films and Hollywood "news" footage from that era.

Mr. Hunter (above in his "dreamboat" days, below in his current life) appears to be a pretty "private" guy, almost as much now as in his heyday when he had so much to hide. Still, at the film's beginning, he promises to give up the goods, and by and large he does just that. (The movie's title, by the way, is a nasty nod to the nastiest magazine of its day, Confidential, that delighted in opening up scandals -- often sexual in nature, with homosexual best of all, of course -- that could and often did destroy an actor's career.)

When the magazine "outed" Hunter, the advice of one of his mentors, Warner Bros.' Jack Warner, proved smart and helpful to the young actor. As did that of some of his co-stars and leading ladies -- from Natalie Wood and Debbie Reynolds to Venetia Stevenson and Etchika Choureau -- all of whom seemed to have liked and cared quite a bit about this rising star.

Ms. Stevenson, in fact, tells us that she didn't at all mind being seen dating Hunter and likewise dating Anthony Perkins (shown in background, above), thus acting as a "beard" to cover up the affair between the two (yes!). The Perkins connection proves one of the film's most interesting aspects, as it sheds a lot of light on the gay dating habits of that day, as well as on the character of the also-very-private Mr. Perkins, whose affair with Hunter seemed to cool, due to a certain television and then movie property called Fear Strikes Out.

Hunter's lead-role appearance in the TV version, and Perkins' follow-up in the movie makes for some very interesting fodder for ideas about ambition and betrayal in Hollywood. Hunter's work in television and even in legitimate theater also proves salient, interesting and even sometimes amusing, as shown here.

Some of us may have forgotten just how successful was Hunter as a recording artist -- something else the film makes sure we understand. Warner Bros Records, in fact, was created because Hunter's number one pop song was recorded for Dot Records (only because Warners did not yet have its own record label!).

The documentary is full of fascinating stuff like this, and its 90 minutes seem to fly by. By the finale, you'll have grown to admire and appreciate Mr. Hunter (as well as his producer, Mr. Glaser, and director Schwarz), feeling, I suspect, that there is great deal more to the man and his work than first met the eye. Though what met that eye was -- still is -- rather extraordinary.

Tab Hunter Confidential, from Automat Pictures and The Film Collaborative, while continuing at New York City's Village East Cinema, opens today, Friday, October 23, in other cities, and hits Los Angeles at Landmark's NuArt next Friday, October 30. Click here to see all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters listed.

Giulio Ricciarelli's LABYRINTH OF LIES: all about attitudes (and accepting responsibility)

Rounding up ex-Nazi war-criminals post-World War II and coming to terms with German guilt is not exactly a new subject in the film archive: We've probably had appear a dozen or more documentaries and narrative movies on these themes during our new millennium alone -- from The Good German and Hitler's Children to My Enemy's Enemy and The German Doctor. Few if any, however, have come directly from Germany to cover the subject of how and why those ex-Nazi war criminals who were allowed to flourish in Germany and elsewhere (the USA recruited a number of them, too) in the years immediately after WWII. Well, we've got that movie now.

LABYRINTH OF LIES, the first full-length film to be directed by Giulio Ricciarelli (shown at left, who also co-wrote), will win no awards for its filmmaking prowess. It's workmanlike and professional, consistently interesting if somewhat formulaic, and -- like its obsessive protagonist, Johann (played with monochromatic grit by Alexander Fehling, below, ) -- keeps its intentions clear and in its gun-sight from beginning to end. That said, Ricciarelli's movie pleasantly surprises now and again by what it does not show us. In one scene, in which a Holo-caust survivor is inter-viewed about his experi-ences in a concentration camp, instead of showing/telling us about these (we've heard so much by now, could anything else shock or move us?), the filmmaker cuts to after the interview and instead shows us a quietly moving and unsettling scene with the secretary/ stenographer (a fine Hansi Jochmann, below, right) who has just recorded all that was said.

Likewise, the opening scene of the film, set in what looks like a lovely middle-school full of happy students and concerned teachers, undercuts all with a surprising moment that sets the film and its plot off and running. For the following two full hours, we're pretty much hooked.

Ricciarelli, his co-writer and cast are most interested in opening eyes and minds in Germany and elsewhere as to why it was so important not to simply settle for the post-WWII Nuremberg trials (which condemned but a very few higher-ups of the Nazis). Instead the filmmaker wants to point out how many other of the German populace were guilty of war crimes, too. What happened in the concentration camps would not have, had not the rank-and-file so readily followed those criminal and inhumane orders. (As one character, recruited into the Hitler Youth as a teen, points out, he himself looked on at the horror without trying to stop it.)

As the Attorney General in change off the case points out, it's not the "big game" you must go after but the ordinary citizens. As played by the late Gert Voss, above, this character provides a much-needed grounding for both the movie and its increasingly over-the-top main character.

More grounding is provided by the young woman our hero falls for early on (Friederike Becht, above and below), who turns out to be every bit as savvy, if not quite so obsessive, as her man. A clothing designer, she helps get her guy (and us) out of the grim workplace and into the world.

More than anything, Labyrinth of Lies is concerned with the attitudes of everyday Germans, as well as the need for them to finally accept responsibility for their country's actions during WWII. Via this endeavor, the film speaks also to us here in the USA and what we've wrought by our unlawful, hugely costly (in lives and expense) and so far worthless middle-east wars -- for which the American people and their so-called "leaders" have yet to own up.

The film, successful in Europe, especially in Germany and France, managed to appeal to mainstream audiences. Here in North America, of course, it will be seen as "arthouse" fare -- which says something about the tastes and interests of our "mainstream," as against that of Europe.

Leavened with a little humor now and again ("It's not my car's fault," is probably the film's funniest line)  and the effective use of dream and fantasy, the movie is also smart about showing us the difficulties of a protagonist who can see only black and white, without those necessary gray shades that make up most of our lives.

Full of the look of the fashions, architecture and autos of the late 1950s, and especially effective when it subverts and surprises, Labyrinth of Lies -- from Sony Pictures Classics, in German with English subtitles --  opens here in South Florida this Friday, October 23, in the West Palm Beach area at Movies of Delray and Movies of Lake Worth and at  Boca Raton's  Living Room Theaters and Regal Shadowood. The following Friday, October 30, the film will open at Miami's Tower Theater.

Chile, Pinochet, Allende and the sea: Patricio Guzmán's placid, lovely THE PEARL BUTTON

Those of us who have followed the career of writer/director Patricio Guzmán have seen this documentary filmmaker grow and change from a young(er) man covering the dreadful fall and murder of the democratically-elected President of Chile, Salvador Allende -- thanks to the nefarious and illegal efforts of our own nation and its sleazy right-wing leaders -- to an older, seasoned and increa-singly mystical man who must continue covering the horrible events that happen-ed to his country.

With his latest effort, THE PEARL BUTTON, we see the filmmaker (Guzmán is shown at right) moving from the angst and anger of his youth into even more of the quiet, calm acceptance of what has been -- together with the kind of mystical, encompassing understanding that seems to come to some of us with age --  that was such a part of this filmmaker's last documentary, Nostalgia for the Light. While Nostalgia/Light looked up and outward into the skies and to the universe to find solace in the understanding that both the stars out there and the bones of the Chilean dead (and living) are made of calcium, The Pearl Button considers the great sea that partially encompasses Chile and how it, too, has served as solace, provider and graveyard for its people.

This is not to say that, by accepting the past, Guzman is in any way condoning it. Hardly. This man appears to have lived and worked to do as much as he can to keep Chile's awful past current in the minds of his countrymen. It's just that he is now doing it in a more thoughtful, philosophical, even poetic manner -- and the result is a movie that moves us via its beauty, as well as its unearthing of not-so-ancient horrors.

In fact, the Allende regime, together with its disgusting replacement by Pinochet and his minions, does not even come up until past the film's halfway point (the documentary lasts but 79 minutes). Prior to this, we get a strange and amazing history of the indigenous tribes of Patagonia (above), in Chile's southern extreme: how they lived via the sea, how they devoted their bodies (below) to providing a canvas for their art and myths, and how they were at last wiped out almost completely in a genocide that pre-dated by maybe a century or more Pinochet's attempt to wipe out Chile's "socialist" population.

Visually The Pearl Button offers some gorgeous location shots of Chile's ocean venues, its glacial areas, as well as its more verdant locations. We see rain and ice and the original native population -- what's left of them, anyway. We meet poets and scientists and those natives themselves, and finally a few of the folk involved in and with the many "disappeared" who were tortured and murdered during the Pinochet regime.

This is a constant in Guzman's films, though here it is used in a manner much more quiet and subdued than ever before. In fact, there are really only two major disappeared people who are important to the film. One is a young schoolmate of Patricio's who drowns and is never found (the first "disappeared," the filmmaker call him); the other is Marta Ugarte, a woman whom we know mostly by the extraordinary and extraordinarily awful manner in which she died. This is told to us quietly, as is all else in the film, but Ms Ugarte stands in remarkably well for the rest of the "disappeared." As for the impunity offered to so many of the torturers and murderers, "This is," notes Guzmán, "like killing the dead twice."

The movie is, by turns, pantheistic, mystical, challenging, thoughtful, poetic, and sad. We see geography as destiny, and history as horror that only repeats itself. If Guzmán gives this genocide to us filtered through a kind of mysticism, given a subject this awful -- this difficult to comprehend and tolerate -- I am beginning to wonder how else it can be done? I'm stymied. If you have a suggestion, please feel free to offer it up.

Meanwhile, The Pearl Button, from Kino Lorber -- the title of which harks back to those aboriginal natives and one of their number, dubbed Jemmy Button, who (just as does the main character in Malick's classic, The New World) travels to England to discover "civilization" and is paid for his trouble with that titular button -- opens this Friday, October 23, in New York City at the IFC Center and Lincoln Plaza Cinema. In the weeks to follow, it will open in seven more cities. You can click here (then scroll down) to see all currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters.

JASON AND SHIRLEY: Stephen Winter's docu-drama of that famously unseen documentary

The name Jason Holliday may ring a bell with certain of us older folk -- movie-lovers who might have caught, during its brief theatrical run, Shirley Clarke's film, Portrait of Jason, during which, over a continuous half day and night, she filmed the man who went by the name of Jason Holliday and who was a drug-and-alcohol-addled black, gay hustler. Up until then (the film was shot in 1966 and released in '67), the "civilized" white world had seen nothing like this. either on film or most probably in real life.

Consequently the documentary, "scandalous" as it seemed at the time, was given a public (and sometimes critical) equivalent of a tar-and-feathering and promptly run out of town. Nowadays, of course, you can see this sort of narcissistic confessional on what seems like every other TV show -- from Dr. Phil and Ru Paul to the "housewives" of.. to you name it -- as our populace, desperate for fifteen minutes of fame, says and does its Can-you-top-this? routine in front of a camera so as to be properly "seen and appreciated."

All of which brings us to JASON AND SHIRLEY, the new docudrama from writer/director Stephen Winter (shown at left), that imagines what might have happened during and in between those twelve hours of shooting that went on in order to bring Portrait of Jason to fruition. In this new version, Jason is portrayed by Jack Waters (above, left) and Shirley by Sarah Schulman (above, right). TrustMovies saw the original film during its New York theatrical debut nearly fifty years ago and, as a 26-year old young, closeted, gay, white man, was properly appalled by what he saw. His horizons have expanded some since then, and he would love to see the film again today, with age, experience, and at least a bit more maturity on his side.

Interestingly enough, early last year the indispensable Milestone Films brought the restored movie back into a brief theatrical release and, toward the end of the year, onto Blu-ray and DVD. So comparisons can be easily made, for anyone interested. My initial response to this new film mirrors to some extent my original response a half century ago: embarrassment for the man at the center of it all who drinks himself into a stupor and generally makes an ass of himself, beginning to end. That Mr. Waters seems the utter embodiment of Mr. Holliday only adds to the very believable skeeviness of it all.

As I recall, Ms Clark was mostly left out of the original film, as documentarians so often were back in the day when their subjects were "all." Here, we see Shirley almost as much as we do Jason, and what we see is not very nice. Clark, as pictured in the new film, wants to get at Jason's core by any means necessary. Even if that core, as it turns out, seems as shallow and cliche-ridden as the fellow's exterior. And yet... Clark's films always probed the society in which her protagonists lived, and they showed us race and economics and especially power from the POV of those who possessed damn little of the latter. Her films are critiques of much more than their characters.

In any case, Clark was an artist, and as that charming, smart and woefully underseen movie Chic! informed us so beautifully, artists can get away with this shit because they have -- in addition to their huge ego and complete unconcern for anyone else,-- their art to back them up. So, while Clark may have been a crap human being in some respects, she delivers the goods in others.

Mr. Holliday, however, is something else. A failed just-about-everything, he doesn't seem to have possessed the talent, strength or determination to follow through on anything he supposedly wanted, although this new film tells us that he finally did do a single performance of his one-man show. Otherwise, he muses, reminisces about his life (which may be mostly fantasy), and Mr. Winter allows that fantasy or memory to take shape along the way, so that we flit in and out -- as Holliday grows drunker and more stoned -- of his life, his past, his needs and desires.

One one level Jason is the complete victim, on another he does possess a kind of strength -- as a gay, black hustler, he's tripled-whammied with nothing left to lose -- so it is possible to think of him, in the society of this mid-20th-century time, as something similar to concentration-camp Jews, whose only thing left is whatever self-respect they can muster in whatever manner it takes.  He's been marginalized -- granted, he's had a hand in his own marginalization -- to the point of obscurity, yet has bounced back by virtue of his ability to transgress and then revel in it.

The new film is nearly a half hour shorter than its predecessor, which is, as I recall, a kind of blessing. Yet, oddly enough, what the movie has made me want to do is revisit that original and see how it appears to me now. Overall Jason and Shirley is well-cast, -acted, -written (the two stars had a hand in this, it seems) and -directed, and it does build slowly a certain head of steam, culminating in the appearance of Jason's friend, the semi-famous actor Carl Lee (played with gravity and great appeal by Orran Farmer), whom Shirley puts to work in a craven manner designed to "break" our poor "hero." Fireworks (of a sort) ensue, but do they achieve the intended result? You will see.

Meanwhile, Jason and Shirley, begins a week's theatrical run at MoMA in New York City, today, Monday, October 19. Down the line, I imagine it will eventually reach a much wider audience via DVD and digital streaming.