December 4, 2008

S
ome stories are so colorful, so over-the-top crazed the term “stranger than fiction” hardly covers it.

How else can you approach “Surfwise, the 2008 documentary (now on DVD) about a family of 11 who lived in a 24-foot camper along a surfer-friendly beach?

Blame Dorian Paskowitz, the Jewish doctor turned beach bum who fathered nine children and housed them in that cramped camper. Paskowitz’s story screams to be turned into a documentary, and director Doug Pray delivers precisely the kind of movie this tale demands.

But just when Pray’s film seems poised for greatness, it pulls back, leaving audiences begging for more.

“Surfwise” starts with the family patriarch, a man who studied medicine but transformed his life after a visit to Israel. His approach to parenting was a cross between surfer dude 101 and zen master redux. Don’t take in sugar or any other bad foods. Live a life without material possessions. And don’t complain if your mother and I have copious amounts of sex a few feet from your beds.

Gross.

The film’s first half romanticizes the sunnier aspects of the family’s life. No school! Surf all day! The beach is your personal backyard!

Then, reality seeps in. The children grew up woefully unprepared for the real world. They lacked a formal education as well as the social skills required when their lives moved away from the beach.

And they’re angry as hell about it.

But it’s here where Pray starts pulling his punches. He teases us with the depths of the children’s resentment toward their father, but the film steers clumsily toward the kind of happy ending that seems ripped from reality TV, not the fractured lives we’ve just witnessed.

“Surfwise” is a must-see all the same, if only to witness Dorian in action. He’s in his 80s now, and despite various ailments he remains dedicated toward his singular approach to living. He also works out in the nude and blames his children’s complaints on laziness, not his own imperfect parental skills. Yet he’s too smart not to be on to something about society’s obsession with consumerism and greed, even if he took his approach to child-rearing to unhealthy levels.

Those methods led to one heckuva documentary, but you’ll probably hug your parents a little harder the next time you see them.

(Photo: The 24-foot cabin the Paskowitz family called home in “Surfwise” – photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures)

Charlie Bartlett

As Tom Cruise’s star fades, so Anton Yelchin ascends by starring in his own
Iffy Obligation. 
A prep faction dork desperate for friends, Charlie (Yelchin) makes them by selling his classmates their deepest desire. Sex? Nah, these kids are absolutely 21st century—they pauperism prescription meds and therapy. Work is great because everyone’s parents are, type, lock non-functional. Charlie’s fizzy drink is in calaboose, his mom (Hope Davis) gobbles booze and pills, and crush Susan (Kat Dennings), the principal’s daughter, comes well-versed in every day wondering if her depressed dad (Robert Downey Jr.) has offed himself. 
Charlie
establishes itself as yet another rebellious, generational warfare flick, but it’s too sincere to be enjoyably snide. When Gustin Nash’s book shifts course in the more recent show as Charlie, now the most popular and sainted boy in school, begins preaching a unselfish message of personal empowerment, it feels like a teen movie hijacked by guidance counselors—an after-credo special in wolf’s clothing. (Director Jon Poll
is
three decades away from the MySpace initiation.) Yelchin’s guileless features and steep, croaking part let him joust with Shia LaBeouf for Most Natural Kid Actor. Both are gawky and real with an earnestness that almost convinces you that they’re unaware of the camera; they could push the most deceptive skin like it’s the Brooklyn Traverse. So derivative it pairs Charlie with a gargantuan special needs sidekick named Len (Dylan Taylor) who stops just failing of asking to have them rabbits, we quality ashamed that it essentially manages to stoke our fire for (appropriate) insurrection against the Baby Boomers. Then again, Charlie’s civil disobedience doesn’t mean to give them the bear witness, but extend a hand to pull them out of their self-destructive mire.
Serving
our parents? Where’s the fun in that? (Amy Nicholson)

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"THE MATCHMAKER"

Vidéo VHS

047 837-3

PLYGRAM Vidéo

Durée: 97 minutes

Un film de: Mark Joffe

Avec:

Janeane Garofalo ("Reality Bites")

Denis Leary (le p'tit stand-up comique qui fumait des cigarettes à la chaîne)

David O'Hara (L'Irlandais fou dans "Braveheart")

Milo O'Shea

Pour tous, non violent.

Dans le contexte d'une campagne électorale Américaine à Boston, au Massachussets, un sénateur, candidat à la présidence, veut se présenter sous la bannière d'un descendant Irlandais, encore attaché aux valeurs de son village ancestral.

Pour colorer sa campagne d'une connotation verte et de bonne m?urs de l'Ile d'Émeraude, son conseiller peu srupuleux (Denis Leary), lui suggère d'envoyer son attachée de presse (Janeane Garofalo) déjà débordée, mais à l'éthique de travail exemplaire, préparer un Blitz de relations publiques outre-mer.

À son grand désarroi, sa mission est plus que compromise par un festival de rencontres amoureuses, totalement officiel et dans les plus pures traditions de ce petit village d'Irlande.

Le Maître de cérémonies (Milo O'Shea) saura-t-il faire naître un nouveau couple ?

Despite the excellent teamwork of Daltrey and Faith, a cracking cast, and inspiring raw substantive, this musical construction of Scum-meets-Out somehow buries these advantages deep preferential a saucy action thriller format. Having read the headlines, bought the book, etc, few surprises are left-wing: why no write about of the earnest life characters (Charlie Richardson, Ian Brady) of the prison inmates? Though it’s good to glimpse someone Escape from Durham rather than Alcatraz, the dependable British pull with villains is played forbidden once too usually concerning anyone to care, and leaves McVicar’s sui generis insights into crime more or less untouched. If you homelessness to see Daltrey establish himself a settle actor, see it; otherwise read the book. DMacp.

This peculiarly dramatic film isn’t a war movie, exactly&#8212it’s obliging of a Zen war movie, or a postwar movie. Kon Ichikawa has made a covering that is frequently lyrical and spiritual&#8212he seems at times almost to be testing the limits as to what we’ll bear in a war movie, or a silent picture of any accommodating, really, and withstands the doubts to emerge with a story of transformation and pain and a inwards felt sense of humanity. It’s deeply unconventional, and habitually very affecting.

The action begins with a Japanese unit stationed on the island of Burma in the last days of World Fighting II&#8212defeat at the hands of the Allies is faithfully hours away, but these men continue to fight the good fight. (It’s also worth noting that in this movie about the carnage of war and its brutalizing psychological effects, we hear not a bit about Hiroshima or Nagasaki.) PFC Mizushima (Shoji Yasue) soothes the souls of his platoon by playing the harp, one he’s fashioned himself and taught himself how to play. At times it’s almost close to we’re on the move of an old-sometime MGM musical, for the sake of the Japanese soldiers tattle take pleasure in angels in eight-divide harmony&#8212they soon learn that the Emperor has surrendered, that Japan has been defeated, conceding that they mark the occasion by pronouncement a British platoon which sings together as tightly as their former enemies. There’s unquestionably a somewhat absurd quality to this, and it’s virtually as if Ichikawa is microwave-ready to transfer the realities of take up arms to the music&#8212but then Mizushima is called in on a remarkable mission.

Word of the armistice hasn’t reached another keep of Japanese in a adjacent cave, and these soldiers have vowed to fight to the death. The English don’t want to attract unnecessary additional carnage&#8212they’ll wipe out this squadron if they obligated to, but are prepared to make known the harpist an chance to get them to part with with dignity and without violence. Alas, those in the surrender cannot see beyond their rabid devotion to Hirohito and they take Mizushima for a betrayer; they’d rather die than surrender, and they rise up in the world their respect. Amazingly ample Mizushima is the sole people not to be killed, and he escapes&#8212this is his epiphany, and he sets dated on a mental quest in the garb of a monk, one man trying to lift judgement of the madness that surrounds him.

Mizushima’s unit has vowed to cede no fellow behind, and they’re ignorant regarding the harpist’s new spiritual exploration, so they case the countryside for their one fallen soldier&#8212their war will be undeveloped without extenuating Private Mizushima. The film cross-cuts between the two quests&#8212Mizushima’s purification is challenged by the heaps of rotting corpses he finds, and he seems to want to take on all the world’s pain; his mates fear dishonoring their army, their families, and themselves if they don’t restore their element to its full strength, even in crush. There’s a strange postpone to Mizushima’s emotional unraveling&#8212he’s expectant at the beck fire, but it’s nearly as if he’s got acute post-traumatizing emphasis on ailment, so horrified is he by all the misery he sees.

Ichikawa strains the design of his talkie a undersized bit&#8212the plot relies on not one but two talking parrots, but we quickly come to be told that the plot here isn’t the point. The ridiculous coincidences bring us to a resolution that’s reasonably satisfactory, with the members of Mizushima’s unit satisfying themselves that they’ve done their best and can do no more, and the harpist himself astute that the only way he can go on is living a spartan existence of meditation and repentance. It definitely is quite incomparable, and is a smokescreen that wins you over to its improbabilities.

Earth Girls Are Easy is a befuddled, glitzy fish-wide of the mark-of-water farce about three horny aliens on the place in LA.

Julie (Geena Davis), a gorgeous Valley Girl, works as a manicurist in high-tech beauty salon operated by Candy (Julie Brown) a Val-Queen supreme who likes good times and good sex.

Meanwhile in outer space, three aliens who look like tie-dyed werewolves are wandering around our solar system going bonkers with randiness. In keeping with the film’s hot-pastel, contempo-trash design motif, their spacecraft looks like the inside of a pinball machine. When it lands in Julie’s swimming pool, the broken-hearted girl who’s just broken off with her nogoodnik lover takes it for an oversized hair dryer.

Julie brings this gruesome threesome to Candy’s beauty parlor for a complete ‘makeover.’ They emerge as three hairless hunky dudes: the captain, Jeff Goldblum and two flaked-out crewmen, Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans. The two val-gals and their alien ‘dates’ take off for a weekend of LA nightlife, where the visitors’ smooth adaptation to Coast culture is intended by director Julian Temple and his screenwriters to affectionately skewer Tinseltown lifestyles.