This week’s show is brimming with special guests as Bernard welcomes Lily Tomlin and Paul Weitz to talk about their outstanding new film, Grandma. Plus, filmmaker Hubert Sauper joins the show to discuss his documentary We Come As Friends, an outsider’s look at the violent conflict in the Sudan. Ananda jumps in to help review ‘Grandma,’ and on top of all that, Bernard rants about crappy video game movies and shares his Indie Pick of the Week. Whew! Click that play button and listen away!

Topics

• Indie Pick of the Week (0:55)
• ‘We Come As Friends’ Interview (10:17)
• ‘Grandma’ Review (43:25)
• Lily Tomlin and Paul Weitz (1:05:14)

WTI Articles Referenced in the Podcast

7 Chinese Brothers Review
We Come As Friends Review
Grandma Review

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An actor earns serious credit when they not only perform incredibly in a role but perform it in a way that makes audiences believe no one else could have possibly played it better. Not to overly gush about a film others have already gushed enough over, but I was oozing with said respect when exiting Grandma. Not only is it a well-written film with a rare and fiercely defined main character, but its title role fits its perfectly casted actor, Lily Tomlin, in perfect symbiosis. Playing this role at this point in her career is perfect timing, and Paul Weitz casting and utilizing her unique talents is an example of the art of directing at its finest. Though comedy might be the safest genre for allowing septuagenarians to shine (though Grandma is more a part of that ambiguous sub-genre of dramedy), it’s films like this that prove there is a trove of older actors who, in addition to the talent they already bring, provide another level of performance that, when given the chance, can absolutely blow us away.

This secret reserve of talent—likely derived straight from life experience—is something Tomlin displays in abundance in Grandma. A taciturn and grieving widow, Tomlin plays Elle Reid, a feminist poet and movement leader, still revered if not much remembered from her glory days. A year and a half has passed since her partner Violet has died from cancer, and her relationship with a much younger woman, Olivia (Judy Greer), is ending and she deals with it with the same cutting rigidity with which she faces all of life’s challenges, telling Olivia she doesn’t love her, and to leave her key on the table. Elle hardly has time to actually process this breakup when her teenaged granddaughter Sage (the curly-haired goddess Julia Garner) shows up on her front door, pregnant and in need of funds for an abortion.

Elle does her due diligence as a grandma—complaining about the price of an abortion these days—and also as a wizened woman, asking Sage if she’s thought through the decision since she’s likely to think of it at some point every day for the rest of her life, but never tries to talk her out of it. Instead, she grabs the keys to her vintage Dodge and agrees to help Sage scare up the $600 she needs by 5:30 that afternoon. As Elle attempts to collect on old debts and the goodwill of friends, more of her varied and complicated life is revealed. Laverne Cox is a tattoo artist buddy who tells of Elle’s kindhearted gift of loaning her money to fix a botched transgender boob-job. Elizabeth Pena is coffee shop owner who puts Elle in her place by offering $50 for some of her old first edition hardbacks, including The Feminine Mystique (and Sage wonders aloud if the book has anything to do with The X-Men). Elle challenges Sage’s sensibilities, teaching her along the way by standing up to her deadbeat boyfriend when Sage won’t (hilariously kicking the teenager’s ass) and making a scene in a coffee shop when the proprietor asks her to quiet down when discussing abortion.

While clearly pro-choice, the film doesn’t especially try to conventionalize or even trivialize abortion but instead bring it into colloquial terms. Sage’s decision is treated with gravity and respect. It’s even given an interesting dual-perspective by another character in the film, who expresses the sadness an abortion once brought them with sincerity and dignity. The crux of the film lies within a scene between Elle and her one-time husband Karl (Sam Elliott, also absolutely shining), he an unfortunate casualty of Elle being gay at a time when no one was discussing such things and thus part of her path of destruction in her youth.  They chit-chat about lovers and grandchildren, roll a doobie together, and then go on to have a fiercely charged and emotionally revealing series of exchanges that perfectly expresses the complexity of real relationships, the many forms of love, and the way our decisions shape us and stay with us as we mature.

Paul Weitz is a wonder in being able to capture saturated morsels of the different humor associated with different age ranges and genders. In American Pie he nailed the adolescent male mind without demeaning it, and here he’s traveled the length of the spectrum (galaxy?) to home in on the perfectly evolved humor of an aging widowed lesbian academic. I’ve certainly never heard anyone insult another by calling them a “writer-in -residence” but the joke is among the sharpest of the film. All involved should certainly remain in the minds of voters when awards season rolls around.

Filled with laughs, realistic love, and a freedom to emote, Grandma is as cathartic as it is hilarious. Even while seeing the pain that comes from a lifetime filled with loss and experience, the wisdom and humor of a lifetime’s experience is given equal merit. It’s enough to make being a grandma look like the coolest job out there, and a reason to look forward to advancing through our years.

A version of this review was originally published as part of our Tribeca 2015 coverage.

Is it really possible that Lily Tomlin has gone this long without a starring vehicle of her own? The iconic actress has decades of perfectly timed, naturalistic punchlines under her belt, yet for years her parts have been largely reduced to limited arcs on TV shows or small, supporting roles in middling movies. Writer/Director Paul Weitz clearly saw the enormous potential in this market gap. Following his 2013 Tina Fey comedy Admission, in which Lily Tomlin played Fey’s mother, Weitz wrote an entire movie with Tomlin in mind.

Grandma premiered at this year’s Sundance Film Festival to slew of praise for Tomlin (Way Too Indie caught up with it at Tribeca and had glowing things to say, too). Despite its title, Tomlin’s character is far form a withered, weakened old lady. In Grandma, Tomlin plays Elle Reid, a misanthropic lesbian poet, whose granddaughter Sage (Julia Garner) shows up broke and in need of an abortion. Together, the two journey to collect cash, confront their pasts, and hit Nat Wolff in the balls with a hockey stick.

Grandma also stars a collection of familiar faces, many of them in the trailer, including Sam Elliott, John Cho, Marcia Gay Harden, Judy Greer and Laverne Cox. While New Zealanders will get a early chance to see Grandma at the New Zealand International Film Festival in July, Americans everywhere will have to cope with Granmda‘s August 21st release date by watching and re-watching the pleasant new trailer below:

Simplicity can be the most effective method sometimes, especially in the case of Ron Mann’s documentary Altman. Instead of taking an ambitious approach to legendary director Robert Altman’s life, Mann shows the life and career of his subject with a concise, linear presentation. Framing the film around the definition of “Altmanesque,” Altman goes through the filmmaker’s work one at a time in chronological order, starting with his work on television up to his swan song A Prairie Home Companion. Through this (what appears to be) basic approach, Mann creates a touching tribute to one of film’s greatest directors, a profile that never feels hagiographic because it lets the work speak for itself.

It also lets Altman speak on his own behalf. Culling from hours upon hours of interviews and footage taken before Altman’s death, Mann ends up turning Altman into the posthumous narrator of his own biography. After leaving the Air Force, Altman took up writing before lying his way into directing industrial films, a time of his life he refers to as his film school. From there he directed The Delinquents, and that led him into doing TV work through the 50s and 60s. This is the same time when Altman met his wife Kathryn who, along with other members of Altman’s family, take over narrating duties from time to time.

According to Altman’s wife, pushback from producers over Altman’s attempts to add realism to the shows he worked on (including one time when producers refused his suggestion to cast a black actor in a lead role) led him to quit television altogether, making his way into film instead. That didn’t turn out so well at first, with the head of Warner Brothers kicking him off of the 1967 film Countdown. The reason? After watching footage of Altman’s work on the film, the studio head was horrified to discover he had actors “talking at the same time.”

These kinds of neat anecdotes from Altman and his family make up a lot of the film, something fans of Hollywood gossip will thoroughly enjoy hearing about. These stories, mostly involving techniques used by Altman on his films (including his ground breaking use of the eight-track stereo sound system in California Split) or battles with producers and studios, also paint a vivid picture of the kind of filmmaker Altman was. His films were all over the place in terms of genre, whether it was a war movie like M*A*S*H or a Western like McCabe and Mrs. Miller, but they were all distinctly Altman.

Also unique for Altman was how much he defined himself by his work. Once his sons got old enough they began working as crew members on his projects. At one point his son Stephen talks about how, for Altman, his work took priority over his family (it’s one of the only times any criticism is heard, which isn’t surprising considering the direct involvement of Altman’s family with the production). As Mann goes through the years of Altman’s life, his formal approach starts to make perfect sense. Altman lived for filmmaking, as evidenced by the countless film and TV productions he worked on for over 5 decades, so defining his life through a career-based perspective feels like the most accurate portrayal. According to Altman’s family, there’s no need to delve into his life off set; the film set was his home.

Mann’s use of archival footage and narration to form a biographical narrative, while familiar, also feels somewhat unconventional, a welcome departure from the blandness of most filmed biographies. Mann does make one bold choice, though: peppered throughout are clips of Altman collaborators (including Robin Williams, Bruce Willis, Julianne Moore, Lily Tomlin and Elliott Gould, among many others) giving their own definition of “Altmanesque.” The fact that Mann only uses his interview subjects for these brief moments feels daring, like a defiant move to avoid relying on a talking heads format. The segments also provide a chapter-like structure, with each person’s definition relating to the next phase of the director’s career.

This kind of smart, neat structuring makes Altman one of the year’s finest documentaries, a shining example of how to properly examine the life and career of such a prolific figure.