In traipsing Old-Hollywood comedy Hail, Caesar!, sibling duo Joel and Ethan Coen reflect on the cyclonic nature of showbiz, much like its spiritual predecessor, Barton Fink. That movie (which, my god, is now 25 years old) is nastier and more idiosyncratic, skewering the film industry with voracious (and incredibly funny) disdain. The Coens’ 2016 offering is more relaxed and lighthearted, but what it lacks in crackling energy and forward momentum it makes up for with finely tuned, detail-oriented jokes and an overabundance of charm.

The charm factor is in effect no more than during one of the film’s several movie-within-the-movie, genre-parody scenes, in which Channing Tatum (playing Burt Gurney, a Gene Kelly-like hoofer) performs a jaunty tap number in a sailor suit. (Few current screen actors can move like this man, and the Coens don’t squander the chance to let him tear up a song-and-dance routine.) The movie’s set in 1951, predominantly unfolding on the grounds of Capitol studios (the same fictional studio from Barton Fink), and Gurney’s ditty is one of the many movies being filmed on the sunny studio grounds, including a glittery synchronized-swimming production (starring an Esther Williams-channeling Scarlett Johansson) and “Hail, Caesar!,” a Ben Hur-style epic starring self-involved, strong-chinned leading man named Baird Whitlock (played by George Clooney in the vein of Charlton Heston).

While most of the characters we see are cleverly-packaged homages to the stars of Dream Factory heyday, one is taken straight from the Hollywood history books. Capitol is absolutely bustling with chaotic activity on a daily basis, and one man is responsible for holding the whole operation together: Eddie Mannix, a real-life, legendary studio exec who put out fires at MGM for years. He’s embodied by Josh Brolin, who leads the charge as the main focus and anchor of the otherwise scattered story. Mannix is a bulldozing man on a mission, zooming around the lot and around town making unblinking threats and using cool-headed negotiation tactics to keep all of his pictures running on schedule and in harmony. There’s no one better, and a lucrative job offer from Lockheed has him considering leaving the loopy microcosm of Capitol to make a bigger buck, albeit for dirtier work.

Much is made of Mannix’s soul searching; the film opens with him repenting in a confessional, a place we see him return to twice more as he considers the Lockheed offer and reflects on the more questionable facets of his moral make-up and career choices. Brolin and the Coens have always had a fruitful partnership, and while Mannix isn’t as monumental a creation as Llewelyn Moss, for instance, he’s still interesting enough to stand out amid the crowd of larger-than-life personalities running around the rest of the film.

One such personality (my favorite, in fact) is Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), a singing cowboy star who can perform eye-popping, impossible feats on horseback and has a gift for lasso acrobatics, but can’t read proper dialogue for squat. When he’s shoehorned into a production that calls for him to wear a tuxedo and walk into a room full of aristocrats speaking in Mid-Atlantic accents, it makes for one of the funniest scenes I’ve seen in recent memory (watching the baby-faced buckaroo do his involuntary cowboy strut in a tuxedo nearly killed me). The comedy’s all in the details, like how the stuffy production is under the hilariously named “Laurence Laurentz Presents” banner. Hobie isn’t a mere caricature, though; later on, he plays a key role in the film’s plot that shows us that he’s a true hero (which explains why he’s so awkward on a proper movie set; he’s too genuine to fake anything).

The dilemma at the center of the story that keeps the movie from being a randomly arranged series of unrelated scenes involves the kidnapping of Baird Whitlock by a stable of scorned communist screenwriters. As Mannix tries his best to handle the situation, he’s bombarded by a litany of on-set issues: Johansson’s starlet is looking to avoid a pregnancy scandal; the great Laurence Laurentz (Ralph Fiennes) refuses to tolerate Hobie’s atrocious line-reading skills. On top of that, he’s stalked by the film’s resident Hedda Hopper-esque columnists, persistent twin sisters played by a fantastic Tilda Swinton.

Mannix’s plate-spinning is involving enough, but I couldn’t help but yearn for more time with the rest of the cast. Johansson, Swinton and Tatum are super entertaining and part of me thinks it would have been nice to make Hail, Caesar a true ensemble piece, downsizing Mannix’s screen time a bit to give the others more room to do their thing. The Coens seem to be having a lot of fun stepping into the shoes of filmmakers from classical Hollywood and drinking in its grandiosity all while skewering the absurdity and silliness of its inherent artifice. They’ve become such assured storytellers and filmmakers that, even when they take it easy, we’re on the edge of our seats, grinning from ear to ear.

In a dystopian Tokyo, 23 “tribes” (read: gangs) rule different sections of the city. These tribes range from the GiraGira Girls, a group of women including a whip-cracking dominatrix, to the Musashino Saru, a gang all about promoting peace and love. But it’s the Bukuro Wu-Ronz running everything, and their leader Big Buppa (Takeuchi Riki) is not to be messed with. Mera, one of Bukuro Wu-Ronz’s top members, starts a feud with Musashino Saru heads Tera (Ryuta Sato) and Kai (Young Dais), and the battle soon spins out of control, involving every other tribe in an epic battle to become the most powerful in the city. And did I mention it’s a hip-hop musical? Welcome to the insane world of Sion Sono and Tokyo Tribe.

But that’s not all! There’s also the presence of Sunmi (Nana Seino), a mysterious girl dragged into the gang conflict with some serious fighting skills. In fact, a lot of the cast can fight really well. This also happens to be a highly kinetic action film, with numerous fight scenes placed in between the rap songs sung by the massive cast. Sometani Shota provides help for viewers as the film’s MC, walking around scenes rapping exposition about different tribes and their feuds with other gangs. Just don’t bother actually trying to understand what the hell is going on, though. Tokyo Tribe is so dense and convoluted there are already 50 other things occurring the minute after a scene ends.

The density and hyperactivity of Sono’s style prove his film’s biggest strength and weakness. Sono, working with what looks like his biggest budget to date, packs as much as he possibly can into each frame. His shots are more ambitious, letting things play out in long, elaborate single takes, the camera moving all over the place. The set design is on a whole other level compared to Sono’s previous films as well, with so many elaborately designed locations for each tribe. And Sono never takes a moment to breathe, whipping back and forth between places, stuffing each one with as many extras and activity as possible, all while putting the camera right in the middle of it. It’s exhilarating, but at the same time incredibly exhausting

Trying to watch Tokyo Tribe for its story, nothing more than a standard gangster epic with a message about community, won’t maximize the amount of shock and joy Sono throws around on-screen. It’s the quirks and little moments that work best. Like Big Buppa’s son having a room where people act as his furniture. Or a massive karate fighter wishing someone a happy birthday as they punch them 50 feet in the air (one of the fighter’s only lines: “Take me! To! A sauna!”). Or an army tank driving around Tokyo blowing shit up. Tokyo Tribe is full of these kinds of insane, world-building moments, most of them hilariously original and bonkers beyond belief.

And even though Sono’s restlessness can get tiring at times, it doesn’t take away from the utter brilliance of Tokyo Tribe. No one injects more insanity and ideas into their films on a moment-by-moment basis the way Sono does. It was hard to imagine how Sono could outdo his previous film Why Don’t You Play in Hell?, but with Tokyo Tribe he’s outdone himself completely, and by successfully taking on musicals he feels unstoppable. With a propulsive, catchy score, Tokyo Tribe doesn’t have to try to be energetic. It breathes vivaciousness. Tokyo Tribe will leave viewers dazed, assaulted, and mortified, but by the end they’ll be begging for more.

A version of this review was originally published as part of our coverage of the 2014 Toronto International Film Festival.

Meryl Streep plays dive bar rockstar Ricki Rendazzo in Ricki and the Flash, a movie that, like its leather-wearing, guitar-shredding protagonist, is a lot softer and harmless on the inside than on its edgy exterior would indicate. It’s directed by Jonathan Demme, written by Diablo Cody, and along with Streep stars her daughter, Mamie Gummer, Kevin Kline, Sebastian Stan and Rick effing Springfield. The stacked crew of talent fashions a generally low-key family drama with a few surprises up its sleeve, making for a pleasant summertime distraction.

Working at a Total Foods by day (a Whole Foods stand-in) and jamming out sets of cover tunes in front of modest crowds at The Salt Well with her band, The Flash, by night, 60-something Ricki’s carved out a quaint, unglamorous but artistically fulfilling life for herself in Tarzana, California. She gets into the occasional tiff with her boyfriend/lead guitarist (Springfield), but the townsfolk love her and she’s got a nightly gig, which is more than most starving musicians could ever hope for.

In her previous life, she was called Linda Brummell, and she was living the American Dream, raising three kids with her ex, Pete (Kline). Ricki’s been estranged from them for years, but Pete calls her out of the blue to invite her back to Indianapolis, where he lives with his new wife, Maureen (a pitch-perfect Audra McDonald). Ricki’s split from the family wasn’t a pretty one (we learn more later), so a phone call from Pete is anything but normal, but desperate times call for desperate measures: their daughter, Julie (Gummer), has just been dumped by her fiance, leaving her in a nasty state. Ricki hops on a plane straight away; this is her chance to pick up the pieces and be Julie’s mom again, though Julie isn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of repairing the long-stagnant relationship.

Ricki and Pete’s two sons are even less open to accepting their mom back into their lives. Josh (Stan) is engaged to a pampered rich girl who’s repulsed by his mother’s ’80s rock attire and filthy mouth; Adam (Nick Westrate) is gay and views Ricki as a walking contradiction, her tattoos and progressive attitude a front, in his eyes, for her self-professed Obama-hating, Republican political views. “She voted for Geroge W. Bush!” he screams. It’s clear Ricki and Julie are cut from the same cloth: when they unleash a barrage of fiery barbs on an eavesdropper at a local donut shop, they shoot evil glares over their shoulders in perfect unison, just like the Siamese cats from 101 Dalmatians. Gummer’s uncanny resemblance to her mother makes the scene sing.

Cody’s script tries to juggle too many themes and ideas, abandoning a lot of them on the way. Parental gender inequity and the weight of maternal responsibility define the central narrative arc, but neither feels adequately explored by the end credits. What comes through the loudest and proudest is the beauty and power of Ricki’s passion for music, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering who’s sitting the director’s chair. Demme shoots concert footage better than just about anybody (Stop Making Sense is incomparable), and he flexes that muscle here, capturing perfectly Streep’s gutsy live performances (she sings every song herself and even learned how to play guitar for the role). Highlights include renditions of Bruce Springsteen, Lady Gaga and Tom Petty classics (and a pop stinker by Pink).

Though Ricki’s maligned by just about everyone in her family for wiggling out of the motherly role she was dealt to run off and pursue another dream, they eventually learn to appreciate her free-wheeling, risk-taking outlook on life. None of the supporting characters are all that complex, but Ricki’s incredibly layered and three-dimensional, many of her core personality traits in direct competition with one another. There’s the George W. Bush thing, but there’s also the fact that she loves her children to death, and yet couldn’t stop herself from leaving them behind to pursue her music career. Streep is almost acrobatic in how she controls a scene, flipping the tone and temperature of a conversation several times with subtle facial expressions and well-timed zingers (provided of course by Cody, the undisputed queen of mean).

The movie’s biggest disappointment is its even-steven ending, which wraps things up too nicely. Things actually get pretty turbulent during the middle section, which caught me off-guard in a good way, but the way Cody resolves every little conflict so neatly is a bit of a let-down. Cody plays it safe, which, unfortunately, puts a damper the quality of everyone else’s work. Streep definitely gets her shine, though, like when she busts out an acoustic guitar for a solo performance of the movie’s one original song, “Cold One,” written by Jenny Lewis and Jonathan Rice. It’s a super catchy tune that, like the other musical numbers, provides a welcome respite from Cody’s overly tentative writing.

As we’ve said, we are really excited about the Dreaming In Technicolor film showcase at the TIFF Bell Lightbox this year.

Among the films being shown are three musical spectaculars: Singin’ in the Rain on June 19th, Meet Me In St. Louis on June 21st, and The Wizard of Oz on June 27th. All three will be presented in 35mm, with The Wizard of Oz screening on an archival print.

Besides being innovative change-makers in the film industry through their use of Technicolor and their musicality, they each hold one very valuable characteristic in common: Arthur Freed.

Though best known and recognized for his hand in An American In Paris and Gigi, Arthur Freed wet his feet with MGM as an uncredited associate producer of The Wizard of Oz in 1939. Known for his memorable lyrics, he wrote most of the songs for Singin’ in the Rain and several for Meet Me in St. Louis. After The Wizard of Oz, MGM created for him his own “Freed Unit” of producers. They developed a large portion of the mainstay films within the musical collective that emerged from their heyday, making MGM the lead developer of film musicals.

The Wizard of Oz, released in the U.S. on August 25th, 1939, was directed by Victor Fleming and adapted to the screen from Frank L. Baum’s book by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson, and Edgar Allan Woolf. It starred Judy Garland in her first major role as hapless and innocent Dorothy Gale, who travels by way of twister to the land of Oz where she meets the confused scarecrow (Ray Bolger), the stiff Tin Man (Jack Haley), and the Cowardly Lion (Bert Lahr). To get home, and to get each those parts of themselves they feel they are lost without, they set off to find the great wizard, played by Frank Morgan. Though gifted with the magical ruby-red slippers by Glinda the Good Witch (Billy Burke), along the way they are beset with many obstacles wrought by the Wicked Witch of the West, played by Margaret Hamilton.

One of the major changes from the book was altering Dorothy’s originally silver shoes to their now iconic ruby-red. This was done to take advantage of the new Technicolor process, which was also the reason behind their showing Dorothy’s farm life in classic black and white and only alternating to color when she arrived in Oz. Technicolor productions required a greater amount of lighting than their black and white counterparts. Often the studio lights on the set of The Wizard of Oz exceeded 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Several of the cast members, in heavy costume and make-up, required extra measures taken to keep from over-heating, and some even suffered permanent eye damage from the bright lights. This was one thing that added a significant amount to the overall budget for a movie filmed in Technicolor. The estimated budget for The Wizard of Oz was $2,777,000. Second only to Going My Way, it was one of the highest-grossing films of the year.

Roger Ebert said of the film that “the switch from black and white to color would have had a special resonance in 1939, when the movie was made. Almost all films were still being made in black and white, and the cumbersome new color cameras came with a ‘Technicolor consultant’ from the factory, who stood next to the cinematographer and officiously suggested higher light levels. Shooting in color might have been indicated because the film was MGM’s response to the huge success of Disney’s pioneering 1937 color animated feature Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.”

The Wizard of Oz won two Oscars that year. One for Best Original Song with “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and the other for Best Original Score. It was nominated for four more Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Best Art Direction, and Best Special Effects. Judy Garland was also awarded a Juvenile Academy Award for her work in both this and Babes in Arms, which was released that same year and was Arthur Freed’s first solo project.

It was selected by the Library of Congress to be preserved in the National Film Registry for its cultural significance in 1989.

Five years after working with Judy Garland for The Wizard of Oz and Babes in Arms, Arthur and his “Freed Unit” produced Meet Me in St. Louis, written by Irving Brecher and Fred Finklehoffe, which premiered November 22, 1944 in St. Louis, Missouri. Directed by Vincente Minelli who would meet Judy Garland for the first time on this set and marry her just a year later, this was only Garland’s second color film after The Wizard of Oz. It also starred child star Margaret O’Brien who would receive a Juvenile Academy Award for her work in this picture, though it was stolen from her and lost for nearly 50 years before collectors found it at a swap meet and returned it. Cast alongside Garland and O’Brien were Mary Astor, Lucille Bremer, and Tom Drake.

Based on a series of short stories titled “5135 Kensington” by Sally Benson and published in The New Yorker magazine, Meet Me in St. Louis was nominated for four Oscars in 1944 including Best Screenplay, Best Color Cinematography, Best Musical Score, and Best Original Song for “The Trolley Song,” and was selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the National Film Registry for its cultural significance in 1994. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” won an ASCAP Film and Television Music Award for Most Performed Feature Films Standard in 1989.

Time magazine is quoted as calling it “one of the year’s prettiest pictures” saying, “Technicolor has seldom been more affectionately used than in its registrations of the sober mahoganies and tender muslins and benign gaslights of the period. Now and then, too, the film gets well beyond the charm of mere tableau for short flights in the empyrean of genuine domestic poetry. These triumphs are creditable mainly to the intensity and grace of Margaret O’Brien and to the ability of director Minnelli and Co. to get the best out of her.”

Arthur Freed’s voice can actually be heard on the film as he dubbed the voice for Leon Ames in the song “You and I,” written by Freed and Nacio Herb Brown.

The last of this magical, musical trifecta was a crowning point in Freed’s career and MGM’s musical history. Singin’ in The Rain was released in the U.S. on April 11th, 1952, and starred Gene Kelly, Donald O’Connor, and Debbie Reynolds as silent actors trying to transition to “talkies” in 1920s Hollywood. Directed and choreographed by Kelly and Stanley Donen, it was nominated for two Oscars that year including one for Jean Hagen for Best Supporting Actress for her role as Lena Lamont, and one for Lennie Hayton for Best Music and Score in a Musical. Donald O’Connor won a Golden Globe for playing accompanist and self-proclaimed funnyman Cosmo Brown. This topped the most successful of all of the “Freed Unit” musical spectaculars churned out by MGM, the brainchild of producer Arthur Freed.

There is much about this beloved classic that is not commonly known. For example, while most of us recognize all of the songs only from Singin’ in the Rain, and probably assume they were written specifically for this movie, all but one song, “Moses Supposes”, was an original at the time of the movie’s release. Its namesake song, for example, was featured in 1929’s Hollywood Revue of 1929, and the famous “Good Morning,” which outed Lina Lamont as a terrible voice, was from 1939’s Babes in Arms.

Most have heard that the iconic scene with Gene Kelly’s Don Lockwood splashing through puddles while singing in the rain was filmed over the course of three days, and Kelly was running a high fever the whole time, but not many would guess that Debbie Reynolds, playing Kathy Seldon, didn’t have much dancing experience before Singin’ in the Rain, and was even criticized to the point of tears by Gene Kelly. Rumor has it Fred Astaire found her off-set crying and began tutoring her. It might explain why her feet were bleeding at the end of the shooting of the “Good Morning” dance scene.

TIFF has truly picked some gems to showcase in their Dreaming in Technicolor series, but these three are not only masterful in their cinematic scope. They are also wonderfully told stories, with beautifully sung songs, and feature some of film’s most talented treasures. These movies are essential viewing to anyone interested in mastering their understanding of the movie musical oeuvre.

MGM and Arthur Freed had a period in film history, and our history, that colored the big screen with light, paint and spectacular music. Through World War and famine and stark reality, they made something wonderful beyond escapism, and to this day have provided us worlds we can escape to.

An approachable musical about two lovers out of sync, The Last 5 Years is yet another stage for Anna Kendrick to stand on and blow us away, and that in itself makes the film notable. She’s spectacular as usual, and at this point in her career, her movie-musical schtick isn’t tiresome in the least. Her partner in song is Jeremy Jordan, best known for his stint on the short-lived ABC series Smash, a handsome young man with an elastic voice and white-bread appeal. The problem with this Richard LaGravenese adaptation of Jason Robert Brown’s 2002 stage show is that the asynchrony that exists between its characters extends to the actors playing them, making the film feel uneven for the wrong reasons. It’s still enjoyable, though, a modest production that seems geared toward the most casual of musical fans, much like Stuart Murdoch’s 2014 indie-pop gem God Help the Girl.

Made on a shoestring, the film charts the blossoming and eventual implosion of a half-decade-long romance in an imaginative way, shattering the lovers’ timeline and rearranging the shards like a piece of post-modernist art. From aspiring musical-theater actress Cathy’s (Kendrick) perspective, we see the relationship play out in reverse; the film opens with her singing a lover’s lament, alone in the couple’s New York brownstone. “Jamie is over and Jamie is gone / Jamie’s decided it’s time to move on” she sings in the forlorn first number, “Still Hurting”. We then switch over to Jamie (Jordan), a burgeoning novelist whose side of the story starts, traditionally, at beginning of the relationship, when he and Cathy were madly enamored and felt giddy just to breathe the same air. From there the film alternates between the two, their chronologies intersecting on their wedding day in Central Park and then continuing on in opposite directions.

In the stage production, we only ever see Cathy and Jamie together when the timelines intersect (a gimmick accomplished through clever blocking and lighting), but the film sees Kendrick and Jordan share the screen quite a bit, for practical reasons. The high-concept minimalism of the live show poetically reinforces the story’s theme of romantic dissonance, but the film doesn’t appear to suffer from utilizing real locations, elaborate sets, and sweeping camera moves. The cinematography isn’t particularly impressive, but it’s evocative enough to help bolster whatever emotions the songs project.

As the film’s quick 90 minutes fly by we learn in glimpses that the doomed relationship started in earnest with Jamie taking a big risk: after a life-changing phone call from Random House, he promptly calls Cathy in a fit of elation and decides they’re moving in together. We know the relationship ends in flames, however, and it’s slowly revealed that the wedge responsible for the couple’s split is success itself. Jamie’s career soars, his publishing deal with Random House launching him into the company of dignitaries and socialites who he’s obligated to schmooze with at expensive parties. Struggling actress Cathy, who suffers through botched big-city auditions and never ascends beyond summer stock theatre, gets thrown to the wayside as the career-minded Jamie becomes more and more bewitched by the allure of the high life (and beautiful groupies).

Kendrick kicks ass as usual, singing with range and fluidity and emoting only as big or as small as is appropriate for each number. She’s spot-effing-on, and it’s sort of astonishing how in-control she always is, even during tricky numbers like the wrenching opening song. “I’m a Part of That”, a gorgeous ballad of anxiety and doubt, is her best moment, and perhaps the film’s as well. Jordan’s a great singer, too, but he lacks Kendrick’s discipline; his performance is always dialed one notch too loud. (When he sings the adoring “Shiksa Goddess”, he’s so theatrical it’s borderline-aggravating, and it doesn’t help that it’s the first thing we hear him sing.) His enthusiasm is usually cloying, while Kendrick’s is consistently toothsome. Their acting styles simply don’t match up very well, an ironic complication considering the material.

The songs sound more colloquial than your run-of-the-mill musical, focused more on cadence and naturalism than melody and hooks. “Schmuel”, a jaunty story-time ditty Jamie uses to lift Cathy’s drooping spirits, is the bounciest, most divergent song (and Jordan’s shining moment), and represents Brown’s songwriting at its most playful. Brown’s stated that The Last 5 Years is an intensely personal and semi-autobiographical piece, which is interesting when you consider the authenticity and depth of the Cathy character. LaGravenese’s interpretation of the material is pretty straightforward and unremarkable, but his ability to keep the see-sawing timeline organized and easy to follow is impressive and crucial to the success of the film.

Jamie comes off like an arrogant dick (the movie opening with Cathy so utterly heartbroken at his hands probably has a lot to do with it), and Jordan doesn’t have the chops to imbue him with any deeper complexity. We naturally gravitate to Cathy’s underdog status (and Kendrick’s irresistible charm), however, which makes the film perhaps more asymmetrical than intended. The Last 5 Years is enjoyable all the way through notwithstanding, with pleasant (if largely forgettable) songs and a unique storytelling structure that keeps you on your toes. Kendrick’s the real reason to check it out, though, and rabid devotees of the gifted Pitch Perfect sweetheart will only fall deeper in love with their idol.

It took about 30 years, but Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s musical fairytale cocktail, Into the Woods, has finally expanded from stage to big screen courtesy of the Mouse House and Chicago director Rob Marshall. I wasn’t familiar with the original stage production going into the film, but it wasn’t at all hard to recognize Into the Woods‘ theater roots once I heard the exuberant, winky dialogue (Lapine adapts his own words to screen) and started tapping my foot to the infectious Sondheim tunes being belted out by some of the Brothers Grimm’s most famous characters. The film’s final act feels too deflated to call this overdue screen adaptation a certified triumph, but the first two thirds are so cheeky, unencumbered, and flat-out fun that it’s hard not to give Into the Woods a hearty recommendation, especially with all this holiday cheer hanging in the air.

The story takes several popular Grimm characters–including Rapunzel, Cinderella, and Jack (of beanstalk fame)–and several new characters of Lapine’s creation and throws them into the twisty, shadowy bowela of the titular woods, so that we can watch these familiar childhood characters sing, argue, fall in love, and interact in ways we’ve never imagined! I know, I know…that isn’t really the case anymore. The fantasy mash-up idea has long since lost its novelty since the musical debuted in the mid-’80s (Shrek, Once Upon a Time, Enchanted, the excellent comic book Fables, and many others have aped the gimmick), but it’s as potent (and trendy) today as it ever has been.

While an ensemble piece through and through, the plot is fueled by the plight of two central characters, The Baker (James Corden) and his Wife (Emily Blunt), who have always wished for a child, though their wish never came true. When an old Witch (Meryl Streep, unhinged) blows into the bakery in the showiest way possible (wind, thunder, flashes of light), the couple learns that they’ve been infertile all this time due to a curse she cast on The Baker when he was only a child, after his father stole magic beans from her garden. (In another act of revenge, she also stole The Baker’s infant sister, Rapunzel.) The Witch offers to lift the curse if The Baker can pull off an improbable scavenger hunt in the woods, fetching her four ingredients she needs for a potion: a cow as white as milk, a cape as red as blood, hair as yellow as corn, and a slipper as pure as gold. Sounds tasty.

The carriers of said items, as you might have guessed, happen to be the Brothers Grimm all-stars: the slipper is Cinderella’s (Anna Kendrick), who thrice flees through the woods after abandoning her prince at the royal dance; the cow, aptly named Milky White, belongs to young Jack (Daniel Huttlestone, his campy, old-school British accent unintentionally hilarious); the cape is, of course, Red Riding Hood’s (Lilla Crawford); and the corn-yellow hair comes from the pretty head of The Baker’s long-lost sister, the lovely Rapunzel (Mackenzie Mauzy).

Secondary characters make memorable appearances, from Johnny Depp as Red Riding Hood’s Big Bad Wolf (their scene is uncomfortable, though the sexual tension has apparently been slightly tamed from the stage version), Tracey Ullman as Jack’s mother, and Frances de la Tour as one of Jack’s giants. Chris Pine and Billy Magnussen play Cinderella and Rapunzel’s princes, respectfully, and their epic duet in front of a waterfall, “Agony”, a witty lover’s lament, is one of the funniest things I’ve seen all year. (I laughed so long and hard my wife was thoroughly embarrassed, though that’s hardly an uncommon occurrence with us.)

The characters zip and weave through the trees, bumping into each other now and again, each in a mad search for their own personal “happily ever after”. The Bakers find, then lose, then find again The Witch’s items, while the Grimm characters play out their familiar stories with slightly remixed scenarios. True to the fairytale tradition, all their wishes do, indeed, come true. But that’s not where the story ends; it’s where the real story begins. “Be careful what you wish for” the film’s ad campaign warns us.

The film’s final third sees the characters return to the woods to learn life’s hard lessons, with some of our beloved heroes biting the dust for good. The woods represent the cruelty and sadness of the real world, and forcing historically idealized characters like Cinderella to reckon with wretched things like infidelity. (Her prince is charming no doubt, but is he faithful?) What’s the true cost of our wishes coming true? Is a wish worth making the ultimate sacrifice? This concept of subverting and sobering up our childhood notions of the “fairy tale ending” is brilliant and forever relevant.

Marshall and Lapine handle the 180 degree tonal shift from peachy-keen Disney adventure to dark, somber drama quite well, but the film ends with such low energy compared to the first two acts that it feels comparatively bland. The later musical numbers begin to feel like a homogeneous series of music videos, with the same nighttime forest background providing the numbers little in the way of visual distinctiveness. The songs feel really packed-in, too; the story’s message has a harder time ringing true when we’re so musically fatigued.

The wealth of superb performances are the film’s greatest virtue, chiefly among them being the formidable Streep, whose keen comedic timing is on full display. Corden and Blunt shine as well, with a natural rapport that makes them excellent anchors for the story. Unsurprisingly, the theatrically-trained Kendrick’s the best singer of the bunch, though the less vocally-gifted Pine makes up for his inexperience with flamboyance, prancing and preening and posing his way through the film with the wackiness of a cheap stage show on the Las Vegas strip.

Of the things Into the Woods gets right, perhaps the most pleasing is the way it embraces its origins as a stage production. CGI is kept to a minimum, and practical effects are used skillfully and tastefully. The sets (which all appear to be practical, not digital) are terrific, too, with the ominous trees and misty swamps looking convincing while never hiding the fact that they were built by human hands. With so many big studio cash-in adaptations poisoning our theaters and stealing our money, it’s nice to see one come along that actually deserves our attention.

Belle & Sebastian frontman Stuart Murdoch’s indie-pop fantasy God Help the Girl is a musical that’s been in the works for a good decade or so. In 2009 he finished and released a concept album of the same name he’d been working on since 2003, and now with the film (his directorial debut), he’s brought his vision to life visually as well as sonically. The film follows three young musicians in Glasgow (played by Emily Browning, Olly Alexander, and Hannah Murray) who form a band and spend a summer writing songs, playing random gigs around town, and ruminating about the virtues of artistic integrity.

We spoke to Murray about Julie Andrews, being a Belle & Sebastian fan, being in her first musical, her favorite songs in the film, the two happiest months of her life, Stuart’s natural knack for directing, and more.

This was obviously a big passion project for Stuart. A very personal film. What was your first conversation with him like about what he wanted from you in this role?
Hannah: He told me to be like Julie Andrews! [laughs] I auditioned for Eve initially, but looking back on it, I think he was always thinking about me as Cassie. He wanted me to be very posh and energetic. He was like, “Think of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music!” I was so excited to meet him at all. Every now and again, you have these auditions that sort of feel like, “Even if all I get to do is audition, what an amazing experience it’s been to have met this person.” I was really nervous to sing in front of him. Like you say, it was such a personal project for him, so he had so much to say about the characters and the story, and he was always so engaging when he talked about the project.

Stuart said in an interview that deciding on the final cast was one of the most difficult decisions of his life. That’s got to feel good.
Hannah: It makes me happy. Of course you want to make your director happy on any job you’re doing, but I think on this, the three of us felt such an increased desire to impress him because we had so much respect for him because of Belle & Sebastian. I always think about this film like…there were only three people that got to have the experience we had, and we’re so lucky. It’s so flattering that Stuart wanted me to be a part of it.

Do you think you’ll look back at this making this project as one of the most special times in your life?
Hannah: Absolutely. It was one of the most incredible, emotional experiences I’ve ever had. It was two of the happiest months of my life. Really brilliant. I also feel like, whatever else happens in my life and career, I think I’ll always feel so lucky to have been a part of this.

What was it like doing choreography and singing on camera? Was this a first for you?
Hannah: Yeah, definitely a big first for me. It was really fun. It’s one of those things where, you get the job, and you’re like, “What an exciting challenge!” Then, two weeks in, you’re absolutely terrified and hating it. [laughs] But by the end, it’s gone back to being really, really fun again. All those days when we did the musical numbers felt so magical. I never thought I’d get to be in a musical, and it’s such a joy to sing and dance for your job. And to do it with people you really get on with and don’t feel so self-conscious around because you’re all in the same boat is great.

What’s your favorite musical number in the film?
Hannah: I love them all so much! [laughs] “I Just Want Your Jeans” was sort of my song. It was incredibly special, and that number was the last thing that I shot. It felt like the culmination of working on the project, and it was really exciting to have a solo. It think that song’s beautiful, and I love the stuff that it talks about. It’s really unusual subject matter. I love “Musician, Please Take Heed” as well. I think that’s a gorgeous song, and Emily does such an amazing job with it. Of the parts of the filming I wasn’t involved in, that was one of the things I was most excited to see, how that whole sequence came together. It’s so impressive.

What was it like watching yourself sing and dance with an audience for the first time?
Hannah: It was really amazing. I got to see it at Sundance, and I’ve never felt so proud of something I’ve done and been so excited to have other people see it. All of us kind of feel like we had such an amazing time making it that it doesn’t really matter if people like it. It’s like a bonus, really. I’m really excited for it to come out because I feel such a warmth toward it. It’s nice to feel that way, and it’s a new feeling for me. I know that I love the film, and that kind of stands on its own.

You obviously gelled with Stuart and your co-stars quite well. Is there an itch to work with them again, or was this experience something so dear that you just sort of put it away?
Hannah: I worked with Olly on a TV job just a couple months after shooting. I also got to do a Belle & Sebastian music video about a year after we did the film, which I was so flattered to be able to do. I had to sort of act with Stuart, which was a fun experience. [laughs] I would love to keep working with all of these people again. They’re the best.

What made this project different from others you worked on? What did Stuart, Emily, and Olly bring out in you?
Hannah: I always used to believe that good work came out of being miserable and angst-y and tortured and that if you were playing someone that was unhappy, you had to be as unhappy as them. I thought creativity had to be hard, with a lot of conflict. My career has progressed to the point where I really don’t buy into that anymore. This film was probably the biggest thing that made me switch that off. I felt so supported by the people I was working with, and I felt really relaxed and safe. Because of that, I could try anything. We did quite a lot of improvisation, which terrified me in the past, but this was fine because I knew these guys wouldn’t judge me. It was the freedom they gave me that allowed me to take risks.

Stuart’s a first-time director, but anyone who’s familiar with his music knows that his songs are quite cinematic already.
Hannah: Absolutely! I really agree with that. He’s such a great storyteller, and he creates these characters in his songs, so it feels like a very natural progression for him to make a film. I really hope he does more films, because he’s really naturally gifted at it. He didn’t really know what the “rules” were, and he had a bit of a different approach, but that was very exciting. Also, he loves cinema, and he has such an incredible knowledge of movies. He gave us so many references to think about, introducing me to films I never knew about. He obviously shouldn’t give up being a musician, because he’s brilliant at that, but I think he’s very strong in both disciplines.

I kind of miss movie musicals. I wish there were more of them.
Hannah: Me too! I’m a huge musical fan, and early on when I was 12-years-old and wanted to be an actor, I thought I only wanted to be in musicals. It seemed like the most fun way of doing it. There definitely aren’t enough musicals out there. I think what’s great about this film is that we’ve shown that you can make a musical on a much smaller budget than people would have necessarily thought. I hope that’s going to open up people making more and more smaller musicals that aren’t exactly Les Miserables or Chicago. Not that I don’t love those films, but I think musicals are having a renaissance right now, and people really love them. I hope people make more and more.

Belle & Sebastian frontman Stuart Murdoch’s indie-pop fantasy God Help the Girl is a musical that’s been in the works for a good decade or so. In 2009 he finished and released a concept album of the same name he’d been working on since 2003, and now with the film (his directorial debut), he’s brought his vision to life visually as well as sonically. The film follows three young musicians in Glasgow (played by Emily Browning, Olly Alexander, and Hannah Murray) who form a band and spend a summer writing songs, playing random gigs around town, and ruminating about the virtues of artistic integrity.

In our conversation with Alexander (the lead singer of his own band, Years and Years), we talk about the fun he and his co-stars had on set, having the best job in the world, landing the role with a “shitty” keyboard, where being an actor and musician intersect, his songwriting process, and more.

Thanks for taking the time to chat, Olly! I know you guys are having a really busy afternoon.
Olly: That’s okay! It’s quite exciting.

Oh good! So you like talking to press?
Olly: I don’t normally get to do this, so it’s quite fun!

Speaking of having fun, I interviewed Hannah as well, and she was saying that you guys had a lot of fun making this movie.
Olly: We did! Too much fun. I feel like it’s probably wrong to have that much fun at work. I can’t really think of another film I’ve done where I’ve looked back on it with such fondness. Everyone always says, “It was such a great group of people,” or “The script was so good,” but I feel like they’re lying a lot of the time. Making movies is sometimes really hard and depressing, but this one was so fun all the way through. I’m just happy I got to be in it, really.

What was the chemistry like on set between yourself, Emily, Hannah, and Stuart? Tell me about some of the fun you guys had.
Olly: We hit it off instantly. I’d known Hannah for a few years prior, and the three of us met on a train up to Glasgow for rehearsals. We got a bit drunk and talked about our love for Belle & Sebastian. Our sense of humor is quite similar, so we have a lot of in-jokes and we’re probably terrible to be around. [laughs] We’re just laughing all the time. Also, if your job is just singing and dancing, that’s pretty much the best thing ever. I can’t think of a more fun thing to do, you know?

That is a cool gig, my friend.
Olly: Right? I’m not having to break down or play some tortured, abused person. It’s just fun!

Stuart said that casting you three was one of the hardest decisions of his life.
Olly: He’s been living with this movie for 10 years, so it must be hard to find the right people. I’m hoping he feels like he made the right choice. [laughs] Stuart told me that the reason I got the part was because the other guys who auditioned for James did these guitar covers of Springsteen or Bowie or Bob Dylan or whoever. I wrote my own song and played it on my tiny, shitty Casio keyboard, and he said that that was something James would have done. He intended for James to be way older, so I’m glad I got it!

You’re a musician and an actor. Where do the art forms intersect for you? In other words, what creative tools do you use in both?
Olly: That’s a good question. I’m still trying to figure that out. When you’re acting, the idea is that you’re creating the character, and emotions, and stories. But you have a much more direct relationship with that when you’re a musician, because you’re writing the music. You’re performing on stage. You’re the writer, director, and producer all at once. I feel like it’s a much more instant creative satisfaction than acting, in a way. Actually, the more and more I act and play music, the more I feel like they’re really different. [laughs]

Because of your background as a musician, I’m sure you were able to pull from your own life experiences quite a bit when acting out scenes like the fight with the drummer and passing out fliers to recruit band members.
Olly: Oh yeah. I never did the flier thing, but I’ve definitely played a lot of shows where stuff has gone wrong. I haven’t gotten into a fight on stage, though! [laughs] But I’ve played lots of shows where the audience isn’t really into you and stuff. I get that frustrated musician thing, because that was my life for a long time.

Talk to me about Stuart as both a director and a musician.
Olly: What’s really great about Stuart is how relaxed he is. I imagine making your first movie is a pretty terrifying experiences. I’d be having daily nervous breakdowns. But he was so calm, and that really filters down to the rest of the crew. He’s so easy to be with and work around, and he also trusted in what we were doing, so we could just do what we wanted. [laughs] He’s also quite instinctive. I wish I’d picked his brain more on his songwriting process, but as a musician, I think he’s so prolific and instinctual.

What’s your songwriting process like? Do you start with the chords or do you start with the melody?
Olly: I start with chords and sort of vocalize a melody over it. I write on piano.

Piano is the best songwriting instrument, I’d say.
Olly: Yeah, definitely. It’s the most forgiving songwriting instrument for sure.

I miss movie musicals. I wish there were more of them. Do you feel the same way?
Olly: I do now, but I have to be honest; I wasn’t a fan of the musical film genre. I just wasn’t. I haven’t seen Grease or Cabaret…I just haven’t seen that many musicals. But now that I’ve been in one and seen how fun it can be, I want there to be more, definitely. I feel like people love them, right? This one’s sort of different because it isn’t a glossy, high-production-value musical. I mean, I think there’s a part of everyone that thinks life would be better if you could just burst into song and dance. They’re right! [laughs]

In your opinion, is the film emblematic of a music genre, a time period, or Stuart himself? What does it represent?
Olly: It’s very much Stuart’s vision. I think people will know what to expect if they’re Bell & Sebastian fans. Why I love the movie so much is that it’s Stuart’s story–all the films he loved growing up, living in Glasgow, creating a band–it’s all an expression of him.

It’s a scary thing for a first-time director to take on a musical in his first at-bat, but Stuart Murdoch is a seasoned artist with experience in another art form. That art form happens to be music: Murdoch is the frontman of Belle & Sebastian, which obviously gives him a unique advantage in his charming debut, God Help the Girl, an indie-pop fantasy set in his beloved hometown of Glasgow. Murdoch released a concept album of the same name in 2009, and the film version of his passion project is a natural, seamless extension of his initial vision. It’s a bit too restrained on all fronts, but the film’s young leads are wonderful, the songs are catchy and clever (Belle & Sebastian fans will be thrilled), the cinematography is shimmery and sharp, and it’s an all-around pleasurable experience.

But above all else, Murdoch gives indie kids a film that speaks (and sings) to them directly. Our two central characters meet at a rock show in a small club. Watching the show from the crowd is Eve (Emily Browning), an aspiring musician herself who’s just escaped the walls of the mental health center where she’s being treated for anorexia and anxiety. On stage is a nerdy singer-songwriter named James (Olly Alexander), who gets into an on-stage (eventually spilling off-stage) tussle with his drummer because he can’t hear his vocals over the drums. After the show, James finds Eve sulking in a stairwell, and a friendship (and a band!) is born. They soon recruit another musical collaborator by the name of Cass (Hannah Murray), a cheery confidant who’s cute as a button and loves riding bikes. Anyone who came up in the indie club scene will recognize just how truthful a representation of the culture Murdoch’s put on screen.

But the film isn’t grounded in authenticity or reality; this is a musical after all, and the summer of songwriting, random kayak rides, and bowling alley gigs we see our trio share is a more heightened, wondrous version of the culture it represents than an accurate portrait of it. They’re living in an indie dreamworld. If you’ve ever tried to recruit band members by posting fliers around town, you know how unfruitful (albeit classic) a recruiting method it is. (Yes, I’ve done this before and yes, it was pathetic.) Eve, James and Cass have no trouble with this, as they find themselves literally running away from a hungry pack of would-be band members, giant smiles on their faces. Moments like these are genuinely gleeful, warm and fuzzy, adorable, and unstuck from reality.

Cracks eventually do begin to form within the band, because if they didn’t, the already paper-thin plot would be all but shapeless. There are disagreements about band names, debates on the virtues of artistic integrity and commercial appeal, and a weak romantic angle revolving around Eve, but none of the drama is affecting. The story is completely formulaic, but the good news is that Murdoch’s music isn’t; the musical numbers are the film’s strongest asset, with Murdoch’s lyrics conveying the characters’ mindsets nicely. The jaunty, sometimes tender songs are beautifully written and orchestrated, and a few Belle & Sebastian classics are weaved in as well. (The playful “Funny Little Frog” is a welcome inclusion.)

Alexander is sweet and likable, and it’s clear that he can genuinely play the instruments in his hands. (Outside of acting he’s in a band called Years and Years.) James is more than a little archetypal, but Alexander is so good you won’t really care. Murray’s enthusiasm is enchanting, but her singing voice feels a bit withheld and faint. Browning’s voice, on the other hand, is extraordinary, as is her non-singing performance, and her dollish look works well with cinematographer Giles Nuttgens’ vibrant visual style. The intimate moments between Eve and Olly are tender without feeling mushy, like when she crawls in bed with him late at night because she can’t sleep. He gently drapes his arm around her with no motive other than to ease her worries.

If there’s anything to knock about the film’s look, it’s that the camera movement feels too choreographed and rigid. A more free-flowing approach might have reflected the characters’ wild spirits better. Murdoch and Nuttgens make Glasgow look absolutely gorgeous, with the blue-ish gray urban architecture nestled in lush greenery acting as the perfect setting for their modern fairy tale.

God Help the Girl trailer

When it was released in 1964, Time magazine called A Hard Day’s Night “One of the smoothest, freshest, funniest films ever made for purposes of exploitation.” It’s hard to find a modern cultural equivalent. Clearly the multiple Justin Bieber documentaries or silly pop-star musicals like From Justin to Kelly don’t hold a candle to Richard Lester’s witty and innovative film. The closest comparison I can think of is Spice World, where the Spice Girls also played scripted versions of themselves but parodying themselves in a way that panders to their fans but doesn’t exactly break cinematic ground.

Filmed a month after The Beatles invaded America, rocking out on the Ed Sullivan show, the film follows John, Paul, George, and Ringo as clever, cheeky versions of themselves (though it’s hard to believe that they weren’t just as cheeky in real life). The fab four are making their way to Liverpool for a TV appearance, barely making it to their train as they run madly away from an adoring mob. The boys accept their celebrity good-naturedly, while acknowledging how taxing it can be. On the train Paul introduces his Grandfather (Wilfrid Brambell), a “clean” old man with a proclivity for troublemaking. The boys lock Grandfather up in the cargo area of the train, using it as an excuse to bust out their instruments and treat some fellow traveling girls to a performance. At their destination, Grandfather steals an invite to a casino while the boys shirk fan-mail duties to dance. At the rehearsal for the TV show next day, Grandfather incites further mischief by convincing Ringo he’s not living life to his fullest resulting in his last-minute abandonment of his duties, forcing his bandmates to search the city for him. Of course they make it back in the nick of time for their performance, closing out the film with iconic footage of just how crazed their fans truly were as young girls and boys scream their heads off at the cool foursome playing a few more of their incredibly catchy hits.

The film takes advantage of the boys’ Liverpool accents, upbringing, and the cheeky humor associated with the area. They poke fun cleverly at their celebrity and the nature of celebrity itself. In one sketch George wanders into a casting call where he’s told what the latest fashions will soon be, declaring them “grotty” (short for grotesque) he shirks their show and their fashion choices. The casting director consults his trend calendar after he leaves, declaring that they’d better soon fire the show’s host, as she’s likely soon to be out of style and best to be ahead of the curve. Another scene involves John running into an actress in the hall who insists he looks just like “him” (without ever saying John’s name). John denies it and a very meta sort of conversation ensues where he claims to have heard rumors of the actress and “him” but that he stood up for her. Their conversation ends when the actress claims she can’t even see the resemblance now that she thinks of it, causing John to claim “she looks more like him than I do”. It’s a hilarious, introspective, and satirical bit that not only highlights the genius of the film’s writing but also showcases just how well the young stars were able to handle themselves when tasked with the challenge of simultaneously acting while being themselves.

A Hard Day’s Night was nominated for two Oscars, Best Screenplay and Best Score, and its distinctive style influenced countless future projects from The Monkees’ TV show to the advent of music videos. What I find most interesting about the film is the way it was so perfectly suited for The Beatles. Alun Owen was chosen as screenwriter because of his mastery of the particular humor associated with Liverpool and his screenplay and its unique vignette style were the perfect way to give fans the exposure they demanded of the band, while allowing the musicians to have fun, showcase their music, and yet also gain a sincere sense of character that makes them even more loveable.

Criterion’s edition is gorgeous having used the original 35mm camera negative. It was scanned in 4k resolution and retains the film’s singularity while enhancing a crystal clear and detailed picture. The film is in its original theatrical aspect ration of 1.75:1 and sounds exceptionally awesome. The final result was approved by director Richard Lester and while it is now available for purchase on Blu-Ray/DVD it is also getting a limited release in theaters, an experience hard to duplicate, so get out and see it if you are able.

A Hard Day’s Night is opening Nationwide July 4th and will be playing at The Cinefamily in Los Angeles from Friday, July 4th until Thursday, July 10th.

A Hard Day’s Night trailer

I Am Big Bird

I Am Big Bird is, not surprisingly, one of the more popular titles at the festival this year. Directors Dave LaMattina and Chad Walker tell the life story of Carroll Spinney, the man behind Big Bird and Oscar The Grouch. Spinney’s story is quite interesting, from his childhood goal to become a puppeteer to his hiring on Sesame Street and loving marriage to his second wife Deb. The problem is that LaMattina and Walker refuse to let Spinney’s story breathe for a single moment, instead relying on a barrage of maudlin tactics to choke tears out of viewers. This includes a loud, obnoxious, seemingly never-ending score, and incredibly manipulative editing choices.

LaMattina and Walker’s lack of confidence in their material is disappointing because Spinney’s story is definitely worthy of a documentary. Carroll and Deb’s love story is touching when they explain it, and when the film steps back it’s much better at getting an emotional response (a clip of Spinney, dressed up as Big Bird, singing “Bein’ Green” at Jim Henson’s memorial while choking back tears is the film’s only truly moving moment because the clip plays without any editing or interruptions). LaMattina and Walker’s heavy-handedness kills any chance of Spinney getting any kind of proper treatment, making I Am Big Bird a puff piece more than a documentary. The absurd praise thrown on Spinney and his family reaches nauseating heights by the end, with suggestions of their politeness helping another family move on from a tragic death along with contributing to Barack Obama’s election win in 2012 (!). Spinney’s life deserves more than this mawkish treatment.

Private Violence

HBO has good, effective documentaries down to a science by now, and Private Violence is yet another example of it. Director Cynthia Hill gives a vérité look into two lives: Kit Gruelle, a former victim of domestic abuse advocating for justice, and Deanna Walters, a mother trying to put away her abusive husband for good. Hill’s intent is to show the complexity with abusive relationships, and to explain why telling a victim of abuse to “Just leave” does more harm than good. Hill nails this aspect 100%, but the lack of any serious legal consequences for abuse is one of the most shocking parts of the film. Walters, who was driven across the country by her husband in his 18-wheeler and mercilessly beaten for days, is fighting to get him convicted for kidnapping and not for the abuse. Kidnapping is a felony and can get him put away for over 20 years; assault of a female is a misdemeanor and can only get him a maximum sentence of 150 days.

Hill cuts back and forth between Gruelle’s advocacy efforts and Walters’ attempt to move on, and the result is effective in its (somewhat) narrow focus. Walters’ case is used as a main symbol of the systemic problems of dealing with domestic abuse, while Gruelle’s visits of other victims paints a bigger picture of how widespread the issue is. Granted, Hill’s film will come across as a boilerplate social issue documentary to some, but her work is still powerful and informative. HBO’s involvement will most likely increase the film’s popularity, and as Private Violence shows this kind of subject matter needs to be looked at.

Mateo

Matthew Stoneman had dreams of becoming a pop star, until he went to prison for four years in 1997. Stoneman became obsessed with mariachi music and learned Spanish during his time in prison, coming out of jail reborn as a “Gringo Mariachi.” Matthew, who now goes by Mateo, repeatedly flies to Cuba so he can make a new album of songs inspired by the music scene in 1950s Havana.

Despite the four year journey director Aaron I. Naar took to make Mateo, there will be inevitable comparisons with Searching for Sugar Man. Both have an element of discovering a musical treasure (it’s not my kind of music, but Mateo actually is pretty good as a singer/songwriter), and that alone makes Mateo mostly enjoyable. Naar ends up surprisingly carving out a complex portrait of the white Spanish singer, whose life seems split into two halves. In Los Angeles he lives the solitary life of a hoarder, mostly going to different gigs so he can fund his trips to Havana. In Cuba, Mateo shows himself as quite the sociable person, even if his affinity for prostitutes can get very creepy.

Naar doesn’t come down on either side of his subject, a smart decision elevating Mateo beyond the “Gringo Mariachi” hook. Naar’s doc does flounder around the middle, as scenes of Mateo in Havana begin feeling repetitious, but a neat epilogue of sorts in Tokyo adds another fresh layer to the proceedings. Mateo won’t do much for an average viewer, but those interested in the subject matter will find themselves having a good time with it.

Portrait of Jason

Finally, a few words on Shirley Clarke’s landmark documentary Portrait of Jason. Hot Docs has a nice retrospective program, and this year they snagged the 35mm restoration of this 1967 classic. Over one night, Clarke filmed Jason Holliday, a charismatic hustler with plenty of stories to tell. From frame one, Portrait of Jason shows its awareness as a documentary with some layer of artifice. The image is out of focus, we hear the crew talking in the background, and Jason repeats the same line twice (“My name is Jason Holliday”) before admitting it’s a fake name.

Looking for “reality” in Portrait of Jason is a fool’s errand. Clarke and her crew, never seen but frequently heard, keep asking Jason to tell different stories (“Tell the one about the cop”). The film feels less like a profile or interview than people asking for Holliday’s greatest hits. Jason performs for the camera, delivering his stories with plenty of bravado and exaggerations. Attempts to dig deeper into his life show signs of a troubled childhood, but even stories of Jason getting abused by his father are told in the same overdramatic style.

Watching Portrait of Jason soon becomes an exhaustive, but necessary, experience. The questions will keep flying: How much of this is rehearsed? Is Jason telling the truth? Does he know what Clarke and her crew are going to do? That core question of what’s “real” never gets answered, making the film exist in a space of nothing but a series of subjective points of view. Clarke’s involvement of herself (many scenes end with the a black screen, while Clarke says to keep recording sound despite the reel ending) throws things into more chaos, as the expectation of her authorial hand providing some kind of grounding for the view goes out the window.

This approach will frustrate people (there were more than a few walkouts at the screening), but the questions Clarke’s film brings up are necessary reminders of the level of trust audiences give documentary filmmakers. The ethical qualities of Portrait of Jason continue to get blurred, with Clarke giving him more liquor as the night goes on and, by the final reel, openly attacking him to provoke some sort of response that fits their definition of something genuine (“Be honest, motherfucker, stop acting.”). There’s plenty to dissect in Portrait of Jason, something I don’t have the room for here (and better people have done excellent jobs already), but this is vital viewing for anyone who considers themselves a fan of documentaries.