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Always Been in Meat

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Chain Reactions

by Hope Madden

Not everyone believes Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is a masterpiece of American filmmaking. I find those people suspicious. Luckily, those are not the people filmmaker Alexandre O. Philippe (Memory: The Origins of Alien, 78/52) talks to for his latest documentary, Chain Reactions.

The film is a celebration of 50 years of TCM. The celebrants are five of the film’s biggest fans: Patton Oswalt, Takashi Miike, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, Stephen King, and Karyn Kusama. It’s a good group. Each share intimate and individual reminiscences and theories about the film, its impact on them as artists, and its relevance as a piece of American cinema. What their ruminations have in common is just as fascinating as the ways in which their thoughts differ.

Heller-Nicholas, an Australian film critic and writer, creates a fascinating connection between Hooper’s sunbaked tale of a cannibal family with desert-set Aussie horrors like Wake in Fright and Wolf Creek. Meanwhile, Kusama sees the story as profoundly, almost poignantly American.

And Miike, genre master responsible for some of the most magnificent and difficult films horror has to offer, including Ichi the Killer and Audition, credits The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with inspiring him to become a filmmaker. And all because a Charlie Chaplin retrospective was sold out!

Philippe’s approach is that of a fan and an investigator. When Oswalt compares Hooper scenes to those from silent horror classics, Philippe split screens the images for our consideration. When Kusama digs into the importance of the color red, Chain Reactions shows us. We feel the macabre comedy, the verité horror, the beauty and the grotesque.

It’s fascinating what the different speakers have in common. So many talk about Leatherface, worry about him, pointing out that from Leatherface’s perspective, TCM is a home invasion movie.

What you can’t escape is the film’s influence and its craft. The set design should be studied. Hooper’s use of color, his preoccupation with the sun and the moon, the way he juxtaposes images of genuine beauty with the grimmest sights imaginable.

Each of these artists came to the film from a different perspective—some having seen it early enough in their youth to have been left scarred, others having taken it in as adults and still being left scarred. But each one sees layers and importance—poetry, even—in Hooper’s slice of savage cinema.

Chain Reactions is an absolute treasure of a film for fans of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

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Poison Pen

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A Savage Art: The Life & Cartoons of Pat Oliphant

by George Wolf

“If Pat Oliphant couldn’t draw, he’d be an assassin.”

That quote gets your attention, even if you don’t know the name Pat Oliphant. Either way, you’ve probably seen some of his work, and A Savage Art: The Life & Cartoons of Pat Oliphant is a broadly effective intro to a legend of political cartooning.

Oliphant wielded a revolutionary artistic style and the kind of cynical mind that had him rebelling against the very committee that awarded him the Pulitzer Prize in 1967. Aided by his alter ego “Punk” the Penguin, Oliphant skewered the political landscape through five decades and ten U.S. Presidents.

In his feature debut, director Bill Banowsky keeps things pretty standard, rolling out a succession of Oliphant’s best cartoons, and chatting with family members and colleagues to provide some personal details that Oliphant himself seems averse to.

And though today’s political and social climate carries some issues that are very relevant to Oliphant’s legacy, Banowsky doesn’t dig in. We do get mentions of the increased threats to a free press, and to the rise of internet memes as a shallow imitation of cartoon commentary, but those seem to be conversations for another day.

Banowsky’s aim is to give a legend his due and maybe spur some interest in learning more. A Savage Art hits that target square.

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My Mind on Mega and Mega on My Mind

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Megadoc

by George Wolf

I saw Megalopolis when it debuted last year. I liked it, didn’t love it. It was a big, messy cinematic swing from Francis Ford Coppola, and even those who hated it – there were plenty – had to admire FFC’s commitment to a project that he started over thirty years prior.

Coppola put up his own fortune to get the film done, including selling a stake in his winery. And that meant Coppola answered only to Coppola, which adds a captivating element to Megadoc, Mike Figgis’s behind-the-scenes documentary on the chaotic production.

Coppola invited the veteran Figgis (Leaving Las Vegas) on set, which gave him nearly unlimited access to cast and crew. FFC’s head butts with the difficult Shia LeBeouf are frequently captured, while the more calculated Adam Driver needs some time to feel comfortable with Figgis’s presence.

The first run at filming Megalopolis came in the early 2000s, and footage from those early table reads and green screen shoots with some different cast members are juxtaposed with current footage to hypnotic effect.

But the real attraction of Megadoc lies well beyond any movie star posturing or agent demands. We get an up-close look at Coppola’s broad creative process, and the conflicts that come from the famed director thinking of his passion project as “play, while they want to work at it.”

Half the crew walks out, actors question the director’s choices, while FFC often retreats to the isolation of a trailer where he can call the shots remotely. And Figgis is always there, sometimes abusing his privileges and becoming more of a proud participant than impartial observer.

And ironically, that ends up making Megadoc even more of a necessary bookend to Hearts of Darkness, Eleanor Coppola’s 1991 doc on the making of Apocalypse Now. Decades later, the frenzied director on the verge of losing it all has become a legend more than at peace with risking it all. That’s a fascinating transformation to observe, and any fan of filmmaking should embrace the chance to do it.

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Last Goodbye

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It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley

by Rachel Willis

Director Amy Berg (Janis: Little Girl Blue) paints an intimate portrait of songwriter Jeff Buckley in her documentary, It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley.

Berg understands her subject and skillfully weaves the story of Buckley’s life, which is bookended by tragedy.

Buckley’s mom (Mary Guibert) opens up about the tumultuous early years of Jeff’s life. With a father who abandoned his six-month pregnant wife, Buckley had no relationship with a man to whom he would draw comparison in later life.

Buckley’s biological father was singer/songwriter Tim Buckley, and as Jeff started to make a name for himself, those constant comparisons would wear on him. Berg artfully navigates these early years of Jeff’s career while he struggled to distance himself from his absentee father.

Berg weaves archival footage into the film, often using recordings of Buckley to invigorate interviews with Jeff’s friends and family. The footage helps the audience to know the person to whom everyone has such touching words.

Unfortunately, there are times when the film drags a bit as it becomes repetitive. A lot of similar ground is trod over the course of the film’s runtime, and Berg doesn’t bring anything new to the genre of music documentary.

It can also be hard to watch people talk about events in hindsight, particularly when the subject of such conversation is unable to weigh in on those opinions. There is speculation of Buckley’s mental state, perhaps that he suffered from bipolar disorder and psychosis. While this may be true, it’s difficult to judge the truth of someone’s memories 20 years on. It’s Buckley’s haunting cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah that plays over the words of those who speak of Jeff after his death. It is undeniably an exquisite cover and a fitting tribute to a life cut tragically short.

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The Call of the Wild

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Folktales

by Brandon Thomas

Roger Ebert was once quoted as saying, “No movie featuring either Harry Dean Stanton or M. Emmett Walsh in a supporting role can be altogether bad.” I don’t have a particular actor or two for whom this rule applies, but I am a tad biased when a film features a slew of good boi doggos and Folktales has them in spades.

Folktales tells the story of Norway’s Pasvik Folk High School. This school caters to young adults in a “gap year,” teaching them survival skills in the rugged Arctic region of Northern Norway while also relying on them to help train sled dogs. The film focuses on three specific students: Hege, Romain, and Bjorn. Each of them has their emotional reason for coming to Pasvik for the year, yet despite their desire to experience something truly new, each one struggles with the baggage they carry into the wilderness.

Filmmakers Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady have already shown their prowess in documenting young people’s journeys away from home with The Boys of Baraka and Jesus Camp. While not quite dealing with the same heavy topics as those two films, Folktales still delves into the lives of young people at a crossroads. The obvious stakes may not seem high, but to them, this year in rural Norway is a last-ditch effort to regain – or find for the first time – some sort of normalcy. 

Rarely relying on typical talking heads, Ewing and Grady instead allow the camera’s observations to do most of the talking. There’s a calm and stillness to Folktales that echoes the quiet winter air. The beauty of the film’s cinematography is matched only by the beauty of the changes the audience gets to witness in the three students. None of them leave Pasvik with their trauma and struggles behind them, but what they do gain is the notion that things can get better and that they can be the catalyst for said change. 

Did I mention the dogs? The way the film – and the school – use the dogs to unlock something within students is a thing of beauty. These gorgeous animals are there to work, and they often sense the unease and insecurity of the students. The steely blue gaze of a Siberian Husky is ominous and beautiful all at the same time – something Ewing and Grady’s camera never forgets. That mix of visual metaphor and real-life struggle of young people pays off as we see the students earn the trust of these animals and find comfort in their presence. 

Folktales doesn’t strive to stir up unnecessary drama or strife in its subjects. Instead, the film revels in the beauty found all around us as we try to recapture happiness, catharsis, and confidence.

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Master of Puppets

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Shari & Lamb Chop

by Brandon Thomas

Documentaries based on beloved children’s entertainers have become quite the trend in the last 10 or so years. Both Mr. Rogers and Jim Henson were the subject of wonderful films that chronicled their lives and the impact they both had on children’s entertainment, education, and culture. With Shari & Lamb Chop, renowned ventriloquist and magician Shari Lewis gets her own time to shine.

No stranger to crafting a documentary on an entertainment icon, director Lisa D’Apolito (Love, Gilda) dives into Lewis’s personal and professional history through enlightening interviews with living family members, those who worked for and with her, and industry professionals. While the bulk of the film is spent showering Lewis with praise, it also doesn’t completely shy away from her darker periods: a failed first marriage, a years-long career slump, and an affair that nearly derailed her second marriage. D’Apolito strikes a balance between transparency and understanding that her primary audience is likely Lamb Chop die-hards.

It would’ve been easy for Shari & Lamb Chop to completely focus on the Lamb Chop character and how it essentially propelled Lewis’s overall career. While Lamb Chop plays a major role in the doc (the name is in the title, right?), D’Apolito instead puts the spotlight on Lewis and the professional drive that made her a beloved figure in children’s entertainment. The film comes alive when it touches on Lewis’s talent at magic acts, or her experience as a dancer, and how she put that to great use on a variety show. 

Shari & Lamb Chop comes to a close with a poignant look at Lewis’s final days and how her terminal illness allowed her to make one more professional statement while simultaneously acting as a goodbye to her loved ones. D’Apolito’s use of behind-the-scenes footage from this final show brings us all into that emotional moment. It’s a beautiful period on a life and career that brought so much joy and love to people around the world. 

Despite taking the same “Greatest Hits” approach that many similar docs have done with famous subjects, Shari & Lamb Chop still soars thanks to a steady filmmaking hand and the engrossing life of the film’s titular focus.

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Magic in the Air

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Every Little Thing

by Rachel Willis

The life of Terry Masear and the lives of the hummingbirds she cares for are the subject of director Sally Aitken’s documentary, Every Little Thing.

Deep in the heart of Los Angeles, Aitken manages to capture a pastoral beauty in the area as she documents Terry’s efforts to rehabilitate injured hummingbirds. Many of the hummingbirds that come Terry’s way are nestlings who have lost their mothers. Others have suffered an injury of sorts, such as being hit by a car or attacked by another hummingbird.

As we watch Terry’s day-to-day routine – feeding, caring for, and even rehabilitating wing injuries – we get snippets of her past. She talks warmly and lovingly about her late husband and his support for her endeavors to help the birds.

However, there are moments throughout the documentary that speak to deeper trauma, and this is a tough documentary for the tender-hearted. Though Terry’s compassion for the birds comes through in the way she handles and speaks to them, she has a brusqueness that conveys all too well that not every bird brought to her is going to survive.

If you can tough out the harder, more devastating parts of the documentary, though, you’re rewarded with several wonderful moments. Slow-motion video of hummingbirds in flight show that even slowed down, their wings move with remarkable speed and agility. Flowers bloom on screen, showcasing the beauty the natural world has to offer.

And Terry’s empathy for these tiny, magical marvels of nature is a joy to behold. She addresses each bird by name and knows them all. There is something truly beautiful in what Terry does, and Aitken captures it all with warmth and sincerity. Almost as if to balance out the speed with which a hummingbird moves, the film asks the audience to slow down, to appreciate the world around us. Especially when our tiny heroes can disappear in the blink of an eye.

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Party on a Sled

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Underdog

by George Wolf

Underdog may be only 82 minutes, but by the time those minutes are up the film offers you a few possible motivations for its title.

Doug Butler is an underdog in life. His sled dog team is an afterthought in the big race. And the American family farmer faces a constant struggle to survive.

Documentarian Tommy Hyde gives all these themes enough space to hit home, taking an immersive and observational approach while introducing us to one memorable man with a dream. Hyde gives us no setup or leading narration, he just drops us off on a rural farm with Butler and his 22 uniquely named dogs.

We meet the affable Butler as a diary farmer in Middlebury, Vermont. His debts are piling up, his doctor is worried about his health, but the man has a passion for mushing that will not be denied.

“Mushing” is another term for dog sled racing, and Butler feakin’ loves it. “Shit, I’m getting an erection!” he yells as he rides with his pack through the Vermont snow like Santa’s weather-beaten black sheep of a cousin. Still, Butler’s been harboring a dream to take his shot at the big race in Alaska for over thirty years, and Hyde makes us feel lucky that we get to come along for that ride.

I’ve got family in Vermont, and I’ve spent some time visiting a small town about 40 minutes away from Butler’s farm. These people are a breed apart, and Hyde not only frames the landscape well, he lets the locals shine their own subtle light on the way of life they are proudly fighting for.

And Butler is just a GD hoot – a “party on a sled” as one race organizer calls him. Bills be damned – he’s gonna drive his beloved dogs to Alaska, jam out to some classic rock on the way, and charm every last soul he meets.

The guy loves his dogs, he loves his mushing, and he loves his family farm. Underdog makes it nearly impossible to root against him.

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Good Evening

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My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock

by Matt Weiner

My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock isn’t the first Alfred Hitchcock documentary in the last decade. It’s not even the second prominent one. But this unique take on the director’s entire filmography sets out to show why these movies have not only endured, but continue to speak to audiences—and some of our seamiest impulses.

My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock is a welcome companion piece to the other recent documentaries, falling somewhere between the broad interrogation of 2015’s Hitchcock/Truffaut and the technical hyper-focus of 2017’s 78/52. Writer and director Mark Cousins uses Hitchcock’s “voice” and—more importantly—almost exclusively clips from his films to take a fresh look at the legend.

Thankfully for anyone tackling a feature-length video essay, you’re at a huge advantage when the subject is Alfred Hitchcock. Cousins breaks the documentary up into six key themes, some expected (height, escape) but others taking a surprising metaphysical turn.

It’s hard not to want to dive into a full Hitchcock movie after watching the clips. Especially notable is the amount of time that Cousins devotes to the less usual suspects. There are the silent films and early movies pre-Hollywood, but also plenty of love for techniques in his late films that show him fully in command of his craft.

Even the classics that have been analyzed to death show off new themes. If you want more on the shower, well… there’s an entire movie for that. It was novel to sit with some of the other parts of movies like Psycho or North by Northwest without getting caught up on “that scene.”

The documentary’s strict adherence to showing us “what’s on the page” has some limits, though. Hitchcock’s wife, Alma, gets a section of the movie. But it doesn’t do justice to her role, not just as beloved muse, but extremely influential collaborator. 

And then there’s the voice. Hitchcock gets a writing and voice credit at the start of the film, and it isn’t a spoiler to point out that Alfred Hitchcock is not writing new scripts in this century. The voice belongs to English impressionist Alistair McGowan, who does a solid job sounding equally plummy and put-upon.

But it’s an affectation that wears across the two-hour runtime, especially when it shouldn’t be a surprise reveal to tell the audience that this was just part of the artifice of film. Cousins’ script, plus the exceptionally deep range of highlights, stand on their own without the gimmick. The shots speak for themselves to reveal even more than the voice of the director himself ever could, if you buy into the psychology behind the movies. And Cousins makes a decent case that you should.

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Something Personal to Say

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Chasing Chasing Amy

by Hope Madden

Nearly 30 years ago, Kevin Smith did what he does best. He made a film so simple, so personal, so deeply human, so profoundly myopic, so densely problematic, so deeply heterosexual-white-dude that it was hard not to simultaneously hate and love it. In fact, of all Smith’s movies, his 1997 straight-boy-falls-for-lesbian romcom Chasing Amy fits that (rather lengthy) bill best.

Hell, just being the indie darling of 1997 – pinnacle Weinstein era – creates additional problems, let alone the way Smith’s script funhouse mirrors his offscreen relationship with the star (Joey Lauren Adams, who earned a Golden Globe nomination for her vivid performance).

Whew, that’s a lot to unpack, and it’s not even the primary focus of Chasing Chasing Amy. For documentarian Sav Rodgers, stumbling across Smith’s film in his parents’ stash of Ben Affleck flicks as a kid saved his life. Literally. During his toughest times, Rodgers would watch the film every day. He’d never seen queer people in a film before. And he wanted to believe that one day he would find the kind of love Holden (Affleck) expressed for Alyssa (Adams).

And yet.

For many (most?) in the LGBTQ community, Chasing Amy is nothing if not problematic. So, what begins as Sav’s odyssey through the film’s New Jersey landmarks turns into an investigation into the movie’s queer depictions, then becomes an enduring friendship with Smith himself before turning into a remarkable examination of the seedy state of independent film in 1997. And that alone would be more than worth the price of admission.

Indeed, Rodgers gets better, more insightful talking head interviews for this doc than I’ve seen in any documentary in the last several years. Guinevere Turner (who wrote 1997’s Go Fish and partly inspired the character of Alyssa), in particular, is a treasure.

But even as Rodgers’s film metamorphosizes, so does its filmmaker. Because Rodgers is himself a large part of his film – the film’s impact on his own life did inspire the documentary – the director cannot help but document his own journey. And not his journey as a filmmaker, but as a trans man.

Rodgers possesses sharp storytelling instincts and a cinematic presence so sincere and authentic it could break your heart. You come away from this film hoping genuinely for his happiness and waiting eagerly for his next film.