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Movie Review
Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is an all-too-familiar story that has had its fair share of Hollywood adaptations. With Scrooge & Marley, debut directors Richard Knight Jr. and Peter Neville attempt to modernize the well-worn holiday tale by putting a gay spin on it, and at times they succeed.
“Ben” Scrooge (David Pevsner) is a grumpy, money-obsessed owner of a piano bar — one that he used to work at with friend “Jake” Marley (Tim Kazurinksy) and Fezziwig (Bruce Vilanch), portrayed here as a wild, coke-sniffing club owner. Speaking of things you inhale into your brain, Scrooge is taken into the past by huffing poppers (sigh). There he is shown painful moments from his young adulthood, like when he and his partner are caught by his father, who immediately disowns him. This subplot adds a fresh perspective on Scrooge’s disdain toward family, whereas scenes from the present and future don’t shed any new light on the old story, trying instead to use humor as a crutch.
Other than a few chuckle-worthy moments, the film’s jokes are weighed down by obvious puns — donning “gay” apparel is a recurring one — and the song numbers seem to be forced fillers. But despite the amateur filmmaking and occasional eye-rolling punch lines, the basic sentiment from Dickens’ classic remains intact. Thanks to the scenes from Scrooge’s past and the strong source material, the climax — though expected — is still a festive and tender one.
The 15th annual FirstGlance Film Festival comprises a host of independent shorts, docs and features, many of which are based in Philly. Bill Haley’s Steve Phoenix: The Untold Story is one of the full-length flicks. It follows a down-on-his-luck reporter searching for his big break in Fishtown. But the festival’s primary focus is on shorts. Destined, by Michael Giletto and Andrew Laquintano, deals with evil spirits, morals and a jealous husband, while Lee Porter’s comedic web series My Ruined Life is a humorous look at the woes of everyday life. For reviews of these films and a host of other Philly-connected offerings, check this week's movies section.
Nov. 9-11, all films screen at the Franklin Institute, 222 N. 20th St., $8-$12 per screening or $75 for an all-access pass. For more information, go to firstglancefilms.com.
With the help of City Paper film critics, Josh Middleton counts down this weekend's six new movie releases, from lowest- to highest-graded.
THE LUCKY ONE [ C- ] It’s easy to dismiss the schmaltzy romantic drama The Lucky One. After all, it came from Nicholas Sparks’ badly chewed ballpoint pen and was directed by Scott Hicks (Shine) with a paint-by-numbers approach to filmmaking. Read the rest of Gary M. Kramer's review here. (UA Riverview)
Movie critic (and the guy who compiles our weekly repertory film listings) Michael Gold reviews his favorite Netflix Instant flick of the week.
February is upon us, which means bland date movies occupying theater screens and romantic-movie marathons inundating cable. And yes, if you’re looking for a heart-wrenching romance or insipid chick flick, Netflix certainly has plenty to offer. But the February event that has my heart atwitter is the Oscars — especially because I’m still reeling from the Academy’s gratuitous snubs.
There were plenty of good films left off the shortlist for the Super Bowl of cinema, but not one of the omissions tugged at my heartstrings more than Senna (2011, U.K., 105 min.). Asif Kapadia’s documentary about Ayrton Senna offers far more than a satisfying homage for motorheads who can’t get enough of the legendary Brazilian racing champ. Using archival footage and sparse narration, the doc paints a touching portrait of an enigmatic man whose desire to win was all-consuming. It’s a stunningly emotional foray into a sport known for its mechanical uniformity — which makes it a perfect watch for the month of love.
Read City Paper film critic Cindy Fuch’s review here.
(michael.gold@citypaper.net) (@migold)
Man Cave is a testosterone-laden Monday feature that highlights the weekend haps of a pop culture-loving Philly dude.
Happy Halloween! Over the weekend I dipped into Mad River in Manayunk for its maximum-occupancy-defying costume party. But the bulk of my weekend was spent taking in some of my favorite horror-flicks.
Dead Alive — Some folks are still unaware that before Lord Of The Rings, director Peter Jackson was a 
gore-tastic zombie fiend. This cult-y gnaw-athon is my personal favorite zombie flick. If you're into priests who "kick ass for the Lord!" and gruesome lawnmower-slayings that could make Quentin Tarantino nauseous, this modestly hilarious bloodbath is for you. Make sure you get the unrated version. It's important.
The Omen — The tagline from this 1976 gem is "If something frightening happens to you today, think about it." What a groovy way to vaguely amp up the atmosphere of cinema terror. This tale about the coming of the antichrist features one of the scariest movie motifs in horror history: a young kid. The scary thing about a kid who grimaces at you and then you die in a terrible accident is that it could really happen. This is a stark contrast to most of the other films in this list.
Alien — Easily the scariest sci-fi flick ever made. By not showing you much of the monster for most of the film, the frights are less visual and more visceral. Get out of there, dude!!
Evil Dead 2 — If horror-comedy is indeed a cult, then this classic is the Kool-Aid punchbowl. One of the truly asinine films of the ages, Evil Dead 2 is perhaps the most classic film in cheese-terror history. Unlike its predecessor, which attempted more straight horror than comedy, and its successor, which attempted more comedy than horror, this movie is pure WTF.
Check this space all week for reviews and coverage of the 2011 FirstGlance Film Festival.
On paper, the plan in Philly-bred director Jennifer Barbaro's music video, Burning Witches, makes total 
sense. A rock 'n' roll band is on stage playing to a crowd of nuns. After hearing the righteous rock assault, the nuns strip and get down and dirty. Hijinks ensue. Oh, and the footage is be intercut with the frontman lying down, preparing to die, because being a big-time rock 'n' roller isn't easy.
Surprisingly, the finished product doesn't deliver. The band isn't aware of the failed execution, but the dancers sure are. Their facial expressions suggest that they're merely counting the seconds until it's all over. And when they strip it's clear it's because the director told them to. The music itself doesn't help, either. The band sounds like a diet version of Godsmack.
The grand concept of the singer battling his demons comes across as really dumb, at best. Whenever you see him on stage, he's either preening like a Billy Idol-wannabe, bro-ing out with the guitarist, or twirling his guitar. Never do you get the impression that he's struggling with something. If he's struggling with anything, it's not on the screen.
Things come out flat and over-rehearsed. The band's look — with dyed hair, leather and tattoos — just doesn't seem real. It's like they think if they're dressed the part, the rest will just magically happen. It doesn't.
CITY PAPER GRADE: D-
Sat., Oct. 15, 5:45 p.m., $10, screens with Love, Processed, The Kook, FLAGPOLE, Meet Me On South Street, Franklin Institute, 222 N. 20th St., firstglancefilms.com/philadelphia.
Check this space all week for reviews and coverage of the 2011 FirstGlance Film Festival.
Noah Hutton, director of indie doc More To Live For, has not taken his role as a filmmaker lightly. In fact, 
he might be nearing the boundary between filmmaker and activist. He has not released a tear-jerking documentary on the devastation of cancer or traced the battle of a patient’s chemotherapy treatment for mere emotional response. Instead, Hutton focuses his lens toward a different angle on the subject of cancer. His intended audience consists of the undiagnosed, unrelated, maybe completely unaffected members of the community who are most likely unaware how simplistic and valuable it might be to get involved.
While the primary voices come from three men whose lives were challenged immeasurably by their cancer diagnosis, it is the ever-present, undertone of a cry to action that speaks loudest. It spells out the desperate need for all members of the community to be tested as potential bone-marrow donors, and join in the fight to beat the epidemic as it spreads around the world. As we see in the chronicles of subjects Seun Adebiyi (pictured), James Chippendale and Michael Brecker, the actual bone-marrow transplant isn't the hurdle. We are simply battling the odds to find a match.
CITY PAPER GRADE: B
Sat., Oct. 15, 3:15 p.m., $8, screens with Little Hero, Controlled Burn, Franklin Institute, 222 N. 20th St., firstglancefilms.com/philadelphia.
Check this space all week for reviews and coverage of the 2011 FirstGlance Film Festival.
Somewhere among the forced dialog and weak supporting roles, there lies The Calendar Girl Killer, a 
man who has assaulted eleven girls in the past year (one of whom is a Drexel student) and is now turning his attention to Miss December. The serial killer is on the loose in Philadelphia, but even local viewers won’t bat an eye with the abrupt music that basically shouts, “watch, viewers, this is the scary part!” Instead of creeping forward at an accelerating rate as most thrillers do, Philly director Derek Lindeman’s Calendar Girl lazily saunters forward before giving a slight push at the end. An unnecessary amount of slow scenes with shallow character development was probably meant to give struggling actors more screen time, but the end result is the slowing down of the plot’s flow.
Ari, well played by Jensen Bucher, is a cynical goth-punk waitress at a diner. But even though we’re meant to feel sympathy for her, the character’s repetitive self-destructive behavior transforms her into the antagonist. She consciously surrounds herself with sociopaths who snap stalker photos of her or physically abuse her. So when she reads the Zodiac-esque newspaper article describing the killer’s next victim, Ari’s flattered that she now has a “secret admirer.”
While the new year approaches, Ari juggles three men in her life. Her best friend Chris (Lindeman) acts as her guardian, warning her against the menacing men in her life. But Lindeman’s smiles resemble winces, and the character is so awkward that he becomes unlikeable. Her ex-boyfriend Jon is a thug who wins her approval once he threatens a homeless man with a knife. And her new beau, Phil, is a dorky and slightly neurotic guy who claims to be a freelance photographer.
Check this space all week for reviews and coverage of the 2011 FirstGlance Film Festival.
With a running time just under twenty minutes, Theresa Wu's locally shot Smoke and Mirrors is forced to 
get straight to the point. Within the first ninety seconds, the protagonist, Sarah, (Krystal Yam) has been caught smoking in the bathroom and finds herself knee-deep in a shit storm created by her mother (Vanessa Kai). Throughout the film, the mother/daughter relationship is taunting at best, with Sarah's mom constantly berating her about school, social interactions and the work she does for the family take-out biz. At one point, Sarah's father even steps in and asks the question on everyone's mind, "Why are you always yelling at her?"
The turning point comes when Sarah finds her mother getting friendly with a customer outside the restaurant — something that is normally against the rules. So as far as she's concerned, if her mother doesn't follow the rules then why should she? Sarah becomes incensed, grabs a pack of cigs and climbs into the back of a van with a boy. She immediately rebuffs his advances, but for a brief moment she sees the possibilities that await her. This is the moment the movie goes from just teen drama to something more.
Being a teenager is tough, and breaking the rules generally feels pretty good at least for a moment. The film moves at a quick clip, never leaving time to dwell on any one aspect. Some viewers may spend the entire film wondering what it is that drives this 14-year-old to smoke, but in doing so they'll miss the real point. Don't do that.
CITY PAPER GRADE: B
Sun., Oct. 16, 5 p.m., screens with Sunday Twilight, Take Your Medicine, The Story, Franklin Institute, 222 N. 20th St. firstglancefilms.com/philadelphia.
Check this space all week for reviews and coverage of the 2011 FirstGlance Film Festival.
Local filmmaker Andrew Ari Clibanoff's Air We Breathe shows a lot of heart but offers disappointing 
results. If you can get past audio imperfections like the popping P's and S's, and distracting changes in ambient noise in between camera switches, you're left facing an almost shockingly unoriginal script. The film is a twenty-four-and-a-half-minute indie cliché about a washed up alcoholic writer and a visitor with an unknown agenda. It's like a Hal Hartley joint without the post-modernism, which translates to almost unwatchable.
The acting is actually pretty decent, despite the inexplicable casting. Each of the four actors look to be in their mid-20s, which makes it hard to believe the protagonist is a has-been great writer.
This could-be tale of cathartic transcendence needs more narrative. The weight attempted to be hoisted onto these characters in a 24-minute period doesn't have nearly enough fuel to ignite a substantial dramatic experience. Nor does the dialogue offer it's modestly talented (if distractingly young) actors a chance to make any memorable impressions with their material. I hope they keep at it because Air We Breathe shows a lot of ambition. But the end product might as well be a long film trailer designed to reel you in by not showing you any of the interesting parts.
CITY PAPER GRADE: D
Sat., Oct. 15, 8 p.m., $10, screens with Ring Theory, Luz, and Falling Overnight, Franklin Institute, 222 N. 20th St., firstglancefilms.com/philadelphia.
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