FILM REVIEW: MODUS OPERANDI Uno, Dos, Trejo! By Joseph James Bellamy

Joseph Bellamy Born in 1974, I missed the popular explosion of the so called ’Exploitation’ genre, having instead been part of the generation that made huge budget , FX laden action blockbusters the film of choice in Hollywood. Having seen Modus Operandi, I now miss what I didn’t know.

Aiming to capture the romance and allure of these lower-budget, harder-boiled classics, Writer/Director Frankie Latina’s Modus hit’s the mark like a sniper shot, and makes it look as smooth and easy as uno, dos, Trejo! With a Porn-Star pedigree (Former Porn A-lister, Actress, and Independent Film Maven Sasha Grey touts a ‘Presented by:’ Credit on the film ) , bare bones, 8mm vision, life-is-as-cheap-as-bullets narrative and the casting of Hollywood’s hands-down scariest bad guy, Modus Operandi is an outstanding, cult-ready ready offering for the cerebral film-goer, and the booms-and-boobs audience alike!

Shot in a medium once relegated to the least respectable of film efforts, It’s a feast of vintage cinematic technique, glam-art sex appeal and contemporary indie style. Not the typical Hollywood roller-coaster, but rather a slow cruise through the darkest part of town, In an impossibly slick black sedan. The story, the chronicle of a burned-out hit-man’s quest for vengeance, is played out amidst a world of perverse secrets, professional lies and political murders. The action percolates and simmers, often boiling over with sex and violence, but never cheapens itself with an overtly gratuitous explosion. Instead, the blood and pyrotechnics are applied for impact, not mindless flash-effect.

First, we are inducted into the films world with a sepia-toned smoking advisory and title-card. We then meet our (anti) hero, Stanley Cashay, through flash backs and the voiced-over memories of his deceased wife. Cashay, a retired triggerman for the shadowy ‘Intelligencia’, is brought to a sort of spooky half-life by the gaunt look and smooth mannerisms of Randy Russell ("American Job"). His suit, shades and smokes all invoke to the uber-cool secret agent men of a hipper time. Cue the funky, retro credits, and you can almost hear the door to the slick black sedan click shut behind you. ’Modus’ is rolling, and you’re along for the ride.

In the step with the films deliberate pacing, We then bare witness to a deal gone dirty, and are introduced to our ‘bad-guys‘:. Squire Parks, An altogether too-smooth politician portrayed with oily aplomb by Michael Sottile ("Reservoir Dogs"), the crooked Copper Gore, played by Mark Metcalf, and his long haired associate Dallas Deacon played by noted independent film-maker Mark Borchardt ("American Movie.") Lest we think these miscreants aren‘t carrying enough criminal credentials, enter Danny Trejo as bad-ass boss-man Director Holiday. Trejo’s brand of gravel-voiced menace immediately fills the screen, and your consciousness, like the sight of a venomous snake coiled for the lunge.

The holy-grail of the story is also established, in the form of two much-sought after black briefcases. Cashay must track them down and bring them back to his former handlers in the Intelligencia. The assignment is made irresistible when the ‘good-guys’ offer Cashay the chance to avenge his wife’s murder.

What follows is a tension building skulk through an attractively gritty, sexy underworld of strippers and killers, that spans from the dark alleys of Milwaukee to the bright lights of Tokyo. It is a darkly fantastic landscape, made real with the use of period-appropriate props, and peopled with the genre-essential cast of supporting characters. There is the always cooperative privateer, Casey Thunderbird (Barry Polterman,) the deliciously sexy hit-woman, Black Licorice (Nicole Johnson,) and a whole host of agents, assassins, hit-girls and hotties. A series of hand-offs, coded conversations and doubles crosses move the story along smoothly, without every letting up the pressure that has been steadily re-doubling since the first turn of the projector.

The drama is expertly punctuated with shoot-outs, car chases and even a brief, but impacting homage to Hitchcock’s classic thriller North By North West. All the while, the viewers sense that they have been taken on a ride that is far more than they had bargained for sinks deeper into the psyche, which is cruising more and more comfortably with every passing 8 mm. frame.

Over the course of the film, we are shown several clips of what appears to be beta-cam recorded video of young women seemingly auditioning for porno. As the story progresses, we come to understand the true nature of the footage, how it ties the principals players together, and ultimately, what they, and it, convey to us about the true meaning of power. This last idea, the meaning of power, is driven home for the audience in a climactic encounter between Squire Parks and Director Holiday, where Trejo’s words and deeds can only be described as pure Vato Loco, HOMES!

All in all, Frankie Latina and Milwaukee-based Special Entertainment can be very proud of Modus Operandi. They have not only succeeded in bringing a spot-on homage to the hard-hitting , so-called exploitation genre to a modern audience, but they have managed to remind us that a good film is about transporting the audience.

Modus Operandi is sure winner that takes you through the shadows and into another world. Now that I know, I can tell you; between the cool tunes of the sound-track, the seemingly endless supply of Hot bodies and the cold, calculated style of Stanley Cashay, it’s a world in which you will be fully engrossed, and won’t ever want to leave.

Film: "Modus Operandi"
Director: Frankie Latina
Film's website: www.frankielatina.com
Screening at Reel Fest, March 14th, 2011 www.reelfest.org

Review written by Joseph James Bellamy
Editor: TS Harmon

Be Careful What You Pretend To Be

             Live action role playing is a topic that has been widely covered in documentary form, since it is easy find subjects worthy of an audience’s sympathy, pity, or scorn, and there is already an easily defined narrative to the proceedings that can be easily juxtaposed with the reality of the subjects’ lives. It is also an area that is relatively unexplored in narrative features, given that it is home to outsized personalities, giant battles, opposing factions, and it all seems very silly to those who choose not to partake. It can make for great comedy, or, as it is used in The Wild Hunt, it can make for some tense drama.

            The Wild Hunt starts out in a similar fashion to another movie about LARPing, Darkon, in that it fully immerses the audience in the actual game, as if it were real, before pulling back the curtain to reveal that all of the fights were with foam swords. From there it moves, briefly, to the real world, where Eric and his girlfriend, Lyn, are going through relationship problems. After she leaves to take part in the game, he begins having bad dreams about her, and eventually heads off to crash the game in search of her. The early scenes come off like so many mumblecore dramas, with characters milling about, unable to express their emotions with any sort of clarity or enunciation. This is also contrasted with the land of the game, where everyone tends to shout their feelings and desires in a theatrical style reminiscent of fantasy. The early scenes are also shot through a blue filter, with overexposed lighting, giving the real world a sort of unreal, depressing quality.

            Once at the game, Eric trudges through it, begrudgingly dressing in proper costume attire and loudly declaring to anyone he comes into contact with how he is not really playing the game, looking for Lyn. His feelings of superiority to the silly costumed people that are taking the game seriously are easy to see. After his first, brief encounter with Lyn, in which she rebuffs him in favor of the silly costumed people, he teams up with his older brother, Bjorn, to try to win her back through playing the game, setting in motion events that nearly destroy the fantasy world.

            Alexandre Franchi’s excellent direction, in conjunction with the terrific cinematography by Claudine Sauve, creates a mood of mounting dread that starts shortly after Eric enters the fantasy world and doesn’t let up until the end. There is something unsettling about the fantasy world, and the way some of these characters wrap themselves in it, like religious zealots. It’s easy to see how such people could end up running wild, given that so much of their ego is wrapped up in the game. They have played characters of great importance for so long that they actually believe they are important.

            Despite taking place in expansive woods, the film feels claustrophobic. It is as if the escape that these characters are searching for is also keeping them confined. There is no true freedom to be found through the game, and nowhere in these woods to hide. The only character that seems to be truly enjoying everything is King Argyle, who uses the rules and his position in the game world to just be a terrific bastard to everyone else. He’s not above using cheap tricks to win, and then taunting his opponents.

            The one problem with the film is the character of Lyn, and what I like to call the Ramona Flowers conundrum: she does not seem to care enough about the relationship to make the audience care about the relationship, or make us understand why the main character would go to such lengths for her. She is more like a prize, and the only sense we get of her character is that she is only interested in fun. She seems to just want to be wanted, and shows extreme ambivalence about everything that doesn’t revolve around her. If I were Eric, I’d just cut my losses, as opposed to going through all that trouble just for her.

            Still, even with that problem, The Wild Hunt is fun little movie, filled with great characters, and enough respect for its fantasy world that it never falls into derision, yet still has a sense of humor about it. The direction is tight, and the cinematography is top notch. If you are a fan of role playing, tense dramas, or well made films in general, check out The Wild Hunt.


Written by Mark Donovan
Editor: TS Harmon

In Brightest Day, In Blackest Night, WB Does the Lantern Right.

Joseph Bellamy I have been a comic book fan for literally as long as I can remember. I sport half-sleeve tattoos devoted to the Avengers and the Justice League, if that gives you a sense of the depth of my faith. Between the rising tide (some would say ‘glut’) of comic book based films and the recent opportunity to write about them in these pages, I’ve been a happy camper…mostly.

From the Batman, Iron Man, Hell Boy and X-Men franchises, to smaller scale books with big screen impact, like the Losers, 30 Days of Night, Kick-Ass and the now classic M.I.B., it is fair to say the comic-book-to-film formula has been perfected in Hollywood. Even less auspicious works (not necessarily Bryan Singers’ Superman Returns, Eng Lee’s Incredible Hulk, or the tailspins of the Fantastic Four and Spiderman properties…just less auspicious works), have proven to be the grist necessary to sharpen studios up on what the fans want to see in an adaptation. It is these questions of what fans want, as well as why they want it, and how they get it that shapes my following effort regarding WB’s the Green Lantern.

I saw the film opening night on a double date with friends. To the chagrin of my wife, I had elected to wear my glow in the dark Green Lantern insignia tee shirt and a not-quite matching green sleeveless hoodie, emblazoned on the back with a stencil of same. ‘Why?’ you might ask. I am a fan. I spent the twenty minutes before the film answering questions posed by my wife and our companions about the main character because I am a fan. I wrinkled my nose at the traces of palpable evil left on the screen by Tim Robbins and Peter Sarsgaard. I spoke along in a giddy whisper when Ryan Reynolds (the chief, if not sole reason my wife was attending), recited the oath of the Green Lantern Corps for the first time. I “oooohed” and “ahhhhed,” audibly at the galacti-gasm of digital effects (including the impressively accurate rendering of a number of non-human Lanterns) and cheered out loud when Reynolds applied his trademark ‘wide-eyed innocent’ face to Hal Jordan’s triumphant acceptance of his destiny. Why? Because I am a…well, you get the idea. 

My euphoria at seeing a lifelong favorite character and superhero master classman made real in big screen splendor carried me home and into the next morning. It was not until my daily look-through of favorite online media ports that my mood was destroyed. On page after page, review upon article upon sound bite, the flight into fantasy I had so enjoyed was being panned, pooh-poohed and generally written off as simplistic eye candy that fell short of the money mark demanded by its production cost. Worse were some of the judgments leveled against Reynolds, Robbins, and company.

My knee-jerk response was anger, rage even. Then I was struck by a simple and calming revelation: Most of the people judging this project don’t know what the hell they are talking about. They know studios and budgets and tag lines and demographic studies of responses to Ryan Reynolds’ abs. What they don’t know is what the Green Lantern is and was before getting the Tinsel Town treatment. I now understand that most of what I read or heard was born out of the sadly typical ignorance of the Hollywood media machine to source material. Much was said about ‘problems’ of the effects budget, the pace and complexity of the plot, and the casting of Reynolds’ was misinformed. I would like to take this opportunity to clarify these misconceptions and hopefully shed the light of brightest day before this moment in spandex green history goes quietly into the darkest night of film flop-dom.

Yes, the effects budget and proportion of screen-time devoted to spending it was extensive.  How else can a studio hope to bring to life the first truly cosmic hero of comics’ silver age? Truth be told, the Green Lantern has been left largely un-attempted on film because of the nature of his abilities and the sheer scope of his story. Until the evolution of CGI, the choice for production was to do it well with traditional animation (Cartoon Networks Justice League series) or serve GL up like a plate of nachos, extra cheese (1997 CBS Justice League/America live-action pilot). We are, after all, talking about a man with the ability to create whatever he can conceive of and is charged with using this ability to patrol and protect a territory measured in solar systems, as part of a peacekeeping force composed entirely of nonhumans. When you throw in a villain that is nothing short of planet-devouring evil, the Lantern is the definition of ‘go big or go home’. An approach, which incidentally, might have saved Marvel Entertainment’s treatment of their intergalactic hero in Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer.

If one’s objection is to the look of the energy creations, or the CGI costume, may I point out that in his earliest forms, GL used such ‘cool’ designs as giant boxing gloves, handcuffs, and old fashioned push mowers? The constructs presented in the film: a crude fist, to start, a rollercoaster rail, a big-ass machine gun, and various beams and force fields, are at least reasonable creations of a 20-something adrenaline junkie’s mind.  As to the costume, it is exactly what a Lantern’s uniform should have been all along, a creation of the ring. Who would sweat it in spandex when you can go with a stylish personal force field? Not me, especially not if I had Reynolds’ cut.

I return to the origins of the character in regards to the casting of Ryan Reynolds. It has been suggested that the intent was to update the character, trading Reynolds’ humor and charm for the stoic, conservative space-cop of the comics. It is more likely, or at least preferable to believe, that someone in the studios research department actually earned their pay that week. You see, in the beginning phases of his GL tour, Hal Jordan was an arrogant, thrill-seeking womanizer with a heart of gold, zero ambition, gallons of boyish charm and the body of a classical statue. Imagine, oh, I don’t know, National Lampoon’s Van Wilder in spande…oh, right!

It has only been since Denny O’Neil’s treatment of the character as a foil to the more liberal views of a character called Green Arrow, in comics published by DC in the 70’s, that GL has gone cold fish. Prior to this point, Hal Jordan was just the sort of character Reynolds plays to perfection. While Tim Robbins was doubtless brought in purely to add credibility, this does not diminish his portrayal of the devious Senator Hammond. Besides, am I the only one to see the gag in having a millionaire movie star with an aggressively liberal political bent play a scumbag politician who’s in bed with the defense industry…really? I have no other comments regarding the remainder of the cast save that Michael Clark Duncan was the only reasonable choice for Killowog, and Mark Strong IS Sinestro, period.

I accept that anything I say about the script or plot will be likely dismissed as biased lip service from a devoted geek. Nothing could be closer to the truth. It is in this vein that I urge anyone screening, reviewing, critiquing, or even writing a comic book based film to consider what comics truly are: bright, explosively fantastic pieces of mythology. At its heart, any myth strives to explore a basic truth or significant question of the human experience. In the case of the Green Lantern, we are asked to consider the strength of self-belief. The rules of operating the eponymous ring are the moral of the story; when you believe in yourself, you can do anything. It’s a clear message rendered without over-complication in an exciting, eye-catching adventure. This altruistic formula has worked on the pages of comic books for decades, thrilling and educating the young while reminding the older reader of the wonder and faith they knew in their youth. The same holds for the film as its news print counter part. If the plot is simple and the story moves a bit quickly, I submit it is to maximize the enjoyment of learning a tough lesson, a spoonful of green sugar, if you will. Ultimately, although comic books and their adapted films are not just for kids anymore, they are best enjoyed and understood when we allow for the childlike in ourselves. Also, it can’t be dismissed that the story is the opening chapter to a multi-film epic which may itself be part of a larger enterprise, the much-hoped for Justice League film.

I can’t claim that the Green Lantern was a perfect film.  I can say, with the definitive authority of a lifelong geek and perspective of a critical eye, that it was exactly the fun-filled, action-packed trans-galactic flight of fantasy I was looking for when I slid my credit card at the box office. My only regret is that others in my field seem to have been too busy picking at the bark of the trees to take in the emerald majesty of the forest. Perhaps some day, the popularity of the comic book genre will blossom into a fully realized sense of respect for the art form. Perhaps then, when the entire enterprise has been made a dry, dissected academic footnote to our cultural history, my peers will realize they missed the fun part.

Review written by Joseph James Bellamy
Editor: Deborah Bellamy
Published by Modern Cinema Magazine

Stockbrokers Are People Too, Maybe

You may want a primer on the behaviors and history that lead to the financial collapse of 2008 before going in to Margin Call, the new financial thriller from writer/director J.C Chandor. There are numerous terms and numbers thrown out at the characters and audience, and it’s hard to make sense of it all. But, then, that’s the point. Margin Call tells the story of a 24 hour period in which a few managers and executives at a Lehman Brothers-like firm try to avert an impending disaster, in which even the very highest executives are not entirely sure what the information means. The one character who seems to have the best grasp on the information is a rocket scientist, and even he doesn’t know exactly what is happening, or how to stop it.

It may seem somewhat masochistic to watch a financial thriller about the 2008 financial collapse while we are still experiencing the effects of it, but Margin Call makes for an effective and entertaining thriller, even while keeping the majority of the action contained to various boardrooms and offices. The boardroom scenes are tense, without devolving into shouting matches between veteran actors. And none of the actors come across as outright villains, they are all just people put into the overwhelming situation of trying to avert impending disaster, though Jeremy Irons does come off slightly vampiric. It is a bold move- especially in these times, where stockbrokers are perceived as enemy #1.

The ensemble cast includes Kevin Spacey, Paul Bettany, Demi Moore, Zachary Quinto, Simon Baker, Irons, and Penn Badgley. Stanley Tucci also shows up in scenes that bookend the film, as the risk management director whose work exposes the impending collapse, and whose role also seems to be the guy that just spouts numbers. It’s a role similar to Liam Neeson’s in Gangs of New York, in that he is mentioned constantly throughout the film while only appearing in it for a few minutes, not in the spouting numbers way. As one of the least recognizable names in the ensemble, Quinto does a fine job as Tucci’s rocket scientist protégé, who takes over his work after he is fired early on.

Kevin Spacey and Paul Bettany also deliver fine performances. This is perhaps one of Kevin Spacey’s best performances since Moon (where he played the voice of the robot GERTY), and it’s always good to see Bettany doing more than just glowering while killing CGI monsters. Penn Badgley is passable as a young, cocky stockbroker, though I kept thinking he was Adam Brody. Are we sure they’re not related? It was somewhat sad to hear his character admit that all he ever wanted to do was be a stockbroker. He must have had very little imagination as a kid.

Simon Baker and Demi Moore fare less well, though they aren’t given much to work with. They mostly just stay in the background as Spacey, Bettany, and Irons do the heavy lifting. And the one scene with the two of them sandwiching a cleaning woman in an elevator is a little too on the nose in terms of imagery. Aasif Mandvi can also be glimpsed taking a short break from The Daily Show, though he is given even less to do than Moore.

Margin Call occasionally evokes another one-location thriller, Deterence, though I would say that Margin Call is much more sure-footed and effective. Both deal with people making impossible choices in the face of catastrophe, but Margin Call has the benefit of being a fictional account of real events, and the ensemble is much better. While it may seem strange to find entertainment and excitement in a film about an event from which we are still feeling the fallout, Margin Call is nevertheless a well made, tense thriller, which manages to also be entertaining.

Written by Mark Donovan
Editor: TS Harmon

FILM REVIEW: "Cast Me If You Can," by Mark Donovan

Mark Donovan  FILM REVIEW: "Cast Me If You Can," by Mark Donovan The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is a cinematic figure that has existed for about five decades, though it has never been used as frequently as it has in the past 7 years.

For those that do not know, the MPDG is a bit of cinematic wish fulfillment; a girl/woman who was put on this Earth to selflessly nurture the broken hearts of lonely men. The biggest surprise of Cast Me if You Can, a new romantic comedy from Japan, is finding out that the MPDG exists in other cultures, too.

Ah, but there is a difference. The MPDG in this case is almost an actual person. Her name is Aya, played by Hiromi Nagasaku, and she has problems of her own. She may be a master thespian, and very handy when it comes to disarming a thief using only a mop handle, and she may have an unflappable cheerfulness about her, but her love life isn’t going well. Her boyfriend/husband is seen walking out on her very early on, because he just can’t take her “energy”. She also works a dead end job at a convenience store, and, later in the film, gets evicted because her ex-boyfriend/ex-husband blows all of the rent money at a casino. Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be an MPDG.

Then again, Aya is not the focus of the movie. The main story revolves around Hiroshi, the son of a famous playwright and supporting actor extraordinaire, who dreams of becoming a lead actor. Hiroshi is played by Toru Masuoka, essentially the Japanese equivalent of Steve Buscemi, who’s been acting for roughly 30 years, but always in a supporting role. In the film, Masuoka gets his chance to play the lead in “The Woody Allen Remake”- it is never mentioned which of Woody Allen’s films is being remade, but my money is on Curse of the Jade Scorpion- but sees his hopes dashed due to a false report that he is carrying on an affair with a married woman. The obvious real life parallels are not lost on director Atsushi Ogata. It is also one of many times in which Masuoka is mistaken for someone else- a running joke which leads to a few clever gags.

While writer/director Ogata doesn’t stray too far from the Romantic Comedy Playbook, he does add in a few fun set pieces, a couple interesting characters, and a world in which, while there are a few instances of humanity gone wrong, people tend to look after one another. The world may continue to be an imperfect place, but for 90 minutes those instances of imperfection are the exception, not the rule.

Back to the beginning; Masuoka, having just been fired, meets Nagasaku at a train station where a man is accosting her under the impression that she stole his wallet. Masuoka intervenes and somehow inherits a strange, chipper tag-along, who recognizes him as supporting actor then follows him around for an undisclosed period of time. For their “meet-cute”, Masuoka gives the impression that he’d rather be anywhere else but next to this odd girl, while Nagasaku remains cheerful as ever, giving advice about grapes and seeming star struck even though Masuoka is far from a “star”. It is an odd scene, which sets the tone for their romance. It isn’t exactly what would be expected out of a romantic comedy, even though it is clearly a romantic comedy. Cast Me never truly subverts the genre clichés, but it does its best to subtly alter them.

There are certainly Woody Allen-esque touches to the film, including a prolonged, caper-style bit where Masuoka tries to clear his name through stalking the woman whom he was supposedly having an affair, but those bits don’t add up to a whole. Though it may involve a few trapping of other genres or directors, those elements are just pieces of a whole. The film belongs to the singular vision of Ogata and co-writer Akane Shiratori.

It helps that Cast Me is stacked with noted Japanese thespians. Nearly every role in the film is played by a Japanese celebrity, down to even the tiniest of supporting roles. Hell, the father is played by Masahiko Tsugawa, the Cary Grant of Japanese cinema. If this were an American release it would be on par with the average summer blockbuster.

Early screenings of the film prove that it is quite the crowd pleaser. Anyone who is a fan of Japanese cinema, or a romantic comedy fan in general, should seek out this movie. It may not be a game changer, but it still makes for a fun time while it lasts.


Film website http://elevenarts.net

Written by Mark Donovan
Editor: TS Harmon

My America at Reel Fest DC

My America, a cinematic achievement by Rod Webber and Joseph James Bellamy, to play at Reel Fest DC. Check it out. Nov 10th to 14th at CDIA. Reel Fest DC.

‘Applebox’ Stands Tall, ‘Directors Cut’ Is Sharp Filmmaking - by Joseph James Bellamy

I recently had the opportunity to take in two selections at the Boston International Film Festival, at the Lowes Multiplex on Boston Common. It was an evening well spent, to say the least.

The first offering was a short about being, well, short. In Rick Page’s Applebox, starring James Radone, we see just how much of who we are depends on how we are perceived. Radone gives a hilarious, and ultimately touching performance as James Bronson, 5’3” of A-list Leading Man chasing the elusive golden figurine. We soon see the key to Bronson’s success is a 2’X1’ wooden box that allows the sample sized star to rise to any challenge. Page summarizes Bronson’s career in a hysterical stream of riffs on well known, low-rise actors, each ending with him stepping off of the titular box, while staying in frame. Hoffman, Pesci, and Pacino all get the treatment, and Radone brings a genuine humor to each in turn. It made me wish that Tom Cruise had gotten the Academy nod, just to see him get skewered in this top-flight comedy sequence. The off camera Bronson is a pampered, self absorbed egotist, fully immersed in his own larger than life public image.

When the box is stolen, Bronson finds his world falling apart. His trophy wife leaves him, his lucrative book and lecture tour falls through and all seems well and truly lost. It is at this point that Radone steps things up a notch, or two. Where his portrayal of the pompous Bronson is tongue in cheek at the outset, the misery, rage, confusion and desperation of the characters fall are the height of poignancy. We learn how far out of reach not only success, but simple acceptance can be, when you’re ‘Just not the right type, physically’. With the inclusion of misses from Radone’s own audition reel, the phrase ‘Sorry, we’re looking for a leading man.’ becomes a heartbreaking mantra of rejection in a world where he no longer measures up.

Bronson deserves his misfortune, but his situation raises a question. What are we without our self-embellishments? Sure, we’re not all standing on boxes, but how many of us dye our hair, wear specific brands, endure body modifications, or engage some other deliberate affectation in our appearance? Now, how many of us can say we do these things for reasons other than to be taken seriously by those who’s approval we desire? It’s a visual culture, and the clothes (or the box) make the man.

The film closes with a monolog, performed half by a nearly raving Bronson as he wanders the streets of L.A., and completed in what appears to be a turn as Napoleon, sans-box. He cries out for the love, the respect, and the glory he feels he has earned, echoing the sense of frustration shared by so many. It is this deeply moving recitation that ultimately wins Bronson his heart’s desire.

It’s clear that with Applebox, Page has created a short film that stands tall on big laughs and an even bigger heart, with a legitimate leading man, in Radone, who is head and shoulders above the crowd.



The second film, Director’s Cut, the latest feature length effort from Writer/Director/ Producer Elana Mugdan, and Shivnath productions spoke not only to a dear place in my heart, but to the humor centers of my brain.

The film chronicles the tragedies, triumphs, mistakes and miracles that befall Cassie (the sweetly spunky Hallie York) a hapless intern with a heart of digital video tape. Cassie’s life is spinning out of what little control she has had over it since leaving school. Her job sucks, her parents vacillate between oblivion and cold disapproval. She is frustrated by what seems like, “no way to accomplish something before I die,” as she puts it. Worse still, there is no silver lining in sight. It is only when her uber-geek, and coincidentally brilliant friend Eugene (a hysterically spot-on Brian Cheng) puts his latest fantasy opus in her hands, and demands that she make it a film, that she sees a way out of her quarter-life rut.

To any major studio, Eugene’s out there fiction, centering on a teleporting alien vampire pirate queens attempts to take over the world (No, really…) would be a poison apple, with worms. Cassie, however, possesses the trait most needed and common to those committed to independent film: She believes that a good film is about telling a good story, and Eugene’s story is good. Armed with that belief, she recruits her slacker friend, Gary (a preternaturally serene Jonathan Fernandez) as her first crew member and sets out to make a movie. A brush off at the reception desk of a production company sets the bad-to-worse tone of the story early.

In spite of this setback, and fueled by a chance meeting with a famous producer, Cassie’s commitment and tenacity are re-doubled. A little elbow grease and a trip to the print shop later, she has collected a beautifully comic array of cast and crew. And what a crew! There’s Cal, a photographer famous for out of focus images as Director of Photography (Eric J. Eastman, channeling at least one real life DP I’ve known), the hopelessly under-qualified Assistant Director, Ariel (Jessica Coals), who’s laughable ignorance keeps her star-struck on a set without any stars, Tom the air-headed pretty boy leading man (The truly talented Jack Kropac), a homeless boom operator, and Zeke, the videogame junkie turned post production wiz-kid.

From leading-lady walk-outs, to prima-donna technical-experts, to uncooperative weather, the project runs the entire gauntlet of obstacles. They are even mistaken for a porn outfit and nearly arrested. Scenes are dropped, dialog is changed and tempers flair all around. There are sound and lighting issues of all kinds, with all of the solutions being heaped on Zeke, (the hacker,) and his digital manipulations. (It’s a method which is frighteningly popular in the world of big-budget film making-- Just ask James Cameron or Steven Spielberg.) Hell, there are even puppets.

The entire bullet-train-wreck is nearly derailed by the utter destruction of the production’s only camera, complete with a bittersweet funeral for the gadget. If all of this sounds like crossing a bridge too far to tilt at windmills, welcome to independent film making. Not only is this sort of mayhem common to the form, but, as Cassie and company discover, it’s the best part. All movies have problems and adjustments in the course of production. The beauty of the independent effort is the rigors and the rushes of solving these problems are experienced hands-on by all who are involved. It doesn’t matter if you are the director or the person getting coffee, since more often than not these two positions are one and the same. Among the many narrative and stylistic beauties of Director’s Cut, is that it is an independent film about independent film, that manages to avoid most, if not all of the technical gaffes and giveaways that are the less-than-flattering hallmark of the form.

In Directors Cut, Mugdan paints a heart-warming, and hilariously accurate portrait of the artistry, camaraderie, and lunacy that is independent film. The humor and humanity of the film come from the truth of the experience. Having been part of more than a few such projects, I know the real deal when I see it, and this is it. In fact, I felt as though I had known, worked and hung out with the entire cast, and shared their bond.

The character of Cassie reminds me of a certain all-or-nothing director I know quite well. Both are strung tight between the need for creativity that drives them, and the lives they must make fit between and around those goals. Neither will give up on what they are, filmmakers, just because the world around them is slow to share their vision. It is this kind of love, and there is no other word for it, that inspires those around them (my self included) to leap headlong into the seemingly impossible. They, and Mugdan, believe that it is the act of making the film that matters, and the film itself, though permanent, is merely a recorded echo of the fearless roar within creative spirits. We who join the charge, in front of or behind the camera, believe because they do. After seeing this film, you’ll believe too. You may even find yourself re-editing the scenes, characters and plot of your life to make your own Directors Cut.

Written by Joseph James Bellamy
Editor: TS Harmon