Bohemian Cinema By Jonathan Pacheco

AFI Dallas 2008: Three Films

Tags: AFI Dallas, Goliath, Summerhood, Ciao

Despite my qualms with the AFI Dallas International Film Festival, there are definitely some very worthy films that play there, and of course plenty of unworthy ones—just as in every fest. This post is pretty late and may seem irrelevant, but I feel that these 3 films that I viewed are still worthy of note. Clicking on the pictures will take you to pages with more information.

Goliath

Goliath is the story behind some of those dead cats that you avoid on your commute home, or the strays that you try very hard to avoid, not wanting to risk any sort of attachment. Who do these cats belong to? Does their owner live anywhere around here? How did the cat get lost in the first place? Did the owner, like our protagonist, walk down streets and highways running an electronic can opener (complete with a portable power generator), hoping that their furry friend would hear it and come running back?

Is someone crying over this animal?

The main character of Goliath is pretty much a schlub, a pushover, and just plain pathetic. When asked by his bosses to fire a coworker, he complies…but he does it in the men’s room. With his tie length uneven, he stands with another man in a bathroom stall and tells him that he no longer works for the company. The coworker seems okay, even asking if he’d be allowed to finish using the toilet before he has to leave. Goliath is made up of tons of moments such as this one; sometimes they work but sometimes they try too hard; those are forced awkward moments that take away from the film’s personality.

(Andrew Bujalski shows up in an inexplicable cameo as one of the bosses, and I got the feeling that I was the lone “mumblecore” fan in the house, seeing as how I was the only one who laughed when he showed up on screen.)

Goliath seems to do a lot of things in an attempt to be different or quirky, but this strategy goes too far at one point and results in the one scene of the film that I absolutely abhorred. In that particular scene, Goliath’s owner signs divorce papers with his now-former wife. And that’s all that happens. The camera stays on them throughout the entire scene, and the only thing worthy of note is that he took more time to sign the papers than she did; that’s why I had to sit through that dry, pointless scene for who knows how many minutes? I’m sure I was supposed to come away from that scene pained, but I think it was intended to be in a good way.

Now, the film isn’t just about a man whose cat ran away. The cat is pretty much the last straw. It was what he was clinging to when everything else fell apart. So when Goliath goes missing, the character does what always does: blames someone else. He blames his ex, he blames the former sex offender who just moved into the neighborhood—anyone but himself. And I have to say, his reasons seem valid. At one point, he bawls uncontrollably, asking why this happened to him and to Goliath. Goliath was a good cat who loved him and never did anything wrong; none of this was deserved. And that’s how he feels about himself. His job, his divorce, his life—he doesn’t deserve this. All he did was try to love his wife, love his cat, and be a good worker; he doesn’t deserve any of this.

Sidenote: I mentioned that the protagonist issues some blame on a former sex offender. During the Q&A after the film, some guy near the front asked if the film was implying, or if the filmmaker was pushing a message regarding violence against sex offenders. Or something like that. I think I heard the phrase “prompt attacks.” I’m guessing everyone else in the theater had the same “What in the…” thoughts that I did at that moment. Perhaps this guy trying too hard to be “deep.” I know that people say “There are no stupid questions,” but sometimes there are.

Summerhood

Summerhood, a film with some surprisingly snazzy opening titles, is not-surprisingly about a summer camp. Two love stories are paralleled; one involving a camp counselor, another involving a young camper (nicknamed “Fetus”) and his first crush. Throughout the summer, plans to sneak out, cause trouble, and escape to the older kids’ camp are all thwarted by your typical camp stickler, the Assistant Director (or, the “Ass. Director,” as his clipboard says).

There’s actually a nice scene where, when belligerently asked why a person like him—who hates kids—would ever run a kids camp, the Assistant Director goes off explaining that he’s not there for the kids; he’s there for the parents. The moment that Fetus, his friend Reckless, or any of their trouble-making friends pulls a bad stunt and accidentally drowns—that’s it, camp’s closed. For just one scene, it was a side of the “camp director character” that we don’t usually see: a reasonable side.

If you hated the title character of Juno then watch out: the kids in this movie are obviously too clever for their own ages. That becomes clear when, in reference to his buddies, the 9 year-old Fetus says things like, “If they had any sense at all, they’d be miserable, like I was.” Or how about when Reckless tells Fetus to stop letting girls make him miserable; that’s what their adult lives are for. In the moment, these lines are funny and cute because they’re coming from the mouths of children. But upon reflection, it seems like it happens a little too much. And to top it off, the child actors, bless their hearts, can’t quite carry the workload. Sure, they do an admirable job, but every once in a while the script’s overly clever dialogue is delivered with a blank indifference.

There’s a very odd, almost disturbing moment that takes place in the middle of the film. We see one of the kids yelling his lungs out, cursing and screaming, insulting another child (“Casper,” a kid who wears only white clothes). The angry kid is going absolutely ballistic, and we just see Casper moving his belongings from one cabin bunk to another, all while insults are hurled at him at an alarming pace. The narrator (adult Fetus) explains to us that the yelling child is upset because his best friend Willie was not able to come to camp that year (I believe Willie’s dad passed away or something to that effect). They had “saved” Willie’s bunk that summer by keeping it empty in his honor. Casper tried to occupy the bed, and that’s what initiated the tirade.

And as the narrator explains this, the camera turns and we get a haunting shot of the empty bunk; he then says that he doesn’t know whether Willie ever knew that a bed was saved for him, but that if he’s out there somewhere, he should know that he was sorely missed that summer. It’s such a strange moment when the film stops and takes the opportunity to deliver a very personal message in hopes that Willie will receive it—somehow. In a surreal way, I felt as if the camera was almost turning around to face the director so that he could have that moment.

Prior to the screening, the director told us to “turn off our ethics buttons,” and while I wouldn’t go that far, there are times when Summerhood does deliver on its promise of irreverence. There’s a fantasized lesbian makeout scene (fantasized by a 9 year old? With no prior references to or indications of such thoughts?), and the film ends with a raunchy song containing lyrics I’d rather not repeat on this tame website. But other than that, the “irreverence” consisted of a bunch of pre-adolescents cursing; you can turn to Comedy Central to see that (or better yet, your local elementary school).

But Summerhood made me laugh, and that’s what it set out to do.

Ciao

Ciao starts out with a series of emails between two characters that help set up the current situation: Andrea is writing Mark, excited about the coming days; he’s coming to visit Dallas, all the way from Italy. Jeff, Mark’s old friend, replies to Andrea’s email, informing him that Mark has been killed in a car accident. After sympathies are shared, Jeff tells Andrea that the invitation to visit is still open, if he chooses to do so. He does.

Emails have been done several ways in movies, from showing actual computer screens (a la You’ve Got Mail) to static title cards (a la LOL, which made the emails look almost like they were typed on very bright stationary). I really like Ciao’s method: a black title card with “typing” animation. Describing it makes it sound cheesy, but it’s just a blank canvas with an unassuming font, noises of a keyboard typing, and the words displaying across the screen. It’s very tasteful, effective, and I was rather impressed by that particular solution.

The film overall has a very clean, crisp, “Dallas” look, and I liked that; it’s nice to see a low budget film take its look and style seriously enough to show it on screen. However, I’m afraid that at some points it was a little too perfect. Certain scenes, especially sit-down conversations, were lit almost like a 60 Minutes interview, and it stopped me from thinking, “Wow, what a good looking film” and got me thinking, “Wow, there’s your film school lighting.”

While we’re on the topic, the dialogue in Ciao was not written very naturally. Conversations got to be a bit stiff, and then the rare “y’know” would be thrown in to make it feel more “real.” It wasn’t bad conversation but it just wasn’t delivered well or written appropriately. I guess you could say that director and writer Yen Tan’s dialogue was meant to be read, not acted. It’s almost like the dialogue from a novel: clean, the occasional throwaway word so you know that these are still “real” people, and it always has a purpose or direction. Unfortunately, this is a film, andso the dialogue wasn’t suited for acting, and either the actors aren’t experienced enough to loosen the dialogue, or Tan’s directing didn’t allow for it.

The acting suffers a lot because of this, but not solely because of it. At times it felt like the actors were more concerned with being in the right place, at the right time, facing the right direction so the light will hit them the right way. Characters in the world of Ciao always look each other in the eye, never breaking that eye contact. It was too controlled. But when the plot doesn’t call for the characters to sit down and talk, the acting loosens up and it starts to feel more natural.

There was a strategy either implemented by the DP or by the director himself that basically constrains the dialogue scenes to only closeups (it was even briefly touched upon during the Q&A). Once the camera gets into the closer angles, it’s just tight face shots the rest of the way—the reason being to keep things more intimate. In theory, it sounds like a solid, interesting idea. In execution, it really just felt claustrophobic. Each conversation I kept wishing they would just cut away and let me breath for a moment.

And this is all a shame because overall, Ciao’s heart is in the right place. It’s got a bit of a cool exterior, but the story’s undertones are very personal and very true. Before the film, Tan stated that he hoped the film would be as emotionally satisfying as it was for him; for me, it was. It’s emotionally true throughout its entirety; it’s just some of the method that’s a little bit off. Despite this, I feel good recommending this film fairly highly.