Redemption Rewatch: The Sandlot

Year: 1993

Genre: Comedy

Directed: David Mickey Evans

Stars: Tom Guiry, Mike Vitar, Patrick Renna, Chauncey Leopardi, Marty York, Brandon Quintin Adams, Grant Gelt, Shane Obedzinski, Victor DiMattia, Denis Leary, Karen Allen, James Earl Jones, Art LaFleur

Production: 20^th Century Fox

By the time I got around to watching The Sandlot, I was already in high school. I don’t know why that is exactly – It’s considered an early nineties touchstone in much the way Pogs, Game Boys and The Mighty Ducks (1992) were back in the day. By the time it was widely available on VHS, the movie was laser-focused on kids my age. To whit snippet of dialogue like “you’re killing me Smalls,” had actually managed to sneak into my vocabulary without me even realizing it. So by the time I sat down to watch this ode to summer and eye-fluttering nostalgia, I was already at a point in my life where I was knee-jerkingly against everything that everyone else liked.

That is the legacy of The Sandlot that in my mind before setting out for a redemption rewatch. A clichéd, cloying, and unrelentingly sweet kid’s movie that had neither the sense of wonder that E.T. (1982) had nor the propensity to revel in its silliness the way something like The Little Giants (1994) did. To top it off it was about baseball, a sport I had failed miserably in, two years in a row. I even had the distinction of being the only kid on my team to never hit the ball when up to bat. Hearing the collective sighs of parents in the stands and seeing the encroaching outfielders strolling closer as I came to the plate was excruciating.

My team uniform

Now that I am older, The Sandlot is more of a silly, good-natured summer movie than a vessel for childhood frustration. It’s cute and quotable, liable to give anyone who watches it the same warm feeling when watching A Christmas Story (1983). It’s a kid’s film from the perspective of kids. Not exactly a rarity but by taking place in 1962, a lack of grounding could’ve turned out as un-engaging as Newsies (1992).

Stock characters beat writing something original

This doesn’t stop the film from loading up the plot with a gaggle of stock characters. There’s the leader (Vitar), the fat kid (Renna), the ham (Leopardi), the nerd (Gelt) et al. with Tom Guiry rounding out the cast as our fish-out-of-water and de facto narrator. The fact that Sandlot didn’t see fit to add “the girl” is unfortunate but then Renna’s “you throw like a girl,” line wouldn’t have been as funny and Leopardi’s graft at the pool would have actually had consequence.

What strikes me the most about The Sandlot the third time around (I think) is it’s not really about baseball. In fact, other than a late junkyard dog inspired action boost, the movie basically sits there like a summer heat wave. It’s not really about anything other than chasing that feeling of no school, no work. None of the characters really change all that much, and inclusion of James Earl Jones feels like a lesson falling on deaf ears at best. At worst, it’s a non-sequitor. If we’re honest the only thing holding this thing together are a couple of loosely chronological hijinks.

I'm in this movie less than Coca-Cola

But the hijinks are arguably the best part of the movie and coincidentally what everyone remembers so fondly. The whirlybird scene, the rival team standoff, the extended chase through the neighborhood, it’s all so effective in a broad, shameless kind of way. It’s during these moments our patience is rewarded with light-hearted, un-cynical entertainment in what otherwise feels like a Skippy’s Peanut Butter commercial.

Gee, I with Denis Leary was my stepdad

Nevertheless, The Sandlot appeal remains hidden under oh so many layers of quaintness. Even a casual observer will notice the camerawork is sloppy, the acting amateurish and the story lacks urgency. If you grew up with it, watching it a second time isn’t likely to change your mind on its merits. Since I technically didn’t grow up with it, I can’t really see anything other than nostalgia propping it up.

Previous Grade: C         New Grade: C

A Kind of Loving

Year: 1962

Genre: Drama

Directed: John Schlesinger

Stars: Alan Bates, June Ritchie, Thora Hird, Bert Palmer, Pat Keen, James Bolam, Jack Smethurst, Gwen Nelson, John Ronane, David Mahlowe, Patsy Rowlands, Michael Deacon

Production: Rialto Pictures

My true love and I have been together for quite a while. We started out as friends – a friendship based almost entirely on the fact that both of us spent one hour a day in the same classroom. We lost touch for a while but thanks to a mixture of happenstance and Facebook, we quickly reconnected. That was seven years ago.

And she still hasn't gotten over it.

I wouldn’t presume our relationship to be all that common but it does fall rather snuggly into a familiar notion. So familiar in fact that it’s almost taken for granted; you’re with the person you’re with because you love them. That assertion however, isn’t all that old. It’s only been about a century since romantic love took the driver’s seat from things like financial stability, social standing, family arrangement and the big ones, race and religion. And it can be argued that our more modern take on love and marriage is yet another evolution.

I look at pornography like an adult!

For Vic Brown (Bates), a twenty-something draughtsman from Manchester, marriage is about the farthest thing from his mind, whether for love or otherwise. He’s more concerned with the trappings of his age like hanging with raucous friends, drinking in boozy pubs, and dating with the vague promise of carnal pleasures. Vic yens for that last part more than most. He even carries around a nudie magazine with him as a symbol of his prurient desires.

Despite this, A Kind of Loving’s plot comes across as outwardly wholesome, at least to start. Based on a novel by Stan Bartow, Vic soon falls for Ingrid (Ritchie), a local beauty whose outward cheeriness and unsure demurrals hides a naivety that serves as a lynchpin for the story’s emotional core. She’s not right for him; nor him for her, but they go through the motions of going to late-night movies, necking behind alleyway fences and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

They inevitably discover sex; a breakthrough in their relationship that only further inserts expectations and pressures from outside forces. What follows beyond that point is a wrought, melancholy downward spiral into the kind of loving that most young people are trying to avoid; the kind where the passive-aggressive behaviors of our two flawed protagonists, strains and limps as the story wears on.

At the time of its release, director John Schlesinger’s first foray into “Kitchen-sink” realism must have turned some heads. It’s unabashedly youth-centric, often feeling like a worse-case scenario in the way it approaches the clichés of hen-pecked masculinity, tensions between the generations and downward mobility. Moralizing about lust and rebellion are often tempered by frank discussion of birth control and a mature worldview that explores not just the psychology of sex but what it means in a large societal context. Not to mention the moments of abrupt sexuality would never find their way into some flaccid PSA about the dangers of whoopee.

Yet even with its unvarnished view of romance and a heavy dollop of humanity, A Kind of Loving can’t help but feel a bit episodic and a little more than melodramatic. Many of the film’s earth-shattering plot points felt broad and one-note, testing the patience of its audience and forcing them to beg the question, why can’t Ingrid and Vic just talk out their problems? The issue isn’t helped by Willis Hall’s and Keith Waterhouse’s screenplay which turns the rich characterizations of key characters, including Vic’s friend Christine (Keen) into walking clichés of, “I told you so.”

That said, A Kind of Loving is still a very compelling cultural artifact that questioned the moral compass of the time while foretelling in its own way, an upcoming sexual revolution. It’s also one heck of a first feature for John Schlesinger, who would utilize similar themes in movies like Billy Liar (1963), Darling (1965) and Midnight Cowboy (1969). Here however, I’d argue Schlesinger is at his most authentic.

Final Grade: B-

Rendez-Vous of Deja Vu

Year: 2013

Genre: Comedy

Directed: Antonin Peretjatko

Stars: Vimala Pons, Gregoire Tachnakian, Vincent Macaigne, Marie-Lorna Vaconsin, Thomas Schmitt, Esteban, Philippe Gouin, Lucie Borleteau, Pierre Merejkowsky

Production: Ecce Films

A museum guard (Tachnakian) and a flabby physician (Macigne) convince their two young paramours to take a road trip with them to the beach. That is the basic setup for Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu (the French title loosely translates to The Girls of Bastille Day), an absurdist comedy which gently ribs contemporary French culture while lifting enough anachronisms from the Nouvelle Vogue to make Francois Truffaut smile with mischievous glee. Its National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983) meets Band of Outsiders (1964), National Lampoon’s Going the Distance (2004) meets Pierrot le Fou (1965), National Lampoon’s Dorm Daze (2003) meets Weekend (1967)…Basically National Lampoon’s European Vacation (1985) done right.

 

Ugh, this movie...

In case it wasn’t entirely obvious, my ability to truly enjoy the playful subversions of the French New Wave is directly proportional to my ability to enjoy National Lampoon movies. This is to say I like the early stuff, but as the parade wore on, it felt less like entertainment with cohesion or meaning and more like a smug, self-satisfied auto-felatio. Yes, I know Godard, Truffaut, Resnais et al. are unassailable film Gods, but just like when I get giddy about Guy Maddin movies in front of certain friends, you either get French New Wave or you don’t.

 

Sadly, I don't.

I am however objective enough to appreciate its meaning and contribution. This is part of the reason why I like Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu. It generously borrows from the same pool of subversion – disengaged youth in revolt narratives, elliptical editing, fourth-wall breaks, political and philosophical ponderings. Yet it never takes itself too seriously. It doesn’t fold under the lofty ambitions of the film movement its paying homage to. Nor is its insertion of Bunuelian absurdity confusing bewilderment for bemusement.

Much like the works of Edgar Wright, director Antonin Peretjatko is playing with genre conventions to give us something that is halfway between homage and sly mockery. And he’s doing so with the same youthful regard that first put the Nouvelle Vogue on the map in the first place. All throughout the film, there’s a permeating sense of reckless abandon; a joy in slamming plates of spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks. Garish displays of violent middle class morality thrashing against a cerebral yet silly tone. There are random narrative avenues that just seem to die before miraculously living once more; complex comedic setups that coexist along startling non-sequitors. It’s creativity nearly at its most primal.

If Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu has an Achilles Heel it’s the fact that prior knowledge of 1960’s art cinema is pretty much a pre-requisite. I suppose it’s possible for someone to see this film and work their way backwards. But if that’s your strategy then the early works of Leos Carax might actually do more to prepare you for the delirious heights of the French New Wave (not to mention its pretentiousness).

Yet if you do indeed know who shot the Piano Player (1960),  are have at least been exposed to the world’s most bizarre lateral shot, then Rendez-Vous of Déjà vu may just be the movie for you. It’s a fun little romp into lunacy brought together by artists who seem to have a real love for what they’re lampooning.

Final Grade: B-

Our Song

Year: 2000

Genre: Drama

Directed: Jim McKay

Stars: Melissa Martinez, Anna Simpson, Kerry Washington, Marlene Forte, Raymond Anthony Thomas, Rosalyn Coleman, Carmen Lopez, Tyrone Brown, Lorraine Berry, Natasha Frith, Chuck Cooper

Production: IFC

Our Song is by today’s standards a precious little indie movie. It’s clumsy, somewhat cheap-looking, strives for the cinema verite blend of social awareness but can’t help but betray its own sense of realism with predictable Hollywood story-beats. Yet when Our Song came out in the year 2000, it must have been something of revelation. Lest we forget that when filmmakers dared to focus on the urban POC experience in earnest, the films largely aimed the lens at masculine subject matter. Boyz ‘N the Hood (1991), Menace II Society (1993), Gridlock’d (1997), by comparison the only thing young black women had to latch onto was A Different World (1987-1993).

Well, that and Sister, Sister (1994-1999)

Enter music video director Jim McKay, whose one-two punch of Girls Town (1996) and Our Song explored the complex and grounded worlds of young black women, as they formed friendships, experimented with boys, confronted forms of oppression and otherwise forged their own identities, under the backdrop of urban decay. At least those films did so as well as a white director could explore those themes without coming across as flaccid or worse out of touch and paternalistic.

Like some movies...

Our Song is the better of the two. In it, three Brooklyn teens, all members of the elite Jackie Robinson Steppers Marching Band, try to hang onto each other as pillars of support before their school closes for asbestos removal. Lanisha (Washington) the one with the most stable family life, i.e. divorced parents on relatively good terms, realizes early on that the other two are taking divergent paths. Joycelyn (Simpson), takes a job at a local boutique and befriends the older girls working there, while Maria (Martinez) battles with the complex emotions that come with an unexpected pregnancy.

It’s easy to see how this kind of mix of after-school-special clichés could have gotten Novel by Sapphire (2009) real quick. Yet little in the film really transpires like you think it will. It’s a true example of characters balancing their resolve and opportunities (or lack thereof), hiding their vulnerabilities, leaning on each other while realizing they all will just have to depend less and less on each other over time. It’s just a part of growing up.

Our Song focuses almost exclusively on the aspect of growing pains and as a result the audience is compelled by the meta-narrative to think about times people in your life drifted away. I myself can recall several occasions over the course of my life when the one thing that formed close bonds suddenly ceased to be a la high school, soccer, a move to a different town.

A little confrontation goes a long way...

Yet one can’t help but wish the film didn’t trim so much fat from the process. Many of the subplots build towards some kind of confrontation. Much ado is made about Maria’s secrecy towards her mother (Lopez), a point that is juxtaposed by Lanisha’s relationship with her own parents. Yet nothing ever really comes of this other than Maria shrugging off her mom’s realization that the school is closing. Likewise Joycelyn’s departure from the group is given the promise of a confrontation but it never arrives.

Of course these concerns are beside the point given that the film is about drifting apart, not clashing together. While it’d be nice to get a sense of closure from a movie that wouldn’t be hurt by it, the truth of the matter is Our Song is true to form. Much like friendships formed in high school, the film ends and you’re not exactly sure how or why but there’s definitely a lump in your throat.

Our Song is maybe a little dated and may be a bit too concerned with its dressed-down style. Yet its message and its personality shine through. Its earnestness is almost certainly a virtue, especially considering it explores the foibles of a population that rarely gets attention in cinema. Our Song may not be my favorite coming-of-age film but it’s certainly someone’s.

Final Grade: B-

Homo Sapiens

Year: 2016

Genre: Documentary

Directed: Nikolaus Geyrhalter

Stars: Nikolaus Geyrhalter

Production: Nikolaus Geyrhalter Filmproduktion

Homo Sapiens follows in the footsteps of Koyaanisqatsi (1982) and more recently Samsara (2011) in the way of wordless, structure-less documentaries that evoke feeling through montage. Yet the mode in which Homo Sapiens assembles itself is about where the similarities end. Samsara went through great pains to capture some of the most beautiful images ever while Homo Sapiens is very much concerned with tableaus of decay and putridity.

The images are eerily, hauntingly, strikingly beautiful. Not a single human is in frame; remnants of civilization are ever present but always in the process of being reclaimed by the earth. There are fast food restaurants fallen in disrepair, abandoned office buildings, leaky subways stations and cracked concrete as far as the eye can see. The images recall the staid, defiant sculpture works of Nancy Holt and Robert Smithson in the way they are presented.

Homo Sapiens however detracts from its themes and crosses a line of good taste when it captures static frames of Fukushima amid a jumble of other images. The finiteness and fragility of human life does feel more visceral when these images come about but they feel a lot less real as well. To put it in certain terms, it feels like watching a superhero movie whereby the villain wins. The world changes thanks to a sudden and irreparable change masterminded by a singular entity. Whether purposeful or not, Homo Sapiens seems to want to put its post-apocalyptic chips on nuclear fallout.

We as a species now know better. Human civilization is likely not going to be wiped out swiftly by our own hand but in a worst case scenario, peter out in a cloud of good intentions. Not one big mistake but a thousand tiny mistakes made by a collective unconscious that lives for today; tomorrow be damned.

Homo Sapiens not a pleasant film to watch. The sound design doesn’t even offer a modernist score a la Phillip Glass but rather bombards us with birds chirping, flies buzzing and wind bellowing against ceiling tiles and paper. And this is despite barely seeing anything but broken glass to justify such loud noise.

Ultimately Homo Sapiens is an art installation masquerading as a full-feature film. A moving photo album that, granted captures some interesting images but in its silence all but announces its themes. It then uses a terrible recent tragedy to mix the proverbial pot. A gambit that most may find fitting but to me, it feels like they’re crossing a line.

Final Grade: D.

Scarred Hearts

Year: 2016

Genre: Drama

Directed: Radu Jude

Stars: Lucian Teodor Rus, Ivana Mladenovic, Gabriel Spahiu, Marius Damian, Andrei Rus, Ilinca Harnut, Gheorghe Lazar, Sarra Tsorakidis, Bogdan Cotlet, Cosmin Sofron

Production: Komplizen Film

Scarred Hearts is based on a novel of the same name written by acclaimed Romanian writer Max Blecher. The book and film are largely biographical; between 1935 and his tragically death in 1938 at the age of 28 Blecher spent his days in and out of several hospitals due to spinal tuberculosis. Despite this, Emanuel (Rus), Blecher’s analog, is determined to live his life to the fullest, escaping into books, periodicals and bawdy conversations between the patients and nurses that occupy his sea side hospital. While all this is going on Emanuel falls for the enigmatic Solange (Mladenovic), whose becomes a fixture at the hospital, despite not being a nurse or patient.

Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot (1989)

This is the basic premise of the story, and anyone going in with little knowledge of Romanian New Wave cinema may walk in assuming Scarred Hearts is going to be a My Left Foot (1989) type cinematic exercise. The kind of exercise that nowadays feels like a vanity project for Oscar hopefuls crossing their fingers and hoping this might be their year.

Yet Scarred Hearts isn’t really that kind of movie. The story is almost entirely from the perspective of Emanuel but so much of the film is shot with an almost clinical distance. Only twice are we given a close-up of our protagonist’s face and both times they are in times of emotional or physical distress. Otherwise the camera sets itself in the corner of a room and waits for the denizens of the hospital to populate the screen and walk across our stagnant panorama.

It’s an interesting choice, and it doesn’t really work given most of the characters are bedridden or somewhere close to it. There are times when placement of the camera almost feels uncomfortably voyeuristic. What this kind of distance does do is it allows the ensemble to truly interact with each other in meaningful ways. Emanuel goes through his own existential crisis but if you’re not really into where the script is taking you, there are many smaller stories hidden within the frames besides one’s struggle for meaning.

Nothing's more Altman-esque than photos in sepia!

It’s Altman-esque only with an unmistakably Eastern European flavor. As the film and its characters fill their respective groves, politics is then suddenly inserted into the text just to see what happens (this is the 1930’s after all). Suddenly the people you have been following around and caring about prove at the very least naïve at the prospect of world war. Emanuel seems especially naïve, being unable to feel the subtle shift in the room once he’s outted as a Jewish Romanian. It’s noteworthy to mention that Blecher never saw the full brutality of Nazism in his lifetime. Likewise the film never treads that path - nor should it, given the insular nature of the hospital.

It’s that insularity that ultimately allows Emanuel and Solange’s relationship to take shape. Shot with surprising color and vibrancy, Scarred Hearts provides a unique perspective of permanent hospitalization and terminal illness. One in which the pain and suffering ascribed to the situation coexists with the beauty of the human spirit.

Final Grade: C