Taking It Home: A Better Life

The grass is always greener, except when it's not.

I had the opportunity recently to observe removal hearings at a federal immigration court. The calendar moved in quick succession (5-10 minutes per case) and included the first appearances by respondents accused of being in the United States illegally. These were not detainees or, depending on your definition, even criminals, but they were nonetheless up against the law on this day.

Some had been in the country for less than a year, others had been here for decades. Maybe they hopped the border themselves, or through the help of a mule, or maybe they just overstayed their originally legal visas. They didn't explain how or why they came, only that they wanted to stay, for the welfare of themselves (in the case of asylum-seekers) or the welfare of others, such as children or spouses. Each story was different, and yet they were all identical, in that they portrayed lives lived in two places at once - here and abroad, above ground and underground, in comfortable peace and in extreme danger.

There were no tears or emotional speeches or really any kind of the desperation I might have expected in such an environment. Names were replaced by case numbers, legal jargon was interspersed with yes or no questions interpreted in different languages, and future dates and years were planned ahead matter-of-factly (cases are so backlogged that follow-up hearings were being scheduled on this day for mid-2014). It was, in other words, devastating in its banality.

The same can be said for A Better Life, although it unfortunately dips its toes into schmaltz every 15-20 minutes. So many recent movies have been made about immigration, and so many of those movies have told the same story (except Sean Baker's singular Take Out), that it was a little disappointing to watch A Better Life drive down that heavily-trafficked road and pass up possible detours to new cinematic territory. It's predictable and occasionally pedantic, and to be perfectly honest it's hard to defend as a "good movie".

But my measure of quality here has always considered social importance above cinematic artistry, and to that end A Better Life is as good if not better than most films I've seen this year. And it's not as if it's "bad" even on traditional cinematic terms; it transcends most of its flaws thanks to lived-in performances and a steady grounding in reality. Its characters are familiar not only from other movies, but from your daily bus commute or restaurant meal or hotel stay. (Perhaps the most conspicuous characteristic of undocumented immigrants, on screen and on the street, is their stoic work ethic.)

So if immigration-themed films are a dime a dozen, why do they keep being produced? First and most obviously, because immigration - both legal and illegal - is an issue facing not only every state and community in the United States, but nearly every country on earth. And it will continue to be a relevant social issue until, perhaps generations from now, the world will be so globalized that borders will be virtual and national identities will be nominal.

Until that time, if and when it does come (certainly not in our lifetimes), immigration movies will continue to portray undocumented immigrants in a sympathetic light, simply by virtue of their often narrow focus on the hard luck and difficult struggles these characters face every day. We don't see them as job takers or drug smugglers or fraudulent voters, but as honest workers, family members, and people of high moral character. Which the majority of them are, as I saw in court and as I see everyday when I look in the mirror (as a U.S.-born child of naturalized immigrants from two countries).

Secondly, the movies often strive to portray one of the unappreciated realities of this issue: it's not about the immigrants at all, but about their families, both now and for generations to come. Any emotion tied into these stories is related to these family bonds; I can't think of a moving illegal immigration film about a loner character whose family ties are not central to the story (though Sugar and Lorna's Silence come pretty close). So, as filmmakers continue to try to emotionally engage us about immigration, it will be an exercise in who can tell the most compelling story in the most unique way (Ramin Bahrani is among the new pioneers I admire).

And lastly, what of cinematic musings on immigration policies and politics? Put simply, I'd suggest that films about immigration are films about failed immigration policies (and documentaries like 9500 Liberty approach them head-on). The vast majority of these movies posit that current policies are either unfair or irrelevant, and that no matter what the politicians decide, illegal entry across borders will continue, and the stories we see on screen will continue to play out in real time all around us. There will be consequences for everyone involved, and there are no easy answers.

But as I've said before I think the purpose of these films, and all thoughtful films for that matter, is not to set forth policy but to initiate a conversation about it, or, in the case of A Better Life, serve as a conventional yet compassionate reminder of the importance of an issue.

What did you take home?

Sugar and Spies

If you've checked out my Reel Life series you know I have a deep interest in relating real-world happenings with on-screen possibilities. As much as I enjoy considering which underreported news stories could blossom into captivating films, though, I also love hearing new updates on particular issues after movies have covered them. Recently I read two articles that related to films from 2009, and what I learned in both instances was surprising and disappointing. 

Last spring, Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden's little-seen baseball drama, Sugar, had what anyone would consider a rather poor public reception. The film received a healthy dose of buzz when it played Sundance back in January 2008, but by the time it landed in theaters last spring (advantageously right at the beginning of baseball season), some kind of moviegoing malaise had descended on American audiences. Oh, wait, nevermind - turns out people were just flocking in record numbers to Fast & Furious, because, you know, you can never see Vin Diesel smirk from behind the wheel of a sports car enough times. And so, while Sugar earned a superb 93% RT/82 Metacritic rating it only grossed a paltry $1.1 million at the worldwide box office. 

It was this disappointing show of interest from Americans (wasn't baseball once the national pastime?) that made a recent article I read in TIME all the more frustrating. Sean Gregory wrote a well-balanced piece about the professional baseball industry farmed out of the Dominican Republic ("Baseball Dreams: Striking Out in the Dominican Republic", 7/26/10), but not once did he mention Sugar, which, if you don't know, examines the professional baseball industry farmed out of the Dominican Republic. How is that possible? How do you write an article on this subject for a mass audience without discussing a recently acclaimed film that was shot on location in the very place you're researching your story?

Taking It Home: Restrepo

(Images courtesy Outpost Films)

"Our idea was...let's make the most visceral war film you've ever seen." 

So said photojournalist Tim Hetherington, who partnered with author/journalist Sebastian Junger to create the Sundance-award winning documentary Restrepo, which delivers what's sure to be the most nerve-racking viewing experience of the year so far. Inception plays like a Saturday morning cartoon in comparison. If Restrepo isn't the most visceral war film we've ever seen, it's at least the most visceral movie about the war in Afghanistan that we've yet seen, and the most insightful documentary on the 21st-century soldier's experience since The War Tapes (which, along with the disappointing Gunnar Palace, comprise the few films that actually feature soldiers and not actors). 

Pro-war, anti-war, McChrystal, Wikileaks, whatever. The talking heads and the rest of the U.S. should stop shouting and hand-wringing for a moment to witness what's actually happening on the ground, or at least was in 2007-08. Restrepo follows the deployment of a dozen or so brave American infantrymen from Second Platoon, Battle Company, of the 173rd Airborne, who spent more than a year in Afghanistan's deadly Korengal Valley. The reasons to see this documentary are as numerous as the opinions about what the U.S. is doing in Afghanistan (i.e., the "graveyard of empires"); suffice to say you don't have much business in a conversation about the latter until you've seen the former.

Teza and the Surreal Cinema Experience

Early last year I read a BBC News article about an Ethiopian film, Haile Gerima's Teza, that won the highest award at the Pan-African Film and Television Festival (as well as a few awards in Venice the year prior, but losing the Golden Lion to The Wrestler). Considering my father is from Ethiopia, and considering this film was about the political tumult that took place after he left the country three and a half decades ago, and considering that this story has not been shown on film before, and considering I've never been to Ethiopia (and he hasn't been back), I was, to say the least, a little obsessed with tracking this film down.

Assuming that a full U.S. theatrical release was unlikely, I immediately set a Google Alert for the film so I could find out what was happening with it and when it would be released in any format. In the meantime I also contacted the production company on numerous occasions in the hope of receiving a screener copy to review, but never received a response. It was a shot in the dark, but it was still a shot. About six months ago the alerts started picking up speed, and earlier this year the film finally landed on American shores. Fittingly, it would play in a theater in Washington, D.C., home to Gerima and the largest Ethiopian population in the country.

But would it ever come to Minnesota? Impossible, I thought. It bounced around the East Coast (picking up raves along the way), however, and all of a sudden it began moving westward, arriving in Minneapolis last week (thank you, Minnesota Film Arts!). I gathered my family, including my dad, and we set off to Ethiopia on what truly was a unique cinematic adventure.

As Teza progressed, I had the surreal sensation that I was seeing my family history on film. Not a direct representation of it, but a portrait of the place in which my parents lived at a critical juncture in their lives (and also where my brother was born). It displayed the geography and language and extremely dangerous political climate; ultimately, much of what happened in this film affected my parent's decision to leave the country, first living in Austria (my mother's home) before arriving in California, where I was born.

Putting it together, then, I was literally relating my existence to much of the history portrayed in Teza. When you're cognizant of a connection like that while watching it, cognizant of the fact that changes here or decisions there could have significantly altered your life, well it's a bizarre experience.

Teza is a ravishing epic about Ethiopia's rarely discussed modern history, and while it's not a perfect film (of all things, the acting is a bit wooden at times), I'll never forget the experience of sitting in the theater and watching this film while considering that what was on screen actually led to me sitting in the theater and watching this film.

Have you ever had a similar "meta" experience with a film closely related to your family or your life? Are there movies that capture historical events or social changes that reach you on a deeper level because of your direct (or indirect) connection to them?

Taking It Home: 9500 Liberty

 

Has anyone in Arizona talked to these people? 

You may have heard about a controversial ordinance that was recently passed which requires police officers to question any individual they have probable cause to suspect is an undocumented immigrant. You may have heard about the ensuing protests and planned boycotts, and the election year hand-wringing by the involved politicians, and the fiery "man on the street" rhetoric about God and country. 

But this isn't Arizona's Support our Law Enforcement and Safe Neighborhoods Act (SB 1070) of 2010. It's a county ordinance in Virginia from 2007. The same kind of law elicited the same kind of reactions, but without the same level of attention - until now. Indeed, there exists a unique opportunity to see a glimpse of the future by simply taking a look at the past in the fascinating new documentary 9500 Liberty, directed by Asian-Americans (and Coffee Party founders) Annabel Park and Eric Byler. The film is coincidentally rolling into theaters across the country this month, including in Arizona on July 27 - only two days before SB 1070 goes into effect.

If you've been paying attention to the Arizona dilemma (and if you're an American of any color you should be, since this will affect everyone), you owe it to yourself to watch this engrossing film and then spend some focused time deliberating and discussing it. What 9500 Liberty confirms, not surprisingly, is that there are no easy answers to the problem of illegal immigration. Moreover, it underscores how much of this debate - on both sides - is driven not by rational logic, but by emotional panic.

It becomes apparent while watching 9500 Liberty that the Arizona bill will be a trumpeted success in some aspects and a humiliating failure in others. The trick will be learning how to navigate between the rhetoric and the reality while maintaining a big picture perspective on the future of the United States. At the end of the day, and as it has for every controversial social change this country has experienced, this question remains begging: What will adapt first - laws or people? The American Constitution or the constitution of America?

Taking It Home: Garbage Dreams

Don't miss Garbage Dreams on PBS' Independent Lens this April 27th

I'm borderline-OCD about a few things in my life (or maybe more than a "few" things, depending who you ask), and one of those things is taking out the trash - especially trash containing food scraps. I just can't stand the smell when food begins to go bad after a day or two at room temperature, so the bag must be deposited outside in the dumpster (or composted, though I admit I'm behind the curve on that) as soon as possible, even if it isn't filled to the top.

The other day at work I was nearly brought to my knees by a stench emanating from the garbage can in our office kitchen. I hightailed it out of there, hoping that someone would be brave enough (you don't have a custodial staff at small nonprofits) to eliminate this hazardous waste before it caused permanent olfactory damage for anyone in a 50 foot radius.

Alas, when I arrived at work the next morning and went to pour myself a cup of coffee, the smell in the kitchen was, in a word, unholy. I have a very keen nose and tolerate a lot of offensive scents on a daily basis, but I honestly haven't smelled something this nauseating in I can't remember how long (the formaldehyde-soaked human cadavers I dissected in college smelled like roses in comparison). I am truly convinced that whatever was in there was either decomposing or rotting alive; this was not simply someone's day-old beef with broccoli.

Taking It Home: 02/12/10

As disheartening as it is to hear more and more people scoff at the Olympics every two years, I remain steadfastly loyal as a fan of the competition, the ceremony, the pomp and circumstance. Sure, billions of dollars are spent for what amounts to two weeks worth of playing games, but if you read my review of Invictus (or my post on the '08 Summer Games), you should have an idea about why I think the benefits of the Olympics on a global scale outweigh the cost of the Olympics on a local scale.

It is more than just a game - a concept nicely summarized by a piece I read this morning: "Today, cheer not just for the United States but for the other 96 countries as well. Cheer because any time so many nations congregate with common goals, under common rules and in peace, [it] ought to be cause for celebration."

And then there are the athletes who perfectly embody the spirit of the games and, if I may be so bold, the human spirit itself. I defy you not to be inspired by people like Kwame Nkrumah-Acheampong:

 
 That's why I watch.

Taking It Home: Invictus

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

More influential than any stump speech a politician could make... 

While watching Clint Eastwood's Invictus I was reminded of a little-seen documentary a few years ago about the space race. The astronauts interviewed in In the Shadow of the Moon gave fascinating and inspiring accounts of their experience with the outer limits, but the most lasting impression I have is their description of what was happening back here on Earth. As we Americans are reminded every summer, after years of competing with the Soviets to get a man on the Moon, the United States reached the finish line first, on July 20, 1969. We would go on to dominate space exploration for the next generation and ultimately to the present day.

But what wasn't clear to me until In the Shadow of the Moon, and what was reinforced by Invictus, is just how much collective pride a population can gain from what is, on the surface, a meaningless competition. Despite the social and political turmoil of 1969, for example, the United States experienced a brief period of pure, unadulterated joy because we beat the Soviets at a massive global game (more interestingly, according to the film, this American achievement was celebrated around the globe, and goodwill toward the United States peaked at a level not reached again until 9/12/01). The triumph of the South African National Rugby Team might pale in comparison on a global scale, but Invictus still portrays the Springboks' 1995 World Cup victory as an event almost as important as the moon landing - and ultimately more important than the U.S. Men's Hockey Team's 1980 "Miracle on Ice" (most recently revisited in 2004's Miracle).

You may be thinking, "Come on, sports are unimportant in the grand scheme of things and a distracting waste of time and money that could spend on much more important issues!". Tell that to Nelson Mandela (in fact many of his advisors did, as we see in the film). To take nothing away from Mandela's achievement as a black man being elected president in a racially segregated country after half a lifetime in prison, the Boks' World Cup victory was just as important to his political success - even more so, if I may be so bold.

Taking It Home: Up in the Air

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

 

 My expression if asked, "What did you learn from Up in the Air?"...

For as much time and attention is given to the bothersome details of business traveling in Up in the Air, I'm surprised that airline food is never mentioned. Maybe it's because it would serve as an unfortunately accurate metaphor for the viewer: sectioned into bite-size portions like an in-flight meal, Up in the Air is tasty but ultimately unfulfilling. As a more direct metaphor, the film bounces from theme to theme like its main character bounces from city to city, with no apparent final destination in mind. I never felt like I got inside Ryan Bingham's head. He was an enigma and, like so many George Clooney characters, pretty one-dimensional.

Nonetheless, I liked Up in the Air. It was brisk, amusing entertainment showcasing a great ensemble cast. I just don't know what I supposed to take from it, which is particularly frustrating because I felt like Jason Reitman was trying so hard to teach me some really meaningful lessons - about loneliness and independence, unemployment and hard work, marriage and infidelity. But where were the dots connecting any of these very mixed messages together?

Taking It Home: Precious

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

The most tragic "happy" ending you'll see in any movie this year...

Sitting through Precious in a movie theater is about as torturous a cinematic experience you can get these days outside of a Saw film. It is the most foul-mouthed, stomach-churning, disturbingly violent film I've seen in 2009, and despite the fact that little blood is actually shed, its characters (Precious in particular) are, along with the audience, beaten to unconscious submission during 110 minutes of unrelenting emotional violation at the hands of director Lee Daniels.

Yes, Precious delivers a knockout, battering us with so much vile depravity that we leave the theater unsure of what we're even supposed to feel, and unable to immediately understand that the abuse has been inflicted on us not to educate or evoke sympathy, but to make a tragic ending appear relatively uplifting. It's been called "unflinchingly gritty" and "brutally realistic" and all kinds of other hyperbole (most are accurate), but the most explicit truth in this film is left out: Precious Jones is dead.

Taking It Home: Good Hair

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

Maintaining "good hair" really couldn't be any worse for you...

Chris Rock's Good Hair is kind of like one big weave: it's fun, it looks great, and it moves naturally, but you really don't know what actually exists at the roots, underneath the gloss and sheen. Framing the documentary with a Morgan Spurlock-like "I'm a new dad and now I have to figure out how to make the world better for my daughter" setup, Rock casually bounces between interviews with hairstylists, people on the street, and Hollywood celebrities. He travels from Beverly Hills to Harlem to India to Atlanta, and makes a lot of people laugh along the way, including the audience.

But to what end, exactly, nobody really knows. The average person will leave Good Hair knowing a little bit more about black people's hair but next to nothing new about racial identity in American culture, which is what the film so easily could have explored with just a little more investigation. Maybe it's unfair to blame Chris Rock for not probing further, though, since the only thing more audacious than a black man making a film about black women's hair in the first place would be a white man making a film about black women's hair (which isn't quite as curious as the reality of Jason Griggers in this film, a white man venerated as an expert sylist of black women's hair).

Taking It Home: Capitalism: A Love Story

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

 

 A method even less effective at inspiring change than Michael Moore's films...

Next time I get the opportunity to ask Michael Moore a question, I hope it will be part of an actual conversation instead of a Q & A where he has the microphone and I'm buried in the audience. That way he won't be able to sneak out of answering my challenge so easily. Yes, in a fit of frustration following a recent screening of Capitalism: A Love Story, I worked up the nerve to ask American's most notorious documentarian how he made a 126-minute film about money and capitalism without so much as mentioning personal financial responsibility. More on that later - including a video of Moore "answering" my question.

I have a tortured history with Moore, alternately considering him a genius, even a role model, before inevitably changing my mind and viewing his work as purely propagandic, sensational, and even counterproductive. Incidentally, I'm surprised that I have yet to discuss his films in any detail on Getafilm, I suppose a result of Sicko arriving a month or so before I started writing here (though you can see I came down pretty hard on it come Oscar time anyway). 

In any event, somewhere between Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11 I realized Moore was  abandoning true documentary filmmaking - what I conservatively prefer to view as non-fiction storytelling - for something resembling schizophrenic scrapbooking. His arguments (never mind that documentarians shouldn't really make any) are an amalgamation of liberal talking points and moral sermonizing, but the resulting films are so disjointed they inhibit any in-depth thought or discussion about the issues at hand. He doesn't quite dilute the messages in his films so much as he drowns them out with his own voice, sometimes figuratively but always literally. Thanks to Michael Moore, a Michael Moore film is never allowed to speak for itself.

So what to think of Capitalism: A Love Story, which Moore claims is a culmination of all of his films since Roger & Me? Three things: 1.) this is not only one of Moore's longest films, but also his most deliberately emotional one; 2.) possibly by design but probably by accident, Capitalism: A Love Story ends up making a much stronger case for universal health care than Sicko did; and 3.) Moore is ultimately still more interested in inciting audiences than inspiring them, which is a tragedy considering the global reach and box-office success of his films.

Taking It Home: The Battle of Algiers

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

How often has this scene played out in real life in Baghdad in recent years?

One of the benefits of my ignorance of film history is that I get to enjoy watching so many classics for the first time, often without any idea of what I'm going to experience, for better or for worse. Picking up on a tip from Rick Olson at Coosa Creek Cinema last December, I sought out the Battle of Algiers. And I'm here to report, after a period of bewildered shock, that it's one of the greatest films I've ever seen.

I must shamefully admit that going against all film etiquette and common sense...I didn't watch this in one sitting (do as I say, not as I do). I started it way too late one night and, though completely engrossed I stopped it a natural pause about halfway through, before resuming a few nights later. This may have been for the best anyway, as there are so many courses served in this meal that a pause for digestion is probably appropriate. As such, this is the kind of film that almost demands a second viewing.

Regardless of how much you know or want to know about the French occupation of Algeria, this movie is required viewing because of the literally breathtaking similarities between that situation and the current American situation in Iraq. The use of torture, the U.N. involvement, the urban warfare, the tactics of insurgents, and on and on and on and on. Not since watching The Fog of War again a few years ago have been so floored by the idea of history repeating itself.

Apart from the striking historical relevancy, there are few other really fascinating aspects to The Battle of Algiers. For starters, it's based on "Souvenirs de la Bataille d'Alger", the book written in prison by Saadi Yacef, a former leader in the National Liberation Front (FLN). So the historical account, while somewhat one-sided, is accurate and offers fascinating insights into the motives behind an insurgency. Above all of this, Yacef himself stars in the movie as the leader of the FLN!

Yes, filmed on location in Algiers only a few years after the events it portrays took place, The Battle of Algiers exists as an almost delayed-time documentary; nearly all of the people on screen actually lived through the violent years of the French occupation. The combination of the physical location (and lack of a need for a production designer), the authenticity of the actors and extras, and the incredibly gripping cinematography makes for a stunning historical record, almost better, at least visually, than an actual documentary could have produced.

Then there's the haunting, lingering, poignant, simply unforgettable score by the legendary Ennio Morricone, which inexplicably did not receive one of the three Oscar nominations garnered by The Battle of Algiers (Director, Original Screenplay, and Foreign Film). You might also recognize the score from its use in the recent Inglourious Basterds, added for no other reason than for Tarantino to "pay homage" to yet another classic film.

I can forgive Tarantino for boasting about his film knowledge, but I can't forgive another note of trivia about this movie. As you can see from the text in the trailer below (which was produced in 2004 for the re-release of the film), The Battle of Algiers was screened at the Pentagon during the early months of the Iraq War (August 27, 2003, to be exact). The idea was, one would imagine, to show the U.S. military brass what not to do in Iraq. A flier was made for the screening, which was attended by about 40 military and civilian experts.

It read as follows:

"How to win a battle against terrorism and lose the war of ideas. Children shoot soldiers at point-blank range. Women plant bombs in cafes. Soon the entire Arab population builds to a mad fervor. Sound familiar? The French have a plan. It succeeds tactically, but fails strategically. To understand why, come to a rare showing of this film."

The following week in the New York Times, Michael Kaufman analyzed the significance of this screening. Think about it - the mightiest military in the world is possibly developing their strategy based on a movie. I don't think that's inherently wrong, it just goes to show the power of film. And in the case of Iraq it was probably a good idea; as Kaufman astutely observed, "At the moment it is hard to specify exactly how the Algerian experience and the burden of the film apply to the situation in Iraq, but as the flier for the Pentagon showing suggested, the conditions that the French faced in Algeria are similar to those the United States is finding in Iraq."

That's painfully obvious to us now, but keep in mind it really was not at the time. This was only six months after Saddam's statue was toppled, only five months after President Bush declared "Mission Accomplished". So the question then becomes, if both the public and the U.S. military agreed that they were facing an identical situation at that point in the war (before Abu Ghraib, before Fallujah, before the Iraq Study Group, before the surge), why did they continue to follow the French strategy?

After all, though the French eventually won The Battle of Algiers, they ultimately lost the war two years later after a spontaneous and peaceful uprising by the Algerian citizens. The old saying of "win the battle but lose the war" could not better describe what happened. I know it's easy to scoff at the U.S. military's decisions as we enter the middle of the seventh year of this war, but rewind back to late 2003 and it's still baffling to consider why they followed a historical precedent that ultimately failed. What made them think they could achieve a different outcome? (There is a Wikipedia entry comparing the two situations if you're interested.)

It's not meant to be a rhetorical question or a smug criticism. I'm honestly curious as to how the U.S. military incorporated the lessons from The Battle of Algiers into the Iraq War strategy.

If you have not seen this movie, immediately add it to your Netflix queue. If you've been following along with the Iraq War since 2003 you'll be shocked and possibly outraged. If you haven't been following along, well consider this a crash course in what's happened - for the second time.

What did you take home?

Taking It Home: Julie & Julia

("Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".)

“...the first Hollywood movie to have sprung from a blog, which in some sense makes it part of blogging history." - NYT

Julie & Julia, the surprisingly enjoyable new movie that's sure to end up one of 2009's biggest hits among women, is about blogging. Yes, blogging. And cooking, to be fair, but mostly blogging. More on that in a second.

Prior to this movie I knew little about Julia Child and even less (read: zero) about Julie Powell, the New York cubicle rat turned amateur cook turned blogger turned author. I didn't know, for example, that Julia Child didn't start cooking until well into adulthood, or that it took her years to gain any respect in the cooking world, or even that she was American (hearing her kooky voice all these years I guess I just assumed she was British). To dunces like me, Julie & Julia will provide an amusing and entertaining introduction to Julia Child. To her devotees, it will be a delight; Meryl Streep predictably, effortlessly succeeds in yet another outstanding performance that will no doubt send women of all ages whooping and hooting on the way out of theaters. Incidentally, they'll be headed directly to the nearest restaurant with everybody else, if not straight home to their kitchens.

As enjoyable as the movie may be due to copious shots of food with flair, there's a flavor in Julie & Julia that you can't fully taste unless you've had the opportunity to acquire it: the sometimes bitter swill of blogging frustration. I can't describe how differently I would have seen this film had it come out two summers ago, before I began spewing forth at Getafilm. Seeing it now, however, I found it hilariously encouraging to watch Julie Powell (Amy Adams) experience the joys of blogging alongside The Joy of Cooking, from her decision to start a blog to the excitement of receiving her first comments, from the pressure of posting regularly to the difficult decisions around disclosing personal information. It was a great deal of peculiar fun to see that experience on film, maybe doubly so since my blog happens to focus on film. I have to think other bloggers would agree, and for that aspect of Julie & Julia alone I would be anxious to recommend it.

But there's another side to the movie, and to blogging, that deserves to be seen on a massive multiplex screen: the harsh reality that "making it" (however you define "it") through blogging can be more difficult than deboning a duck. Like most people, Powell began her blog, The Julie/Julia Project, as a simple hobby, a way to keep herself accountable to a real-world challenge while connecting with others interested in that challenge. What was interesting about her blog, and what probably separates it from most (including mine), is that she had a clearly defined project that was only meant to "last" a year - the 365 days in which she would complete 524 recipes. She attracted readers quickly (surprisingly quickly, I might add), and eventually gained several thousand regulars who would comment and encourage her along the way. It was all innocent, self-fulfilling fun, but the real catalyst was this New York Times article that was published near the end of her project (it being 2003, the term "Web log" was still necessary), which would change her life forever...or at least for a while.

Amy Adams as Julie Powell...

I'm not giving anything away, of course, since the movie itself could not exist without Powell's subsequent book, "Julie & Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen". She is releasing a second book, "Cleaving: a Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession", upon the release of Julie & Julia, and it's safe to assume she's receiving some royalties from selling the rights to her story to Columbia Pictures. But what's next? How long can you ride a wave of popularity based on a moment-in-time phenomenon? For another example, consider the case of Christian Lander, who turned "Stuff White People Like" into a book worth a few hundred thousand dollars, and who is now the host of an online TV show (is that an oxymoron?...anyway, it's some kind of new media phenomenon).

In light of Powell's success, then, Julie & Julia can be seen as not just the first movie created by a blog, and not just the first movie about blogging, but the most inspirational movie about blogging as well, since millions of bloggers (and there are millions of us) will no doubt leave the theater thinking, "What if...?".

But unless you start blogging with the sole intent of turning it into a business, or unless you have an amazing stroke of PR luck (Powell), or unless you have some great idea that will catch the wave of pop culture at just the right time (Lander), or unless you are willing and able to devote 40+ hours a week to your blog, well there's really no way to know where your blog will end up, and even then how long it will take. I remember reading a NYT article a few weeks ago, "When the Thrill of Blogging is Gone", which cited a 2008 Technorati survey as follows: "...only 7.4 million out of the 133 million blogs the company tracks had been updated in the past 120 days. That translates to 95 percent of blogs being essentially abandoned, left to lie fallow on the Web, where they become public remnants of a dream — or at least an ambition — unfulfilled."

Depending on your goals, that's a reality check that can leave you with some serious indigestion. See Julie & Julia and call me in the morning.

What did you take home?

Taking It Home: The Hurt Locker

[A reminder: "Taking It Home" is an alternative review style in which I haphazardly share my thoughts on a movie's themes and how they may relate to my life, while focusing less on the acting, writing, technical aspects, or even plot of the film. It's simply a collection of the ideas I took home, "because the movie experience shouldn't end in the theater".]

I think it was during a marathon desert standoff between U.S. soldiers and Iraqi militants in Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker that I had a realization both horrifying and humbling: these guys are just actors. This is a set, and soon after this scene was filmed, Jeremy Renner and Anthony Mackie probably relaxed in cooled trailers on location in Jordan before eventually heading home to posh Los Angeles-area homes. There's nothing wrong with that, of course; it's how movies are made.

But as I've written ad nauseam here over the last couple of years, the unspoken truth of The Hurt Locker and every similar movie made recently is that there are a couple million Jeremy Renners and Anthony Mackies who aren't returning to posh Los Angeles-area homes. They're returning to our blocks, our apartment buildings, our families, our schools, our workplaces and our circles of friends.

Of the few veterans I know who have served in Iraq or Afghanistan (or even Vietnam, for that matter), none have engaged in conversation with me about their tours abroad. I can't blame them; after all, like the exaggeratedly naive army psychiatrist in The Hurt Locker, I wouldn't know the first thing about the pain of their experiences. My military service has been limited to obediently registering for the Selective Service System when I turned 18 and then, in the absence of a draft, steering far and clear of recruiting offices.

I'm too old now to be drafted even if the Congress and the President ever authorized one, but that's little comfort when I know that so many people around me are going to be dealing with PTSD and other physical and psychological wounds for the rest of their lives. That my future children and I will be paying for their lifelong medical care with our taxes may not be much of a sacrifice compared with what they've given for their beliefs (or if you like, "our country" and "my freedom"), but I feel like my continued efforts to bring this conversation to light might be productive in some way.

For example, I lamented on the 5 year anniversary of the war in Iraq that the 100+ movies to date had done nothing but further stereotypes. Three weeks later when I reviewed Stop-Loss, my #8 best movie of 2008, I called it "the first important movie about the war in Iraq, and the only one I can recommend that isn't a documentary...the first mainstream movie (The War Tapes from '06 is a similar doc) that may wake up the public and start a dialogue about the future."

It it didn't really happen then and it may not happen after The Hurt Locker, either, primarily because it's framed as a gripping thriller instead of a character drama. Not since United 93 has a film featured such unbearable suspense through scenes in which the resolution is already known, or at least easily foreseen. It's not that The Hurt Locker is predictable, but aside from two key scenes (the aforementioned desert shootout being one of them), you can see every explosion - or non-explosion - coming well enough in advance to feel some sense of security. The story can't continue without the characters, after all, so they have to stay alive at least most of the way through.

As it is, staying alive seems to be the primary goal of all soldiers as they count down the days until their rotation is complete (the actual count on screen in The Hurt Locker is a little too convenient to the ending, in my opinion). Within this daily struggle, then, is when we really see the toll exacted on their minds - the constant paranoia, the distrust of anyone not wearing a uniform, the stamina required to remain mentally alive in a place surrounded by death.

These are the invisible scars they will bring home, and to the extent that we actually see how PTSD and war dependency develop (as opposed to Stop-Loss, in which we only witness the after effects), The Hurt Locker absolutely provides more insight than any other Iraq War film to date (again, other than The War Tapes, which if I haven't already made it abundantly clear is the best documentary about the war hands-down).
Much has been made about the "realism" portrayed in The Hurt Locker, but I think it's worth mentioning that the Army refused to support this movie "due to inaccurate depictions of soldiers". According to an article featuring interviews with actual EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) soldiers in Iraq who viewed the film, most of them appreciated the effort but made it clear that "it's definitely Hollywood". One of them complained that "the movie was a little skewed toward PTSD...it's not as prevalent as it is in this movie."

I find that hard to believe based on the number of news reports these days about suicide rates among veterans. If "war is a drug" (as presented by the quote that leads off The Hurt Locker), and these soldiers are coming home with raging addictions to said drug, exactly what are they going to do when it's no longer available and they can't get their fix? What kind of symptoms can we expect to see from this withdrawal? These are the questions that horrify me much more than any of the bombs, bullets, or blood on the screen in these war movies.

Veterans' issues aside, another point made by a soldier actually does support a suspicion I had about The Hurt Locker: "The way [James] was poking around and fooling with the IEDs without knowing what they were is extremely dangerous...I don't think someone like Staff Sgt. James would do well [in the field]." Phew. Although I was wracked with tension during most of the bomb defusing scenes, I couldn't believe that a soldier would really act as such a rebellious renegade and later on be commended on his actions by a commanding officer. I know there are some real heroes in our military ranks, but my hope would be that they are taking such insane risks only under duress, not as regular practice.

Speaking of regular practice, I greatly enjoyed how screenwriter Mark Boal (who also wrote 2007's simply decent In the Valley of Elah) turned war movie production on its head once again by only featuring three main characters in The Hurt Locker. A handful of other recent war movies (Three Kings, Jarhead, Rescue Dawn, Flags of Our Fathers, Miracle at St. Anna) have also narrowed their focus, and I greatly prefer it to the regular competition of "how many big name stars can you cast in one movie". Examples of this include but are not limited to: Platoon, Casualties of War, Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line, Pearl Harbor, Windtalkers, When We Were Soldiers, and, if you like, even Tropic Thunder. In my opinion, a focus on fewer characters lends itself to much more interesting storytelling.

Finally, I find it curious that the three films I have discussed here as the best of the Iraq War bunch (The Hurt Locker, Stop-Loss, and The War Tapes) have two other interesting traits in common: a.) they don't feature a lot of explosions and shoot-outs, and b.) they are all directed by American women. Coincidence? Hmm...

What did you take home?

Taking It Home: Anvil! The Story of Anvil

"We're gonna do it together. We're gonna get there - we're gonna be rock stars! It's a dream...but I'm gonna make it come true!"

Don't let the fact that Sacha Gervasi wrote and produced The Terminal dissuade you from seeing his directorial debut, Anvil! The Story of Anvil, because this terrific documentary is everything The Terminal is not: charming, amusing, inspiring, moving, and above all, important to humanity. Alright, maybe it won't change the course of civilization, but if any film about aging rockers chasing a life-long dream would have the power to do so, this would be it.

In addition to featuring some surprisingly awesome cinematography and just the right amount of archival footage and talking head interviews, Anvil! succeeds for the same reason other excellent character-driven documentaries (recently Surfwise, Trouble the Water, Man on Wire) have succeeded because it truly captures the spirit of its subjects. By focusing less on the who, where and when, and more on the how and why, Gervasi doesn't tell a story about music or fame, but about friendship, trust, and determination. As such, you don't have to be a fan of heavy metal or even familiar with the genre to be touched by this film.

Like most people in their early teens, Steve "Lips" Kudlow and Robb Reiner had big, bold dreams for the future. They were going to be rock stars, as others were going to be astronauts, professional athletes, or presidents. Unlike most of us, however, they actually realized this dream when their metal band Anvil toured worldwide with the great hair bands of the 80's.

And then something happened - Anvil almost completely dropped out of public sight. They continued making music, of course, but nobody paid attention aside from a few devoted fans in their native Canada. It was a bizarre fall from grace, and especially frustrating for band because there was little explanation as to why they went from the brink of international stardom to the brink of nonexistence.

Gervasi, who was a roadie for Anvil in the 80's (and then the original drummer for Bush?!), reunited with the band about five years ago as they were preparing to make another effort to revive their fanbase. What Gervasi captures, then, is a band fighting for its very survival. It's a side hobby now; Kudlow delivers school lunches to pay the bills. Record companies are only interested in a new pop sound of the millennium, not music that sounds two decades old. The band members' families are reluctantly supportive, but even their patience is wearing thin. The band's official website is, no offense, a relative joke, and in recent years really the only place Kudlow and Reiner are "rock stars" is in their memories and their dreams for the future.

But then, isn't that enough?

Based on what we see in Anvil! (as well as in last year's Young @ Heart), the answer is resoundingly "yes" - especially concerning the future. Passion is admirable, and passion is healthy, but passion alone doesn't necessarily amount to anything. It's passion combined with optimism that changes the world, and Steve Kudlow is nothing if not outrageously optimistic. After essentially sacrificing his adult life in the pursuit of his dream, he would see almost nothing go right for the band for 20 years. But he carried the hopes of Robb and the other members on his back, somehow never giving up or hanging his head in defeat.

Impossibly, in the midst of rejection after rejection, disappointment after disappointment, arguments, fights, bad luck and regretful mistakes, Anvil remained righteously resilient. They're not trying to relive their younger years like the washed up guys you see at the local karaoke bar, they're just trying to accomplish what they set out to do four decades ago - period. What reason would there be to stop? What reasons do any of us stop pursuing those dreams? It's almost frightening and more than a bit depressing to consider our own surrenders; the hope and joy exhibited by Steve Kudlow and Robb Reiner proves that our dreams don't have to die, even if they are delayed.

What did you take home?

____________________________________________________

Epilogue: Anvil is currently touring in support of this film. They're playing short sets in select cities following screenings of the film, and they were here in Minneapolis when Anvil! opened on May 8 at the Landmark Uptown Theatre. By all accounts it was a great performance, and they had so much fun that they decided to stay and play a second set after the 9:30 PM show. Unbelievably, however, some idiot clown jacked two of Robb Reiner's cymbals in between shows, successfully ruining the second set, successfully ruining Anvil's Minneapolis experience, and successfully adding one more sour note to the band's struggling career revival. How and why somebody would do this after seeing the film is beyond me.

The details of this story have been posted around a number of different blogs, but I'll point you to Matt Gamble's Where the Long Tail Ends for a first-person account, including the open letter sent out by Uptown Theatre manager Patrick Cross. Matt also has a nice video from YouTube taken by "citygirldebbie" of Robb Reiner's drum solo that night, and here's her video of them playing "Metal on Metal":

Looks like it was a great night for those in attendance, despite the unfortunate incident.

Taking It Home: War Child

Emmanuel Jal's magnetic personality has captured the camera's attention for more than 20 years...

"Just about anybody you talk to in Southern Sudan, they have a mind-boggling story to tell. And had you lived through a quarter of it, you would be on your analyst's couch - weekly, for the rest of your life. They have lived through hell." - Ben Parker, Former UN Spokesman for Sudan, interviewed in War Child

In the fall of 2005, I was paging through the Arts section of my Sunday New York Times when this article by Will Hermes grabbed my attention. It was a profile about an aspiring rapper and former child soldier named Emmanuel Jal, hailing not from the tough streets of a marginalized American city, but from the unimaginably horrifying war zone of southern Sudan. Being both an armchair activist on the crisis in Darfur and a fan of socially conscious hip-hop, I found Jal's story shocking, depressing, and absolutely fascinating.

The article referenced his upcoming debut album, “Ceasefire”, which I immediately ordered from Amazon.com. Several days later I received a plastic disc that took me to a world full of eclectic sounds, languages, beats, harmonies, melodies, and instruments; a place where you wanted to simultaneously dance, cheer, and cry (his hit single "Gua" still breaks me up to this day). I shared Jal's story and music with friends and family, but nobody latched on with as much enthusiasm as me. (I almost jumped out of my seat when Jal's song "Baai" pumped through the theater speakers during Blood Diamond, and then again, recently, in What Are We Doing Here?.)

Undeterred, I dove deeper into the story of Sudan (outside of Darfur, about which I was already "aware"), watching documentaries about the Lost Boys, reading books (including the popular "What Is the What?" and the maligned "A Long Way Gone"), and attending lectures and screenings. The story became even more fascinating as I connected the dots and began to understand why the situation in Africa's largest country is so difficult to address on so many different levels. Deborah Scroggins' 2003 book, "Emma's War", was particularly helpful and, as a bonus, positively riveting (a Tony Scott-directed, Nicole Kidman-starring film adaptation has thankfully been delayed due to a request from the subject's family).

The book tells the story of Emma McCune, a British aid worker from an upper-class family who, in her early 20's, went to Sudan and eventually ended up marrying one of the highest-ranking Sudan People's Liberation Army (SPLA) commanders, Riek Machar, who is currently the Vice President of the autonomous region of Southern Sudan. In 1993, at the age of 29, a pregnant McCune was killed in a car accident in Nairobi, though not before she took a former child soldier named Emmanuel Jal under her wing and enrolled him in a local school (like I said, the connections are fascinating). Jal soon began to attract attention for his musical and rhyming talents, and his rising popularity in Nairobi eventually led to the release of "Ceasefire", worldwide tours, and international acclaim.

All of this eventually led me to C. Karim Chrobog's documentary, War Child, which I haven't yet discussed because of the context required to understand the full story it tells. For most people, War Child will be their first introduction to Emmanuel Jal, so I've simply attempted to provide some background information that, while addressed in the film, also explains my personal interest in it. War Child won the Audience Choice award at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, and its producers were kind enough to send me a screener recently since the film never received a wide theatrical release.

Opening with footage from Jal's visit to the Kakuma Refugee Camp where he spent part of his childhood, War Child gives a very brief historical overview of the devastating war in Sudan that took Jal's family from him - his father joined the SPLA, his mother was killed. Along with hundreds of other young boys, Jal walked to a refugee camp in Ethiopia, where they were trained as soldiers by the SPLA and essentially brainwashed into seeking revenge for what had happened to their families.

One of the most incredible moments in War Child comes during this time, when we actually see footage of a young Jal living in the training camp. The U.N. and National Geographic were sent to monitor the conditions there, and as a born leader, Jal was the peer-selected spokesperson for the group. He couldn't disclose the fact that they were being trained as soldiers, so most of the interviews are light questions about hope for the future. "I want a day that I can just live, so I can build my house where there aren't any problems that can destroy it," says Jal as he sits in his hut.

It's a potent, poignant moment, not only because we know that 20 years later he has achieved that dream, but also because we know that thousands of young child soldiers are still in the same situation today. So many people still living this nightmare, but even in Sudan, as John Prendergast of The Enough Project bluntly states in a conversation with Jal, "counter-terrorism trumps everything" as far as the West is concerned. Because the regime in Sudan is one of our strongest allies in the War on Terror, we'll just have to let the atrocities continue - so long as it's their terror, and not our terror.

Interspersed throughout the film we see clips of Jal in the present day, performing in concert, visiting schools, meeting with legislators, and eventually returning to Sudan for the first time in 15 years. He's a charming, handsome adult with a thousand-watt smile, and if you saw him strolling on the National Mall in an Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie (an outrageous irony that leaves me speechless), you'd have no idea what he's seen and experienced in his life. Speaking in front of a group of legislative staffers, he admits he doesn't actually know when he was born, but guesses he is in his mid to late 20's. An awkward, rueful silence falls until he jokes, "If you have a friend, tell her I'm available."

Because of this charm, and perhaps in spite of it, his story moves many in his audiences to tears. It may seem as if people are simply drawn to Jal's music out of pity or a bleeding heart sympathy, but anyone who listens to what he's saying will appreciate it for his positive message. Instead of dwelling on the tragedies of his past, for example, he delicately answers a group of American students asking he killed anyone in Sudan by performing a song and inviting them up to dance with him. "It's honest, it's no bitches, no blings, no hos - I hope people leave here and talk about it," says one new fan after a performance by Jal.

I'll admit that listening to his music requires patience and the understanding that he's usually not speaking in his native language (at least not on "WARchild"). As such, his wordplay and verbal dexterity in English isn't as impressive as other critically acclaimed artists, but what he lacks in panache he more than makes up for in purpose. While "Ceasefire" was a genuine, gentle plea for peace, Jal's latest album (also titled "WARchild") is a beaming, buoyant declaration of identity. Alternating bright, hopeful beats ("Baaki Wara") with tragic remembrances of his fallen friends ("Forced to Sin"), Jal also gets political this time, paying tribute to Hurricane Katrina victims on "Ninth Ward" ("America the Great became American the Clowned/While Americans drowned), and even calling out 50 Cent for his glorification of street violence and the effect it has on young boys.

Though catchy, these last two songs don't feel nearly as honest as his anguish on "Vagina": "It's unfair/when it comes to Africa, the world don't care...Pimps and thieves in Italian cars, suits/stop raping Africa like she's your prostitute...So Mr. Oil, Diamond and Gold miner/stop treating Mama Africa like a vagina." It's envelope-pushing, to be sure, but certainly convicting considering what Jal has been through. For that matter, just as powerful are Jal's impassioned, determined lyrics in songs like "Many Rivers to Cross" and "Stronger", where he declares, "I pledge allegiance to my motherland/That I'll do everything possible to make her stand."

"I believe I've survived/For a reason/To tell my story, to touch lives" - lyrics to "Warchild"

If you get the sense that I'm reviewing Jal's album more than Chrobog's film, it's because the power of the music is the essence of War Child, as well as the reason Emmanuel Jal became a subject of a film in the first place. I wouldn't recommend War Child as a primer for those hoping to learn about the background of the conflict in Sudan, but as an introduction to the life of this particular "war child", Emmanuel Jal, it's both illuminating and indelible.

Witnessing Jal visit his family for the first time in 15 years, you can't help but think about that kind of separation that exists in so many war-torn regions. Families completely shattered in an instant, not knowing if they will ever see each other again, and often never finding out. It's an idea that is unimaginable to me, and the fact that it happens with such frequency to this day is horrifying. But Jal takes it in stride, celebrating the safety of his sister and cherishing the adoration from his elderly grandmother, while also trying to reconcile the distance he still feels from his father. What makes this family reunion particularly moving is that Chrobog puts it toward the end of the film, when Jal also visits Emma's grave in Sudan. After hearing, reading, and now watching his story over the last few years, his visit back to his home country makes the people and places that shaped him much more real to his fans.

And this authenticity, credibility, substance - isn't it a welcome sight? There are no politicians, Hollywood celebrities, models, or pop stars (even Bono, bless his heart). In War Child, there is only Emmanuel Jal: a resilient voice of Africa, a dedicated voice for Africa.

Visit the official War Child website
Visit the War Child MySpace page
Check for (and request) an upcoming screening of War Child near you
Visit Emmanuel Jal's official website
Donate to Emmanuel Jal's Gua Africa and help him build Emma Academy
Read "Emma's War" by Deborah Scroggins

Buy the DVD or download a licensed copy of War Child

Buy Emmanual Jal's albums and book on Amazon.com:
Ceasefire (2005)
WARchild (2008)
"War Child: A Child Soldier's Story" (Published Feb. 2009)


Support other organizations working to end the use of child soldiers, including:
Coalition to Stop the Use of Child Soldiers
Human Rights Watch
Invisible Children
The Enough Project
Amnesty International USA