I do believe I just saw my very first non-fi-sci-fi film, and boy, is my brain exhausted.

With understanding ease, this ambitious documentary succeeds in relaying such hefty themes as the future of mankind, the nature of love, and the notion that the world of tomorrow can be lived in a non-monetary system. Part profile on the outside-the-box steadfast ideologies of futurist/genius, Jacque Fresco, and part insightful poetic exploration of one woman’s journey of heart, mind, and soul, this is one movie that is truly life changing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sustainable non-socially offensive environment to think about.

Showtime for Future My Love: Wednesday, June 26, 11:30 AM (Castro Theatre)

Codebreaker

The film’s subject; brilliant mathematician and inventor of the computer as we know it, Alan Turing. The treatment of this man by his government while he was alive; despicable. The treatment given to him in this documentary; eh. I don’t know about you, but I’ll take dull and highly informative, e.g., Ken Burn‘s The American Civil War, over dull, poor use of reenactments, and just informative enough (Codebreaker) any day of the week.

Dramatized reenactments are not uncommon practice in documentaries. When used properly, without any appearances of heavy-handed purposeful manipulations that is, they can be quite effective. Two recent exemplary films in where this technique is used to great effect are Sarah Poley‘s Stories We Tell (2013) and Bart Layton‘s The Imposter (2012). Unfortunately, watching the reenactments used in Codebreaker - which I guesstimate to have been at least 40% of the movie – felt more like watching a scripted two character melodrama.

Had there been more generically typical documentary elements, such as more archival photos and talking heads, perhaps it would have come across as dull, but at least it wouldn’t have been distracting.

Showtime for Codebreaker: Tuesday, June 25, 11:30 AM (Castro Theatre)

Joy! Portrait of a Nun

If this is supposed to be a portrait of a nun, it’s an amateurish one at best and one that is made exclusively for those who already know about the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. For anyone else, seeing this will most likely feel like you’ve stumbled upon a random strangers home video.

Does the group Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence mean anything to you? To me, the name conjures up joy. That’s because whenever I spot these sisters (gay men in habits), which is usually during some outside city event or celebration in San Francisco, a great big smile immediately washes over my face. They always seem to be having way more fun than everyone else, which is why people just want to be around them and often gravitate in their direction. But aside from frolicking about, and spreading joy, I’ll admit, I know very little about who these people are.

Rather than do a google search or visit the library, I was hoping to learn about these sisters by way of documentary. Looks like I picked the wrong documentary. Essentially, what I learned about this group is that they enjoy a hippie lifestyle where engaging in promiscuous sex is the norm, even if it contradicts all of their “supposed” positive work that they’ve done for the AIDS community. Yes, I use the word “supposed” because even though I have heard from people outside this film that this group has done tremendous work for those with AIDS, here it was only insinuated. This film left a bad impression with me of the Sisters, which I’m sure wasn’t the filmmakers intentions.

Showtime for Joy! Portrait of a Nun: Sunday, June 23, 1:30 PM (Victoria Theatre)

Born This Way

For further proof that homophobia is still very much alive look no further than the anti-gay climate prevalent in Cameroon, a country with no democracy and little placed values on human rights. There, those found guilty of being gay face prison time of up to five years and a fine of $200,000 francs, if they’re not first killed or beaten up by violent homophobes first that is. Born This Way follows two young openly gay Cameroons, Cedric and Gertrude, as they navigate their surrounding intolerant environments and act as brave voices for future generations of LGBT identifying individuals. Dealing with subject matter such as intolerance, hatred, and religious nuts are more than enough to get me upset, especially when presented as well as they are here.

Showtime for Born This Way: Friday, June 28, 1:30 PM (Castro Theatre)

Turning

I have no doubt as to how strongly this film will most likely resonate with those already familiar with, and fans of, either the music of Antony and the Johnsons or the video artist, Charles Atlas. I, having never heard of Atlas, and having never enjoyed any of the Antony’s music, spent a great deal of this documentary in quiet suffering.

Thankfully, there were more watchable moments, which came in between the songs and took the form of varied confessionals from the stage act’s models. This part of the film was very Vagina Monologue-ish, as each woman told their personal accounts of the hardships they faced while discovering their sexual identities as children. Too bad I had to sit through a concert of melancholy awfulness in order to hear such wonderful and heartbreaking stories.

Showtime for Turning: Thursday, June 27, 7:00 PM (Victoria Theatre)

The Abominable Crime

There are 78 countries that have laws criminalizing homosexuals, this documentary is about Jamaica’s. Well, not so much a documentary on the actual law, but rather a look at the effect it has on three specific gay Jamaicans, all of which have had to flee their homeland in order to not be killed. Seems as if the sentiments found in Bob Marly’s song One Love” have gone totally ignored by the Jamaican icon.

For the record, this movie has nothing to do with Bob Marley. It’s about the effects that this grossly homophobic-run country has on two particular citizens who, because they were born a certain way, are to be considered criminals. There’s Maurice, a professor of discriminatory law who lives in Toronto with his husband but is willing to risk his life to return to his homeland in order to lead the fight for LGBT rights, and then there’s Simone, a young mother, who fearing for her life after being shot twice (simply for being a lesbian) wants nothing more than to escape to a much less homophobic country.

Just as it is important to the ever fighting struggle for basic human rights to have stories such as Maurice’s and Simone’s told, I believe it is also important to learn about such struggles while appeasing my cinematic sensibilities, be it in fiction or nonfiction. That’s the burden that this cinephile carries with him. With that being said, as coherently put together as this film was, when it comes down to it, I was aesthetically underwhelmed. Still, this is an important subject, and one I hope everyone gets to see, especially those who think homosexuality is a sin. It is my hope that perhaps this movie will help those who feel that way to perhaps be more compassionate to those who are apart of the LGBT community, whether they are in the closet or out.

Showtime for The Abominable Crime: Tuesday, June 25, 7:00 PM (Roxie Theatre)

I arrived bright and early at noon o’clock and fortified myself mentally for as many films as I could ingest. This ended up being exactly two, as the world called me away from the latter ones. But I did catch the earlier two, and what a treat they were.

Champagne

Accompanied by Judith Rosenberg

Champagne is an absurd little comedy flirting with genres of Hitchcockian suspense and the more specific sub-genre of the comedy of manners. It centers around a young American heiress eloping to Paris and her father’s subsequent revenge. It is not overly remarkable, but has some moments which are true gems. For instance: at one point, in the hotel dance scene, the bustling crowd of people dancing together dissolves into a flock of sheep – undoubtedly an interjection from the director. There are also very few intertitles, which is a solid choice and one perhaps also influenced by Hitchcock’s experiences with Murnau. One thing notable is that the film keeps hinting at the suspense film that, it is apparent, Hitchcock would have already preferred to have been making. The ending, though, solidifies it in absolute Shakespearian terms in the genre of comedy (In a tragedy, everyone dies; in a comedy, everyone is married). The accompaniment was beautiful and masterful.

Downhill

Accompanied by Stephen Horne

A very fitting title for the film. Downhill is a story of a young man who took a fall for his friend and was subsequently expelled from school due to a traitorous femme fatale, and his journey as he climbs steadily downwards towards rock bottom. It is a strange film for Hitchcock, and carries many German expressionistic tones to it, with some absolutely memorable scenes. The scene, for instance, in the bar in which he was rented out to older women – it is dark, and he finally feels like he can talk to someone, but then the sunlight is let into the bar. Here we are given a very lucid and realistic view at the absurdity of the people in bars in the light, very well illustrated. The hallucination scenes are also absolutely strange, unsettling, and his delirium is well established.

The accompaniment by Stephen Hill is always dynamic, as he seamlessly switches from piano to accordion to flute to piano and flute at the same time, to glockenspiel, to etc etc etc – if you ever get a chance to see a silent film with his touch, do yourself the favor and do so.

At any rate, here in the Castro on this night of film, the atmosphere is electric. People slowly settle into their places, the musicians dabble with tuning and coordination against the pre-recorded Vertigo score aptly chosen for the occasion. Lovers of silent film frolic and talk, happy to see a friendly face perhaps only known from such events. People are directed and pointed towards potential remaining seats by volunteers, as the seating reaches its brink on both higher and lower levels. Periodic laughs ring out, some naturally from unknown conversation about unknown topics, some from the genuinely humorous Hitchcock quotes projected from above.

And it is in this manner that the atmosphere sets in, here in the Castro Theatre, the First Congregated Church of Cinema of San Francisco, as people prepare to view a work by one of the most influential innovators of cinema in the earliest of his films.

Blackmail

Accompanied by the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra

Hitchcock’s last silent film (released as a talkie as well in some theatres) is already an expression of a fully mature Hitchcock long before his prime.

The film is, overall, a dark, psychological film about a woman who, defending herself against a rape, kills a man. Her boyfriend works for Scotland Yard, and is assigned to the case, but a petty criminal sees it happen and attempts to blackmail them both.

It is brimming with fully developed style, of which the influence from his German counterparts Murnau and Lang is clear. For example, one of the inspectors makes a call to the Hall of Records about the blackmailer’s criminal record, and we are sucked into the telephone receiver and immediately thrown into a turning book of faces with wanted posters appearing over it. Another example is the justification of the fact of it being a silent film by showing the boyfriend talking to Scotland Yard intently, but as seen by the POV of the girl’s father, and so the lack of inter-titles indicates that we cannot hear him or know what he’s saying because the father can’t – a highly advanced level of self-reference.

Guilt steadily builds through the film, as the girl is tortured by her own actions, and the film’s style lends itself to this – especially in the scene where the blackmailer is being chased through the British museum, juxtaposed against the girl staring off into the screen in a way that would make Lev Kuleshov proud. But what is most remarkable is the constant ironic humor played over the film, contrasting greatly against the film’s overall themes. It was a fantastic film, and to see it accompanied by the Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra was a treat.

By now I have learned a thing or two about the joys movies can bring when entering the theatre having zero expectations. Most importantly, I’ve learned that it’s always best to just allow a film’s direction to go wherever it pleases and not try and will it to veer down the path I’d rather see it go. Inevitably, trying to control a film’s direction as if it were my very own Choose Your Own Adventure book has always led to disappointing viewing experiences. Even if the movie is exceptional, the moment you start wishing it to go a certain way the end result will be failure. Take for example last night, when I went to see Bill Yahraus‘ latest documentary.

I knew nothing of the film’s subject matter, Mexican-American women known as escaramuza charras who compete in a rodeo sport that involves riding horses in intricate criss-cross patterns while donning some flashy hand sewn outfits. Yet, for some reason watching a documentary on a subject entirely new to me wasn’t enough to satisfy my cinematic jollies. I wanted intense drama. I wanted laugh-out-loud moments. I wanted eccentric individuals acting odd. Instead, what I got was an honest look at these women’s passion of this time-honored traditional Mexican sport. Why that didn’t satisfy me, who knows.

I mean, seriously, how controlling must I be? Hell, the movie wasn’t even badly made. The editing, camera work, score, and pacing were all of novice quality, and by the end of the 90 minutes not only did I learn about a sport I’ve never heard of before, but I took at a step further and have already begun researching where I can go see this sport live. Clearly it had an impact on me. So why didn’t I like this movie that much.

Well, as unfair as it may be, the truth is, I expected more. I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, considering I knew not a damn thing about this movie upon entering the theatre, but, hey, that’s how I feel at the moment. Am I being a little irrational? Maybe. Then again, nobody’s perfect.

Elena

If Terrence Malick were to make a documentary I’d imagine it would look something like Elena. There it is, another comparison to an already established one-of-a-kind filmmaker. I can assure you though that this comparison is not one I make lightly.

I think the less I say about this film, the better. Just know this: all too often films made honoring the life of loved ones appear as if they have been made exclusively for those within that person’s inner circle. Not so is the case in Petra Costa‘s poetic message to her sister, Elena. This film pulled me in from the start, wrapped its beautiful dreamlike imagery around my head, and showed me depictions of everlasting love and mourning like I’ve never seen in a non-fiction film before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go call my sister.

Next to step inside the ring is Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters, which, ironically, sat on the shelf for a while (it was filmed in 2011) until star Jeremy Renner became a hot commodity as the new Bourne last year. This is easily the most watchable of the twisting-the-classics lot I’ve seen so far, or at least didn’t make me want to immediately stab my eyes with bamboo slivers. It’s strange, because not unlike its ill-fated predecessors, H&G gives you reasons aplenty to hate it, from its weak, simplistic tagline (“Old Classic, New Twist” – really, Sherlock?) to the very premise of this movie and its complete lack of originality, the blatant trying-to-sound-hip anachronisms, and baseball-bat-over-the-head foreshadowing.

And somehow it all succeeded in keeping my interest. I suppose a measure of congrats is in order.

As far as the acting goes, nobody so much as breaks a sweat because the performers are well aware they’re going to be upstaged by the blood & guts, CGI saturation, and the flimsy plot. In fact, the best honest-to-God performances in the film are in the prologue, with the youngsters and the candy-house witch (Monique Enderton), whose frantic nails-on-a-chalkboard repetition of “Eat!” to young Hansel will give you chills.

Peter Stormare appropriately hams it up in his limited screen time as Berringer, and the spry Janssen unleashes a manic energy as Muriel (not to mention undergoing an admirable makeup job) but she’s reduced to Talking Killer status by the time the finale rolls around. Everyone else just goes through the motions and registers as nothing more than an afterimage that fades away in a dark room. Last, we certainly could have done without a young groupie-cum-aspiring witch hunter named Ben (Thomas Mann), who asks for their autographs inside a bar while shoving a scrapbook full of the siblings’ news clippings (seriously) in their faces, all with a shit-eating grin plastered on his toothpaste-commercial face.

Lastly, Renner and Arterton are believable as the eponymous leads yet are sorely lacking in onscreen chemistry. Renner, to his benefit, gives Hansel a cynically dry humor and matching facial quirks. Arterton, on the other hand, is all stiff upper lip, as if attempting to imbue her Gretel with some kind of credibility that the role neither requires nor deserves. They capture their quarry by chasing her through a forest and snaring her up in a tree with wire, which wouldn’t be a problem if the director, Tommy Wirkola hadn’t elected to repeat this several times, but that’s what results from having to insert filler material to stretch the film to feature length (indeed, it tops off at a quick 88 minutes). The pair are remarkably poor marksmen unless they’re required to shoot someone important, and are also the type of megaplex heroes who repeatedly get their clocks cleaned with only a few token cuts and bruises to show for it, at one point even used as an excuse to get Renner out of his shirt. Worse, Wirkola has Hansel and Gretel both toss about a handful of F-bombs for no possible reason other than to sound hip to the younger crowd, whenever they’re not speaking anachronistic dialogue like “Whatever happens, stay cool,” or Gretel calling Berringer an “[expletive] hillbilly.”

As a result of his forced sugar overdose back in the candy house, Hansel is actually a diabetic who has to inject himself in his lower thigh with insulin, otherwise he wilts like a dying flower. Gee, will it play a part in the final Good-vs.-Evil showdown (which itself goes on way too long)? You make the call.

While Wirkola’s action scenes are repetitive and ordinary, I do have to give the devil his due for one thing: he at least knows how to shoot them and therefore gives the film some rare moments of excitement. Still, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters reeks of nothing more than a for-the-paycheck project deservedly mired in the late-January doldrums. And after starring in three pictures that pointlessly dragged established franchises onto the big screen - Clash of the Titans, Prince of Persia,and now this, Arterton might want to consider sticking to original material, because right now she isn’t doing her CV any favors.

What would a documentary film festival be without yet another look at the disastrous effects of our Earth caused by human’s irresponsibly selfish ways? Though set to an eye pleasing picturesque rural pacing and some soft spoken earnestness from some very wise interviewees, the film still offers no actual tangible global solutions to our crisis. However, it does do a terrific job at further raising consciousness to those ignorant of the direction Earth is heading, and that in itself makes this a film of importance.

Showtimes for Fall and Winter: Saturday, June 8th at 9:00pm (Balboa Theatre)

Sunday, June 9th at 9:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Tuesday, June 11th at 9:00pm (Aquarius Theatre – Palo Alto)

Furever

This is a light-hearted look at the many ways (mostly unconventional) in which pets can be memorialized. A fun and easy watch, Furever sympathises with, rather than mocks, its human subjects. My only complaint is that everything on this subject – including a list of numerous ways to preserve your deceased companion – was said within the first half hour. Watching the bloated runtime of 80 minutes for an otherwise would be great documentary short felt a bit like watching a taxidermist overstuff a chihuahua to the size of a buffalo’s head.

Showtimes for Furever: Saturday, June 8th at 7:00pm (Balboa Theatre)

Saturday, June 15th at 5:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Thursday, June 20th at 9:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

This is an odd film. First and foremost it’s a… comedy? …romance? …melodrama? …road trip? First and foremost it’s an odd film.

The term “identity crisis” comes to mind when trying to describe just what it is I watched. For the first 45 minutes I could have sworn this was a romantic comedy. A little known factoid for those who don’t know me personally, second only to melodramas, romantic comedies are my least favorite genre. With that being said, I was on board quite early with this romcom. I have no qualms in appreciating a script that starts off as strong as this one does. Here are two fully realized characters with a believable chemistry who also have a penchant for engaging in clever banter. What’s not to like? And then, just as I started to settle in to what I believe was going to be a film on the exploration – or examination, if you will – of a relationship, the rug gets pulled out from beneath, and I fall into a catacomb of scattered genre randomness.

What the fuck happened?! One moment (“moment” here meaning 44 minutes) I’m enjoying a simple plot in where two workaholics – manager and client – try to develop a personal romance whilst retaining their professional relationship. That alone is an intriguing enough premise to easily fill up the film’s running time of 106 minutes. But as soon as client, Daisaku, the sexually frustrated media celebrity, played by Yûjirô Ishihara hits the road, this potentially great romance awkwardly morphs into an imbalanced melodramatic road movie, leaving me wanting to hit the road as well. I mean that in the literal sense. I wanted to hit the road as hard as I could – with my forehead. I would have done anything to rattle the overheating cogs turning in my head as I tried to make sense of the nonsensicalness that was transpiring before me.

The film’s highlight (yes, there is a highlight) takes place during a scene in Daisaku’s apartment between him and his manager/girlfriend, Noriko (Ruriko Asaoka). Due to heavy rain Daisaku is unable to make a scheduled appearance at a baseball game. This unexpected delay in the always hectic schedule gives them the perfect opportunity to take a break and enjoy some much needed downtime.

Oh, how I wished the movie from this point on was going to be just the two of them in this apartment conversing, arguing, laughing. I would have loved to see these two in a confined setting exploring the intimacies of their unique relationship for the rest of the film’s running time. A relationship so unique that the two of them decided over 730 days ago (yes, she literally counts the days by writing a number on his wall everyday) that in order to keep their romance fresh they wouldn’t kiss or make love with each other. Talk about blue balls?

Naturally, frustrations start to run high, and right as these two are about to explode in a passionate – and somewhat rough – steamy bedroom scene Noriko has a change of heart. Unable to take this rejection calmly, the sexually depraved Daisaku hightails it out of there and makes for the closest pier to contemplate suicide.

This is the turning point of the film as well as the first of two melodramatic scenes in where the prospect of suicide is seriously considered. It is also at this pier, outside of the apartment and in the rain, that this movie loses its footing and begins to reveal its proneness for awkwardly, and unnecessarily, changing genres.

What follows is an hour of screen time dedicated to one of the most asinine subplots that I have ever had the displeasure of watching. Trust me, it’s not even worth explaining. If, for whatever reason, you have made a conscious choice to see this film, or happen to be with someone who is watching it, please, do yourself a favor and shut it off at the 44 minute mark. You’ll be glad you did. A more apt title would have been, “I Hate (the last hour) But Love (the first 44 minutes)”.

Sparks felt mostly like the camera operators from Who Wants To Be A Millionaire were given a break from their day jobs, a huge budget, a sound recorder at a rave, and a bunch of helicopters to shoot a dance party-o-rama video of Burning Man. The film seems to have no idea what it is trying to be – a documentary on the inner sanctum, or a rave music video, with atrocious throbbing techno-dance or cheesy pop music that does not fit the subject matter. In the end it is just a frustrating, sensationalist mess to watch.

Showtimes for Spark: A Burning Man Story – Thursday, June 6th at 7:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Elena

What a beautiful, touching, difficult film. Elena is a very personal film made by Brazilian Petra Costa about her older sister Elena and her relationship to her and to the memories she has of her. It takes subjective personal filmmaking to a new level.

Showtimes for Elena – Friday, June 7th at 9:00pm (Balboa Theatre)

Sunday, June 9th at 7:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Monday, June 10th at 9:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Fuck For Forest

Fuck For Forest is a very interesting bit of narration. The subject matter, an eco-pornography group called Fuck For Forest who make porn videos and then try to donate their gains to ecological movements, is a pretty bizarre and interesting group to watch in and of itself. But the subject matter, the musical choices, and the often beautiful cinematography at times juxtapose to create a disturbing combination, and, along with the eventual failed attempt to donate the money in the end, creates the film as some sort of long, dark joke. When I found out the filmmakers, Michal Marczak and Lukasz Grudzinski, are Polish, suddenly the humor made more sense.

Showtimes for Fuck For Forest – Sunday, June 9th at 9:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Thursday, June 13th at 7:00pm (Roxie Theatre)

Friday, June 14th at 9:00pm (New Parkway Theatre in Oakland)