A remarkably honest look at Calcutta’s Red Light district, Born Into Brothels overcomes a slightly manipulative opening—close-ups of pining faces accompanied by soapy music—to powerfully portray the lives of Indian children born to prostitutes. At just 83 minutes, Born Into Brothels packs more empathy and authenticity than ten average war flicks. Its cruel truths are wrenching, even more so upon reflection—for every grateful smile, there’s a harsh reality accompanying it. Considering that directors Zana Briski and Ross Kauffman filmed eleven kids in all, it’s impressive how vividly each one nestles in our hearts and minds.

Braving a dangerous slummy neighborhood, Briski spent over a year teaching the children photography—which allowed them to view their sadistic world from a more optimistic perspective—and working to get them into boarding schools (co-director Kauffman deserves equal credit; he was behind the camera). The monstrous difficulty of this task forms Born Into Brothels‘ core—between ignorant mothers, an insular world of warped morals, extreme poverty, and other disturbing factors, these kids face a tremendous uphill climb to attain any form of success. Frequently, for selfish reasons their families refuse to allow the children to attend school: they want help around the house, they need them to watch the babies while they whore, they don’t want to spend a dime. Many of the mothers seem to be jealous, or perhaps ignorant, of the opportunities opening up for their kids; they can’t foresee any future but the dead-end of prostitution. Few attitudes may be more despicable, but after all, many of these births were unplanned. It’s the rare family that has a supportive father, or any kind of regular income. Briski and Kauffman spent countless hours trying to reverse, at the very least, a few of these unfortunate scenarios, and it’s clear that this wasn’t just a token gesture—it was genuine, deep compassion…so rare in today’s world. Born Into Brothels’ sobering finale is tinged with an optimism—seeing one of the boy’s photographs displayed in London, for instance—that should puncture the tear ducts of the iciest men.

In addition to its obvious social information regarding Calcutta, Born Into Brothels doubles as an allegory for America’s decrepit current educational situation. Many of the same pitfalls plague New York’s (and many other cities’) public school system, and with George W. Bush on board for another four years, it’s unlikely we’ll see a sudden stream of money pumped into urban schooling. The most striking similarity, though, is just how little an outsider can really do for these troubled youths. Despite Briski’s around-the-clock efforts, only one of the eleven children she worked with stayed in school by the conclusion of filming (since then, more have made it). Meanwhile, here in today’s educational system, there’s only so much that our young, ambitious teachers can accomplish—they’re dealing with children who return home at 3:30, to be ignored, beaten, mistreated, and tutored in ungrammatical lingo. Coupled with their (usual; of course many exceptions exist) tumultuous upbringings, these kids are behind the 8-ball before our teachers learn their names. Both today’s educators and Zana Briski are part of a currently insurmountable task—their gallant efforts give us hope that one day, the tunnel will burst open and sunlight will flood the brothels and classrooms.

71/100

As an avid hater of reality television, I was surprised by the intelligence of James Ronald Whitney’s Games People Play. Spanning a few days in New York City, the film focuses on six people’s quest to win $10, 000 by being as wild and carefree as possible. “Games People Play” is the name of the most unrestricted reality game show there is, a romp through Manhattan where each contestant must execute their insane assignments as best they can. Said assignments include such enviable tasks as collecting urine from pedestrians, performing a triumvirate naked song-and-dance, and soliciting delivery men upon arrival.

Whitney’s direction is unabashedly confident. He doesn’t hold back from displaying graphic full-frontal nudity or kinky sexual acts. As such, conservatives and men who’re squeamish about seeing anything that remotely resembles homosexuality are advised to stay away. Not more than five minutes go by before there are tits and dicks all over the screen. Cinematically, I must admit that the freewheeling style and amusing situations were a blast for me to watch. Unlike crap such as Survivor or Temptation Island, there’s an honesty in Games People Play that eliminates the contrivance that permeates the television shows. I actually believed that these folks were doing these things. Can’t say the same about any reality TV show that I’ve seen…

That being said, what particularly interested me about Games People Play was the heart behind it. Beneath the sexcapadic surface, there’s a touching look at inhibitions, where they come from, and how to conquer them. Wild sequences are intercut with powerful confessions about traumatic and sad personal experiences. Among them are rapes and masochistic abuse with drugs and sharp objects. They’re not pleasant to watch, but they’re also not glorifying, and make the viewer contemplate and pity the extremes that these people went to. Considering the large number of intense personal demons, it’s no wonder that the contestants (and wannabe contestants) were willing to bare it all. It’s an outlet for their suffering and frustration, and these convictions come across strongly enough to make Games People Play a rewarding, if difficult, experience.

There are times where Games People Play overstays its welcome and becomes repetitive, but it’s normally snappy enough to overcome these glitches. More troublesome is that there’s apparently a sequel in the works, set in Hollywood. As an individual film, Games People Play is an impressive accomplishment that conquers the normal problems of reality entertainment. As a franchise, however, these same problems will inevitably crop up and much of what makes the film work will totally crumble. Don’t do it, James! Until then, though, give Games People Play a twirl if you’re not offended by multitudes of sexual organs. I can’t guarantee enjoyment and there’ll be the normal slew of critics—and viewers—who find anything with bare skin or severe situations gratuitous by default, but take my word for it…it’s not.

3/4

Primer is the little sci-fi flick that could, complete with a $7000 budget, handheld camerawork, and so much unexplained scientific jargon that your head will likely be swimming with particles and electrons by the time you exit the thearre. Given the directorial style and topic matter, Primer could easily have degenerated into pretentious nonsense, but thankfully the script is sharp and void of clichés—so much so, in fact, that even the technical mumbo-jumbo is faintly interesting. The tagline—“If you always want what you can’t have, what do you want when you can have anything?”—really sums Primer up nicely: it takes a moment to comprehend what the hell it means, and even then…

Primer is the story of four friends with an idea—something tickling the back of their minds, in a realm far distant from the simple error-checking devices that they’ve successfully created. A wild and creative vision lurks just beyond their grasp, dancing in the darkness, eluding them…until Aaron and Abe, the truly entrepreneurial and ambitious ones, stumble upon the secret invention. And it’s big—too big to market or sell, because it defies belief. Scientists scoff at samples…what would the world think? Rather than attempt to change people’s general conceptions, the two companions decide to attempt something even bigger. Will it work? If this seems rather elusive and vague, well, believe me, you’re not alone. Much of Primer involves themes-in-the-dark—frequently, everything seems unclear. The narrative alternates from present tense to a mysterious voice-over without warning. Twists in the storyline, while skillfully edited, are too convoluted to follow. It’s a relief that the performances and screenplay are so strong, or Primer really could have been an unmitigated disaster.

Director Shane Carruth wrote, produced, edited, shot, and starred in Primer in addition to his helming duties, and not surprisingly, bit off more than he could chew (oh yes, he also composed the original music!). Carruth has openly stated that Primer demands to be seen more than once, and he’s not kidding—it’s practically impossible to glean very much the first time through, although the picture does convey how powerfully technology can consume humanity—a possibility that deep down, all of us fear—and just how easily greed can destroy us. It also communicates the compelling nature of discovery; when Aaron and Abe discover that their device allows for time travel of sorts, Primer really becomes intriguing. Unfortunately, so much of the picture is impenetrable that the intrigue always remains dangling: like a cat chasing a ball of string, and like the friends’ initial quest for knowledge, it’s always just out of reach.

A friend—who has his own review of Primer up, actually—mentioned that perhaps the characters don’t really understand much of what they’re yapping about either, but I had the distinct impression that the characters’ jobs involved engineering or scientific research—the lingo came out too fluidly to believe otherwise. I do think, though, that once the technological exposition of the film is completed, a problem arises from the fact that both men never stop to consider what their invention means and its potential consequences—ae common pitfall among inventors, it seems. Regardless, it still appears to me that to really understand Primer, some scientific knowledge is necessary. Contrast this to Darren Aronofsky’s Pi, the first film that popped into my head while watching Primer—and a superior picture. Though heavily steeped in mathematical theory, it never comes across as imperative that we received our minors in trigonometry to comprehend its point. Perhaps I’m missing something, but I don’t think that seeing Primer a second time would really clear anything up, though having some idea of where things go might clarify the first thirty minutes a bit. All in all, there’s plenty to like about Carruth’s ambitious debut, but too many flaws to call it an unequivocal success.

3/4

The year 2000 was a strong one for unique cinematic love poems. Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love poignantly captured the sadness of impossible ardor, the camera gracefully roaming from taxis to restaurants to other locations where our heroes can intimately feign intimacy, knowing that, alas, it’s impossible despite destiny’s war cry. Lars von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark portrays maternal love at its most masochistic, with Bjork’s Selma sacrificing her eyesight and eventually her life in order to preserve her son’s future—the shaky, handheld camera and boisterous musical numbers only enhance the wildly shifting emotions around Bjork’s inordinately calm core. Yet Ang Lee’s dazzling Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, usually thought of as a visual extravaganza above all else, belongs in the company of the millennium’s big boy, mixing In the Mood for Love‘s unobtainable romance with Dancer in the Dark‘s selfless-to-the-end philosophy. CTHD‘s most fervent admirers are fans of Hong Kong martial arts, or those entranced by the gorgeous cinematography. I’ve seen the film many times, and with each viewing, new layers emerge. The first time (in theatres), I was floored by Woo-ping Yuen’s action choreography—a delicious blend of discipline, training, and inner peace. The flying, criticized by some as ‘unrealistic,’ elegantly displays the transcendent mastery of Li Mu Bai (Chow-Yun Fat), Yu Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh), Jen (Zang Zhiyi), and a select few others. Notice how only the most advanced fighters are able to defy gravity…it’s a gift reserved for the elite, for the warriors who fight out of necessity and never for personal glory.

The second time around, I began to see past the grand production values and mesmerizing landscapes, and into Ang Lee’s mind. Here’s a director who’s known for personal films— Sense and Sensibility, Eat, Drink, Man, Woman, The Ice Storm…all pictures that focus on social strata of different cultures. It appeared unlikely that he’d abandon all semblance of his roots in CTHD, so I paid close attention to the intertwining relationships and character development. I was shocked to find that these traits made up the film’s core. The tranquil dignity of Li Mu Bai and Yu Shu Lien contrasts with the untamed eroticism of Jen and Lo (Chen Chang). Lo’s nickname, Dark Cloud, serves as a metaphor for his desert homeland as well as typifying the impending misery of Jen and Lo’s future. Their carnal passion for each other develops during a stunning desert chase, one where they begin as enemies and end as lovers. Unfortunately, after Jen leaves the desert, she’s forced back into a domestic life that she despises—it drains her spirit and leaves her soul barren. I was struck by how different the chemistry between Jen and Lo was from that of Li Mu Bai and Yu Shu Lien.. then, the true dynamic of CTHD began to open up to me.

In fact, the two relationships couldn’t be more unalike, yet they meet the same sad end. For various reasons (past romantic experiences & loyalties, location, etc), Li Mu Bai and Yu Shu Lien aren’t able to be together. In fact, until the devastating finale, neither utters a single word to the other about their true feelings, which fester inside them until death does them part. The duo’s evident mutual adoration is wrenching — there’s a sinking feeling throughout that fate isn’t going to be kind, a feeling that’s even more painful on subsequent rewatchings when the outcome is known. Meanwhile, Jen and Lo find themselves part of a different world, unable to recapture the magic of desert nights, until the aforementioned finale. Whether she actually dies isn’t spelled out for us, but the meaning is clear — the four principal characters can only find happiness in a world other than this. Throughout the picture, the four characters intermingle and find themselves relying on (or fighting with) one another, often recognizing the broken hopes of the others without being able to do anything about it. It’s heartbreaking, really.

I’ve returned to CTHD many times and its only gotten better, enhanced by the most gorgeous score of the past decade. The entertainment value, remarkable cinematography & choreography, and outstanding acting remain while new doors open up. With Lee’s restrained direction, the emotion lurks beneath the surface but rarely rises. That we’re given only occasional glimmers of optimism confirms my faith in Lee’s sticking to what got him here in the first place. Not coincidentally, his Hulk (2003) is another genre piece that bucks its traditional format and is all the richer for it. It’s a shame more directors don’t have the courage and/or talent to fill an exciting movie with a Shakespearian romance that’s tragic and unafraid to be so.

PRO

Good-natured if supremely silly, Michael Curtiz’ The Adventures of Robin Hood is a swashbuckling romp in the vein of this year’s Pirates of the Carribean, a light-hearted trip through the Mirkwood we all love from childhood stories or other versions. Now Film Forum gives us a cleaned-up 35mm print, preserving and enhancing the original flashy Technicolor. This isn’t a trivial restoration, since there was a mad scramble to get the film made back in 1938; directors and actors glided in and out of the project, and even the composer took convincing to come aboard. Contract disputes and other such obstacles removed William Keighley and James Cagney from their positions as director and lead actor respectively. Eventually the studio settled on Errol Flynn as Robin and Curtiz to direct, and he presents the story pretty routinely. From the camera movements down to the loopy characters, Curtiz follows the prototypical Hollywood formula of visuals—plenty of shot-reverse shot, workmanlike framing, etc. Yet despite this rather mundane approach, Curtiz still succeeds in injecting pizzazz into the action scenes, particularly the archery match and the capture of Sir Guy midway through. What results is an entertaining 100 minutes that’s well worth the price of admission, even if it’s flawed in several respects.
The main problem is the casting of Flynn as Robin Hood. Not that his performance is weak—it’s quite good, actually. What’s missing is the aura, the style, the suavity required of Robin of Locksley. Flynn simply doesn’t look the part, with his slender build and dorky face. In fact, it seems that the casting of Robin is quite difficult to pull off; Kevin Costner was unbearably drab in the 1991 version. As screwy as it may sound, my favorite Robin performance is Cary Elwes in Mel Brooks’ spoof Robin Hood: Men in Tights. Flynn gives a noble effort but comes up short. The supporting cast fares better, particularly Alan Hale as Little John and Basil Rathbone as Sir Guy.

The script is generally solid, and takes an interesting angle regarding the relationship between Robin and Maid Marian. In the versions I’ve seen and read, Marian appears to become infatuated with Robin almost immediately. Here, Marian is initially disgusted by him, only falling for him after seeing the results of his good deeds and carefully scrutinizing his actions. While this version is probably the more plausible of the two, I can’t help but prefer the former, with its almost orgasmic resonance electrifying the relationship. It’s difficult to criticize The Adventures of Robin Hood on this count since it does a good job of making the relationship convincing, but the romantic spark just feels absent, unlike the flair that permeates throughout the archery competition and several other scenes. As a pleasurable diversion, The Adventures of Robin Hood succeeds on most counts. It’s a pretty safe adaptation, so don’t go expecting a spicy version like Luis Buñuel’s depiction of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. The Film Forum showing is also preceded by an extremely clever Bugs Bunny short entitled Rabbit Hood, which adds to the charm of the entire production. Not having seen the original print, I can’t say for sure how much the restoration accomplishes, but I’d wager it’s a pretty drastic upgrade, considering the chaos that reigned over the early stages of the production.

3/4