Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Tell It Like You See It - "Chacun Son Cinema" lineup

- To Each His Own
I will endeavor to bring this to audiences in the near future. Stay tuned for a private screening! Or, perhaps...at the Cinema! -MS (photo, l. to r., Walter Salles and Atom Egoyan)

35 Films from 33 of the world's greatest Directors.

(France) A Festival de Cannes and Elzevir Films) production in association with CanalPlus in association with StudioCanal and Arte, with the assistance of the CNC and the participation of Digimage and LVT. Produced and conceived by Gilles Jacob.


Directed by Raymond Depardon (Open-Air Cinema)

Takeshi Kitano (One Fine Day)

Theo Angelopoulos (Three Minutes)

Andrei Konchalovsky (In the Dark)

Nanni Moretti (Diary of a Moviegoer)

Hou Hsiao-Hsien (The Electric Princess House)

Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne (Darkness)

Joel and Ethan Coen (World Cinema)

Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Anna)

Zhang Yimou (Movie Night)

Amos Gitai (The Dibbuk of Haifa)

Jane Campion (The Lady Bug)

Atom Egoyan (Artaud Double Bill)

Aki Kaurismaki (The Foundry)

Olivier Assayas (Upsurge)

Youssef Chahine (47 Years Later)

Tsai Ming-Liang (It's a Dream)

Lars von Trier (Occupations)

Raul Ruiz (The Gift)

Claude Lelouch (The Cinema Around the Corner)

Gus Van Sant (First Kiss)

Roman Polanski (Cinema Erotique)

Michael Cimino (No Translation Needed)

David Cronenberg (At the Suicide of the Last Jew in the World in the Last Cinema in the World)

Wong Kar Wai (I Traveled 9,000 Km to Give It to You)

Abbas Kiarostami (Where Is My Romeo?)

Bille August (The Last Dating Show)

Elia Suleiman (Irtebak)

Manoel de Oliveira (Sole Meeting)

Walter Salles (5,557 Miles From Cannes)

Wim Wenders (War in Peace)

Chen Kaige (Zhanxiou Village)

Ken Loach (Happy Ending)

Reviewed at Cannes Film Festival (noncompeting), May 20, 2007. Running time: 119 MIN.

TO EACH HIS OWN CINEMA unspools at Cannes

By Todd McCarthy, Variety

The specter of the death of cinema and the communal movie experience hangs like an ironic shroud over "To Each His Own Cinema," a mostly engaging compilation of 33 three-minute films made by leading international auteurs on the occasion of the Cannes Film Festival's 60th birthday. Venture was conceived and produced by fest prexy Gilles Jacob as a way to celebrate the cinema rather than Cannes per se, and the directors were asked only to express "their state of mind of the moment as inspired by the motion picture theater."

List of directors, 35 in all, including two sets of brothers, consists of names very familiar on the Croisette, many Palme d'Or winners among them. With a couple of exceptions, the identities of the filmmakers are withheld until the end of each short, meaning that guessing who's behind the camera becomes part of the fun (the presence of some directors in their own films provides tip-offs from time to time).

Especially through the first part of the grouping, the overwhelmingly dominant image is of old movie theaters fallen into states of disrepair, disintegration and disuse. In the films of Takeshi Kitano, Theo Angelopoulos, Andrei Konchalovsky, Hou Hsiao-Hsien and Tsai Ming-Liang, just for starters, one beholds the spectacle of a world in which cinemas, at least as a home for shared experienced in a privileged domain, no longer seems valid or valued. A mourning for the passing of the classical Euro-style art cinema of the '60s -- of the sort very much represented by films commonly shown in Cannes -- filters strongly through the proceedings, no doubt in great measure because they were made by men who belong to that tradition or grew up on it (Jane Campion, still the only woman to have won the Palme d'Or, is the sole femme in the group here).

As such compilations go, this one is somewhat better than the norm, as quite a few of the entries are imaginative, engaging and/or interestingly personal; even the bad ones have the virtue of brevity. Taking the cake for sheer entertainment value is Walter Salles' Brazil-set entry. With cheeky humor and exhilarating energy, two musicians stand in front of a rundown rural theater showing "The 400 Blows" and alternate singing about what it's like, or what they think it's like, in Cannes; little capper about a guy named "Gil" they've heard runs the festival is a hoot.

Also rating high marks are contributions from Atom Egoyan, in which two people in separate cinemas phone each other images of the films they're watching; the Coen brothers' amusing snippet about a cowboy (Josh Brolin, seemingly having walked straight out of the Coens' "No Country for Old Men") trying to decide which film to see at Santa Monica's Aero rep house ("Rules of the Game" or "Climates") and Zhang Yimou's energetic, superbly composed look at rural Chinese kids gathering for a movie show.

Occupying a provocative, confrontational zone all its own is David Cronenberg's intense piece, in which the director himself appears as "the last Jew in the world in the last cinema in the world" preparing to commit suicide on television while commentators blather on dispassionately about Jews and cinema.

The fear of a dire Jewish fate similarly drives Amos Gitai's blatantly bad episode, which positions the state of Israeli Jews today with those of Warsaw in 1936. Sharing the bottom of the barrel with it is Youssef Chahine's shamelessly selfserving short that exists solely to display extended footage of the vet Egyptian helmer being honored by Cannes in the Palais du Festival.

Among the other helmers who took their assignments seriously and came up with something more than watchable are Kitano, who imagines a visit to a solitary old cinema memorably existing in the middle of the countryside; Nanni Moretti, with a characteristically snappy commentary on matters cinematic; Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's bracingly filmed account of a blind woman's reaction to Godard's "Contempt"; Claude Lelouch's memoir of his parents' key movie experience; and Manoel de Oliveira's fantasy of a goofy encounter between two world titans of the '60s.

Program is ironically capped by a Ken Loach seg that essentially states there's nothing in commercial cinema these days worth watching.

Blogs reshaping film coverage -Tell me about it!

Yes, Blogs ARE here and with a near vengence. I have long regarded the BLOG as essential for understanding the new media world. Look at you, right now! You are reading this and are no doubt either quickly moving along to another post, or may find something useful in this tome. Heady, or hardnosed, vital or vilified, engaging or enraging, it's the web today and there's no going back, except as archives. Here, Anne Thompson puts the cinematic world in perspective and nowhere is the blog more engaging, as the cinema has always and foremost been about The Story! -MS

Thompson on Hollywood
By ANNE THOMPSON , Variety.


My name is Anne and I'm a blogger.
Bloggers come in many shapes and sizes. Some are professional journalists. Others are amateur fanboys. A few create original content, but most riff on other people's blogs. (At thompsononhollywood.com, I do both.) Some are erudite and write with charm and brio. Others suck.
But for better or worse, blogs are here to stay. And they're reshaping the coverage of films today. Movie publicity may never be quite the same.
Until very recently, studio information gatekeepers and press agents could to some degree control the flow of information about their movies and clients. They could confirm and deny facts and spin stories to a select list of reporters who played by the accepted rules of engagement that went along with their privileged access.
But the Internet has changed all that.

Early Web leaks and misinformation are giving the PR community headaches.
When something incorrect is posted, it spreads like wildfire. Too many viral postings from too many unfamiliar sources make it impossible for anyone to return calls, much less ferret out the source of the infection.
And then there's the problem of timing. Bloggers typically reveal nuggets of film info -- usually casting announcements -- long before agents and studios are prepared to release the information, often because the deals aren't done.
In October 2004, when LatinoReview.com announced newcomer Brandon Routh as the star of "Superman Returns," it forced Warner Bros. to reluctantly confirm his casting a few days later. And when TMZ.com went full speed ahead and claimed that Emile Hirsch was in talks to star in "Speed Racer," it turned out to be true. Warners was not happy about either breach.

The line between traditional journalism and indie purveyors of buzz continues to blur.

That blogger at TMZ.com, which is owned by Warners' own AOL, doesn't fit the common stereotype of a lonely geek in sweats hunkered in a dark basement staring into a glowing computer screen. In fact, he was a trade reporter who was competing with his ex-colleagues at Variety for scoops. His advantage: as a blogger, he could post his items faster online.
The changing climate has driven daily newsrooms to post breaking news sooner online rather than to wait for their print editions. Even though celebrity-monger TMZ.com has decided to get out of the industry news business and stick to covering the likes of Mel Gibson, Michael Richards and Britney Spears, the cat is out of the bag.

News is breaking so fast that PR departments barely have time to draft a press release. Some studios are considering adopting a less reactive stance. While they already mount elaborate Web sites for their movies and even use on-location blogs to sell such fanboy-oriented pictures as "Superman Returns" and "King Kong," some would like to create their own sites to disseminate breaking news. (Peter Jackson's interactive theonering.net was the template for building a fan community.) That way, publicists could get their news out in a form that sells their message, without having to rely on intermediaries.

Variety broke the news that Shia LaBeouf would star in "Indiana Jones 4," even though George Lucas and Steven Spielberg had refused to confirm it. But when the filmmakers were ready to make their official announcement (on the verge of the opening of LaBeouf's "Disturbia") they posted it on their Web site, IndianaJones.com.
What is a blogger, anyway? It's anyone who posts and updates (usually with daily frequency) a weblog that uses a format provided by such Internet hosts as Blogger, Typepad, Journalspace or Movable Type. The software is so simple that anyone can use the basic templates to instantly post text, photos, videos or music.
Most blogs build a community via comments, links and pings to other media and blogs -- hence their viral power. Once on the Web, thanks to links, tags, key words and such services as Digg, Reddit and Del.ici.ous (which allow members to post and rate stories), news travels faster than the click of a mouse.
That's where the PR headaches come in. Data on the Web starts from one source, whether it's a Web site or a blog; it is then picked up and fanned through the Internet and blogosphere through other blogs and aggregators.
While many people read favorite blogs that speak particularly to them, most folks go directly to established news sources such as the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, USA Today or the Los Angeles Times. And millions turn to online content aggregators such as Drudge Report, Slate, Netscape, MSN, AOL, CNN, Yahoo, Breitbart and the Huffington Post.
On the movie side, aggregator sites that comment and post links to news stories and blog items (some also break news) include aint-it-cool-news.com, EmpireOnline.com, GreenCine Daily (daily.greencine.com), HollywoodWiretap.com, Movies.com, MovieCityNews.com, NetscapeMovies.com and YahooMovies.com. And then there's celeb gadfly Perez Hilton, who's in a category all his own.

Film critic aggregator RottenTomatoes.com offers readers their own blogs and posts plenty of its own content, while Metacritic.com sticks to collecting reviews of movies, music and games.
Major sites such as IGNFilmForce.com, Scifi.com, CartoonBrew.com, DarkHorizons.com, ComingSoon.net and SuperHeroHype.com both aggregate content and post news, whatever its source. They also host blogs full of new info that is taken down if it turns out to be inaccurate. (Once something lives on the Web, though, it's tough to eradicate.)
In the charming writer category, Mark Lisanti spins and comments five days a week for Gawker Media's delightfully gossipy -- and hugely successful -- Defamer.com blog. AOL's sprawling movie fan blog Cinematical.com is constantly refreshed by a score of bloggers who often chase down their own stories. MovieCityNews.com boasts several bloggers, including webmaster David Poland, whose TheHotBlog posts more thumb-sucking analysis than breaking news.
In many ways, Austin-based aint-it-cool-news webmaster Harry Knowles is the prototype of the nonpro geek-at-home fanboy. While not set up as a blog, AICN is both a Web site and aggregator of bloggish postings -- rich with virulent breaking content -- and passionate reader comments.

The studios take full advantage of fan sites and blogs to promote movies. While Knowles was an early studio irritant when he posted reviews from sneak previews, Hollywood learned how to play him. Smart directors like Michael Bay and James Cameron speak directly to their fans through a cordial phone relationship with Knowles. (Some show him early cuts of their films.) And the studios routinely set up interviews and plant original art with AICN's writer-critic Drew McWeeny for such films as "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End."

Many media outlets are building online traffic by giving their best-known writers blogs. While fact- and spell-checking is still de rigueur, so are more personal statements of point-of-view and opinion. On a blog, writers can get away with a heartfelt lack of objectivity that they can't inside the strictures of the newsroom. New York Post critic Lou Lumenick is one of a growing number of daily newspaper critics who are reaching out to readers via blogs. Other notables: the Boston Globe's Ty Burr, the Philadelphia Inquirer's Carrie Rickey and the Oregonian's Shawn Levy. (Some ex-print critics have developed their own online followings, including EmanuelLevy.com, HenrySheehan.com and DaveKehr.com.)

New York Magazine and Conde Nast's Portfolio just launched a rash of new culture blogs. New York Times media writer David Carr conducts video interviews for his seasonal Oscar blog, the Carpetbagger, while the Los Angeles Times' the Envelope offers party and awards coverage all year long.
Such kudos bloggers as Oscarwatch.com's Sasha Stone have become factors in the Oscar race, because they are read by younger Academy members as well as the media. DreamWorks has accused outspoken blogger Jeffrey Wells of HollywoodElsewhere.com of dive-bombing Oscar hopeful "Dreamgirls" with his negative postings.

A former trade journalist, freelancer and avid movie buff, Wells runs his independent Web site and blog. His sources are many and his information is (mostly) solid. Wells ekes out a living off the ads the studios buy on his site. They also provide access to screenings, parties and talent. Wells respects studio release date embargoes because if he didn't, he'd lose their invites.
But Wells sounds off when he feels like it, which means that some studios deal with him gingerly. Sony, for one, has taken him off its screening list (for the second time; he enraged a prior studio management team with a debunked story about a disastrous "Last Action Hero" screening).
Wells falls somewhere between enthusiastic fan and dogged film reporter. In other words, he's a blogger.
So is Nikki Finke, another refugee from the journalistic establishment. Her well-read DeadlineHollywoodDaily.com is loosely affiliated with the L.A. Weekly (which publishes her print column), but is owned by Finke. When the studios deal with solo owner-operators such as Poland, Wells or Finke, there is no editor-in-chief or publisher to approach. They are in complete control of their domain. All a movie company can use for leverage is the old threat of withholding advertising -- or access.

While lack of editorial oversight can yield some "facts" that are merely hearsay or opinion, it also brings an often refreshing candor, a freedom of expression and a lack of politesse. With Poland, Wells and Finke's burgeoning readers, some folks in Hollywood are finding it difficult to resist their siren call. They feed them and try to spin them.

They are as much a part of the entertainment community as the rest of us. And be sure of this: More bloggers are on the way.

FLOGGING THE BLOGS WON'T CLEAR THE FOG

Sam Smith, editor of the Progresive Review, activist, social critic and author of four books. Smith has covered Washington under nine presidents, began one of the first alternative publications of the 1960s, and helped to start the national Green Party.

*********
by Sam Smith, The Progressive.

One major differences between journalism today and when your editor started out 47 years ago is that there wasn't as much bragging, pomposity, hypocritical self-analysis and professional narcissism back then. Reporters, in fact, were among those most skeptical of their trade and the public readily endorsed their judgment. H.L. Mencken put it this way: "The average newspaper, especially of the better sort, has the intelligence of a hillbilly evangelist, the courage of a rat, the fairness of a prohibitionist boob-jumper, the information of a high school janitor, the taste of a designer of celluloid valentines, and the honor of a police-station lawyer." Even the far less contentious Richard Harwood remarked, "We were perceived as a lower form of life, amoral, half-literate hacks in cheap suits. Thus I was assigned to a Chamber of Commerce meeting in Nashville in the late 1940s and, with other reporters, was given lunch at a card table set up in a hallway to protect the dining room from contamination."
Moving from this dubious trade, a majority of whose practitioners hadn't gone to college, to a profession graced by graduate schools and thence to a status part actor and part apparatchik of a rising corporate uber-culture, journalists became ever more prominent and self-referential even as they were losing touch with both their purported constituency and their purported purpose. They became the first group in human history to dramatically improve their socio-economic status simply by writing about themselves, self-casting themselves among the very elite from whom they had once been expected to protect their audience.Ironically, the result was a status not only without substance but without honor. While this may appear a contradiction it is quite typical of early 21 Century power in which one finds such figures as Donald Trump, Martha Stewart, and George Bush notable for an authority almost inversely proportional to reputation, admiration or affection. So many individuals and institutions of power these days have become only that, impressive for the dominance they have achieved rather than for the virtues, skills and honor they have exhibited. Which is why we don't see many Pope Johns, Orson Welles, Eleanor Roosevelts, Beatles, Katherine Hepburns or Martin Luther Kings anymore. The only surviving requirement for being on top is being on top. And reminding others constantly that you are there. Everything else, from actual achievement to criminal conviction, becomes largely irrelevant.
Thus, despite the media's rise in prominence, a Harris survey over nearly 30 years has found that as far as prestige goes, the press remains stuck, still ranked near the bottom just ahead of accountants, stock brokers and real estate dealers. This, of course, was probably also true fifty years ago; the difference is that no one then pretended otherwise. But since no one else can get the airtime or column inches to point this out, the media can happily go about its business in deep denial and without challenge save for its own braggadocio parading as criticism in which minor flaws such as a single story going awry are subjected to portentous analysis while major media errors - like years of downplaying global warming or buying into false justifications for invading Iraq - escape scot free.
Take just one responsibility of the press, investigative reporting. Most investigative reporting these days is done by non-profit organizations, led by groups like the Center for Public Integrity, which probably has more investigative journalists usefully engaged than any media corporation in the country. Environmental organizations and governmental watchdogs have broken story after story that a real reporter would have been proud to have uncovered. And Ralph Nader has been one of the best investigative reporters this country has ever known. Further, non-profits, rather than the media, have been at the forefront of defending freedom of the press and government accountability, ranging from the daily work of the ACLU to freedom of information suits and the legal protection of government whistleblowers.
This outsourcing of journalistic responsibility both saves the media money and provides it with distance in case something goes wrong with a story. But non-profits don't win Pulitzers so the myth of journalism as public savior goes on even though the profession is ever more in the hands of some of the least public-minded people in American history. There are, however, a few recent signs that even the media is feeling a bit less secure upon the pedestal it has constructed for itself. The crowds no longer seem to be paying homage. . . or even attention. In fact a recent survey found that only 22% of Americans say they get most of their news from a newspaper, barely twice as many as say they use the Internet as their primary source. Radio is at a mere 15% while 50% rely upon the true church of our new Middle Ages - guardian of the faith, inquisitor of free market apostasy, perpetuator of sanctified superstition, lord of all men, judge of all things, which is to say, television.
If you look closely at this division of news curricula, one finds that just under a third of the public relies on media that by habit, methodology, and tradition are most likely to concern themselves with the rational and the factual. This does not mean that such matters are absent from TV, only that you won't use up anywhere near your Tivo memory recording every Front Line, 60 Minutes and available equivalent.Yet far from welcoming their colleagues in cyberspace, the print media has gone out of its way to disparage and ridicule digitized news, with particular disdain for bloggers who dare to occupy space the archaic press believes belongs to them.
There is of late much talk about the social and professional status of bloggers who are presumed not to be as properly credentialed as, say, Jason Blair, Robert Novak, Geraldo Rivero, Bill O'Reilly, the broadcast staff of defense contractor General Electric, or the 400 journalists who moonlighted for the CIA in times past.But Tom Paine, Ben Franklin, and Frederick Douglass did not have press passes either, nor did anyone give them credentials before they commenced their unlicensed practice of the First Amendment. And where does one go these for such a license anyway? Usually to the government or to a committee comprised of employees of large media corporations whose interest is not in dispensing news but in owning its profits and who hire numerous lobbyists to manipulate the same White House and Congress their ace reporters are covering. There are, of course, good bloggers and there are bad ones. There are gay prostitutes pretending to be objective cyber-journalists and there are internet journalists uncovering answers to questions conventional reporters don't even bother to ask.
A simple test of the average quality of these efforts would be to invite nothing but bloggers to the next presidential news conference. Can anyone doubt that it would be more interesting and useful than a room full of David Gregorys asking questions so predictable that the president already has the answers on paper? Something of the same effect could be achieved by ridding the White House news confabs of media prima donnas and replacing them with that quiet body of lesser known reporters who cover truly tough beats such as Congress - a task at least 535 times more complex than trailing a bubble wrapped president. Science reporters, investigative journalists who don't usually have time for show business, hacks who know federal agencies inside and out, not to mention well-informed advocacy scribes from right and left, would serve the country far better than the present club of servile stenographers.
The archaic media's discomfort with the Internet began early. I collected some examples for my book, Why Bother?:
- Cokie and Steve Roberts wrote a column, headed 'Internet Could Become A Threat To Representative Government,' warning against the direct democracy of the Internet and saying it could threaten the "very existence" of Congress.
- A commentator on Court TV argued that acceptance of government regulation of the Net was the equivalent of growing up.
- Leslie Stahl on 60 Minutes called for the removal of undesirable information from the Net. Asked on what grounds, Stahl replied, "That it's wrong, that it's inaccurate, it's irresponsible, that it is spreading fear and suspicion of the government; 10,000 reasons."
- A writer in the Washington Post warned that without gatekeepers of information -- e.g. the Washington Post -- "our media could become even more infested with half-truths and falsehoods."
- On Crossfire, Geraldine Ferraro breathlessly warned that "we've got to get this Internet under control."
- A front page story in the New York Times was headlined 'Term Papers Are Hot Items On The Internet.' Other horrors in the Times' series included a story that the Net had caused Dartmouth students to forget sex, socializing and drinking; another on how to spot your computer addiction; and, finally, how the same technology that encourages celibacy at Dartmouth encourages flagrant and prolific sex everywhere else.
I went on to note that "those not in media elite have found something quite different on the Net. They are creating a cyberarchy of transformation -- as different from the hierarchy of traditional information and politics as the vast wilderness of America was from the taut geography of 19th century Europe. The old dukes and baronets, clinging to their decadent landscape of conventional thought, rail against the primitiveness, the raucousness, the freedom of the new media, but theirs is effete whining in a happy hubbub of people discovering the ubiquitous potential of a new frontier. The ways of the Net have become inseparable from the ways of new politics -- they are the smoke-filled room, the Tammany Hall, and the political picnic of a new age.
"With the heady discovery of how many of us there really are has come a sense of incipient rebellion based not on ideology but on dreams and values -- a shared faith that truth, freedom, the individual, community, and decency still matter."
I have been a radio reporter; have edited newspapers and newsletters; have written for local, national and foreign readers; have had articles in more than two dozen publications; and then ten years ago I took to the Internet. Nothing has made me feel closer to the guardian angels of journalism and more a honest part of the free press than this latter adventure, while nothing has made me feel more distant from those who haughtily claim custody of journalism's holy grail even as they dishonor its most hallowed traditions. Anyway, in the end, there is only one journalism credential that really counts: telling good stories well - and truthfully.

THE COUP IN WAITING PEEKS OUT AGAIN

From one of the more electric journalistic outposts, The Progressive reveals there is more going unseen in the Administration than just the headlines of warrentless wiretaps and rendition of suspects to foreign soil. They are, in a word, preparing.
***********

BY MATTHEW ROTHSCHILD, THE PROGRESSIVE
With scarcely a mention in the mainstream media, President Bush has ordered up a plan for responding to a catastrophic attack. Under that plan, he entrusts himself with leading the entire federal government, not just the Executive Branch. And he gives himself the responsibility "for ensuring constitutional government". He laid this all out in a document entitled National Security Presidential DirectiveNSPD 51 and Homeland Security Presidential Directive HSPD-20.The subject of the document is entitled "National Continuity Policy." It defines a "catastrophic emergency" as "any incident, regardless of location, that results in extraordinary levels of mass casualties, damage, or disruption severely affecting the U.S. population, infrastructure, environment, economy, or government function." This could mean another 9/11, or another Katrina, or a major earthquake in California, I imagine, since it says it would include "localized acts of nature, accidents, and technological or attack-related emergencies."The document emphasizes the need to ensure "the continued function of our form of government under the Constitution, including the functioning of the three separate branches of government," it states. But it says flat out: "The President shall lead the activities of the Federal Government for ensuring constitutional government."The document waves at the need to work closely with the other two branches, saying there will be "a cooperative effort among the executive, legislative, and judicial branches of the Federal Government." But this effort will be "coordinated by the President, as a matter of comity with respect to the legislative and judicial branches and with proper respect for the constitutional separation of powers."Among the efforts coordinated by the President would ensuring the capability of the three branches of government to "provide for orderly succession" and "appropriate transition of leadership." As part of that plan, he is not only to devise procedures for the Executive Branch but also give guidance to "state, local, territorial, and tribal governments, and private sector owners and operators of critical infrastructure.

[Sadly this is not a new problem, although liberals like the Progressive have ignored it because those planning to seize power in a crisis have often been Democrats like Carter or Clinton. Here is the back story] In "X-Files one of the characters explains that "FEMA allows the White House to suspend constitutional government upon declaration of a national emergency. It allows creation of a non-elected government. Think about that, Agent Mulder." The Washington Post's federal column made fun of the claim, and quoted FEMA public affairs guidance about the movie that essentially paints those concerned with the agency's potential role as kooks. Says the FEMA spinhead: "it is not realistic to think that we can convince them otherwise and it is advisable not to enter into debate on the subject." FEMA suggests that officials can "emphatically state that FEMA does not have, never has had, nor will ever seek, the authority to suspend the Constitution."

This is just plain untrue. Not only have there been past plans for FEMA and the military to assume an extra-constitutional role, but a recent presidential directive suggest that it is still a possibility not far from the Clinton administration's thoughts. Presidential Decision Directive #63 on "critical infrastructure protection" specifically assigns FEMA the task of "continuity of government" services, the precise term used in previous plans for a anti-constitutional takeover in a time of crisis. Further, as with previous plans, the Clinton order is stunningly silent on any role in such an emergency for the legislative and judicial branches or for state and local government.
A recent article in the Army War College's journal Parameters, expresses what appears to be the dominant administration attitude on the matter:
"Strategic leaders can take solace in the lessons learned from military participation in domestic disaster relief, for the record indicates that legal niceties or strict construction of prohibited conduct will be a minor concern. The exigencies of the situation seem to overcome legal proscriptions arguably applicable to our soldiers' conduct. Pragmatism appears to prevail when American soldiers help their fellow citizens."

SOME HISTORY: In a July 1983 series in the San Francisco Examiner, two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Knut Royce reported that a presidential directive had been drafted by a few Carter administration personnel in 1979 to allow the military to take control of the government for 90 days in the event of an emergency. A caveat on page one of the directive said, "Keeping the government functioning after a nuclear war is a secret, costly project that detractors claim jeopardizes US traditions and saves a privileged few." According to Royce there was a heated debate within the Carter administration as to just what constituted an "emergency."

The issue arose again during the Iran-Contra affair, but even in the wake of all the copy on that scandal, the public got little sense of how far some America's soldiers of fortune were willing to go to achieve their ends. When the Iran-Contra hearings came close to the matter, chair Senator Inouye backed swiftly away. Here is an excerpt from those hearings. Oliver North is at the witness table:
REP BROOKS: Colonel North, in your work at the NSC, were you not assigned, at one time, to work on plans for the continuity of government in the event of a major disaster?
BRENDAN SULLIVAN: Mr. Chairman?
SEN INOUYE: I believe that question touches upon a highly sensitive and classified area so may I request that you not touch on that.
REP BROOKS: I was particularly concerned, Mr. Chairman, because I read in Miami papers, and several others, that there had been a plan developed by that same agency, a contingency plan in the event of emergency, that would suspend the American constitution. And I was deeply concerned about it and wondered if that was the area in which he had worked. I believe that it was and I wanted to get his confirmation.
SEN INOUYE; May I most respectfully request that that matter not be touched upon at this stage. If we wish to get into this, I'm certain arrangements can be made for an executive session.

With few exceptions, the media ignored what well could be the most startling revelation to have come out of the Iran/Contra affair, namely that high officials of the US government were planning a possible military/civilian coup. First among the exceptions was the Miami Herald, which on July 5, 1987, ran the story to which Jack Brooks referred. The article, by Alfonzo Chardy, revealed Oliver North's involvement in plans for the Federal Emergency Management Agency to take over federal, state and local functions during an ill-defined national emergency.
The Constitution does not directly address the question of what should happen in the midst of a major national catastrophe. But neither does it give the slightest support to notions of turning matters over to non-elected civilian or military officials with plenary powers. The best guide is to be found in Amendment Ten which states that the powers of the federal government are those delegated to it by the states and the people. The states and the people have not delegated the power of martial law. Thus in a true crisis (such as a nuclear attack) the answer seems quite plain: the country would be run as a loose confederation of fifty states until a legitimate federal government could be re-established. In the interim, the highest constitutional officials in the land would be the governors.

According to Chardy, the plan called for 'suspension of the Constitution, turning control of the government over to the Federal Management Agency, emergency appointment of military commanders to run state and local governments and declaration of martial law.' The proposal appears to have forgotten that Congress, legislatures and the judiciary even existed.
In a November 18, 1991 story, the New York Times elaborated:
"Acting outside the Constitution in the early 1980s, a secret federal agency established a line of succession to the presidency to assure continued government in the event of a devastating nuclear attack, current and former United States officials said today."
The program was called "Continuity of Government." In the words of a report by the Fund for Constitutional Government, "succession or succession-by-designation would be implemented by unknown and perhaps unelected persons who would pick three potential successor presidents in advance of an emergency. These potential successors to the Oval Office may not be elected, and they are not confirmed by Congress.
According to CNN, the list eventually grew to 17 names and included Howard Baker, Richard Helms, Jeanne Kirkpatrick James Schlesinger, Richard Thornberg, Edwin Meese, Tip O'Neil, and Richard Cheney.

The plan was not even limited to a nuclear attack but included any "national security emergency" which was defined as:
"Any occurrence, including natural disaster, military attack, technological or other emergency, that seriously degrades or seriously threatens the national security of the United States."
This bizarre scheme was dismissed in many Washington quarters as further evidence of the loony quality of the whole Iran/contra affair. One FEMA official called it a lot of crap while a representative for Attorney General Meese described it as 'bullshit."

The problem is that there is a long history of compatibility between madness and totalitarian takeovers, Adolph Hitler being a prime but far from lone example. Further, there is plenty of evidence in this case that the planning was far more than simply an off-the-wall brainstorm. At least one report found that the US Army had even gone so far as to draft a legal document providing justifications for martial law.

Nor was the planning limited to crises involving the total breakdown of society as in the aftermath of a nuclear attack. Among the justifiable uses of martial law were "national opposition to a US military invasion abroad" and widespread internal dissent.

At least one high government official took the plan seriously enough to vigorously oppose it. In a August 1984 letter to NSC chair Robert McFarlane, Attorney General William French Smith wrote:
"I believe that the role assigned to the Federal Emergency Management Agency in the revised Executive Order exceeds its proper function as a coordinating agency for emergency preparedness . . . This department and others have repeatedly raised serious policy and legal objections to the creation of an 'emergency czar' role for FEMA."
FEMA was clearly out of control. Another memo, written in 1982 to then FEMA director Louis Giuffrida and given only tightly restricted circulation even within the agency, made this astonishing assertion:
"Over the long term, the peacetime action programs of FEMA and other departments and agencies have the effect of making the conceivable need for military takeover less and less as time goes by. A fully implemented civil defense program may not now be regarded as a substitute for martial law, nor could it be so marketed, but if successful in its execution it could have that effect."

The memo essentially proposed that the American people would rather be taken over by FEMA than by the military. When those are the options on the table, you know you're in trouble.
The head of FEMA until 1985, Giuffrida also once wrote a paper on the Legal Aspects of Managing Disorders. Here is some of what he said:
"No constitution, no statute or ordinance can authorize Martial Rule. [It commences] upon a determination (not a declaration) by the senior military commander that the civil government must be replaced because it is no longer functioning anyway . . . The significance of Martial Rule in civil disorders is that it shifts control from civilians and to the military completely and without the necessity of a declaration, proclamation or other form of public manifestation . . . As stated above, Martial Rule is limited only by the principle of necessary force."

Those words come from a time when Giuffrida was the head of then-Governor Reagan's California Specialized Training Institute, a National Guard school. It was not, for Giuffrida, a new thought. In 1970 he had written a paper for the Army War College in which he called for martial law in case of a national uprising by black militants. Among his ideas were "assembly centers or relocation camps" for at least 21 million "American Negroes."
During 1968 and 1972, Reagan ran a series of war games in California called Cable Splicer, which involved the Guard, state and local police, and the US Sixth Army. Details of this operation were reported in 1975 in a story by Ron Ridenour of the New Times, an Arizona alternative paper, and later exhumed by Dave Lindorff in the Village Voice.

Cable Splicer, it turned out, was a training exercise for martial law. The man in charge was none other than Edwin Meese, then Reagan's executive secretary. At one point, Meese told the Cable Splicer combatants:
"This is an operation, this is an exercise, this is an objective which is going forward because in the long run . . . it is the only way that will be able to prevail [against anti-war protests.]"
Addressing the kickoff of Cable Splicer, Governor Reagan told some 500 military and police officers:
"You know, there are people in the state who, if they could see this gathering right now and my presence here, would decide their worst fears and convictions had been realized -- I was planning a military takeover."
The Reaganites were not, however, the only ones with such thoughts. Consider this from a NSC directive written by Frank Carlucci in 1981:
"Normally a state of martial law will be proclaimed by the President. However, in the absence of such action by the President, a senior military commander may impose martial law in an area of his command where there had been a complete breakdown in the exercise of government functions by local civilian authorities."

Cannes fest unites film legends

World's greatest directors attend 'Cinema' premiere
By ALISON JAMES, ELIZABETH GUIDER , Variety
Cannes' day-long salute to filmmakers Sunday offered a little fireworks and a little melancholy, but mostly it was a celebration of film, as more than 30 of the world's greatest made the fest's 60th anniversary an occasion to remember.
The Palais was helmer heaven as the world preem of "Chacun son cinema" (To Each His Own Cinema) saw more heavyweight directors climb the red carpet than usually do for an entire festival's worth of opening nights.
At the top of the steps welcoming them was the pic's producer, Gilles Jacob (wearing his other hat as Cannes Film Festival prexy), artistic director Thierry Fremaux and managing director Catherine Demier.
Jacob conceived the omnibus pic as a way for the festival to mark its anniversary without too much self-congratulation.
Movie contains 33 films by 35 directors (two of the films are by brothers, America's Coens, and Belgium's Dardennes).
The film ceremony was short and simple but effective, with helmers taking their place in a row of movie theater chairs set up on the stage facing the screen. French actress Juliette Binoche, dressed in a fuscia pink evening gown, introduced them by name and a standing ovation ensued. Then the lights went down and the main feature began.
The pic went down well with the cinephile public at Sunday morning's press screening. That was followed by a lunch for journos, an afternoon roundtable discussion for the press to meet the helmers, then the 7 p.m. preem.
The omnibus film was scheduled to screen on Canal Plus Sunday night, and it will air on Franco-German pubcaster Arte next Saturday night.
Studio Canal will be releasing it on DVD in France this week.
Pic has an unusual legal status, with each three-minute segment being the copyright of the directors-producers involved, but the whole film belonging to the festival.
The day's fireworks came at the morning press confab when Roman Polanski, one of the contributing helmers, scolded journalists for their stupidity before walking out of a press conference.
"You have all these great directors here and you know so little about us," he complained before exiting.
Polanski's exit was certainly dramatic, but several folks at the press confab sympathized, agreeing that many of the questions were inane. Others pointed out that a room full of journalists looking for soundbites from 33 individuals was doomed to failure.
But arguably tongues were wagging just as much about two other contributors to the omnibus film, Michael Cimino and Lars von Trier. After being absent from the limelight for years, Cimino was virtually unrecognizable from his former self; von Trier did not attend Cannes, with word that it's due to his fear of flying, with others saying he is currently hospitalized with deep depression.
After a lunch for the journos, the fest offered roundtables in the Les Ambassadeurs room.
The conversations were alternately animated and awkward, like a dinner party consisting of total strangers. But the helmers were all good sports. When asked about their intentions in making the film, Brit Ken Loach laughed, "I think we were just desperate to get something down in three minutes, just to do something that wasn't totally embarrassing."
Sweden's Bille August said the extreme time limit was daunting but educational: "What I learned was simplicity."
Japan's Takeshi Kitano said it was tough to tell a story in three minutes, with a preordained theme -- with the added burden of coming up with something original that none of the other contributors would do.
The melancholy came at the press meet, as David Cronenberg expressed pessimism about the future of cinema-going.
"I believe the cinema is no longer the cinema. The form of the cinema is a thing of the past," he said. His short film was about the last Jew in the world who holds a gun to his head in the last movie theater in the world.
The "Chacun" shorts features a recurring theme of empty and/or derelict movie theaters, presaging the decline of movie-watching as a collective experience in theaters.
Despite that, the over-arching theme was one of love for cinema, and the emotions it stirs.
Asked at the press confab about his personal rapport with the cinema, Atom Egoyan opined that in the not distant future huge halls and movie palaces, the few that are left will be preserved just for "the latest franchise," a la "Spider-Man," and certainly not for classics.
In short, few will ever have the opportunity to see something like Carl Dreyer's "Joan of Arc" on a big screen. His short in fact is a rift on the changes technology is bringing us, showing a young person watching the Danish auteur's classic in a theater and sending images of it over to a friend's mobile as he watches another movie in another moviehouse.
(Timothy M. Gray contributed to this report.)

Monday, May 21, 2007

PARANOID PARK at Cannes from Gus Van Sant

Winner of both the Golden Palm and Best Director awards in 2003 for Elephant, director Gus Van Sant (photo, r.) returns this year with Paranoid Park, a feature-length film in which the characters are once again teenage boys. This adaptation of Blake Nelson's novel of the same name follows 16-year-old skateboarder Alex, who accidentally kills a security guard outside Paranoid Park, Portland's most infamous skateboarding locale. When he decides not to tell anyone, he takes on a crushing burden of guilt.Shot in both super 8 and 35mm in Gus Van Sant's hometown Portland, Paranoid Park is unique in that it features young amateur actors hired through MySpace. On this decision, director Gus Van Sant, who has also been honored by the Cannes Festival in the past with the selection of To Die For Out of Competition in 1995 and that of Last Days in Competition in 2005, asserted: "I think this is how all the casting agencies would go about casting high schoolers, especially now when MySpace is so prevalent. We were like the others, just trying to figure out ways to get the word out to non professional people to play in the film."

(photo: Lauren McKinney, Gus Van Sant, Gabe Nevins, and Taylor Momsen at the Cannes Film Festival. Photo by Eugene Hernandez/indieWIRE)

MAGNUS is uplifting

MAGNUS explores life and death....

By RUSSELL EDWARDS, Variety.
Mart Laisk plays the hedonistic father of the main character in first-time helmer Kadri Kousaar's 'Magnus,' about a suicidal youth.Gently drifting between drollery and moodiness, philosophically minded Estonian pic "Magnus" is a profound emotional experience. "Inspired by true events," this astounding debut from 26-year-old helmer-scripter (photo, l.) Kadri Kousaar is well-mounted and occasionally visually innovative. Frank and funny characters prevent yarn from sliding into a morose malaise while it contemplates life's big questions. Unfortunately, pic drops the ball in final and unnecessary reel. Film is currently suppressed in Estonia due to legal reasons instigated by an "acquaintance of the prototype." Prominent slots at major fests are assured, but international prospects may also pay dividends for brave distribs.


Story begins as handsome youth Magnus (Kristjan Kasearu) (photo, r.) and his dishevelled roly-poly father (Mart Laisk) take a ferry trip to a wilderness reserve for their first real holiday together. Flashbacks reveal a chaotic childhood where a sickly Magnus was present while his father took drugs and recruited women for German pornography. His sluttish hysterical banshee mother (Merle Jaager) (photo, r.) knows her son is headed for trouble, but her admonishments are meaningless.

Aware that his divorced parents didn't expect him to live beyond 16 due to a precarious lung condition, Magnus the child experiments with his power over life and death. Like placing a bet with God, the boy believes that his ability to complete tasks -- like leaving school within a certain time frame -- will ensure his survival through the day.
During his teen years, Magnus takes to "life-affirming" experiences like sex and drugs, but by his early 20s this results in biological indifference and then hospitalisation due to an intentional overdose.
Realizing that he has been remiss in his administration of paternal duties, Magnus' wayward father takes his discharged son home. Co-habitation and the sharing of prostitutes and drugs only emphasizes their differences: Dad's appetites are continuing unabated while Magnus contemplates suicide and spirituality.

Narrative gradually circles back to the opening ferry trip and while on holiday the two men merely co-exist. Pic reaches an unsurprising, but moving conclusion, but is then awkwardly post-scripted by an extended monologue from a principal character for the final reel.
Estonian pop star Kasearu is beatific in the title role and makes for a wonderfully bemused and sad protagonist. Supporting thesps are all strong but pic is completely stolen by Laisk's beguiling portrayal of the shamelessly self-indulgent father. Laisk, who is ambiguously and probably misleadingly credited with playing himself, gives a seamless performance of a man enraptured by his own audacious behavior, providing plenty of laughs in what could have been very dry fare.
Helmer's script and direction takes several creative risks and, except for the final counterproductive post-script device, all pay off handsomely.
Kousaar's talent is enhanced by the good judgment of not being too timid with her creative gambles or overusing them as many first-timers do.
Visually delightful lensing by Polish cinematographer Pawel Sobczyk cleverly underlines film's quasi-mystical dimensions. Music by Set Fire to Flames is evocative and, at times, uncomfortably piercing and hypnotic like a rusted playground swing swaying in the breeze. Tech credits are superb.

Reviewed at Cannes Film Festival (Un Certain Regard), May 18, 2006. Running time: 85 MIN. (Estonian dialogue)
******
from the Producer....populist synopsis
"Think of any Nordic art-house film and what stereotypes come to mind? 3 hour long, humourless and unremarkable movies about forests, sex and death?'Magnus' is different. It's only 86 minutes. And there is humour as, aided by the liberal use of various drugs, the deeply troubled teenage Magnus and his laidback father play out and eventually resolve their father-son stuff. Ok, there are some forests but trees sink carbon as well as being essential to the storyline, and Estonia's finest are even almost as beautiful on the screen as Magnus himself. There is no sex, only scenes with full frontal nudity, incest, ménage à trois and prostitution. And finally death......you'll need to watch 'Magnus' and make your own judgement".
Donal Fernandes, Executive Producer

Red Balloon Soars

I heartily agree that this film is the highlight thus far at Cannes. I've seen a preview and it soars, and should be the director Hou Hsiao -hsien's real cross-over film and hopefully distributed in the US markets. -MS

If I see no film better than "The Flight of the Red Balloon" at Cannes this year, I'll leave a happy man.
By Andrew O'Hehir / salon.com
May. 18, 2007 I'm in the swing of things here. I've already consumed coffee after 10 p.m. and wine before noon, and I was able to summon up the right French word to mutter under my breath at the Russian TV reporter with a bad face-lift who shoved her way in front of me in line, announcing that her press credential was more high-class than mine. (She was quite right about that.) More important, I've just had my first dose of Cannes magic, when the obnoxious crush on the sun-baked sidewalk outside the theater is followed by cinematic rapture in the dark.
Late in Taiwanese director Hou Hsiao-hsien's "The Flight of the Red Balloon," a class of schoolchildren goes to a museum with their teacher to see Félix Vallotton's painting "The Balloon." When she asks them whether it's a happy painting or a sad painting, there are various responses, but some of the kids observe that part of the canvas is light and part is dark, so it's both happy and sad. That's exactly the way to describe Hou's marvelous film as well.
There's some internal film-world controversy about why "The Flight of the Red Balloon" -- a film shot in Paris and inspired by Albert Lamorisse's 1956 children's classic "The Red Balloon" -- wound up as the opening film of the Certain Regard sidebar competition here, rather than being included in the main selection. I can't explain it to you, but having seen the results of this cinematic master's journey to Paris I really don't care. If I see no film better than this one at Cannes this year, I'll leave a happy man.

One of the mini-themes of this festival is East-West collaboration, in unlikely or unexpected forms. Wong Kar-wai's English-language "My Blueberry Nights," which opened the main competition, is lovely, self-indulgent, distinctly ungainly; two days later I'm still not sure if its merits outweigh its flaws. "The Flight of the Red Balloon," on the other hand, is a work of tremendous precision and heartfelt emotion, made by one of the great artists in the medium.
Like most of Hou's films (which include "The Puppetmaster," "Flowers of Shanghai" and the recent "Three Times"), this is a subtle, unshowy affair. Hou has taken the essential vocabulary of Lamorisse's film -- a lonely little boy, a magical red balloon and the streets of Paris, shot in an attenuated color palette -- and turned it into a gentle domestic comedy that becomes deeper, sadder and more mysterious as it goes along, stretching from real estate to divorce to the techniques of digital filmmaking and the limitless power of the imagination.
The boy in Hou's film, Simon (Simon Iteanu), belongs to the 21st century, not the sad postwar Paris of the '50s. He's got a Playstation and he's never even heard of Lamorisse's film. His new baby sitter (Song Fang), a film student from China, casts Simon in her own homage to "The Red Balloon," hiring a man in a green suit to follow him around with a balloon (because he'll be easy to mask digitally later). Yet Hou also wants to assure us that not all red balloons are technical tricks; there's another one that follows Simon around, and it might be symbolic or psychological or whatever you want, but Song didn't make it happen.

Simon's harried mom is marvelously played by French star Juliette Binoche. She rushes through shots, dropping things with a crash and then tripping over them. She wears half-baked outfits, and her hair stands on end. She's been semi-deserted by her husband, who's in Montreal writing an endless novel. She's feuding with the downstairs tenants, supposedly her friends, over their unpaid rent. The tiny flat she shares with Simon is cluttered, chaotic, claustrophobic. She's almost entirely a disaster in conventional parenting terms, but she loves Simon without reservation, and when we watch her at work -- she reads all the parts for a puppet troupe, and I could listen to Binoche do that for hours -- you realize how lucky he really is to have such a mother.
You can watch this whole movie without even noticing Hou's elegant, theatrically constructed shots, which often go on for several minutes while the characters make sandwiches, bash into lamps, misunderstand each other and generally conduct their lives. Several people walked out of the premiere and I can only assume they were bored by this stuff. I'm not so naive as to think there's a large audience for Hou's films in America (or anywhere else, really). But "The Flight of the Red Balloon" is not arty or difficult in any way, and I genuinely believe that, in its unassuming fashion, it's a masterpiece. Hou has approached one of the best-loved films in cinema history and the iconic, too-often-photographed scenery of Paris, and composed them into a bittersweet comic valentine that honors the originals but feels fully contemporary.
Those of us who stayed got on our feet and clapped as the reticent Hou and the radiant Binoche linked arms and left the theater together. As they walked past me I could see that both of them had been crying, with what set of emotions I can only imagine. Then we all followed them out into the night. I looked for my own red balloon, but couldn't see it among the palm trees and the seagulls, wheeling in great clouds above the roof spotlights of the beachfront hotels.

"Sicko"Michael Moore's scathing look at the U.S. healthcare has plenty to rile the far right -- and a lot more to enrage the larger US population

By Andrew O'Hehir / salon.com
May. 20, 2007

"I know the storm awaits me back in the United States," Michael Moore told a wall-to-wall throng of reporters here after the Saturday morning press premiere of his new film, "Sicko." Then he heaved a deep breath and added, "But this is just so pleasant."
It was indeed another gorgeous, summery morning on the French Riviera, but the real heat was indoors. There wasn't a single empty seat inside the Grand Théâtre Lumière -- which holds more than 2,000 people -- for "Sicko," and dozens of stragglers were locked out on the sidewalk. Moore's screed against the outrageous state of American healthcare was received with uproarious affection, but one might argue that Cannes provided the softest possible crowd. An American left-wing populist, attacking America's profit-motive, private-sector ideology before a roomful of international intellectuals, at least half of them Europeans. May I introduce a new phrase into the Franglais dictionary? C'était un slam-dunk.


"Sicko" does not display Moore at his most cinematically inventive or imaginative. It presents a TV-documentary-style parade of episodes, characters and settings, bouncing from various American cities to Canada, Britain, France and Cuba (and yes, don't worry, we'll get to that). Moore plays a far smaller personal role in this film, appearing only occasionally in his comic-relief role as the clueless buffoon who can't seem to grasp that healthcare in all those other countries is free, or virtually so. When he's eating dinner with a group of Americans living in Paris who begin to list all the things they can have as free or nearly free entitlements -- not just healthcare but an emergency doctor who makes house calls; not just childcare but a part-time in-home nanny -- Moore puts his hands over his ears and begins singing "La la la la la." (If you have kids or any kind of chronic family health problems, your reactions might include weeping in despair, slitting your wrists or booking a one-way ticket.)


Still, there is no mistaking the passion and political intelligence at work in "Sicko." It's both a more finely calibrated film and one with more far-reaching consequences than any he's made before. Moore is trying to rouse Americans to action on an issue most of us agree about, at least superficially. You may know people who will still defend the Iraq war (although they're less and less eager to talk about it). But who do you know who will defend the current method of healthcare delivery, administered by insurance companies whose central task is to minimize cost and maximize shareholder return? Americans of many different political stripes would probably share Moore's conclusions at the press conference: "It's wrong and it's immoral. We have to take the profit motive out of healthcare. It's as simple as that."
"Sicko" purposefully does not focus on the 50 million or so Americans who don't have health insurance, as scandalous as that is, but on the horror stories of middle-class working folks who believed they were adequately covered. There are so many of these they begin to blur into each other: the woman in Los Angeles whose baby was denied treatment at an emergency room outside her HMO network, and died as it was being transferred hours later; the woman in Kansas City whose husband was repeatedly denied various drugs his physician prescribed for kidney cancer, and who in the last stage of life was denied a bone-marrow transplant that could have saved his life; the woman who was told her brain tumor was not a life-threatening illness, and died; the woman who was told her cancer must have been a preexisting condition, and died.
One might respond that anecdotes like these have tremendous emotional power but little analytical rigor, but in this case I think we all know (and fear) that these worst-case outcomes exemplify the system perfectly. Moore interviews two healthcare whistle-blowers, both now plagued with guilt, who explain what should be obvious: The point of the system is to treat as few people as possible as cheaply as possible, and those who get ahead in the healthcare industry are those who find ever more devious ways to deny coverage. (For example, you can now be denied for certain preexisting conditions you didn't know about, on the premise that you should have known about them.)


OK, let's get to the headlines: Yes, in the film Moore travels with a group of ill and injured 9/11 rescue workers (along with several other of his film's protagonists) to Cuba, where they receive free and apparently excellent medical treatment. It's unquestionably another button-pushing Michael Moore stunt, designed to provoke controversy. It's cheap but funny, dubious as evidence but affecting anyway. Moore does not even seem aware of the possibility that the Cubans were shrewd enough to see the propaganda value in this exercise, and put on a dog-and-pony show for his and our benefit. (For that matter, we don't know how much of the visit was planned in advance with Cuban authorities.) All that aside, within the context of the film and the argument Moore is building, Cuba makes as much sense as anywhere else.
Moore begins his foreign odyssey in the film after meeting a 22-year-old Michigan woman who has moved across the Ontario border (not entirely on the up-and-up) because she's been denied treatment for cervical cancer. He wanders around emergency rooms in London, Ontario, and London, England (where he discovers that the cashier's window is for paying patients their travel expenses, not for settling the bill). He zips from one Parisian arrondissement to another with an on-call physician on the night shift. He dines with the aforementioned Americans abroad, who seem dazed and a little guilty about their escape from healthcare hell.
Much of this is played as comedy; Moore corners a young Afro-British couple with a wiggling bundle in the hallway of a London hospital and says cheerfully, "So -- how much they charge you for that baby?" But Moore is trying to push us beyond the universally shared idea that something must be done to the slightly more controversial idea that something has been done, and that all we have to do is appropriate it. Americans have of course been conditioned for generations to believe that socialized medicine is first of all a disaster in its own terms, and secondly, the pathway to totalitarianism.


His portrayal of the Canadian, British and French systems is undoubtedly simplistic , and several Canadian reporters took that up with him at the press conference -- although all of them admitted they wouldn't trade their system for ours. But Moore's overall point is, I think, inarguable: Flawed as they may be, those systems are a hell of a lot more humane and civilized than anything we've got. (Life expectancy is significantly higher, and infant mortality lower, in all of those countries than the United States. Whatever outdated stereotypes you may hold, these days poor people in Britain are statistically healthier than rich people in America.)
Addressing a series of questions from foreign reporters at the press conference, Moore said: "We should do what we always do as Americans, steal the best things you're doing and make them our own. The Canadians do certain things very well. The Brits do certain things very well. The French have the best system in the world, and that's not my opinion. That's how the World Health Organization rates them. None of them is perfect, but it's not my role to make criticisms. It's my role as an American to say, why don't we take the best elements you're doing and blend them together, and call it the American system?"


Moore decided to go to Cuba, as he explains in the film, after learning the peculiar irony that detainees at Guantánamo Bay are entitled to something American citizens are not: free healthcare. In a brief and awkward scene, he tries to bring a fishing boat with his 9/11 refugees aboard into U.S. waters just off the naval base. They are refused entry (Moore is evasive about the details) and then seek treatment at the best hospital in Havana.


"The point of this was not to go to Cuba," Moore said at the press conference. "The point was to go to Guantánamo Bay, to get the 9/11 workers the same medical care we're giving to members of al-Qaida." If the detainees had been at a U.S. base in Spain or Italy or Australia -- all countries with universal healthcare -- he'd have taken his 9/11 workers there instead. In fact, when Moore drops the jokes and political attitudinizing during the Cuba sequence, the pathos of the story makes his point for him: A poor Caribbean island, whatever its ideology, can afford healthcare for everyone while we do not. The only possible conclusion is that our society has chosen not to.
When asked about his potential prosecution for violating U.S. Treasury sanctions against trade with or travel to Cuba, Moore was uncharacteristically sober. "I know a lot of you have written things like, 'How dumb are they?'" he said, "but I don't take this lightly. The Bush administration may try to claim that my footage was obtained illegally. We haven't discussed this possibility yet, but actions could be taken to prevent this film from opening on June 29. I know that sounds crazy to the Americans in the room. I guess it is crazy."


When Americans do get to see "Sicko," Moore says, "They will understand that this was about helping 9/11 rescue workers who've been abandoned by the government. They're not going to focus on Cuba or Fidel Castro or any other nonsense coming out of the Bush White House. They're going to say: 'You're telling me that al-Qaida prisoners get better medical treatment than the people who tried to recover bodies from the wreckage at ground zero?'"
When Moore interviews Tony Benn, a leading figure on the British left, his larger concerns come into focus. Benn argues that for-profit healthcare and the other instruments of the corporate state, like student loans and bottomless credit-card debt, perform a crucial function for that state. They undermine democracy by creating a docile and hardworking population that is addicted to constant debt and an essentially unsustainable lifestyle, that literally cannot afford to quit jobs or take time off, that is more interested in maintaining high incomes than in social or political change. Moore seizes on this insight and makes it a kind of central theme; both in the film and aloud, at the press conference, he wondered whether some essential and unrecognized change has occurred in the American character.
"I hope this film engenders discussion, not just about healthcare, but about why we are the way we are these days," Moore told us. "Where is our soul? Why would we allow 50 million Americans, 9 million of them children, not to have health insurance? Maybe my role as a filmmaker is to go down a road we might be afraid to go down, because it might lead to a dark place."


Moore's last revelation in "Sicko" is sure to be endlessly debated in the right-wing blogosphere that is so obsessed with him (and may be of little interest to ordinary viewers). Some time ago, Jim Kenefick, proprietor of the especially bilious anti-Moore site Moorewatch, almost shut down his site to focus on his wife's worsening illness and escalating healthcare costs. An anonymous donor then sent him $12,000 to cover his wife's bills and keep the site running. (She has apparently recovered.) Now that donor has been revealed and, as Kenefick now says he suspected all along, it turns out to be Michael Moore.


"I want him to know that it was done with all the best intentions," said Moore, adding that he planned to phone Kenefick personally after the press conference. (According to Kenefick's blog, Moore left him a voice-mail message later on Saturday.) "I went back and forth about whether to use that material," Moore went on. "I asked myself, would you be doing this if it weren't in the film? I decided that I would, and I should, and that that's the way I think we should live."
Moore says he began exercising and lost 25 pounds while working on his healthcare film; "I'm actually a fairly skinny person for the Midwest," he quipped. He says he's tried to maintain a lower public profile since "Fahrenheit 9/11" and would like Kenefick and his many other critics to cut him some slack. "You know, I begin to hope that as I enter the discourse with this film, I might get some kind of a break. As far as the accuracy of my movies goes, I think the record speaks for itself. Maybe people will say: He warned us about General Motors, he warned us about school shootings and he warned us about Bush."

Aw, Shucks! Provocateur Takes on Health Care

Cannes Journal
By MANOHLA DARGIS, NY Times
CANNES, France, May 20 —
Three years after conquering the Cannes Film Festival and winning the Palme d’Or for “Fahrenheit 9/11,” Michael Moore has returned the amour big time with “Sicko,” his most fluid provocation to date. A persuasive, insistently leftist indictment of the American health care system, as well as a funny valentine to all things French — and many things Canadian, British and Cuban — the film shows that while Mr. Moore remains a radical partisan, he has learned how to sell his argument with a softer touch. He’s still the P. T. Barnum of activist cinema, but he no longer runs the entire circus directly from the spotlight.

To that shrewd end almost an entire hour has lapsed before Mr. Moore lumbers in front of the camera in “Sicko,” his aw-shucks grin and baseball cap firmly in place. By that point he has introduced a wealth of evidence (photographs, news clips and archival footage) and a sprawling cast of characters (patients, health care workers and Washington politicians), each another piece in the evolving puzzle. How did we get here and why?, Mr. Moore asks in his faux-folksy, at times icky-sticky voice-over. Though of course there’s never any doubt that this director of “Bowling for Columbine,” a blistering attack on American gun culture, believes he knows who is to blame for the state of the nation’s health care and why.

Mr. Moore has always been a canny rhetorician: He’s a master of the obvious observation and the pseudo-naïve question. These can be effective ploys, but they sometimes come across as maddeningly condescending. Early in “Sicko” he says, “I always thought that the health insurance companies were here to help us,” a statement that the very existence of this film proves preposterous. It’s as if Mr. Moore’s didn’t want his Everyman persona to look or sound too smart, a tactic that results only in dumber movies. He’s on firmer ground when he lets other people do the talking and when he takes his entertaining show on the road to Canada, Britain and France, where in between nicely timed comic bits and man-on-the-street encounters, he explores the many pluses if none of the minuses of universal health care.

By contrast his widely publicized trip to Cuba with Americans in need of better health care, including a handful of Sept. 11 rescue workers, registers as ill conceived because it takes place in a political vacuum. It’s difficult to share his enthusiasm about that country’s apparently terrific health care given its history of human-rights abuses. Mr. Moore’s larger point is that there is something terribly wrong when one of the world’s poorer nations can care for its people while the richest, most powerful nation in the world lets its citizens literally rot on the street, as happens every day on Los Angeles’s skid row. In “Sicko” greed is the pathogen that has diseased a health care system in which all Americans, including those who think that the H.M.O. card in their wallet has them covered, are the terminally wronged patients.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Besson beats everyone to the Blockbuster

I previewed ANGEL-A a few months ago and thought it typically stylish, provocative in a certain manner, and certainly aimed at an audience that wanted it's rouguish cake and it's silky slut icing, too. Well, it's how our heroine described herself, at least. The film was great fun, comic, sometimes silly. It was, after all, by Luc Besson and about an Angel. I've often wondered why angels always come in disguise of sorts, but still all have feathery wings. It's a dead give away. Ha haa. This piece from the New York Times is more about the director Luc Besson, and his place in the French pantheon of filmmakers. Indulge yourself. You know you'd like to have your angels as 6' tall blonde, uh, sluts. (That's what she said, really). - MS


May 20, 2007
Le Cinéma du Blockbuster
By JAIME WOLF
On the sliding scale of Frenchness, “Angel-A” — a low-budget black-and-white romance in which a desperate couple travel the streets of Paris, alternately running from and chasing after a gangster as they debate the nature and meaning of existence — would seem at first glance to register pretty high. Unless you were a member of the French cinematic elite, in which case your animus toward the writer-director, Luc Besson, (photo, l.) long the most Hollywood of French filmmakers, might make you suspect its authenticity. When it opened in Paris in December 2005, critics were predictably hostile: Under the headline “Besson Stupid and Talkative,” the reviewer for the newspaper Libération sneeringly wrote, “Besson thinks he can buy himself the title of auteur, but all he attains is a parvenu’s vulgarity.”
In the United States, Mr. Besson is primarily known as a superior director of stylish, mayhemic, even soulful films like “La Femme Nikita” and “Léon: The Professional.” But in France, across Europe and throughout Asia he is a bona fide celebrity: auteur and entrepreneur, star maker and mogul, and a first-class purveyor of blockbuster escapist fantasy. Over a 30-year career he has not only directed 10 features (Sony Pictures Classics will release “Angel-A” here on May 25) but has also written and produced dozens more, including a handful of the most commercially successful French movies ever. In the process he has almost single-handedly dragged French cinema, kicking and screaming, from the art house into the multiplex.
To the chagrin of French critics and cinephiles, the scale of this success has reoriented French filmmaking away from the literary-intellectual tradition for which it is famed. Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s “Amelie,” a sentimental crowd pleaser that straddled Hollywood and French romantic comedy conventions, would be unthinkable without Mr. Besson; so too the slick, explosive big-budget genre films like “The Crimson Rivers” and “Brotherhood of the Wolf” that have played around the world.

As a result Mr. Besson has routinely found himself under attack by critical essays with titles like “Besson Murdered My Cinema.” Mr. Besson, nothing if not obstinate, makes no apologies for his work. “In France we have this problem,” he said. “We cannot admit that movies are also an industry, that a movie is also fun.”
At 48 the broad-shouldered, husky Mr. Besson exhibits few of the qualities of the auteur, beginning with his unprepossessing appearance (rarely will you encounter him in anything more formal than a pair of black Levi’s and a dark-colored thermal T-shirt) and extending to an aversion to typical French-artiste habits like cigarette smoking, or coffee or wine consumption. Perhaps things would be different if he had gone to La Fémis, the French National Film School. But as Mr. Besson tells it, when he was 18, in 1977, he applied, and in a preliminary interview, an administrator asked him which directors he most admired. Mr. Besson named Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese and Milos Forman, before the interviewer cut him off, saying: “That’s enough. I don’t think you belong here.”

Throughout his life Mr. Besson has never quite belonged. He was born in Paris, to parents who led a nomadic life as Club Med scuba instructors in Italy, Greece and Yugoslavia. A natural swimmer, diver and student of sea life, he was also a solitary child. When he was 10, his parents moved back to France, divorced and married others. “Here there is two families, and I am the only bad souvenir of something that doesn’t work,” he said. “And if I disappear, then everything is perfect. The rage to exist comes from here. I have to do something! Otherwise I am going to die.”
He escaped by diving deep inside himself, writing long, fantastic adventure stories, which he didn’t show anyone. A few months before high school graduation, Mr. Besson’s stepfather arranged for him to assist the crew on a short film shooting in Paris. When he returned home the next day, Mr. Besson informed his mother he was leaving school to work in film production. He packed his things and never looked back.
Having neither attended film school nor logged much time at the cinémathèque, Mr. Besson’s repertory of movie references can have shocking gaps. Though “Angel-A” concerns a man who is about to take his life by jumping off a bridge, only to come under the wing of a guardian angel who guides him on a retrospective tour of his life, its statuesque star, Rie Rasmussen, said that when she tried to talk to Mr. Besson about “It’s a Wonderful Life,” (photo, r., Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed) she was surprised to find he had never seen it.

Yet while Mr. Besson tends to hatch scenarios from his imagination, they are designed to entertain. In 1979, when he was a 20-year-old production assistant, he took a trip to Los Angeles. With a friend he visited Universal Studios, where he lucked into an invitation to visit the set of “The Nude Bomb,” a comedy based on the television sitcom “Get Smart.” Though Mr. Besson could see it wasn’t a great movie, it was still a revelation.
“Just to see how they are shooting,” he said, “and then to return to France, already I can see the difference. There was something wrong. This was very light, easy, fun. In Paris everything was about ego and pretension. Almost everybody is there for bad reasons.”

Mr. Besson’s fluid camera sense was evident from the opening sequence of his low-budget debut feature, “Le Dernier Combat,” made in 1982. He became a phenomenon, however, in 1988 with his third film, “The Big Blue,” an English-language love story drawing on his childhood, set in the world of the endurance sport of free diving (deep-sea diving without breathing apparatus). When the film had its premiere on opening night at the Cannes Film Festival, it was mercilessly drubbed, but no matter; it was a smash. Embraced by young people who kept returning to see it again, the movie sold 10 million tickets and quickly became what the French call a film générationnel, a defining moment in the culture.
Mr. Besson’s next films were harder and more vicious, establishing him as a world-class action maestro. A return to French-language filmmaking, “La Femme Nikita,” released in 1990, spawned numerous imitators (including Quentin Tarantino, who appropriated the figure of the “cleaner” — a high-level crisis manager for killers — for “Pulp Fiction”). “Léon: The Professional” (1994), which was shot in New York in English, saw Natalie Portman’s (r.) debut as a smoldering nymphet who bonds with the Euro-hitman played by Jean Reno.
In subsequent films Mr. Besson realized his ambition to meld visionary, megabudget Hollywood-style spectacle to French sensibility. The tongue-in-cheek, brink-of-the-apocalypse “Fifth Element” starred English-speaking actors, including Bruce Willis (photo, below) and Gary Oldman, but much of its impact derives from Mr. Besson’s engagement of the French comic book artists Moebius and Jean-Claude Mézières to visualize the film’s rococo-futurist settings, and Jean Paul Gaultier to design the costumes. Similarly, “The Messenger: Joan of Arc,” (r.) though shot in English with an international cast, has a subject as deeply embedded in French national mythology as George Washington is in ours.
For nearly 100 years Hollywood has courted foreign directors who display an affinity for its idiom. Yet Mr. Besson has remained in Paris: acting locally and thinking globally, he makes popular entertainments, with Hollywood budgets and production values. Mr. Besson’s films are now produced by EuropaCorp, the studio he established in 2000 when Gaumont, which had financed his films as a director, declined to support his ambitions as a producer.
Since then EuropaCorp has produced more than 50 movies, 20 of which Mr. Besson has written or co-written, and two that he wrote, produced and directed. Since opening in Paris last Christmas his Arthur and the Invisibles ” (photo, l.) — a Harry Potteresque children’s adventure that is a hybrid of live action and innovative 3-D animation — has earned nearly $110 million. And “Taxi 4,” the latest in a series of action comedies that Mr. Besson has written and produced, has taken in over $50 million in France alone in since mid-February.
But if Mr. Besson’s Hollywood-style productions have made French cinema a global industry, American audiences still perceive something subtly foreign about them. His films tell European stories and feature European characters, and retain a distinctive European identity and flavor. The box office returns here also lag behind lesser but more familiar Hollywood product, unlike elsewhere in the world, where EuropaCorp releases compete with Hollywood’s on more level ground. (If there’s a historical precedent, it would be the Italian director Sergio Leone, whose 1960s westerns, shot in Spain, in English, with Clint Eastwood and other American stars, were at once recognizable and alien.)
Instead Mr. Besson has been a consistent “long tail” filmmaker in America, accumulating a significant following among people who discover his work on cable or DVD. Ms. Portman says that 13 years later “Léon: The Professional” is the film strangers most want to talk about when they first meet her. “It’s a lesson,” she said, “in how to separate the quality of a movie and how it stays with you from any kind of criticism or money.”
If the films that he writes and hands off to others (including the James Bond-style “Transporter” movies and the thriller “District B-13”) are primarily check-your-brain-at-the-door entertainments, then those he directs inevitably represent a more complicated and personal set of preoccupations and obsessions. “Angel-A,” which he calls “my story,” was made in 2005 during a lull in the drawn-out process of perfecting the computer-rendered world of “Arthur.” Mr. Besson shot the film quickly, on the cheap, frequently driving around with a small crew and spontaneously finding shooting locations. After so many blockbusters, it was a return to the way he made his earliest movies.

A character-driven film, focusing on the evolving relationship of a couple, “Angel-A” is the closest thing to a traditional French film that Mr. Besson has made. Mr. Besson, who refers to his print adversaries as “de-press,” has often spoken of retiring after directing 10 films. And beyond its sense of self-searching, “Angel-A” has a genuine valedictory quality. Mr. Besson admits that the film’s dialogue, by turns inarticulate, comic and poetic, is his attempt to dramatize his own inner dialogue and arrive at some measure of self-acceptance.
After all these years what Mr. Besson continues to enjoy most is writing, diving anew into his imagination to test the mettle of a sensitive, poorly socialized heroes who, faced with the unjust thwarting of their desire, are forced to exact savage retribution.
“I feel lucky, because this is what I wanted to do when I was 17,” he said. “But you know, I meet young guys and the thing in their eyes is to be like Luc Besson. It’s crazy. For so long I was so unhappy with myself, I couldn’t imagine someone who wants to have my life.”