In 2014, Robert Greene premiered his documentary Actress, about his neighbour and former TV star who, after leaving the entertainment industry to become a stay-at-home mom, tries to get back into acting again. On paper, Actress looked like a story of someone pursuing their passion again and facing the greater obstacles that come with time, but Greene had bigger ideas in mind than a simple portrait of his neighbour’s rebooting of her career. The film explored the conflict between performance and nonfiction, and as Actress’ authenticity came into question, so did the preconceived notion of documentary filmmaking as inherently objective or truthful. Compared to the glut of modern documentaries constructed as passive, information-based experiences, Actress was a difficult—and memorable—piece of “non-fiction.”

In some ways, Kate Plays Christine extends the ideas and themes of Actress, albeit through a more ambitious and provocative lens, traversing through darker subject matter in its quest to confront the thorny issues of ethics and responsibility most documentarians would prefer to ignore. The object of Greene’s fascination is Christine Chubbuck, a news reporter in Sarasota, Florida who hosted the local talk show Suncoast Digest. On a Monday morning in 1974 during a live broadcast, Chubbuck made a statement about her station providing “blood and guts” television before shooting herself in the head with a revolver. Not many people outside of a few Sarasotans caught Chubbuck’s suicide, and any tapes of the incident have long been destroyed, but news of her death made national news, even inspiring screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky to write the script for Network.

Now, with the four-decade anniversary of Chubbuck’s death approaching, Greene enlisted actress Kate Lyn Sheil (Sun Don’t Shine, Green) to play Christine in a film about her death. This gives Kate Plays Christine a set-up that operates like a strange, closed loop; the film documents Sheil preparing for her role, but the film within the film doesn’t actually exist. The only purpose of the Christine Chubbuck “biopic” is for Greene to document Sheil’s preparation, an indirect statement by Greene on how pointless he finds the endeavor of trying to fictionalize this sort of material.

That’s only the start of Greene’s deliberate clashes with what one might expect from a documentary of a tragic figure like Chubbuck, removing any clarity or explanation on what might have driven her to perform such a dramatic act. It’s a radical approach because of Greene’s refusal to provide any sense of solid ground, putting viewers right beside him and Sheil as they try to navigate the situation he’s put themselves in. The film exists within an uncertain present tense, avoiding direct messages or an editing style that suggests some sort of hindsight. It’s that lack of guidance, the feeling of actively engaging ideas and themes on the same level as the filmmakers rather than being dictated to, that can make Kate Plays Christine as exciting as it is frustrating.

Naturally, all of this uncertainty wreaks havoc on Sheil’s ability to prepare and perform for her role. Her goal is to give a performance that’s respectful and accurate in its portrayal of Chubbuck, but Greene stacks the deck against her. Aside from Sheil being unable to find any footage of Chubbuck to study, the film she’s acting in is done in a cheap, melodramatic style with no real connection outside of re-enacting known information about Chubbuck weeks before her death. Greene provides a perfect symbol for Sheil’s frustration when he tries shooting a scene of Christine going for a swim in the ocean, with Sheil’s wig falling off the entire time. It’s one thing for Sheil to look the part, but she will never embody or become Chubbuck.

The ambiguous space Kate Plays Christine occupies, while making it impossible not to have the film rattle around in the brain long after it ends, brings up a nagging question over whether or not Greene’s process shields him from criticism. There are moments where the film can feel aimless or messy, but it’s difficult to criticize an inherently flawed design. Greene himself has said that he wanted Kate Plays Christine to be a film that “almost falls apart as you watch,” and it’s hard not to feel that way during the (seemingly) scattershot final act.

Eventually, the film works towards a conclusion: the filming of Chubbuck’s suicide, which Sheil begins feeling hesitant about as she weighs the moral implications of tackling the role she’s signed on for. It’s in these final minutes, where Sheil begins acting out Chubbuck’s final news broadcast, that Greene acknowledges the corner he’s backed himself into. At this point, taking a moralistic route with filming the death would be hypocritical, but showing it would indulge in the same “blood and guts” entertainment Chubbuck called out before shooting herself. Amazingly, Greene gets himself out of this corner by playing out both scenarios in purposely unsatisfying ways. It’s an ending that will please no one—although the idea of wanting to walk away “pleased” by someone tragically taking their own life sounds a bit strange. Greene’s direction and Sheil’s performance help tackle the complexity of documenting Chubbuck’s life, along with interrogating the accepted methods documentaries use to explore these sorts of tragic profiles. Perhaps it’s best to take a page from Greene’s book and approach the conflicting elements with the kind of acute awareness he uses with his films: creating these kinds of clashes and juxtapositions shouldn’t make for easy viewing, and the fact that Kate Plays Christine remains so difficult to shake off should speak for itself.

Most films involving ex-lovers center around feelings of hostility and resentment between the two parties, but Eugene Kotlyarenko’s A Wonderful Cloud takes a different approach—a common theme in this micro-budget film—demonstrating love doesn’t always disappear when the relationship ends. Appropriately slated in the Visions program at this year’s SXSW festival, A Wonderful Cloud is nothing if not audacious, but it’s often too ballsy for its own good. Having no limits means having the freedom to go anywhere, but in this case it means diving into uncomfortable places—poop jokes are a running gag—courageously displaying the blood, sweat, and semen (literally) of its insufferable characters without remorse. Despite all the ugliness and imperfections (and there’s plenty), I found it strangely difficult to condemn its exaggerated portrayal of a modern L.A. hipster subculture. It’s brutally honest and filled with energy. And yes, it’s also very weird.

A Wonderful Cloud begins with Katelyn (Kate Lyn Sheil) traveling to Los Angeles with hopes to finalize paperwork on the clothing company she started with her ex-boyfriend Eugene (Eugene Kotlyarenko). Both are in relationships with other people now, but they aren’t as meaningful as the relationship they once shared. This is especially true of Eugene, who is seen having sex with his current girlfriend with an uninterested look on his face. Though unwilling to admit it, Eugene desperately wants to impress Katelyn. He’d say he’s just trying to make her feel bad about ending their relationship, but contemplating which outfit to wear when picking her up from the airport suggests there’s a lingering emotional attachment.

Over the course of a weekend, the two do everything in their power to put off signing the business papers and focus on rekindling their friendship. Eugene takes pride in showing Katelyn his favorite food truck and introducing her to his eccentric group of friends, though she’s not particularity impressed by either. They spend their time with some of the weirdest people L.A. has to offer, making the film surprisingly entertaining considering most of it involves people just hanging out. Surrounded by self-proclaimed artists with no real talent, A Wonderful Cloud ponders what life would be like if everyone was an obnoxious American Apparel model, caring only about themselves and their reputation. It’s an exaggerated portrait, but unfortunately one that doesn’t appear too far-fetched.

While the film mostly relies on its bizarre characters for laughs, improvised dialogue keeps the film interesting and organic. But more importantly, the off-the-cuff chemistry between Sheil and Kotlyarenko (likely a result from the couple’s real-life romance) adds an unexpected amount of charm for a film made up of melodramatic hipsters with annoying personalities. A Wonderful Cloud is semi-autobiographical for Kotlyarenko, even using personal iPhone footage recorded back in 2010 when he and Sheil were dating, which adds just a pinch of authenticity to counterbalance the otherwise embellished absurdities.

As with most experimental projects, there are some things that work in A Wonderful Cloud and others that don’t. There are moments that test patience, jokes that fall flat, and questionable stylistic choices. But the film is undeniably honest and unafraid to explore uncomfortable boundaries. It has no shame in showing masturbation, excrement, nudity, and the ugliness of its characters, occasionally all at the same time. Technology plays an important role in the film—examining how ride sharing transforms how we get around, Skype changes how we communicate with long-distance family, selfies and social media fuel the narcissist millennial generation, and smartphones enable us all to become directors and stars of our own movies. Maybe the film is a reminder that just because anyone can document everything about their lives, doesn’t mean they should or that doing so holds any meaning in the end.

As technology has grown, the way we connect with people has as well. Once the internet became widespread, like-minded people who may never have met before had an open space to interact. This has led to many positive experiences (myself included), but there will always be a trouble distance and anonymity when two strangers find each other on the interweb. Zacahry Wigon‘s debut feature The Heart Machine uses this backdrop for a different kind of romance film.

The Heart Machine stars John Gallagher Jr. (The Newsroom, Short Term 12) and Kate Lyn Sheil You’re Next as two young people who meet online and strike a long-distance web relationship. As their romance blooms, however, Cody begins to realize that his girlfriend may not be telling him the truth about who she is and where she lives.

We saw the film during its debut during SXSW and called it an exhilarating ride towards uncovering the truth. Be sure to check out the The Heart Machine‘s official trailer below. The film opens on October 24.

The Heart Machine trailer

I’m a horror aficionado. I have watched everything from Melie’s Le Manoir du Diable, Nosferatu, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and other early film depictions of the spectacular and creepy, to today’s special effects riddled gross-out filled shock-fests. My final thesis in film school focused on horror films and it’s easily my favorite genre. While it’s been fun to see horror transition into new things, such as The Blair Witch Project‘s popularization of found footage films, some experiments have been outside of what I enjoy about horror, such as torture porn revitalized in part by Eli Roth with his Hostel series. Roth is one of more than a dozen producers on The Sacrament, the latest from Ti West (The Innkeepers, The House of the Devil, V/H/S), and his influence isn’t heavy-handed but is certainly evident. But what’s different about The Sacrament isn’t a new horror style, but instead its distinct use of near-reality to disguise its horror.

For most of The Sacrament you will truly believe you are watching a documentary, albeit made by naïve journalists, about an atrocious historical event. Three Vice media journalists–one a photojournalist, one a video journalist, and the third an investigative journalist–travel outside the U.S to an undisclosed location. One of them, Patrick the photojournalist, has a sister who has recently written him about how she’s joined a commune after getting clean. Patrick fears for her safety and soundness of mind, while his editors see the chance at a potentially hot story. Upon their arrival outside of Eden Parish, the community his sister has joined, they are met with armed guards, immediately giving their trip an ominous feel and the environment one of distrust. They sort things out with Patrick’s sister, Caroline, and are granted admission into the community as well as the freedom to film. Patrick goes off with his sister while the two others, Jake and Sam, wander the commune interviewing those who will talk to them. Everyone speaks highly of their new life outside the U.S. in this veritable paradise, and ALL of them refer to ‘Father’, the man who made all of this possible.

They are allowed to interview ‘Father’ at the evening’s celebration and this is where the film begins its true tension. Father (Gene Jones) is the definitive charismatic cult-leader. He answers Sam’s questions with a distinct superiority and defensiveness for his ‘family’ and the safety of their home from the outside world. It’s at this point that anyone old enough to remember or know about the Jonestown massacre will feel the hair on the back of their necks raise. Father’s words sound eerily close to ones used by Jim Jones, leader of the People’s Temple cult and mass executioner of over 900 of his followers. But the similarities don’t stop there, and the inspiration for West’s film is so obvious it suddenly makes everything uncomfortably self-conscious.

In the end the film’s make-you-watch devices are what push the film over the edge, causing too much distress by the violence to satisfy the true horror film lover’s thrill-seeking addiction. The fun of horror, at least to this fan, is the roller coaster ride of fright and calm within a story. Without that sense of safety, the thrills can’t seem quite so thrilling. But there is rarely a moment of safety within The Sacrament, so the thrill becomes painful by the end. West’s forceful editing leaves nothing to the imagination, and he knows what Thomas Edison also knew way back in 1895 with The Execution of Mary Stewart, that one of the most ghastly charms of film is its ability to show everyone exactly what death can look like. Whether you want to see it or not.

Perhaps The Sacrament is just being promoted wrong. West’s straight-forward film and its historical similarities can’t help but be taken somewhat soberly, which strangely makes what happens on the screen even more frightening. Unfortunately it’s a kind of scare that feels irreverent, albeit thought-provoking. It will surely be a divisive film among critics, but this horror film lover will probably stick with her ghouls and psychopaths and choose actual documentaries for true-crime and history.

She’s Lost Control

As a surrogate partner therapist, its Ronah’s (Brooke Bloom) job to try to heal people of their sexual intimacy issues through various sessions and stages of erotic contact (think Helen Hunt in The Sessions). While at work she is seems to have all the answers on how to be intimate with a smile on her face, yet her home life reveals nothing but the opposite. She can barely crack a smile and has no one she can share herself with. It becomes increasingly apparent that Ronah doesn’t practice what she preaches she informs one of her clients how important it is to move on, yet she forms a personal relationship with him and is unable to let go.

She’s Lost Control is a quiet and slow moving film about the difficulties of separating emotions from sex. Though the film does bring up an interesting topic, it fails to explore it beyond just the surface. Also, the title is a bit of a stretch as her life never seemed to be in control. Temporarily bringing life to the picture is a brutal scene near the end that generated a collective gasp from the crowd in an otherwise mostly stagnant film.

RATING: 6.3

The Heart Machine

John Gallagher Jr. is an actor who needs no introduction here in Austin after starring in the cherished film Short Term 12 last year at SXSW. In The Heart Machine he stars as Cody, a New Yorker who is currently in a long distance online relationship with Virginia (Kate Lyn Sheil). The two have never met in person and because she’s thousands of miles away living in Berlin, they utilize services such as Skype and Facebook to interact with each other.

Everything is going swimmingly until Cody notices that the background sound of an ambulance siren on her end sounds an awful lot like an American one (apparently this is common knowledge). Soon he begins to question if she really is in another country as she claims. His suspicion starts off moderately legitimate but quickly escalates into complete obsession.

Watching Cody use his makeshift detective skills makes The Heart Machine an exhilarating ride as he gets closer and closer to discovering the truth about her real location. But it was Andy Warhol who said, “The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting,” which is especially the case here as the final reveal is much less stimulating than the events leading up to it.

RATING: 7.2

Creep

Even though it was 9:00 p.m. it certainly felt like midnight at the Stateside Theatre tonight in Austin. That’s because this offbeat film from Patrick Brice has fun mixing comedy with horror that caters perfectly to a rowdy midnight movie audience. Though Creep’s effectiveness will be limited when played to a slightly broader audience.

Creep starts off as a typical found footage horror film when a man named Aaron (played by director Patrick Brice) decides to document his travels up to a remote cabin in the mountains to meet a mysterious man named Josef (Mark Duplass). But the film is far from typical. True to the title, Duplass’ character is downright creepy, often blurring the line between sincere and sinister. Each jump scare Duplass conjures up is followed up by some ridiculous stunt that generates laughter. Not all of the jokes landed, nor were all of the scares successful. But never in my life did I expect to be so haunted by the sight of Duplass.

RATING: 6.9

Audience reactions of Bob Byington’s Somebody Up There Must Like Me were evenly split between largely in favor or largely against the film. And it is easy to see why as the film does not aim for any middle ground. You will also either find yourself completely attached to the style or it will be an outright miss. Somebody Up There Must Like Me appears to take whimsical cues straight out of a Wes Anderson playbook, where style often trumps substance, though this film fails to achieve any of the equivalent results.

A recent divorce has sent Max (Keith Poulson), a wisecracking steakhouse waiter, into the dreadful dating scene once again. After one disastrous date, it seems like Max’s luck appears to be completely non-existent. Not only is his dating life miserable, but each one of his customers tends to be on the annoying side, but he handles them effortlessly with his nonchalant attitude. One day while chatting with a fellow co-worker Sal (Nick Offerman), a female co-worker named Lyla (Jess Weixler) greets Max as if they have never spoken before despite the fact she has worked there for three years.

Lyla’s quirky personality is shown right away with her addiction that has her constantly eating the restaurant’s breadsticks. Her character has a tendency of being rather clueless which meshes right off the bat with Max’s aimless outlook on life. Equally is fast as their decision to go on their fast date is their decision to get married. The film then begins to skip along in five-year increments which spans a few decades in total. Many things do change over these years but his demeanor and physical appearance never do.

Somebody Up There Must Like Me serves up a heavy dose of dry humor mixed with nonsensical characters. One example of this is that Lyla has a very nice working vehicle parked in her driveway, yet takes the bus to work every day without explaining why. The film is also filled with non-traditional components that adds some rather unique style. When Max asks Lyla if she has received a raise she mishears him say “raisins” and the word is then shown as a subtitle on the screen. There is an overall theme of miscommunication found throughout, but the choice use of the subtitle in this scene suggests that the director is intentionally showing miscommunication to the audience in a satire manner.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with a film that takes a totally out of the ordinary approach. In fact, more often than not I actually prefer those types of films. However, there should be at least a sliver of a reason beyond being weird simply for weirdness sake. Somebody Up There Must Like Me reminds me of films like Quentin Dupieux’s Wrong, in which the absurdity is so deliberate that it diminishes the creativity it strives to achieve. Because the film itself seemed to follow the same aimless path of its characters, no real attachment can be made to any of its characters. Motivations in the film are not made very clear which leaves one to question the meaning of the entire film. Perhaps the point of the film is to have no point, but it feels like more of a cop out than any real revelation.

JR (Carlen Altman) just broke up with her boyfriend, a former college professor of hers before she dropped out of school. With no one to turn to, she calls up her brother Colin (Alex Ross Perry) to help move her things out of the professor’s home. JR, an aspiring news broadcaster, repeatedly manipulates the truth to make her dead-end career choice seem prosperous to others. Colin, still living at home with a girlfriend he hates and having no real direction in his life, is needlessly bitter in social situations. JR picks her brother up and in no time the two of them are off.

Alex Ross Perry, the director/co-writer/star/producer of The Color Wheel (just to name a few of his duties here), is working in more familiar genre territory compared to his singularly weird debut Impolex. The story of two siblings who don’t get along road-tripping sounds like the sort of indie fare Sundance or SXSW would gleefully accept. What makes The Color Wheel stand out from other road-trip films, and also part of its brilliance, is how Perry completely demolishes all genre expectations to the point of repelling potential viewers.

The first third of the film spends almost all of its time with JR and Colin. The only other character with any lines is the owner of a Christian motel who refuses to let the two of them share the same room unless they’re married. The way that this broadly comic situation is filtered through Perry’s direction and writing (which he co-wrote with Altman) immediately sets the off-kilter tone that runs through the rest of the movie. Watching JR and Colin interact with each other ranges from annoying to downright hilarious, with so many snipes and insults tossed back and forth it’s impossible to catch all of them at once.

Once JR and Colin do start interacting with other people, things take a surprising turn. Everyone they encounter treats the both of them like garbage, starting with JR’s professor/ex-boyfriend (Bob Byington) who ruthlessly insults her as she flails around trying to defend herself. Suddenly JR starts to turn into a more sympathetic character, and The Color Wheel starts to feel like everything is filtered through Colin and JR’s skewed perspective. Neither of them get along with each other over the bulk of the film, but they both share similar situations and anxieties.

All of this culminates into a long sequence where the two go to a party held by old high school acquaintances. The party doesn’t feel natural in the slightest, playing out like the absolute worst case scenario one would associate with going to visit high school friends. Everyone at the party is successful with a career, and at one point they directly confront JR on what she’s doing with her life. By the time they leave the party JR and Colin’s loneliness is more apparent than ever. The penultimate scene in the film, a 9 minute shot that packs one hell of a punch, makes perfect sense once the initial shock wears off.

Alex Ross Perry has defined himself as one of the more exciting new directors with The Color Wheel, a movie bursting with ideas that also serves as a necessary shot in the arm for American independent cinema. The content, along with Perry’s comedic style, would make for a great double feature with The Comedy, but only the stronger types could be able to make it through both films.