Day 5: September 9

An unfortunate incident today - I blew two hours on the set of Waiting for Michael Moore. He was supposed to show up at an industry "Mavericks" session, where filmakers get to take an informal stage and rant about the state of the world in general. The big man sounded like he's make an excellent maverick. I skipped the press conference for the bowling flick, and went down to the Sutton Place hotel.

And waited. And waited.

We were kept up to date throughout the time, "Ten minutes more...", "Eleven to thirteen minutes more" (I figured with such precise, unrounded figures we were bound to see him show). Sadly, after a impromptu story by the makers of Horns and Haloes (a doc about publishing a book on Bush that corporate publishers dropped), we were informed that he had boogied off somewhere and wouldn't be showing.

I wasn't sure if it was a legit thing, or a good "fuck you" to the industry types gathered there. Either could be possible, of course, but I'm going to give him the benefit, and certainly hope that everything's cool with him and his.

The day brightened up, saw some fun flicks. Cess Silvera and his two stars, Ky-Mani Marley and Wyclef Jean, showed up respectively in a smooth convertible and massive, cacophonous Harley choppers. Revving there bikes, they proudly let all and sundry just who had flown into town to rock the crowd. I'm never sure why they don't learn, however, and put the Jamaican films in the good, big theatres - the lineup for rush was huge, and many could not get in. There's a big enough and strong enough Carribean community that comes to these flicks, and certainly deserve to see these films. That aside, the show and spectacle of them riding in loudly certainly made for a highlight of the night. I just want to know where they parked the beasties.

Max
Directed by Menno Meyjes

So, what would have happened if Hitler's art, rather than his rhetoric, became his passion? Would he have turned out differently if he pursued his other carreer, if he had some fostering by, say, a kindly fellow vetran who happens to be an art dealer? Did I mention that the dealer's a Jew?

What I found remarkable about Max is that it cannot be simply reduced to its principal premise. It's a very philosophical film, with an interesting and somewhat fearless exploration of Hitler the man. To deal with this aspect of history through art no doubt invites controversy, but the film never feels defensive. It neither cowers from the story it wants to tell, nor does it revel in its cheekyness, creating purposefully provocative scenes just to stir up trouble. This is an extremely thoughtful and well crafted work, and should be given an open-minded look.

Grade: A-/B+

Stevie
Directed by Steve James

For me, this is a standout film from this fest. Difficult to pigeon-hole, it's superficially a doucumentary about a man named "Steve" who is a "Big Brother" to a troubled boy named "Steve". One one level, it's a tale that tells that, indeed, you can "never go home again".

This tale of two Stevies, however, is so much more than this banal description would lead you to believe. I'd argue that it's in fact tantamount to being the prime example of how fragile the documentary form's claims to epistemological impartiality really are. The film shows, in excruciating and compelling detail, how notions of "objectivity" and freedom from bias get thrown away when the subject of the film becomes yourself. Heady stuff indeed.

This is a groundbreaking and important film, and I think its impact will be lost in the shuffle of this year's fest, with Columbine's pyrotechnic ammunition overpowering this quiet, unpolished gem. While some notice will no doubt be gained from the "star appeal" of the director/subject, Steve James, who contributed to much hyped Hoop Dreams, others will certainly be offput by the jagged style and difficult subject.

Stevie shows the underside of America, the backstage of the Springer show, all while tackling some important and revelatory questions of documentary itself. You learn to both love and loath filmmaker (for his exploitation and tenderness) and primary subject (for his pittyable condition and supreme idiocy). A remarkable film experience that can't be recommended enough.

Grade: A

Shottas
Directed by Cess Silvera

Bikes and Booty, baby. "Shottas" be "shooters", patois fun for psycho gangster dudes. Not much else in this flick, except maybe some nice cars and cool patois. A straight-ahead Jamaican gansta flick, it's a lot of fun, if empty. Special marks for introducting me to the word "fuckery", as in, "to be engaged in fuckery". Excellent!

Grade: B

The Eye
Directed by Oxide Pang Chun and Danny Pang

Ah, what Sixth Sense could have been if it had a bit more style. Sure, the "I see dead people" plot is a bit worn out, but there's enough mood and spookiness to make for a fun MM flick. Neon and nasty, the look of The Eye makes it worth a viewing.

Grade: B-