LUCIDMEDIA

At the heart of Lee Demarbre’s new film Vampiro: Angel, Hero, Devil is the story of a man’s incredible journey, from small-town outcast to celebrated international figure. That figure, Ian Hodgkinson, pro-wrestler, former bodyguard, sometime-actor, and all-around hell-raiser, is profiled with wit, insight, and passionate feeling in DeMarbre’s 90-minute documentary. The Ottawa-born director, who previously helmed the cult horror-musical Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter, also directed Hodgkinson in The Dead Sleep Easy, an independent feature about a Mexican wrestler who becomes entangled with the mob. Talk about blurring the lines between fiction and reality. One of Vampiro’s earliest scenes features Hodgkinson trying to raise money for his newly-formed company, and casually mentioning the necessity of mob and drug-dealer involvement to get the new venture off the ground. Angel/hero/devil indeed.

For those unaware of the world of international wrestling, Hodgkinson is somewhat of a cult figure. A native of Thunder Bay, Hodgkinson made his name in the competitive, highly theatrical world of Mexican wrestling, under his stage name, Vampiro. With his multiple tattoos and corn-rowed hair, he’s a darker version of the colourful luche libre style of wrestler the country is known for, and yet, in his heydey in the mid 90s, Vampiro’s fame amongst Mexico’s passionately committed wrestling aficionados rivaled that of American Hulk Hogan’s. For all the film portrays its leading man in both flattering and unflattering lights, it’s as if Hodgkinson has been able to manipulate his director to only portray the parts that matter most –the parts that fit best with the angel-devil roles. The film moves along with a bouncy style that’s bumped up by the peppy raucousness of Teenage Head on the soundtrack, although the rat-a-tat punk style becomes a bit wearing, leaving one seeking the sounds of Rancid and Insane Clown Posse (supposedly two of Hodgkinson’s favourites) as well as snips of Billy Idol when it’s mentioned that the wrestler was once a big fan of the British singer.

Budgetary limitations aside, Demarbre and crew do a fine job of portraying the chaotic energy in and around the ring. Moving back and forth in time, the film is structured in two phases, between the lead-up to a fateful night when Hodgkinson tries to start his own wrestling federation, Revolution X, and the European match tour months earlier. Viewers are lead into the world of international wrestling, and, far from the bright lights of the WWF, we find a world that makes up with passion what it lacks in glamour. DeMarbre shows Hodgkinson carrying his own luggage and provoking his British handler to the point of near-tears; compare these scenes with those in which the brawny wrestler talks about missing his ex-wife and plays with his five-year-old daughter. We see the various sides to Vampiro –the light, the dark, and even the grey –through interviews with family and past friends, learn about his unresolved relationship with his father, childhood sexual abuse, his connection to French Canadian wrestler Louis Laurent, his youthful thuggery in Montreal, and eventual employment (as a bodyguard-come-fake-bassist) for Milli Vanilli. Quite the life for a kid from Thunder Bay who could’ve been a goalie with the Montreal Canadiens.

According to the director, many more stories got left on the cutting room floor, including a friendship with The Wrestler actor Mickey Rourke (whom Hodgkinson resembles, minus the plastic surgery), but with the material at hand, Demarbre has crafted a fascinating portrait of a man passionately dedicated to his life’s work. One memorable scene shows Hodgkinson instructing a group of younger British wrestlers about the choreography of a scene, as each move, done later before a cheering crowd, is performed with bloody precision. Another scene features Revolution X’s match coordinator yammering to Hodgkinson about the ongoing match as the wrestler listens intently and takes a bevy of vitamin supplements at the same time. It’s all part of the show –a literal example of the life-giving elixir needed to maintain the part, and a perfect encapsulation of the world from which the character of Vampiro arose.

Hodgkinson is nothing if not a willful contradiction under Lemarbre’s close lens; highlighting the saint/sinner dialectic, the wrestler, who has EVIL tattooed across his abdomen, is shown in the film’s opening scenes as founding the Guardian Angel’s Mexico City chapter. Though this element is (sadly) never subsequently re-visited, it does provide some interesting illumination later on, as Hodgkinson is shown visiting the Italian church where the shroud of Turin is housed. By the time he instructs a tattoo artist on where he wants crosses on his forehead, we sense the only faith he hangs onto, amidst the pressures of career and family, is his ability to perform in the ring. But the story Lemarbre tells is one that goes far past the testoserone-fuelled sport; through a combination of insightful shooting and skillful editing, the film details the contradictions that lay at the heart of one man in his journey to embrace his own capabilities –as a father, a husband, a businessman, a son.Angel/Devil/Hero? Not quite. Walking contradiction? Perhaps. Showman? Absolutely.

For more information, please go to www.vampiromovie.com.

The Last Pogo is a grainy, in-the-moment collection of bands who played Toronto’s famed Horseshoe Tavern for the last time, on December 1, 1978. Filmed in all of their sweaty, gritty glory, Colin Brunton’s film is a watermark in the city’s musical and cultural history.

Although the footage is thirty years old, the remarks and insights of various band members between performances are striking for their prescience. To paraphrase a member of famed Toronto band The Two Garys, “the fifteen-to-forty-five (year old) generation, the new generation, desires to be heard.” Word’s still out on whether forty-five was considered an important musical demographic in 1978, especially since a mere ten years earlier, no one over thirty could apparently be trusted. Still, nary a music lover under seventy could today be found without an mp3 player or I-tunes on their computers. The insight itself might be understood as a kind of battle cry for every generation of music lover, but what with the proliferation of new media in the last ten years, that insight holds particularly deep resonance.

Equally as striking is the contemporary sound of the bands features. Along with the Garys, the film features live performances by Cardboard Brains, Ugly, The Viletones (who are definitely the most “punk” of the night, with a fight in the crowd nearly breaking out during their number), and local legends Teenage Head, who overcome terrible sound quality to give an energetic, rousing performance. “It’s not the end of something”, notes one member, “it’s the beginning of something.” Their raucous, upbeat, guitar-driven, drum-thrashing sounds would be perfectly at home in any of Toronto’s numerous live music venues today, and indeed, prove an ideal addition to the North by Northeast Festival itself.

Another live, but altogether different, sort of live performance is captured in The Side Street Project, billed as the first in a series of one-hour HD specials. This episode features the talents of Canadian musicians combined in new and creative ways. Poetic rapper Buck 65, piano mistress Emm Gryner, and deluxe electro-outfit Holy F*ck come together before a smaller live audience and, with Charles Officer hosting, create music, talk about creating music, and do the sort of sonic doodling that is mostly never seen on film.

The film (actually a TV pilot) is an interesting mélange of styles and sounds; from a visual point of view, it offers a varied and ever-changing point of view, from up-close-and-personal, to wide and sweeping (or, as sweeping as possible, considering the project is shot entirely indoors). In watching Buck 65’s country-styled alt-intelli-hip-hop stylings, one can’t help but be reminded of the last line in The Last Pogo concerning music labels: they just don’t matter.

This point is driven home when, following scenes of the band members eating and talking about pertinent issues like parental disapproval and the constant juggling act between family, money, and passion, they launch into a highly unorthodox version of the Def Leppard hit, Pour Some Sugar On Me. Gryner’s delicate, girlie voice rises above the din of piano, scratching, and thumping percussive accompaniment. The members of Holy F*ck are so intently focused, they don’t even seem to breathe. The viewer moves from being a member of the audience to being a member of the band, thus creating an intimacy that isn’t always available to music fans (no, not even on Myspace). Another benefit to the roving camera technique is the opportunity to observe the fans observing the musicians; it’s a strange sort of position to be put in, because within that moment of slack-jawed wonder, we’re really seeing ourselves. It’s also an reflection of not only the passion and tenacity of the artists, but the same passion reflected back, in a kind of creative energetic exchange.

The connections between the musicians, and with the audience, having been firmly established, Bruce Springsteen’s State Trooper is given a driving, urgent re-working by the group, before their final piece de resistance, Gordon Lightfoot’s classic Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. With Buck 65 maintaining a rough, urbanized, rhythmic twang that demonstrates his feel for the rhythm of Lightfoot’s words, Gryner provides a haunting backdrop of vocals, and Holy F*ck a swirling mass of muddy, moody electronic sound that perfectly evokes the spirit, if not the actual melody, of the Canadian classic.

The Side Street Project is a fascinating exploration of the ways in which artists collectively create, interact, and interpret; it is a logical extension of the punk ethos espoused in The Last Pogo, that music and music fans, are constantly seeking new ways of sharing, connecting, and creating.

The Last Pogo screens on June 15th, at 5.30pm, at the NFB Cinema.
The Side Street Project screens on June 13th, at 11:15am, at the NFB Cinema.

For more information about films screening during the NXNE Festival, go to www.nxne.com.

“I am made in the image of God.”

This is the powerful statement that opens The Believers, a documentary that traces the inception and development of a choir in San Francisco. But this isn’t any traditional choir.

Populated by transgendered individuals, the Transcendence Choir, as it is known, was founded by Ashley Moore, a transgendered MTF (male-to-female), who is filmed walking, alone, down a street, at the film’s start. Between tracing her personal history, and that of a select group of the choir’s members, the audience is treated to a variety of ups and downs the choir experiences on the road to receiving recognition from not only musical quarters, but religious ones as well.

Todd Holland’s film is a sprawling, occasionally unfocused mishmash of personal histories and political commentary. The collage of old photos and choir performance introduces viewers to various members of the group, as well as their reasons for making that joyful noise.

Holland packs the first 10 minutes of the film with plenty of back story, music, and people; it’s a lot to absorb, and initially works against the momentum of the film. By the fifteen-minute mark, one wonders where exactly this jumbled tale of lovable, singing misfits can go. Much as the humanity is interesting in and of itself, Holland still hasn’t anchored his theme sufficiently to engage his audience.

That changes with the introduction of Bobbie, a “tranny” who never endured gender reassignment surgery, but lives as a woman. Her trip back to Memphis gives genuine insight into the confusion and judgment that transgendered people face from family, friends, and society as a whole. The setting itself also serves as a powerful symbol. Rife with poverty and neglect, this is certainly not Elvis’ Memphis, and it’s in such scenes that Holland portrays the hardship endured by not only the transgendered community, but by an entire American underclass who are offered little in the way of hope or escape. For many, the church is their refuge.

But does the church accept the transgendered? There has traditionally been a general mistrust between the LGBT (lesbian / gay / bisexual / transgendeed) community and mainstream religion, a gulf that has grown exponentially over the past eight years or so; the former don’t feel welcomed or accepted by the latter, and the latter tend to treat the former as outright freaks - sinners on a lost path.

However, Ashley Moore, the choir’s founder, is adamant that the choir’s modus operandi is not to convert anyone; equally, she doesn’t believe that the reasons for bias coming from churches are accurate. It is within this tension that The Believers fascinates. The tension between the moralists in traditional churches and the LGBT community gives the viewer a clear sense of the struggles of both the choir and its individual members for an acceptance that seems at once distant and near, as both sides are portrayed as equally intransigent and unwilling to open the lines of communication.

Yet it’s the music that does the communicating, because in hearing the glorious singing of the Transcendence Choir, one can’t help but be moved –whatever their persuasion. And so, edited between personal histories, news stories, and member observations, are cuts of the choir, and its members, lifting up their voices in perfect harmony. Listening to their heartfelt rendition of “I Almost Let Go”, with its powerful, perfectly-suited lyrics, one senses the healing and connection music creates between both its members, and between a broader public as well.

This healing is perhaps best exemplified in the story of Moore, whose father, we learn, had sexuality issues that were continually denied (up to the present, interestingly) by Yvette, Moore’s mother, whose voice we hear at the start of film, urging her to “stay on the positive things”. That naïve, tragic statement belies the horrendously violent the details of Moore’s past. Of all the choir members, Ashley’s story is perhaps the most poignantly portrayed. If anyone has reason to not believe, it’s her, and yet she is filmed, in a variety of personal scenarios, directing the choir, discussing her past, visiting her old home, sitting with her mother, and recording the choir’s first album Holland hits stride in such moments, revealing the humanity amidst the tangle of back stories and characters that occasionally weigh down its narrative and focus.

The Believers is a film about acceptance –of self, of others, of life itself, in both its good and bad forms. Music is the binding force that connects and heals. So despite the political forays (the murder of transgendered prostitute Gwen Araujo is portrayed, along with the resulting media circus) and the jubilant pride (the group wins the Out Music Award for album of the year), this is ultimately a film about love and acceptance. Holland uses the affirmation of the Transcendence Choir by the Assembly of the United Church of Christ as a parallel to Yvette’s acceptance of Moore at the film’s end; it would appear that the two seemingly-opposed worlds, of tradition and modernity, are, in fact, one and the same, and entirely equal, in divine eyes.

The Believers screens Sunday, May 25th, at 2.30pm, at Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum, as part of the Inside Out Gay and Lesbian Film and Video Festival.

For more information, go to www.insideout.ca.

Love My Life is a colourful, contemporary film that uses modern-day Japan as a parable for self-acceptance and love.

Based on a manga (or Japanese comic) by Ebine Yamaji, who has penned several lesbian-themed works and serials, Koji Kawano's film translation portrays her characters with class, respect, and gentle humour. It's a refreshing change from the cultural or sexual stereotypes one might expect.

The opening shot introduces us to Ichiko, the main character, a university student. Slowly awakening, she begins a playful game of pass-the-grape between she and her lover -another young woman, Eriko. Kawano envelopes her leads in this shot, and throughout much of the film, in a soft, warm light, as if cocooning the girls within their own world of happiness - one that is both childish and child-like, and is full of all the wonder of young love and excitement.

That world is shown in various scenes, of the girls shopping, at the beach, on city street, constantly together. The threat of Ichiko's father not accepting the pair is cleverly subverted by turning the stereotypical "coming out to the parents" scenario on its ear: Ichiko's parents (her mother, though deceased) are both gay too.

Of course, this revelation initially leaves reeling -and frankly, it's a lot for an audience to accept within the first fifteen minutes of the film. We haven't even gotten past the first act, and already we're being loaded down with baggage to carry through the rest of the film's journey.

That baggage, however, turns out to be light indeed, as the revelations are treated with humour as well as humanity. The backstory also proves useful, for it offers insight into the future pain our heroine faces. Eriko (or Eri for short) confesses her heterosexual past after the two run into her (male) ex, and later shuts Ichiko out of her life altogether in preparation for a major set of legal exams she wants to take to spite her father, a scary, hyper-critical figure who doesn't believe she will succeed.

When Ichiko takes a job as a translator on the advice of her own father, we see her applying the same passion to her new-found work as she did to her relationship. She makes peace with her independence, and revels in her new-found sense of accomplishment and worth. She can define herself outside of her relationship to Eri.

As it turns out, Ichiko isn't the only one who's found inner peace; when Eri finally gets in touch, it's revealed that her true passion is writing, and she's been sequestering herself writing a memoir, and not, in fact, stufdying to be a lawyer.

Kawano brings out memorable performances from his young actors, particularly Rei Yoshii in the lead role, Miyoko Asada as her father, and Issei Takahashi as her loyal friend Take, a character who himself decides to come out based on her encouragement. Despite lacking the necessary chemistry with a subdued Asami Imajuku as Eri (the two seem more like best gal-pals than lovers, despite the romantic scenes), the film nevertheless moves along well and capably resolves itself. The palpable arc of love and loss, and a clear sense of momentum, leads to a strong resolution that is both moving and believable.

Love My Life is also nicely scored, thanks to a modern, rock-heavy soundtrack courtesy of Noodles, Japan's best-known rock group. Far from being tinkly and polite, Noodles' modern, guitar-heavy riffs are perfectly suited with the young, contemporary feel of the film, and Kawano has wisely decided to use it sparingly, if effectively, to transition scenes and underline buoyant moments. Emotional scenes are wisely left clean.

The same principle of simplicity works in Jun Fukumoto's contemplative cinematography. The closeness of simple things, like mugs of steaming tea or two gerbera daisies, or the vast sweeping panoramas of a desolate beach or of an empty classroom, all contain a gorgeous resonance and meditative quality that act as a counter-balance to the frenetic pace of the story and numerous characters.

Still, the number of characters, their backstories, and the melodramatic nature of the plot do occasionally weigh the film down -if only very occasionally. It is, frankly, refreshing to see a coming-of-age film portray its leads with such honesty, integrity, and joy. Kawano makes one care about their struggles, even if one can't keep the names or situations quite straight. Like the eggplants Ichiko's father loves so well (a hilarious piece of un-subtle symbolism, if ever there was one), one can't help but be drawn in by the film's sheer assortment of characters, whether they're mohawked punks, gap-toothed nerd-girls, fashion plates, rumpled writers, or sharp-suited businessmen. Everyone has a story, and Kawano, an obvious admirer of Yamaji's manga work, understands this implicitely.

Gay acceptance in traditional Japanese society is still a difficult topic. However, Kawano's film portrays the culture as being open to change, so long as people are wiling to accept their pasts, forgive themselves, and move on bravely, with love.

The title of the film works as both a question, and an answer - in any language.

Arigato!

Love My Life Screens at the ROM on Friday, May 23rd, 9.45pm.
For more information, go to www.insideout.ca.

General Idea; Art, AIDS, and the Fin De Siecle is a smart, powerful portray of the trio of Canadian artists known as General Idea, and the impact they had on popular art.

It documents the rise of the group through their television appearances in the Netherlands in the 60s, their responses to (and subversions of) other populist art movements, and their eventual involvement in pop art as a direct response to the emerging AIDS crisis on the 1980s.

As it turns out, it would be a very personal connection indeed; two of General Idea's members, Jorge Zontal and Felix Partz, would perish from the disease in the mid 90s. The surviving member of the group, AA Bronson, is the driving force of the film, yet is a subtle presence, with a notable lack of the theatrics and playful drama General Idea employed in their heyday.

General Idea were never known for cuddly, comforting work, even with the paintings of poodles, babies, and hilarious self-portraits. They were provocative, funny, and very keenly aware of the power of the emerging mainstream media.

Annette Mangaard's film is a smart, savvy collection of interviews, old footage, and narrative that cleverly weaves the history of the group with the context of their art-making and personal relationships. There is a strong through narrative that is keenly focused on the interconnections of the group themselves, and the forces that gave rise to their particular brand of dada.



Mangaard takes the audience back to Toronto of the 1960s, a time when, as Bronson notes, the art scene was still in its infancy. Initially, brought together via theatre work, the members of General Idea initially lived together in a storefront property before moving to Europe for a time, where they had a television program called "Colour Lab". The program made clever use of the still-faddish variety-show format as a force for comedy and subversion.

Even now, the clips shown of Colour Lab have a startlingly, provocative modernity to them; one can't help but be reminded of the 1990s video art troupe Emergency Broadcast Network, who were equally adept at using and abusing the technology in both style and content. 

It's equally interesting to note the ways in which Mangaard suggests the cyclical nature of the art world; GI used mainstream art as their foundation, turning it into underground subversion, which was later co-opted by mainstream culture. The scope and impact of GI's artwork, particularly the AIDS logos, heralds, sculptures, and capsule installations, are shown with a vivacity the group would have certainly applauded.

The low-key style of the film is perfectly suited to its subjects -allowing their work to come through loud and clear, without any interference. Mangaard and her team wisely provide plenty of context the circumstances that gave rise to GI, and the ideas that fed them until 1994. As Bronson notes in a voiceover, "we had no sense of anything we could relate to in the art world, or any other world. By binding together, we could form some sense of community that could allow us to grow more freely and quickly than we could within art world itself as it was at that time."

The personal connection of the group's members is explored in the last third of the documentary, as the deaths of Zontal and Partz are related with heartbreaking honesty and grace. Just as the Spanish installation Pharmacopia, the 7-foot-long capsules, or the painting Playing Doctor (which depicts the three listening to one another's hearts) are not meant to be comforting, so neither are the scenes of the artists' passing.

Respecting and understanding his colleagues (and lifelong friends), Bronson took photos of the deceased Partz, and the dying Zontal; in accordance with the death of General Idea, he also photographed himself, and inlaid the stark, black and white portrait on the top of a sarcophagus. The brutal honesty with which these scenes are depicted is both disturbing and deeply moving.

The 'Fin de Siecle' of the title, an installation depicting three harp seals, is a fitting symbol of the humour, subversion, intelligence and essential humanity the members of General Idea shared with the world. The words Bronson writes, shown at the end of the film, allow the audience a perfect reflection of a group whose work is still being felt in every aspect of popular culture: "In us behold the looking glass of life: such you will be, for we were what you are."

Waiting for Hockney is a touching, if occasionally maudlin, story of one's man journey to meet the famed British artist, David Hockey. It is a story that revolves around issues of identity, validation, and the definition of the word "artist".

We are introduced to sketcher extraordinaire Billy Pappas as he prepares for his meeting with Lawrence Weschler, art educator and friend to David Hockey. The history of his project is related in backflashes and visual cues that match what's being discussed onscreen. 

Filmmaker Julie Checkoway and her team bring a bucketload of energy, drive, and emotive music as the scenes between Bobby's journey to the Big Apple, and the reason he's going in the first place, are interwoven. We discover that the reason for his meeting is the major project Pappas has been working on: he calls it "Marilyn", he carries it around in a large box, and it's been nearly ten years in the making.

While no one wants to bring up that hoary old issue of ,' it is art or not', once the fruits of Pappas' ten-year labour are unveiled, they are... less than overwhelming. It looks like what it is: a pencil drawing of a photograph.

In this case, it happens to be Richard Avedon's famous, oft-produced photo of Marilyn Monroe, in which the starlet is looking away, her expression bereft and unsure. Good photo, but why draw it? 


Checkoway's film, while masterful, certainly leaves the viewer in no doubt as to which side of the line she's on. Waiting for Hockney has all the hallmarks of a cheerleading squad, what with Jeff Beal's over-the-top score and lingering close-ups of Pappas and his family. 

While it's touching, it does leave you wondering whether a greater degree of objectivity might've provided a deeper look into the differences that are to be drawn -literally or figuratively -between a person who's a genuine artist and a person who likes to draw.

Pappas himself is presented going about his day in his small farmhouse in Choptank, Maryland -his life isolated, his experience limited. We're not given any context as to his interest in art, or towards his drive in producing it. He seems curiously at odds with the hustle and bustle of New York and L.A., shown later in the film.

His work reminds one of, dare I say, the sort of thing you see hawked outside of any stadium just before a concert or sporting event. Only when magnified does the viewer get a sense of the long, painstakingly detailed process that was involved in "Marilyn"'s creation. The precision of his lines, shading, and shapes are remarkably -but is it art? 

And for that matter, why did he choose David Hockney?

The question never seems to be answered in any satisfactory manner.

Given the detailed, technical nature of Pappas' endeavors, perhaps Canadian Robert Bateman would've been a more suitable choice.

Regardless, the differences between the subject's work and that of Hockney is as different as apples to oranges. The long lines. loopy representations, colourful barrages of energy that define Hockey's defiantly-non-realistic paintings are shown in a barrage of edits and collages, as various associates and former assistants are interviewed in relation to his work, and with regards to the proposed meeting.



Charlie Sheips, Hockney's former assistant, who worked for the artist at the time of the sketch's unveiling, nicely conceals the art snobbery that lurks around the edges, though at one point his bewilderment with Pappas and his predicament is as obvious as ours.

"Anyone who presumes to know what David thinks is making a mistake," he says firmly. 

It's a pity we hear this only toward the end of the film. The entire structure of the work is clearly built around the assumption that Hockney will love "Marilyn", to the point of giving our hero the leg-up he obviously feels he is entitled to. By the time Hockney's true reactions are revealed (true as they can be, since they are conveyed through others), we're close to exasperation with our hero, and wishing he'd take his pencils to doodling instead.

While a myriad of Hockney's work is shown, the audience is given only... "Marilyn", and a collection of old family photos of Pappas. Where is his work? Is there anything else, besides the Hollywood starlet?

A curious amount of time is given to the oily figures who encouraged Pappas in producing Marilyn -namely Lawrence J. Link, an over-the-top architect who finances the endeavor, and Brother Rene, a local priest. Both are given ample face time at the start of the film, before curiously dropping away and out of Pappas' life. The fact they are portrayed with such passion and enthusiasm is curious in itself; the fact their vanishings are left unresolved is even more mysterious. Audiences crave resolution, probably because it's so lacking in their own lives. Yes, it is a documentary, but nevertheless, Waiting for Hockney still falls into a traditional narrative structure, and as such, its bit players require their loose ends be tied in a way that satisfies the audience. 

Stylistically, the film is every bit as painstaking and precise as Pappas' approach to his work; we see shots of his daily planner, with comments like "very upset", or "excited!", written in his characteristic all-caps hand, we see visual representations of daily mundanities like appointments whenever they're mentioned, we see him talking about the sling he used to put his arm in for working, and carefully filling in small sections wearing magnification goggles. 

Such visual interjections certainly help to move the story along, but they do nothing to contribute to our understanding of Pappas' drive, nor of his obsession to have Hockney see it. It's almost as if Checkoway doesn't quite trust her viewers -or subject -enough to let them think for themselves. Where Pappas might come off a loser in another flmmaker's hands, here's he's presented as "the little guy" who's chasing his dream. Nice sentiment, but the faith seems misplaced.

Standing outside of Hockney's door, Beal's score is annoyingly sentimental; I had to wonder if dead silence would've been a better choice. Viewers don't need the unsubtle reminder of 'THIS IS A BIG MOMENT' to underline the scene's importance -do they? Everything points to it on its own -from shots of Mrs. Pappas baking a poppyseed cake (to take along and present to Hockney) to Pappas carefully ironing his shirt, to the constant edits between mother and son, backflashes to work, and more shots of written notes in the subject's calendar. 

The choice, however, of having such a distinct emphasis on Pappas' family is interesting, because it provides some much-needed context to the drive of its main subject; it's here, in these family scenes, and various edits, where Waiting for Hockney really shines. Checkoway effectively uses the dynamics of the family to symbolize the theme of validation. It is a universally acknowledged truth that an insecure individual will look to his or her family for a sense of worth in their accomplishments. The Pappas family is no different. 

We come to see that it isn't only Pappas' own hopes and dreams that are tied up with Hockney's approval and help; the hopes and dreams of his family (specifically his mother) are very much tied up with them as well. Thus the film examines notions of validation, both personal and artistic, and becomes an exploration as to the hows and whys behind choice, relationship, and self-worth.

The last third of the documentary is perhaps the most revealing, as the filmmaker follows Pappas around his hometown, dropping off resumes and getting on with the reality in front of him. The shots of him working in a restaurant, interacting with patrons, counting cash, and clearing tables are moving for their honesty and simplicity.

Waiting for Hockney ends with Pappas revealing a self-portrait he is now working on; much less detailed than "Marilyn", done without the aid of magnification goggles or arm slings, it portrays the skilled technician, naked and defenceless, nicely realized, with only the head yet to fill in. 

Pappas explains that he hasn't finished that part; however, he's come to realize "what a fortune it is being able to draw". He's more interested, as he says, of "how I may surprise myself."

His self-portrait, like the artist, lacks a face, and yet, as Checkoway implies, he's still searching -only this time, David Hockney has nothing to do with it. 

Waiting for Hockney screens at the Royal on Saturday, April 26th, at 9.30pm.
www.hotdocs.ca

It’s funny, the things we do in our youth.

Hito Steyerl has a particular reason for blushing. In 1987, she worked in Japan, and posed as a rope bondage model. Her short, Lovely Andrea, documents her search for the photo –or series of photos –twenty years later. 

Screening as part of Hot Docs’ Mapping Identities short series, the piece is a fascinating, energetic piece of filmmaking that packs a lot into its 27 minutes. Stock footage, Spiderman cartoons, artful shots of a free-floating bondage performer, and oodles of interviews and photos of those involved with the rope bondage industry in Japan are shown. It’s a heady mix of seamy, sexy, and smart, and it works beautifully in exploring theme of identity it’s a part of.

In speaking with a number of photographers, bondage masters, and archivists, Steyerl ultimately uncovers the unspoken bonds that tie her to her life and her art. Perhaps most fascinatingly, the film uses her search for the photo as a means of examining larger questions of female identity; her journey also reveals the ways in which rope bondage is tied to Eastern ideas about shame, guilt, and limitation.

The short is nicely divided into small sections (humorously indicated with titles like “It’s Art!”, “Independence” and its flip, “Dependence”) and punctuated with loads of pop culture references; everyone from the Pet Shop Boys, to Aretha Franklin, to Donna Summer to the original trailer for the film Spiderman, with a helicopter shown caught in a web laced between the Twin Towers is shown, all linking the themes of connection and binding.

Steyerl also uses her translator, Agehi, as a symbol of self-empowerment; while Donna Summer’s ‘She Works Hard for the Money’ plays to a backdrop of endless shots of sad-eyed Japanese women in photographs, Agehi is presented with simple Japanese music, suspended in rope, fully clothed, and shot upside down, (to make her appear right side up, that is). She floats magically through the frame, both bound and unbound at the same time. It’s a clever dismantling of the masochistic attitudes that seem to creep in around the edges of Lovely Andrea –empowering, fascinating, and strangely poetic.



By contrast, Lilibeth Cuenca’s punchy three-minute Cockfight Song is a low-budget rap against the machismo that dominates both the brutal sport itself and those who enjoy it. 

Dressed in a barely-there flesh-tone rooster outfit, Cuenca raps over a simple beat; the irony of a woman donning a stereotypically masculine outfit is not new, but the fact the men involved with cockfighting itself are shown crying for blood underlines an interesting point about male-female relationships. 

Structurally, the piece’s format has a definite music-video feel (albeit a very indie one), and its main feature are the quickly-edited clips of cockfights and cheering male audiences interspersed with shots of Cuenca herself.

Both Lovely Andrea and Cockfight Song bring compelling ideas to the notion of Mapping Identity, although, it must be added, the latter’s repeated line of “a cock makes man’s world go around” seems to underline a rather nasty male stereotype.

As one Japanese ropemaster notes in Lovely Andrea, “Genitals are not between the legs but between the ears, inside the brain.”

Lovely Andrea and Cockfight Song screen as part of Next Shorts 3: Mapping Identity.
Both shorts will be screened along with three other shorts on Sunday, April 27th, at 4.45pm, at Innis College.

www.hotdocs.ca

Some think of art as political, others think it is personal.

The late documentary filmmaker David Maysles said, “all art is autobiographical”.

While films like Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter, Salesman or Running Fence might provide little in the way of clues as to their personal dimensions for Maysles, it’s in his daughter’s film that one finds insight into the artist, his life, and his work –and the connections therein.

Wild Blue Yonder, Celia Maysles' first film, was shot over four years, and examines the emotional terrain of loss, regret, family, and relationships. 

We see Celia seeking out her uncle, the noted documentarian Albert Maysles, who worked closely with her late father. The start of the film documents their abundant joy at this long-awaited reunion. 

Little would anyone be able to guess at the myriad of problems that arise over the course of the film. 

It was a source of conflict Celia herself says she didn’t see coming.

"I thought the film would have this happy ending," she says with a hint of sadness, "I thought we’d have this great relationship, we'd spend time together. I had really high hopes. That was the hardest part of making the film - trying to accept that that would never happen."

The fact she chose to include both her and her father's therapy sessions provides a whole new layer of insight into the connection both father and daughter share.

"That’s why I included the therapy sessions," she says, "it was the hardest thing to deal with -moreso than dealing with my dad's death –was the fact I was being turned away by a relative. It was a frustration when everyone else was so cooperative, and I couldn't accept (Albert) wouldn't be. I couldn't understand why. It was the sticking point. I was really determined to change his mind –but I did not succeed."

She says the fact she shows her family experiencing such conflict is a point of connection with others -whether they have filmmaking fathers or not.

"As I was making it, people would hear bits and pieces about Al, and they would say,  'that’s just like my sister in law', or whatever," she notes, "Everybody has a story like this -every family. That also was part of the process, realizing I wasn't the only one, and making light of it."

 

Because her uncle owns the rights as well as footage itself, Celia was unable to use many pieces from her father’s work, including his last, and perhaps most personal work, Blue Yonder, a work that is directly about his own past and family.

Under the Fair Use Copyright Act however, a number of clips from Maysles’ works are shown in the work, and mixed in with these are interviews with the noted artists Jean-Claude and Christo (subjects of Maysles’ documentaries), Lois Irwin (from Grey Gardens) and various colleagues who had been involved with or known her father in some way, including film theorist Bob Sitton, editor Charlotte Zwerin, and another noted documentarian, D.A. Pennebaker, along with his son Frazer. 

"Getting in touch with people was very easy," Celia notes, "Everyone just dropped everything. Many filmmakers, who were the busiest, were like, 'can you come by this afternoon?' They loved him so much –that was one of the first things I knew.  And the second I started doing this, it happened so organically. People were so willing."

She says the biggest challenge was balancing the professional side of her father’s career with the more personal aspects she, as a daughter, had a natural interest in exploring.

"That was the biggest challenge," she says, "At times, it got too hard for me to know the right balance. It was trial and error. We spent a year in the editing room, working footage, trying it in different ways. It took time to get it right, because it was important to me that the personal stuff came across."

Making Wild Blue Yonder was "incredibly emotional", Celia says.

"It was really a growth period, something that I had kept inside my whole life. I never wanted to uncover anything, it was this little area that I kept locked, but once I decided, and really immersed myself in it, and accepted the fact it was going to be a long and difficult journey.... I had to do it to grow up a little bit. I had been carrying the weight of (the family fallout with) my uncle and the death of my dad around –I was sick of it. I didn't want to be so emotionally wrought. When I first started filming, the second they'd say “David”, I'd get upset. I was so fragile.”

She laughs at the memory.

“But by the end, the conversations were so funny. He was so alive!"

So while the world may remember David Maysles as a brilliant filmmaker and documentarian, Celia effectively uncovers the person behind the camera, using the sort of naturalistic, unforced, loose narrative structure that has become the Maysles’ family’s stock and trade.

The film is a meditative, meandering contemplation on family, identity, and self. 

Surprising as it may sounds, Celia says she doesn't consider herself an artist.

"I learned a lot about myself and a lot about pushing the boundaries of openness with something I was really focused on ... A lot of people are scared of personal filmmaking, because they're not that open themselves –it’s uncomfortable to see a film like this, but to me, these are the ones that are the most interesting."

Wild Blue Yonder screens at the Cumberland cinemas on Monday, April 21st at 7pm; it screens again at the Isabel Bader Theatre on Wednesday, April 23rd at 11am.

Wild Blue Yonder also has a Facebook page.

For more information, go to www.hotdocs.ca.

 

 

Beautiful Losers is a poetic, energetic tribute to a group of artists who, having started life as outsiders, became the toast of the art world in the late 90s.

Mike Mills, Harmony Korine, Jo Jackson, Ed Templeton, and Barry McGee are just a few of the artists whose lives and works are explored with equal mixes of zeal and contemplation in Aaron Rose’s compelling 90-minute long documentary.

Using a mix of interviews, historical footage, as well as scenes from the artists’ own works (including cartoons, commercials, and films) Rose takes the viewer on a journey that is a collage-like kaleidoscope of colour and experience. It’s poetic, beautiful, and very energetic, if also unclear in the effects its subjects’ work had on wider society.

We begin with the artists’ memories of childhood, their first experiences with art, and their shared position as adolescent outcasts.

Canadian artist Geoff McFetridge, who has worked for the Beastie Boys, among others (and who contributes titles and animation to Beauitful Losers) says he was first inspired to draw by seeing the film Battlestar Galactica in a theatre. Mike Mills, the artist behind the famous “falling Golf” TV commercial, says he got into art by drawing his toys as a child.

 

We are given a taste of Korine’s past as he morbidly describes a childhood friend who in later life was decapitated in Dragon Park, Nashville.  Wandering among the multi-colour mosaic of faux-scales, he calls to some nearby children, asking them if they realized his friend’s head was found in the spot they’re now standing in. 

Making a face only a child could, one can’t help but be reminded of Solomon, the main character of Gummo, Korine’s later work that would enjoy wide release.  Talk about an auspicious start.

Skateboarding culture figures prominently in the documentary, particularly as a means of fostering and embracing alternative underground cultures.  Ed Templeton, who was a champion boarder, is shown in multiple shots doing some pretty slick moves amidst impressed gallery-goers.  Pop goes the art.

The scenes of the artists, whether via grainy old experimental films or casually-recorded shots, shows a group of people who aren’t so much at odds with their society as separate observers of it. 

Thus, one might think the director would take a similiarly objective view of his subjects, providing the audience with some sort of wider resonance with which these artists related with the world and their audience, but alas, Rose only provides a few short clips of the mainstream success these artists enjoyed.

I had to wonder, in watching Beautiful Losers, what Andy Warhol might make of the group.  The famed pop artist made a career out of his awareness of art’s relationship with mainstream culture; I kept wishing for some sort of magical back-from-the-grave appearance (or even a clever edit) as scenes of McGee and others listlessly described the spoils of their success.  A bit of balance and perspective could’ve made the scenes of the group’s enormously successful shows in Tokyo much more lively, and elevated them from the merely trite and trashy.

This balance would have best come in the form of with figures other than the artists themselves.  Chats with art directors (who the subjects themselves admit are probably also artists), graphic folks, up-and-coming artists influenced by this group’s work, and various other figures would’ve provide a more solid grasp as to the reach this set of ‘beautiful losers’ had within both the art world as well as the wider world itself.

Still, being an artist viewing Beautiful Losers, the combination of grainy footage, gooey paint strokes, and great soundtrack makes for one heck of an inspiration.

The joy, vitality, and sheer beauty of the works shown (to say nothing of the breathless style of the film itself)  is enough to propel paint to canvas, to forego all custom of propriety, and, to quote the late artist Margaret Kilgallen, to allow the mistakes.

As Chris Johanson notes, “I’d rather have scars than live a totally bland life”.

Beuatiful Losers is anything but bland.  Then again, too many spices ruin the curry.  It’s worth keeping in mind –not everyone is used to eating Indian, after all.

Beautiful Losers screens at the Cumberland Cinemas on Monday, April 21st, at 1.30pm.

For more information, go to www.hotdocs.ca or www.beautifullosers.com.

Mothers have always been challenging for daughters to deal with.  Cynthia Lester knows a thing or two about that.

The New York-based filmmaker turned the camera on her own mother, resulting in a wonderfully compassionate and fascinating film, My Mother's Garden, now at the Hot Docs Festival.

The film opens with a shot of Cynthia's mother, Eugenia, looking glamorous in a red gown, prancing around a castle-like setting.  What follows is shocking for its contrast between this and the one Cynthia and her siblings know.

Eugenia Lester, Cynthia’s mother, suffers from what’s known as Compulsive Hoarding Disorder.  Both the disease and its terrible effects are shown in graphic, sometimes disturbing detail, as the family comes to grips with the illness and the steps they must take to heal the rift within their family.

Making films since she was in junior high, Lester had a spotty upbringing, with little time spent at ome. She says she had "always been searching" for a way to flesh out her various film experiments –and using her family as the subject was the obvious way to expand her skills.

My Mother's Garden is Lester’s attempt at "try(ing) to give people a little more understanding in terms of how I grew up - what it's like to grow up under these circumstances."

 

Among the shots of knee-deep high items, impassable doorways, and Cynthia's mother entering and exiting her house via a window, there are also interviews with neighbours, whose dislike of Eugenia is evident.  The scenes serve to highlight the underlying class issue of the film.

"She was the struggling mom, the fighter,” Lester explains, “We could've lived in the projects, like every other poor family - we would've felt more at home, but she wanted a better life for her children. She struggled and worked 24/7, had three jobs, she went on welfare. We were the only poor family in this neighbourhood. We felt alienated. We always knew we were different.”

Lester says it was her mother’s desire to give her kids a better life that started her hoarding problems. 

“My mum would go to the Christmas tree lane and buy the tree the day after Christmas, so it was cheaper. That’s when she started pulling in things that others were throwing away, (thinking) 'I can give these things to my children'. It’s that mentality of never being able to provide for us the way she wanted

Lester uses her mother's disorder in two interesting ways: as a springboard for her own compassion towards her and her family, and as a commentary on the rampant consumerist culture that she says has taken away from more important things.

"It’s about how our society deals with consumerism, how we tend to hold on to material things to bring us wealth, this idea of ... who you are through your things, rather than through creating a safe, comfortable environment, a loving environment. Where are people promoting that ideal? No, it's 'oh you have to have the nice car, the new fridge, the clothes'."

One of the biggest challenges was culling the footage of she and her family's journey.  Lester had to make some hard choices about what went and what stayed, all while trying to balance the personal aspects with the demands of a good narrative. 

"There was 180 hours of footage -definitely good moments and a good story there. I had never made a narrative feature that was 70 minutes long, and it was such a struggle to keep people's attention, to keep the themes flowing from one thing to the next, to keep a natural organic rhythm, without feeling like you're throwing something in there that's going to jolt you.”

How did her mother deal with having her life thusly documented and exposed?

“Oh, she's comfortable in front of the camera,” says Lester, “she likes the attention. It lets her put down her barriers in a way. She’s so used to being the strict mom all the time, there’s always something wrong she has to talk about, but camera she'll lighten up a bit. I enjoyed that time of getting to know my mum, and she liked the attention, especially if other people would come around. She was very isolated, so having us be there was helpful.”

In terms of the film itself, Lester says her mother “has mixed reviews about it. She supports me and my art, my desire to get this story out there, to help people through this story. She herself does not believe she has this problem, still to this day, but she is going to therapy and she is taking care of her life.”

The final scene is of her mother, wandering through the woods.  Even the red dress from the beginning makes a return appearance.

“We went to Poland to show her, in her happiest state, being with nature, and moving her from all the things she’s created, to making her own little special garden of things. I also wanted to bookend her coming back to the castle, with the idea of introducing her as very active, beautiful woman, so that you see her in that state before you see the chaos... and so I felt it was important to go back to that at the end.”

While documenting her mother presented its own unique set of challenges, the exposure of both herself and her family's past was a different matter.

“Yeah, that was very hard, something I dealt with on a daily basis. My brothers didn't necessarily want to be exposed this way, that’s not how they process their life. They're more closed off about it. It was hard for me to do it -I’m exposing my family, and everybody else who is related to my family, but I feel like in order to have a healthy society we have to be open about these things, and if it has to start with me, I'll do it, I’ll put myself out there for the cause.”

The “cause”, as she sees it, is allowing healing within families, as well as creating a greater awareness of the disorder that afflicted her mother.

“What I’m hoping is that people see there are obviously a lot of deep-rooted issues, but I wanted to show a family can come together and create a source of strength and come out of it in a beautiful way.”

My Mother’s Garden screens on Monday, April 21st, at 9.15pm at the Al Green Theatre; it screens again on April 23rd at 1.30pm at the Cumberland Cinemas.

www.myspace.com/mymothersgarden

For more information, go to www.hotdocs.ca.