Cinema Hype

I’ve sort of wanted to be BFFs with comedian/actor/woman-about-town Charlyne Yi for awhile now. You might remember her one-episode stint as Grace Park, Kenneth’s Jerry Maguire-misquoting love, on an old episode of 30 Rock (I tried to find an embeddable video of this, as it’s one of my favorite 30R moments ever, but was foiled by the weak-but-apparently-not-that-weak copyright law on the internets); she also pals around with Judd Apatow’s pack (”Apatown,” apparently) and turns up in the odd movie. Now her own movie, Paper Heart, has won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at Sundance, and is due out in August. It’s almost too coyly cute to be believed:

Doesn’t it look adorable, and yet also infuriatingly cute? The question here may be phrased in terms of another hipster touchstone movie: will Paper Hearts be like the first ten minutes of Juno (i.e. unwatchably twee) or like the last hour and a half (honest and funny and kind of a heartbreaker)? Alternatively, which will wear out first: Michael Cera’s charm or his penchant for playing awkwardly lovable young men? (You’d think we’d be getting towards the end of that particular rope, but the facts indicate otherwise.) I bet it also has a killer soundtrack.

Paper Heart is a “hybrid documentary”—not a mockumentary, but a mix of fiction and documentary. One assumes that the road-trip footage, and maybe the parts with her friends/crew, are the unscripted part, and that the Yi/Cera storyline (they play themselves) came with at least some forethought, though it’s hard to tell where that particular line sits—which is probably the point. Either way, I’m excited to see more of Yi’s work out there. And, hey, I still want to hang out. Even if you don’t like hair-braiding and boy-story-telling, I’m always up for a good script-polishing session! Call me!

Charlyne Yi, Paper Heart, Michael Cera, Sundance, Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award, hipster movies, Juno

Disneynature’s Earth is a theatrical release similar to (and made by the same team as) the popular BBC miniseries Planet Earth, which featured extraordinary footage of the flora and fauna of the world’s least-humanized places. Call it Planet Earth, family style. In this shorter, better-marketed documentary, the nature footage is spectacular, but, as the movie itself would likely point out, sometimes the people involved get in the way.

The high point of Earth is the nature footage, much of which is truly amazing—the night sky in the Himalayas; Great White Sharks hunting off the coast of South Africa; a face-off between lions and elephants in the Okovango Delta; flocks of birds that blot out the sun. The baby animals alone will be worth the price of admission for some; between the newborn polar bears slip-sliding their way down an icy hill and the baby ducks “flying” (read: falling and bouncing, hilariously) for the first time, some sequences of the movie may as well go straight to Cute Overload. Also: baby elephants bumping into things is always, always funny.

In terms of the way it’s put together, Earth is both relatively tame and not for the faint of heart, often at the same time. It tries to be candid about the realities of the wild: in nature, there’s almost always a winner and a loser. Sometimes, the loser is cute, fuzzy, and/or young, and gets eaten. Other times, the loser is the majestic predator, and he or she starves. Both are hard to watch. At the same time, this nature documentary is clearly edited for the general public. There are wrenching moments, for sure, but as a whole, the film is surprisingly bloodless, and there are obvious moments where the camera cuts away just in time—but everybody knows what happens anyway. This pulling of punches is both conspicuous and a bit of a relief; in any case, the overall message is clear: baby animals are cute, but Mother Nature has no sympathy for you or anybody else, and in some cases, humankind is not helping.

If you’ve seen Planet Earth, Earth will seem self-explanatory: it’s what happens when the shooting style of the original BBC Planet Earth miniseries is poured into the Disney mold. BBC gave us Sir David Attenborough and his just-the-facts-ma’am brand of dignity; we’ve got James Earl Jones (naturally) editorializing and offering funny little comments on the action. George Fenton’s score varies with the terrain, and it’s like a character, for better or worse—of high quality in its own right, but also maybe a little too conspicuous.

Earth is heavily marketed and slickly packaged, and maybe a bit disappointing to viewers of the miniseries, who may miss the dignity of Attenborough’s narration and the privacy of their own Blu-Ray machines. Otherwise, it’s all about the actual film: the variety of landscapes and the quality of the footage lifts it above what any human could do to/with it.

Disney Earth, Earth, Disneynature, nature documentary, documentary, Earth Day

A friend of mine said recently of Michael Moore, “He’s one of those guys that you wish you disagreed with.”

It’s true. In Sicko, Moore’s reputation precedes him (one person in the film, when denied coverage by Cigna HMO, mentioned his name in a letter and mysteriously received treatment shortly afterwards). Ironically, Sicko is probably his least intrusive movie so far. Moore has done his homework and offers plenty of film and textual evidence to make his points, but stays away from the hounding and ambush tactics we’ve seen from him before. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t need to follow anybody around: plenty of people approached him with their stories.

That’s the thing about Michael Moore: he’s annoying personally, but like Moore himself, his movies don’t take no for an answer. The barrage of examples in Sicko, both of the failure of American health care and of the successes of national health care abroad, is constant, fascinating, and heartbreaking. Like any sensible and determined documentarian, Moore clearly edits footage to suit his own message, but what makes it into the movie (people whose children died after being refused care at an HMO emergency room; Ground Zero volunteers with respiratory problems who can’t get proper treatment; the elderly and indigent removed from Los Angeles hospitals and dumped on Skid Row wearing only hospital robes; the list goes on and on) is impossible to ignore, and it’s right there on film, as plain as day. It’s the audience’s job to be savvy and to make a decision: How much salt needs to go down with this movie?

Moore’s sensibility helps and hurts Sicko in equal-ish measure. His reputation for rousing rabbles certainly helped the movie at the box office, which is what Moore wants—increased attendance means increased money for him and an increased awareness of his message. In a sense, people are heading to the theater to see Moore himself, and he knows it, which is why his movies tend to be so determinedly first-person. On the other hand, watching Moore almost requires listening separately with each ear: one ear for the message of the film and one ear for Moore himself, his tactics and his (fairly shameless) editing tricks. The two cross paths in a sliver of combined sensitivity and common sense. That’s where, with any luck, the audience will end up as well.

It’s hard to say whether Sicko could have existed outside the realm of Moore’s body of work. Plenty of filmmakers could have taken an interest in the health-care industry; most probably couldn’t have made as a big a splash as he did. And for somebody who likes the splash, who thrives on the splash as much as he does, that’s what counts.

Sicko, Michael Moore, documentary

So, toads are out of fashion these days. Penguins? We like penguins. Camels? Camels are nice. But toads? Toads are warty and hoppy and have transparent eyelids, and nobody really feels the need to either make or watch an epic about toads these days. Luckily for us(?), in 1988, Mark Lewis didn’t care what was in or out of fashion in the animal-documentary world. The future director of The Natural History of the Chicken and Standard of Perfection: Show Cats went out, and he made himself a movie. He made Cane Toads: An Unnatural History.

Cane Toads is exactly how it sounds: a documentary about cane toads in Australia. Lewis spends 47 minutes telling his audience about the importing of the cane toad, its subsequent population boom, its unique traits, and its place in Queensland culture (partially, it must be admitted, as roadkill). He uses nature-show footage and conducts interviews with people who love cane toads and people who run them over on purpose. The movie is, essentially, a no-holds-barred look at cane toad life.

The best thing about Cane Toads–about any good documentary, really–is the people. Comic documentary filmmaking in particular relies on the earnestness and unself-consciousness of the people being featured; directors need to find people who say hilarious and/or ironic things in front of the camera without cracking a smile. (Non-comedic documentary filmmaking also relies on earnestness and unself-consciousness, but in a different way, i.e. the people are less at risk of being mocked openly.) The residents of Queensland readily fit the bill, including an American researcher with a toad vendetta and an older woman who refers to the toads as “not pets, exactly…more like friends.” In that way, the movie isn’t just about toads; it is, one might say, about toads and the people who love them. Or hate them. On the next Sally Jessy Raphael!

Cane Toads is also…well, fine. It’s informative. The staff at CH now know far more about the Cane Toad and its place in the modern history of Queensland than we did previously: their disastrous introduction to Australia as a “solution” to an infestation of sugar cane grubs, their vigorous reproductive habits, their unofficial and sometimes grudging status as the Queensland regional mascot. According to Wikipedia, the film is sometimes shown in science classes, indicating that has actual educational merit. And it’s true, we’re smarter about cane toads than we used to be. Thank you, Mark Lewis. Now go find some parakeets to film, or something.

documentaries, cane toads, mark lewis