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Film Features Film/TV

The Conversion

In January 1989, Steven Soderbergh’s sex, lies, and videotape won the Audience Award for best feature at the Sundance Film Festival, kicking off the modern Indie film movement.

To audiences, “Indie” usually means quirky, low-budget, character-driven fare that is more like the auteurist films of the 1970s than contemporary Hollywood’s designed-by-committee product. But “Indie” originally referred to films financed outside the major studios by outfits like New Line Cinema, which produced Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) and the Coen Brothers’ Blood Simple (1984). By 1990, The Coen Brothers had crossed over into the mainstream with Miller’s Crossing, a film that brought together the meticulous plotting, brainy dialog, and stunning visual compositions that would garner them acclaim for the next 25 years.

As the 1990s dawned, a whole crop of directors stood up with a mission to make good movies on their own terms — and that meant raising money by any means necessary. Robert Rodriguez financed his $7,000 debut feature El Mariachi by selling his body for medical testing. It went on to win the 1993 Audience Award at Sundance, and his book Rebel Without A Crew inspired a generation of filmmakers.

Richard Linklater’s 1991 Slacker threw out the screenwriting rulebook that had dominated American film since George Lucas name-checked Joseph Campbell, focusing instead on dozens of strange characters floating around Austin. The structure has echoed through Indie film ever since, not only in Linklater’s Dazed And Confused (1993) but also the “hyperlink” movies of the early 2000s such as Soderbergh’s Traffic and even more conventionally scripted films such as Kevin Smith’s 1994 debut, Clerks.

Quentin Tarantino is arguably the most influential director of the last 25 years. His breakthrough hit, 1994’s Pulp Fiction, was the first film completely financed by producer Harvey Weinstein’s Miramax. But even then, the definitions of what was an “Indie” movie were fluid, as the formerly independent Miramax had become a subsidiary of Disney.

Indie fervor was spreading as local film scenes sprang up around the country. In Memphis, Mike McCarthy’s pioneering run of drive-in exploitation-inspired weirdness started in 1994 with Damselvis, Daughter of Helvis, followed the next year by the semi-autobiographical Teenage Tupelo. With 1997’s The Sore Losers, McCarthy integrated Memphis’ burgeoning underground music scene with his even-more-underground film aesthetic.

In 1995, the European Dogme 95 Collective, led by Lars von Trier, issued its “Vows of Chastity” and defined a new naturalist cinema: no props, no post-production sound, and no lighting. Scripts were minimal, demanding improvisation by the actors. Dogme #1 was Thomas Vinterberg’s The Celebration, which won the Jury Prize at Cannes in 1998.

Meanwhile, in America, weirdness was reaching its peak with Soderbergh’s surrealist romp Schizopolis. Today, the film enjoys a cult audience, but in 1997, it almost ended Soderbergh’s career and led to a turning point in Indie film. The same year, Tarantino directed Jackie Brown and then withdrew from filmmaking for six years. Soderbergh’s next feature veered away from experiment: 1998’s Out Of Sight was, like Jackie Brown, a tightly plotted adaptation of an Elmore Leonard crime novel. Before Tarantino returned to the director’s chair, Soderbergh would hit with Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich and make George Clooney and Brad Pitt the biggest stars in the world with a very un-Indie remake of the Rat Pack vehicle Ocean’s 11.

Technology rescued Indie film. In the late ’90s, personal computers were on their way to being ubiquitous, and digital video cameras had improved in picture quality as they simplified operation. The 1999 experimental horror The Blair Witch Project, directed by Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sanchez, showed what was possible with digital, simultaneously inventing the found footage genre and becoming the most profitable Indie movie in history, grossing $248 million worldwide on a shooting budget of $25,000.

The festival circuit continued to grow. The Indie Memphis Film Festival was founded in 1998, showcasing works such as the gonzo comedies of Memphis cable access TV legend John Pickle. In 2000, it found its biggest hit: Craig Brewer’s The Poor & Hungry, a gritty, digital story of the Memphis streets, won awards both here and at the Hollywood Film Festival.

In 2005, Memphis directors dominated the Sundance Film Festival, with Ira Sach’s impressionistic character piece Forty Shades Of Blue winning the Grand Jury Prize, and Brewer’s Hustle & Flow winning the Audience Award, which would ultimately lead to the unforgettable spectacle of Three Six Mafia beating out Dolly Parton for the Best Original Song Oscar.

Brewer rode the crest of a digital wave that breathed new life into Indie film. In Memphis, Morgan Jon Fox and Brandon Hutchinson co-founded the MeDiA Co-Op, gathering dozens of actors and would-be filmmakers together under the newly democratized Indie film banner. Originally a devotee of Dogme 95, Fox quickly grew beyond its limitations, and by the time of 2008’s OMG/HaHaHa, his stories of down-and-out kids in Memphis owed more to Italian neorealism like Rome, Open City than to von Trier.

Elsewhere, the digital revolution was producing American auteurs like Andrew Bujalski, whose 2002 Funny Ha Ha would be retroactively dubbed the first “mumblecore” movie. The awkward label was coined to describe the wave of realist, DIY digital films such as Joe Swanberg’s Kissing on the Mouth that hit SXSW in 2005. Memphis MeDiA Co-Op alum Kentucker Audley produced three features, beginning with 2007’s mumblecore Team Picture.

Not everyone was on board the digital train. Two of the best Indie films of the 21st century were shot on film: Shane Carruth’s $7,000 Sundance winner Primer (2004) and Rian Johnson’s high school noir Brick (2005). But as digital video evolved into HD, Indie films shot on actual film have become increasingly rare.

DVDs — the way most Indies made money — started to give way to digital distribution via the Internet. Web series, such as Memphis indie collective Corduroy Wednesday’s sci fi comedy The Conversion, began to spring up on YouTube.

With actress and director Greta Gerwig’s star-making turn in 2013’s Francis Ha, it seemed that the only aspect of the American DIY movement that would survive the transition from mumblecore to mainstream was a naturalistic acting style. Founding father Soderbergh announced his retirement in 2013 with a blistering condemnation of the Hollywood machine. Lena Dunham’s 2010 festival hit Tiny Furniture caught the eye of producer Judd Apatow, and the pair hatched HBO’s Girls, which wears its indie roots on its sleeve and has become a national phenomenon.

The Indie spirit is alive and well, even if it may bypass theaters in the future.

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

Magic Kingdom? Magic Kids!

Local art punks Magic Kids licensed a song for a Disney Hong Kong ad. Well, I think. Truthfully, I don’t read Chinese. This could be anything. Hey, Fragrant Harbor, get your mouse ears on! It’s the Magic Kids.

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Film Features Film/TV

Enchanting

As I write this, my almost-3-year-old daughter is having the bedding in her room changed over to a Disney Princess theme. She’s Disney Princess mad. Apparently, so is every other American girl age 2 and up, judging by the myriad products offered for purchase by the Mouse Factory this holiday season — Cinderella, Snow White, Aurora, Ariel, and a handful of others making up the Disney retail blitzkrieg. I am, quite simply, worn out by Disney Princess sensory overload.

So with that qualification, on to my review of Enchanted, the new animated/live-action Disney film about a princess who gets sent to the real world (our world) by a wicked queen, with a dashing prince following to rescue her. Though I was primed to see it as a cynical cash-in on a popular brand, I’m obliged to report the opposite: Enchanted is an excellent family film that touches upon and updates an iconic cinematic formula without diminishing it. Take that, Cinderella III: A Twist in Time!

Enchanted starts off animated, showing the beautiful Giselle (Amy Adams) pining away in song for a prince with whom she can share true love’s kiss. Jump to Prince Edward (James Marsden), the dashing heir to the Andalusian throne, who hears her song and rushes to her side to complete it with his own lyrics. Once met, they fall immediately in love and get set to marry right away.

Fearing the loss of her power, Edward’s stepmother, the evil Queen Narissa (Susan Sarandon), tricks Giselle into a portal that sends her to New York City, where she becomes live-action amid the ugly cacophony of product placement in Times Square. Edward and a chipmunk follow to rescue Giselle, and the Queen’s lackey, Nathaniel (Timothy Spall), follows to foil their efforts. Things get off-formula, though, when Giselle meets and starts falling for Robert (Patrick Dempsey), a single-father divorce lawyer.

In New York, confronted with such prosaic mechanisms as showers and buses, the Disney protagonists turn out to be functional idiots. This is more a mild commentary on the studio’s history of simple-stroked characters than it is an entrée into mean-spirited humor, though. As a postmodern take on cinematic fairy tales, Enchanted recalls the Shrek films, particularly Shrek the Third‘s booty-kickin’ princesses. But where Shrek dripped with sarcasm and irony, Enchanted chooses to entertain with cheerful, positive storytelling. Its beneficence is maybe the film’s greatest strength as a family film. Instead of relying on bodily functions to make the kiddies laugh or smug literary allusions to get to the parents, Enchanted goes old-school: engaging the whole audience, together, with a solid story, character-derived humor, and palatable themes.

In the wonderful 2005 film Junebug, Adams played charming, funny, rustic, and a little naive, creating what seemed like a real person from her script directions. In Enchanted, Adams has to go the opposite direction, this time asked to embody a fictional icon based on the same set of characteristics. Once again, she hangs the moon. With giant, doe eyes and piles of red hair, Adams is perfectly cast. But it’s the spirit she brings that’s so winning.

I haven’t seen Patrick Dempsey acting since 1991’s one-two punch of Run and Mobsters. (I don’t partake in Grey’s Anatomy.) I never thought I’d say this, but Dempsey brings a degree of maturity to his role. His deft application of world-weariness (but wanting to believe) is probably as important in making Enchanted good as Adams’ charming daffiness.

Add original music by the multi-Oscar-winning Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz, traditional 2-D animation methods, and narration by Julie Andrews, and Enchanted fits quite nicely in the Disney canon.

Enchanted

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Categories
Sports Sports Feature

FROM MY SEAT: The Kingdom and I

I just
experienced my first sports-free week in as long as I can remember. (Memphis 55,
SMU 52??) The irony is that I came as close to the life of a Super Bowl MVP as I
ever will. I went, you see, to Walt Disney World.

If there
are Five Feats of Fatherhood that earn us our angel wings, I assure you one is
spending an hour in the Magic Kingdom — to say nothing of five days — without
losing our children. I’ve been to hundreds of sporting events, in arenas large,
small, and in-between, but until last week I had no idea what a crowd was. (When
I asked a ticket-taker how many people — ballpark — visit Disney World on an
average weekend day, I received some very un-Disney corporate speak: “They only
know that in upper management.”) Safe to say, that average figure would fill
more than one SEC football stadium.

A fine
sociology thesis could be written on the extraordinary crowd-control system
Disney utilizes from open to close every day. From its fleet of buses (between
the four theme parks and several hotel resorts), to each attraction’s entry and
exit, to the miracle of Fast Pass (an automated, authorized ticketing method for
cutting in line at specific times of day!), Disney long ago figured out that the
key to its business is herding people like sheep, but making them feel like
kings and queens as the lines move. A nice trick, Walt.

There
are three rules for thriving (and surviving) at Disney World. The first is to be
curious. If we must suspend disbelief when we go to the movies, a visit to
Disney World requires a more pro-active corollary: the energetic willingness to
believe, whether it be singing meerkats, flying elephants, or simply happily
ever after. When my daughters posed for pictures with Mickey (himself!), there
was no other creature — “real” or otherwise — I’d rather have in that frame.

The
second rule is to be patient. The lines and shuttles move, indeed, but they are
lines of people. Small, large, with strollers or wheelchairs, enthusiastic or
exhausted. If you remind yourself that you’ll reach your destination — be it
Splash Mountain or the restroom — you’ll find the mass movement to be working
with you. And this is part of the fun: when you finally reach Pirates of the
Caribbean . . . you made it!

The
third rule is to be in shape. I’d conservatively estimate that my family walked
five miles each day. (And hats off to my 5-year-old, Elena. Nary a whine or
walking gripe the entire trip. Again, there’s always a destination at Disney
World.) Nothing can prepare you for the geographic patch of central Florida upon
which Disney World has been built. While it was a sports-free week (Arkansas 50,
LSU 48??), it wasn’t without athleticism. Enjoy that midday brownie sundae.
You’ll have it walked off before sunset.

Dreams —
and wishes — do come true, just like Mickey tells us. They come true in the form
of our children. (Took me 38 years and two of my own to solve Walt’s riddle, but
I did it.) Last Thursday — Thanksgiving, remember — we started our day’s
adventure at the Animal Kingdom, and went first to Mickey’s greeting hut, to
meet the Mouse himself. Just before us in line was a young, mentally challenged
woman with her parents. When her turn came, she sprinted to this pop icon and
hugged him the way you would — if you could — a long-departed parent. But what
had me fighting a lump in my throat was the way Mickey Mouse simply wouldn’t let
her go. It was quite possibly — no, it was the most magical hug I’ve ever seen.
Mickey signed her autograph book — the young lady covering her eyes with her
hands in affectionate disbelief — and waved goodbye as she left with her
parents, the mother straining to remain composed herself.

And my
family was next. Still each shy of their 10th birthday, my daughters flanked
Mickey, who gestured for my wife and me to join the photo group. Only trouble
was, how do you smile with tears in your eyes?

Thanks
Mickey. See you again someday.

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We Recommend We Recommend

Pride Rock

How did it come to pass that the Walt Disney Corporation — a bottom-line business not known for taking big artistic risks — hired one of the most uncompromising spirits of America’s avant-garde theater to move its lucrative animated franchise The Lion King from the silver screen to the Great White Way? Ten years after its critically acclaimed Broadway debut, the successful partnership between Disney and theater artist Julie Taymor continues to confound. In numerous interviews even the artist has expressed lingering dismay over the unlikely union.

Though widely known for her creative use of puppets, Taymor’s name is hardly synonymous with children’s theater or family entertainment. As a student of mythology and folklore, she traveled the globe to observe religious rituals and storytelling techniques. She spent her late teens studying and working with Joseph Chaikin’s Open Theater, and her fiercely experimental work includes a revisionist opera based on Beowulf and a bloody, visually daring film adaptation of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. Nobody familiar with Taymor’s pre-Lion King work could have predicted a collaboration with Disney. And yet, who else could have moved all the animals of the African savannah into New York’s New Amsterdam Theatre?

Over the past several decades, Broadway musicals have become increasingly reliant on technology. Taymor’s puppets, however, are operated by actors, not by gears. Like so many experimental directors, she mines the world’s great theatrical traditions in search of genuine transformative magic. And they don’t call Disney “the Magic Kingdom” for nothing.

“The Lion King,” at The Orpheum from August 23rd through September 16th. Tickets are $22.75-$85.25 (525-3000).