45365, Bill and Turner Ross‘ SXSW-winning nonfiction film about their hometown of Sydney, Ohio, debuts today on SnagFilms, where it will be streaming for free for one week as part of Snag’s Summerfest, which brings festival films online for a limited time before their theatrical/TV/DVD runs.

As a big fan of this film’s dedicated formalism,  I concur with AJ Schnack who, in an interview the Ross brothers, recalls his experience watching the film at SXSW “where the total immersion forced me to adapt to the film’s rhythms and language” and thus concludes that 45365 is the kind of film best “seen in theaters or at festivals.”  Knowing this before attempting to watch the movie on my computer, I decided to try to approximate a bigger screen experience at home with the Snag stream by connecting my computer to my TV, but unfortunately Snag’s full screen option shuts down for every ad break. So it’s not the right format for “total immersion,” but hopefully it will expose the film to a wider audience, who might be moved to catch up with 45365 when Seventh Art releases it theatrically further down the line.

Also, 45365 on Snag would make for an interesting double online VOD bill with another film enjoying a similarly non-traditional release pattern, Loren Cass. …Read more

Youssou N’dour: I Bring What I Love was shown at SXSW in a 35mm print. Director Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi announced she’d brought it with her having last shown it in Burkina Faso three weeks ago, and it showed the wear-and-tear of having only one print to go around for a year: it was scratchy during the reel changes. But it was worth it: the doc had slow-burning visual texture and a sense of contextual place I don’t really look for in documentaries anymore. I expect this to be the last time in my life I see a documentary screened in a print at a festival, and it was a good note to go out on. As the story of a controversy, N’Dour takes its time: the first half gives you Senegalese musician superstar N’Dour’s normal routine, the second the fracas around his 2004 album Egypt. Vasarhelyi’s obviously a fan, and she has enough concert footage to show why she was drawn to N’Dour before the drama started, but N’Dour morphs into one of the more nuanced documentaries on modern Islam around.

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In the corner by the entrance of the Film/Interactive Conference show floor at SXSW, there’s a glass cube containing a Charlie Rose-esque set (big, round table, black backdrop) and two TV cameras. Here, journalist/blogger/hack-type guests of the festival are invited to interview filmmaker/artist/talent-type guests of the festival, live to tape for later dissemination on the web. This is called StudioSX.

This year at SXSW, I went to see Andrew Bujalski’s Beeswax at the Paramount, and ran out of the theater just as the Q & A was starting because I had been scheduled to conduct a StudioSX interview with a filmmaker less than an hour later. But then I got a call from a StudioSX producer, saying the filmmaker I had been scheduled to speak to had missed his flight to Austin and wasn’t going to be able to make it. What films had I seen? he asked. Who would I like to interview instead. I immediately blurted out, “Beeswax! Andrew Bujalski!” — not just because the film was fresh in my head, but also because it was the rare movie that left me with actual questions, that defied my smug, know-it-all tendency to have its mysteries completely worked out by the line I had to lineup for the next screening.

Long story … uh .. still probably longer than it needs to be, the StudioSX people called Bujalski’s people, and within an hour he was rushed off stage at the Paramount and was sitting across from me in Charlie Rose Bizarroworld. We talked for 10 minutes, about scripting for an unscripted feel, about why a film called Beeswax has nothing literally to do with bees, and about his slowly evolving relationship to celluloid. It was taped, and you can now watch it here.

In a way, this all started back in high school, in an art classroom, painters-turned-filmmakers Andy Duensing and Chris Doyle meeting there. Better known now as the pair behind the collective the Deagol Bros., Andy and Chris, working with longtime friends and fellow artist-musicians Eric and Jordan Lehning, have spent from production to final cut the last five years of their lives making the at turns poignant and goofball, genre-defying coming-of-age indie Make-Out with Violence.

As chronicled in journalist Jim Ridley’s feature story for Nashville Scene, the production was beset early by stumbling blocks. Budget limit halts of production, wear and tear on the seams of friendship and at least one very ill-timed break-up roughed up the filmmaking journey. Yet despite these trials, the high school friends, not knowing if they’d ever have another opportunity to make a feature, sought to tell the most distinct and interesting story possible.

Pulling from memories of growing up in a much more rural Hendersonville, TN than exists now, Andy, Chris and Eric, all working from separate cities, began a script crafting process that would, in its final stages, blend styles of many seeming opposites. One part comedy, one part drama, another mystery and the last (very small part in the scope of it all) horror, Make-Out with Violence tells the story of teenage twin brothers Patrick (Eric Lehning) and Carol (Cody DeVos), who after the disappearance and death of their friend Wendy (Shellie Shartzer), diverge in their paths toward after high school futures. While the somewhat obsessive Patrick tends to Wendy’s barely animated (read: zombie) corpse, Carol chases, much of the time ineptly, his elusive, tender sweetheart Addie (Leah High.) Told through the eyes of the brothers’ younger sibling Beetle (Brett Miller), the story unfolds with a necessary level of detachment into its punchy and disconcerting yet graceful, moving conclusion.

With its deftly-handled blends of style and score, Make-Out with Violence is at its best as an experiment; it’s both familiar and unexpected, nonchalant and thought-provoking, slapstick comic and full of all that’s yearning and desolate. As such the film in its festival run so far has had both its fervent champions and its quieter skeptics, those who really appreciate its many layers and those who stand in some confusion as to what is ultimately being said here. It’s undeniable, though, that whichever side holds greater sway for the individual filmgoer, Make-Out with Violence leaves a person wondering deeply, and just a little happier afterward for having seen this mix of ideas, images and songs. As Andy puts it, “There’s a certain amount of room there for the viewer to experience the movie in whatever way they want.”

Talking here in phone conference, Andy, Chris, Eric and Jordan share stories about the film’s development, particularly the crafting of its memorable original soundtrack — the disc length of which is longer than the film itself, “by quite a bit” says Jordan, who worked alongside Eric to compose all of the tunes. In the background of our conversation, Kevin Doyle, one of the film’s directors of photography, folds origami DVD sleeves for screener copies of the film. He does this for a full hour while the four others of the film’s creative core talk.

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Looking up at her co-star Souleymane Sy Savane and noting the pain written on his face, child actress Diana Franco Galindo pulled aside Goodbye Solo director Ramin Bahrani to ask why it was that his character at this moment seemed so sad.

“I don’t know; why do you think he is so sad?” Bahrani asked.

Not having read any of the script beyond her own scenes, Galindo thought for a second on the question.

Here, of course, is all the story background that she, in considering the question, knew nothing of: With this latest work, Bahrani studies the world of naturally jovial, curious taxi driver Solo who, in meeting cantankerous, suicidal fare William (Red West), is forced to reconsider the definitions of friendship. Opening with an already quarrelsome scene between the two men, Goodbye, Solo, while quite a comfortable film to engage with, its journey full of levity as Solo studies for an exam to land a job as a flight attendant, leaves no easy way out either for its characters nor its audience. William has full intentions of leaving everything in life behind him, and Solo, despite his growing affection for the man, must learn not only to let him go but also to help him on his way.

Knowing this perhaps makes Galindo’s answer to Bahrani in that moment all this much more poignant.

“I think because he failed his exam,” she says.

“That’s a really good answer. Why don’t you really encourage him to pass it then!” Bahrani told her.

”And she said she would, and thus she really fills Solo with courage and hope in the final scene to pass, and manages to cheer him up and put a smile on his face about the future, right when another man’s future has been cut and Solo is thinking about the past, mortality, fragility and the briefness of life,” Bahrani explains.

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The SXSW Film Festival is over. We didn’t make it to Austin this year, but we still had a festival experience in our very own home (Paul’s mom’s home, actually), thanks the IFC’s Festival Direct. While Joe Swanberg’s latest offering, Alexander the Last, was premeiring in Austin, we were watching it in a Michigan living room. We discuss how setting influences viewing, and the merits of the film.

We also discuss two other SXSW Festival Direct titles, Zift and Three Blind Mice.

Be sure to e-mail your most awkward movie watching moments involving sex scenes and your parents, to filmcouch [at] spout [dot] com.

0:00 - Intro

1:51 - Listener feedback

11:16 - Alexander the Last

30:39 - Zift, Three Blind Mice

filmcouch-113

Both a huge party and something of a petri dish of American independent creativity, SXSW is steadily becoming an invaluable stop on the festival circuit. The Austin festival is also the forerunner of a whole slew of American festivals that are proud to be far from New York and LA, and more importantly, far from Park City. So it’s no surprise that the festival would break even more ground in the decentralization of the independent film experience. This year, SXSW and IFC have teamed to offer five films on-demand via IFC Festival Direct, allowing viewers at home to see festival premieres on the same day the play for Austin audiences.

For a midwesterner such as myself, this is tremendously good news. The elephant in the room when talking about any artwork is always access. Who is it for, and who can actually see it? For many, entering the current discussion surrounding independent film is simply an economic impossibility. SXSW is very friendly toward the average-Joe or Jane attendee, especially compared to many other festivals, but a plane ticket and a pass are still a serious expense. It would be easy for the festival organizers to pay lip service to the idea of creating an event for more than just the elite, and then do nothing about it. Instead, they deserve a tremendous amount of credit for actively attempting to engage people who want to attend the festival, but can’t.

That said, the “festival at home” experience is far from flawless. Despite the fact that I’m pretty close to the ideal candidate for this type of thing, I don’t have the right kind of cable package required to see on-demand movies. I’ve often considered anteing up for better cable just for IFC, but for the most part a high-speed internet connection and Netflix subscription keep me occupied, and they are a big enough chunk of my monthly budget. So while audiences can technically watch these festival films anywhere, there’s still a large barrier to access, and it still comes down to cost. So I spent the weekend calling up friends, interviewing them about what kind of cable they have, then sheepishly asking if I could invite myself over to watch a few movies. Luckily, I have gracious friends.

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As filmmakers, Mark and Jay Duplass make naturalistic, character-based comedies that use laughs almost as a part of a bait-and-switch to distract from how far they’re burrowing under the skin. The acting style that makes this method work, embodied by Mark’s starring performance in The Puffy Chair, has been a natural fit for films with similar methods, if different aims; as an actor, it makes sense that Duplass would pop up in lo-fi, highly improvised films like Hannah Takes the Stairs and Humpday. Craig Johnson’s True Adolescents is an example of how that type of closely-observed, behavioral comedy can be wrangled into a comparatively conventional, crowd-pleasing indie film of higher-gloss variety. The result may not be mind-blowingly insightful or particularly creatively inspired, but it’s faced-paced and fun, and it’ll definitely play to the Alamo Drafthouse’s queso and beer crowd — and, if marketed right, to the wider world.

Sam, Duplass’ proudly smoking, designer headphone-sporting 34 year-old hipster, plays a show with his band Effort (get it?) and shortly after is rendered homeless when dumped by his exotically hot girlfriend. With nowhere to go and nothing in the bank, Sam calls on his Aunt Sharon (Melissa Leo), a post-hippie single mom struggling connect with her 14 year-old son Oliver. When Oliver’s dad fails to show up for a planned weekend in the woods at the last minute, as a show of gratitude to Sharon, Sam and ends up taking Oliver and his best friend Jake on a camping trip. Prickly male bonding, misunderstandings, and eventual mutual recognition ensues.

Duplass is essentially doing a broader version of a character we’ve seen him play before, the former (Humpday) or current (Hannah, Puffy) slacker fighting off some form of adult responsibility as hard as he possibly can without actually having to do much of anything. He’s really good at playing that guy, but he’s getting too old to play that guy, and that’s part of True Adolescents’ foundational joke. The actor has visibly aged since Puffy, and on some level it might be interesting to see him play another incarnation of commitment-phobe slack-ass in another four years. Unlike Paul Rudd, whose baby face belies the fact that he’ll turn 40 this year, if Duplass continues to do the same thing in progressively larger-scale, more accessible films, the performance will actually feel different, more tragic.

I digress into consideration A Consideration of the Career of One Mark Duplass, because True Adolescents doesn’t give one much else to say. It unabashedly prioritizes the natural punchlines of its premise over anything deeper or weirder, it loses considerable steam about half way through when a plot contrivance mandates a search through the woods, and the film’s major crisis is resolved as neatly as you surely expected it would be (another crisis is, disappointingly, not resolved at all — the film teases at a more literal definition of bromance than usually seen, but then lets that thread float away). But it’s hard to fault it for not hitting heights that it doesn’t seem to be aiming for. I’m writing about it not because it’s a such a success or such a failure creatively, but because I think people will genuinely enjoy it. In recent years, there’s been a vast gulf at SXSW between the tiny films critics and bloggers love and champion throughout the year (as in, virtually every other film Mark Duplass has been involved with) and the big movies that studios introduce to the audience in Austin which then become certifiable hits (as in, Knocked Up, or last year’s SXSW opening night film and eventual sleeper blockbuster 21). In scale and intention, True Adolescents feels squarely in the middle of those poles. I’m interested to see what its future brings, if it ends up drifting to one camp or another, or if it actually manages to bring the disparate fates together.

A self-admitted lover of armchair philosophy, nonfiction filmmaker Andrew Neel prefers questions to answers. “Present day cinema, indie documentaries included, has devolved into thesis-driven filmmaking; people want a conclusion walking out the door. I think that’s the death of cinema.

“When I leave a film that I feel is really good, I leave with lots of complicated questions that I can’t always answer, that I don’t feel comfortable answering,” he explains.

In studying the little understood culture of political conspiracy theorists, Neel, along with longtime collaborator and co-director Luke Meyer, engages with New World Order several of these uncomfortable questions, the most unnerving of which are: Is there a global elite, this New World Order, that orchestrates the hierarchies and power plays in societies? Does this elite, more alarmingly, hope to handicap the world only to rebuild it in its own image later?

As it follows the leaders of the growing 9/11 Truth Movement, foremost among them incendiary activist Alex Jones, the documentary staunchly refuses to make any judgment calls. If at times the messages sent within the film edify too passionately, the calls “9/11 was an inside job,” and “Wake up!” forever after to play in the recordings of the subconscious, it’s that the subjects of the film, not Neel or Meyer themselves as directors, have spoken those messages out so forcefully. Opting instead simply to gaze with great compassion at its oft ignored and scorned subjects, New World Order, at its core, is much less about government machinations than it is about the profundity of humaneness in a world rife with confusion.

Whereas in their last directorial collaboration Darkon, a glimpse into the fantasy world of live action role players, Neel and Meyer had the freedom to engage with all questions of fact and fiction, with New World Order, Neel says, explorations were thorny in that through the process of making the film questions arose that, as the directors, neither he nor Meyer could address for fear of compromising their objectivity, and hence the film along with it. In this interview, however, Neel opens up to share his thoughts on the power of ideas, the problem of peaceful revolution and the little bit of fear he has for the future.

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As a wedding present, Kris and Joe Swanberg received, among other gifts, an ice-cream maker. Almost immediately, Kris found herself experimenting with recipes—whiskey with bread pudding, hot chocolate with roasted marshmallows, coffee and doughnut and gingersnap cookie, four flavors a season. She sells them now by the pint at a local grocery store. During the day Kris heads to work as a substitute teacher, and though she loves teaching and is pursuing her graduate work in higher education, it’s a transitional occupation that she says is rather worthless and unfulfilling.

Joe, meanwhile, constantly developing ideas for a seemingly endless list of to-make films, struggles with all those mundanities that thwart his creative productivity. “Doing my laundry or washing my dishes, all of these tasks are cutting into time that I could use to be making work,” he says. “If I could employ a labor force to dress me in the morning, do all these tasks, drive me places, and if I could have people simultaneously scouting locations for several different projects and setting up the paperwork with SAG, then I’d have the energy within me to make six or seven features a year, I’m sure. Now, I’m just physically incapable of it.” The statement, made during an initial interview, is all the more humorously appropriate considering that Kris answers the phone for the second of the two lengthy conversations saying, “Oh, I’ll get Joe; he’s just folding socks.”

In many ways, as most couples do, Kris and Joe see and think in very different manners. While Kris tends not to debate film, or even at times actively note it, Joe delves into every nook and cranny of a cinematic trend or debate. While she’s articulate although softer spoken, he’s passionately, loudly declarative. While she finds comfort in realism, he finds himself moving into a greater period of experimentation. Yet for all of these differences, and perhaps because of them, the Swanbergs have weathered ten years together of both romantic ramblings and professional collaborations. This is only just the briefest of glimpses at the Swanbergs as a couple.

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The Internet seems eerily quiet today, which is probably due to all the blog writers being miles above wifi signals, flying towards Austin for SXSW. Of course, there are some posts here and there discussing rumors about Jon Favreau directing The Avengers and continued commentary on Watchmen’s box office future and Joaquin Phoenix’s “brawl” in Miami, but there’s not much new news to get excited about.

So, I’ve decided to highlight some recent SXSW-related posts from other blogs in anticipation of the festival. I won’t be there this year, and the Bloggery posts will be taking a week off in order to let SpoutBlog focus on film reviews, interviews and other SXSW goodies, so this is my one chance to be a part of the SXSW fun, albeit from a very cold, very jealous perspective up here in NYC.

I wish everyone down in Austin a good time and, more importantly, a lot of good movies.

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The success of Slumdog Millionaire, despite our reservations about it, has got us thinking about romance in film. We look to another Westerner’s spin on Indian romance, Nina Paley’s Sita Sings the Blues. The animated feature, which is now available for free online, weaves an ancient Indian epic with a modern day break-up story, all with a soundtrack of vintage Annette Hanshaw. Then we look at Roman Holiday. A classic romance involving royalty, where the lovers don’t live happily ever after.

Karina tells us what to look out for at this year’s South by Southwest Film Festival, the indie film destination where everybody knows your name. Don’t miss Alexander The Last, Drag Me To Hell, Sorry, Thanks, It Came From Kuchar, and St. Nick.

On the other end of the phone line, first time feature director though veteran film and television producer Dia Sokol admits that she’s more than a bit nervous for this interview about her naturalistic “anti-chemistry, unromantic comedy” debut Sorry, Thanks. “This never used to happen to me. As a producer, I’d listen to directors fumble their way through describing their films, and I’ve always jumped in and been the person to sell it, to be articulate about it, and now I totally get it,” she says. “When it’s your film, you’re totally inarticulate about it; it comes from inside of you, so you have no perspective.”

Starring a mixed cast of professional and non-professional actors and shot by a skeleton crew in San Francisco’s endearingly eccentric Mission District, Sorry, Thanks follows two adrift lonesomes Max (Wiley Wiggins) and Kira (Kenya Miles), neither of whom, even after a shared one-night stand, can begin to reconcile their thoughts on romantic relationships. As Max chases Kira, detaching himself along the way from longtime girlfriend Sara (Ia Hernandez), and attempts to immune himself to the criticism of his best bud Mason (Andrew Bujalski), Kira explores an uninspiring dating scene that only very quietly pinpoints the sadness of her recent break-up.

Despite its bittersweet, introspection-inducing lining, Sorry, Thanks is at its core incredibly funny, even at times painfully funny. Foibles are so at the surface, sarcasm so easily blended with childlike wonder that it’s simple to just enjoy the film without questioning every character intention and situation repercussion. It’s easy, namely, to root for Max and Kira even as they stumble into moral quagmires, and that’s where Sokol, in only the most articulate of manners, begins discussing her work.

[In the film’s production notes] you pose the question, “Can we still love these characters even when they are doing things wrong?” For me that answer with this film was, “Yes.” Yet I don’t fully know why it is that I still have that faith even as I watch these characters fall into situations that are morally gray. So, this idea of the moral quandary, I was hoping that we could start our talk there.

I started my career working for Errol Morris, and that informed a lot of my skepticism about the idea of redemption. So, when I talked to [co-writer and producer Lauren Veloski] about starting to write this, I said, “I really want to make a film that’s about redemption.” (laughs) When I look at this film now and think about that, to me it’s a reminder, “Oh yeah, and I don’t believe in redemption.” I believe in it as a concept, but I don’t know that I believe in it as an actuality. I don’t think the world works that way, and I’m incredibly ambivalent about films that act like you can make up for your bad actions. So, in some ways, I wanted the film to be about, “When you break something, is it really broken?”

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Rivkah Beth Medow and Greg O’Toole’s Sons of a Gun follows three non-related schizophrenic adults who live as a family (in a single motel room) under the care of Larry, a drunk with a background in hostage negotiation who took the men in when they had nowhere else to go. After a few work-in-progress screenings last year at True/False, the doc will have its official World Premiere in competition at SXSW. Watch the trailer and read Rivkah and Greg’s answers to The 5 Questions We Ask Everyone after the jump.

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