Hitchcock, Selznick, and the End of Hollywood
Sunday, March 28; 2:00 p.m. in the Electronic Theater
A documentary that could have been made in A&E heaven, this is the kind of production that will have film lovers idling away a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in front of the boob tube--and everyone else quickly flipping over to the Wide World of Sports. Beginning with two hugely contrasting images, the grandiose burning of Civil War Atlanta in Gone With the Wind and a young, very plump Alfred Hitchcock wobbling on a bicycle, this film has set its premise. It uses the relationship of David O. Selznick, the legendary producer of Gone With the Wind, and his onetime employee, Alfred Hitchcock, the master of suspense, to sketch out the fall of the old Hollywood studio system and the rise of the director as auteur. Along the way, it dishes out some insight--and a little bit of dirt--on both the men and their films, none of which will be too terribly surprising to students of film history. But still, as narrated by Gene Hackman, the film is a genial stroll down a select street of Hollywood history. And it's worth a few lackadaisical hours--as long as hockey isn't on. (SKJ)
Regret to Inform
Sunday, March 28; 2:00 p.m. in the Video Cabaret
The Oscar-nominated Regret to Inform is not your father's Vietnam War film. It's not your uncle's. It's not your brother's. It's not Coppola's, Kubrick's, or Stone's. No, Regret to Inform is a woman's Vietnam War film, perhaps the most feminine war film ever made. And not just because the documentary centers on a woman, first-time filmmaker Barbara Sonnenborn, as she travels to Vietnam 20 years after her first husband was killed in action, searching for closure. Nor is it simply a woman's war film because it intercuts interviews and testimonials from 15 American and Vietnamese women haunted by the disparate but common horrors of the war. This film is feminine because of its perspective and its voice and its style. It makes for a truly original and intriguing Vietnam tour of duty. From the opening scene of a Vietnamese woman laboring in the rice fields singing a forlorn lament to the abundant archival war footage that always seems to be swimming in slow motion, even when it's not, the film illuminates a quiet but deep and endless, almost lyrical pain that's far different from previous treatises. Sonnenborn's film still touches on the themes of horror, madness, confusion, dehumanization, and senselessness. But instead of wrestling with the heart of darkness, she's more concerned with the darkness of the heart. Regret is up there with the best films on the Vietnam War--or perhaps, as the Vietnamese more appropriately refer to it, the American War. (SKJ)
The Rocking Horse Winner
Sunday, March 28; 5:30 p.m. in the Electronic Theater
The haunting magic of Pixelvision casts the classic D.H. Lawrence short story into the intoxicating fever-dream fable that it is. Pixelvision, for those unversed in amateur DIY indie-film conventions, is an old Fisher-Price toy camera that captures high-contrast, pixelated, ghostlike images on a conventional audiotape. Though director Michael Almereyda is not what you'd call a film amateur, this weird and impressionistic telling of the story of a boy who can ride his rocking horse to predict the winners of horse races is the epitome of what indie films can offer. Starring Eric Stoltz and featuring what has to be some of the most hypnotic imagery ever shot by a toy, the film strips the narrative down to almost its subconscious elements, something that would probably meet with Lawrence's approval. Those unfamiliar with the original tale may have trouble digesting it all. But at 22 minutes, it's short enough--and worthy enough--to sit through again. (SKJ)
Digital Shorts: Faces of Austin
Sunday, March 28; 6:00 p.m. in the Video Box
Promising "freewheelin', genre-bendin', tale-spinnin', real life stories from the Lone Star State," Faces of Austin delivers (sort of), but it really could have been filmed anywhere. Apart from many of its subjects' pronounced twangs, there are very few geographical locators to let you know where you are, which would be fine if the filmmakers' intention were to show that every city has its fair share of eccentrics and interesting stories. Instead, the premise of this documentary seems to be that Austin has more than most cities, the place where the tales about Texas are the tallest. But if you blink during the opening credits, you would only be sure that Faces of Austin was shot somewhere in the South, and not necessarily in Texas. Still, there are enough idiosyncratic personalities shown to make up for the irrelevant title, like the Stevie Ray Vaughan-wannabe storage facility manager who has an office packed with lethal spiders and snakes, and a case of narcissism so bad it always looks as if he's about to make out with himself. Or the manners and etiquette instructor whose unimpeachable style and grace have done nothing for her social life, the impressive diction of her pet parakeet notwithstanding. And Faces of Austin is worth watching if only to see octogenarian poet Albert Huffstickler read his poem about bus-stop vandals and come off as a cross between William S. Burroughs and Floyd the barber. Brilliant. (
