South By Southwest 2016 was a pretty good year for film, though perhaps not a great one for festivals. So many of the films present already had distribution deals, including various streaming sites, where they would soon be made available to watch in mere weeks from their festival debut. Obviously the democratization of movies, and allowing more people to see different kinds of film, is inherently a good thing.
But it does take away some of the appeal of the festival itself, realizing that what you’re watching now will soon be beamed into everyone’s homes in a matter of weeks (or days in the case of Pee-Wee’s Big Holiday). Part of the appeal (and point) of film festivals is to help build buzz around smaller films and get them in front of an audience who will appreciate it; but since so many had already been acquired and had their own marketing roadmap for distribution and PR, was SXSW buzz even necessary?
Part of the problem is there was a dearth of great films at this year’s SXSW. There were some truly not-great ones (looking at you, Johnny Frank Garrett’s Last Word), but most of the movies in the line-up fell between good to very good; nothing world-changing. And that’s fine—in a world churning out some execrable movies, very good can feel like the next Citizen Kane. But it seemed like the high quality movies had some asterisks next to them that held them back from truly excelling, whether it was a weird tonal shift, a lack of emotional connection, or some other flaw that sabotaged said film from reaching the next echelon.
Still, SXSW has such a diverse line-up every year there’s always something for everyone (even if the Midnighters were a bit weak this year outside of Hush and those mentioned below). There were documentaries about competitive chicken raising, weird European explorations of puberty, and a dramedy about a world where the Rubik’s Cube would’ve been the biggest thing ever. There was enough eclectic selection that even if you saw four films in a day, you were guaranteed to walk away liking at least two of them and perhaps contemplating the other two far longer than you thought you would.
Here then are the highlights of what we saw at SXSW 2016 that should be making their way to you (sometimes even sooner than you realize).
Tony Robbins: I Am Not Your Guru (dir. Joe Berlinger)
In six immersive days (and for a few thousand dollars), master life coach-business-counselor-exorciser-of-bullshit Tony Robbins will show you not only who you truly are, but how to be the person you actually want to be. Director of the remarkably front-row documentary, Joe Berlinger (who also was behind Metallica: Some Kind of Monster) gets in the teary-eyed, rapturous faces of Robbins’ “Date with Destiny” seminar attendees, who for six days in Palm Beach, Florida, worship Robbins as the key to their better selves. The film does little to volley skepticism at Robbins’ (at some times wildly irresponsible) counseling, in front of his live audience, of those with suicidal tendencies or histories of sexual abuse, but appears genuinely fascinated by this man who, through his near-obsessive devotion to his work, appears to need his devotees as much as they need him.
The Greasy Strangler (dir. Jim Hosking)
If John Waters and Tim & Eric had a lovechild, and then horribly neglected that child so it came up with all sorts of wrong ideas about sex and morality, then perhaps you’d be close to The Greasy Strangler. A repugnant but fascinating bit of anti-comedy with gross scenes and awkward dialogue, the film succeeds because it revels in its own disgusting universe. While it could probably stand to lose about 10 minutes, the film is a wild ride of gonzo proportions as a father and son learn to live together (and, actually, love each other) while also pushing the envelope for how much an audience can stand of seeing malformed penises and slop-covered murderers. Truly a unique film unlike anything before it, The Greasy Strangler is certainly not for everyone; but those who appreciate fringe films will certainly find a new favorite here.
I Go Back Home - Jimmy Scott (dir. Yoon-Ha Chang)
Ralf Kemper is a music producer who has obviously stretched his aching belief in an artist to emotional/financial extremes. To many, Jimmy Scott is a tough sell. To a fair share of us, though, his idiosyncratically pained singing style is precisely the antidote to all that numbs and nullifies in this world. SXSW has many singers of all manner of ability and style, but few cut to the quick like Jimmy Scott. As this film shows, there is an alchemy to what he did that is nearly heart stopping in its power. For most of the collaborative sessions that we follow in the film (hey, it’s Joe Pesci!) we are hearing standards. Standards that Woody Allen never tires of, standards that are shamelessly maudlin, and (most importantly) standards that jazz musicians can continue to scrape by on. Scott (my first introduction was this still powerful appearance) turns these chestnuts inside out, almost admonishing them for their ostentatious yearning and promise. Every note is sung like it’s his last, and he lives in those sappy sentiments and visibly slumps at their fleetingness.
While it seems true for many musicians, Scott had a hard life that tested him at every turn. After being orphaned at a young age, he was able to work his way up as a singer, only to be refused credit for his work on two hit records. He did eventually strike out with the acclaimed ‘63 LP Falling in Love is Wonderful on Ray Charles’ Tangerine Records, but by the late 60s found himself working as an orderly. Being that Kemper’s production was to be Scott’s third comeback (since the 90s, 00s), it’s easy to understand the ailing singer’s visible fatigue. The titular quote is not necessarily one of triumph, but of a last ditch hope for peace of mind. It’s almost as though he sees Kemper’s passion, sacrifice and dedication for him, and meets him half way in tribute. Otherwise I see man yearning to be free of it all. Chang captures this unmistakably, remembering to see the spark of passion that never goes away even when life has run you ragged. There are a great deal rough edges and padding to the presentation (for some reason Ralf speaks in German at the start and showing Scott being ushered through Tower Records for some music geek love felt awkwardly obligatory), but when Jimmy Scott began to sing it was easy to forget all that.
The Arbalest (dir. Adam Pinney)
Adam Pinney made a 76-minute long movie that is really just a fancifully decorated cake. The frosting is beautiful — colorful, richly period-toned compositions of 1970s tomfoolery, with florettes and detailing that stage the narrative of a spurned toy inventor whose obsession with a lady lost turns into an inexplicable parable on gun violence. All that, with whiffs of Wes Anderson and Stanley Kubrick in framing, but in script and plot, more like a ploddingly paced meal with just one (kind of) course. We stumble through the hapless protagonist’s world without really caring whether he lives, dies, gets the girl, or not — a basic cake, beautifully frosted. Inexplicably though, The Arbalest won SXSW’s narrative grand jury prize, so give it a look and fight with your friends about it.
Hunt For The Wilderpeople (dir. Taika Waititi)
Waititi’s Hunt For The Wilderpeople is a throwback to 80s kids films and adventure pictures that is hilarious and incredibly cute. The chemistry between foster child Ricky Baker (Julian Dennison) and his reluctant caretaker (Sam Neill) is palpable as the two end up on the run from authorities when a misunderstanding spirals out of control. The laughs are character-based and Waititi revels in the comic possibilities that emanate from this odd couple as they travel through the brush of New Zealand. Beautifully shot landscapes and lack of censorship or pulling punches because it’s a “kid’s film” make this a surprisingly winning film that will probably become a classic that people will want to revisit again and again, quoting their favorite lines (of which there are many).
My Blind Brother (dir. Sophie Goodhart)
Did you say a romantic comedy with Nick Kroll, Jenny Slate, and Adam Scott? Yes please! My Blind Brother has many trappings of a highly satisfying romcom — think Trainwreck — combined with the added slightly squirmy (and therefore appealing) edge of using blindness as a punchline, but for all the good feet the film puts forward, it makes no great strides. Jenny Slate and Nick Kroll play uninspired people with few compelling reasons to like (other than the fact that they are played by Jenny Slate and Nick Kroll) who fall in love, all the while with the blind brother of Kroll’s character, played by Scott, getting in the way. It’s an awkward take on mundane loser-love, with characters who try to do good but really, really just want to be watching TV. Anything, whatever’s on, it doesn’t have to be good.
Another Evil (dir. Carson D. Mell)
When there’s something strange in their mountain retreat, who are successful urban artists gonna call? In this case it’s a barely competent ghostbuster by the name of Os (Mark Proksch), who may or may not be up to the task of ridding the cabin of the spectral spirits. Mell’s film is often hilarious, basically a supernatural riff on Baghead with great dialogue between Proksch and lead Steve Zissis. Unfortunately, there’s a late tonal shift in the film that the movie doesn’t quite earn. However, for nine-tenths of the film it’s a very engaging, humorous character study of a man on the edge with peculiar ways about him that is expertly portrayed by Proksch.
The Trust (dir. Alex Brewer, Benjamin Brewer)
Out in the suburbs of Las Vegas, on a night like any other, two cops are breaking into a safe. What begins as a gleeful mismatched buddy-movie pastiche ends up as a cautionary tale of professional indifference, like if some twisted version of Adolf Eichmann’s banality of evil came to land at the DMV. Elijah Wood and Nicholas Cage are two Nevada cops who, seemingly with little else to do or want in the world, decide to initiate a massive heist involving German-engineered industrial drills and an apartment full of firearms. Things don’t go as planned. It’s a pretty silly movie, with some nice Coen-esque scored sequences and an enjoyably strange chemistry between the two leads, with hints at the imagined future of Cage’s baby-thievin’ character from Raising Arizona, while allowing Wood a solid space to act outside of Middle Earth. No masterpiece here, but a fun day in the desert.
Miss Sharon Jones! (dir. Barbara Kopple)
In a sense, this documentary was spoiled up and down for me. I knew it would be heartrending, inspirational and character-rich. When I got the news about Sharon Jones’ cancer I was wounded. When I saw her messages to fans I was reassured. And when I saw her holiday Tiny Desk Concert I was once again bowled over by her vibrant charm. I felt that same rollercoaster of emotion during this biopic, but with an added dose of reality. I wasn’t homesick, but I did feel a twinge at the ZACH Theatre when I saw that Jones had received her treatment in Albany, NY. We bracingly watch that magnetic je ne sais quoi fight through the cold indignities of chemotherapy and find ourselves practically holding our breath for her to make it through each hospital visit and back on stage where she belongs. Miss Jones/Kopple and co. also take us through her home town of Augusta (SC), where she shares childhood memories, fly fishes in a creek with a big cigar (apparently the two are essential components) and stops by a tiny local church to testify as only she can. Some might call that last bit grandstanding, but I challenge anyone to watch that scene and not see someone digging deep within themselves to be with their spiritual center at a time of intense need. Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings may not be making music that’s in fashion, but there is a grit and sincerity to their songs that easily drown out this notion. Whoever makes up their audience, they’re responding to a raw feeling and an impeccable presentation that redeems everything about vintage funk/soul that’s become shallow or merely fetishistic. That she loves Ellen so dearly (much joy is expressed at the opportunity to dance with her on her show) is only a reminder that she’s an entertainer of a certain age doing her thing in the world without (for better of worse) a nuclear family to look after. Cancer may have humbled her somewhat, but her light remains massive, ageless and heedless to obstacles large and small. That she is (literally) letting the world see her underbelly only makes her burn brighter. Kudos to Barbara Kopple for stepping up and delivering such a perfectly pitched, far-from-obligatory portrait.
In A Valley Of Violence (dir. Ti West)
While still bloody and full of splatter, In A Valley Of Violence marks a departure for writer/director Ti West from the horror genre to the revisionist Spaghetti Western territory. The film is surprisingly hilarious with lots of Western tropes shown to be ridiculous and many characters as shrill as possible. Ethan Hawke is perfect as the stoic Gary Cooper-type who only speaks in quotable tough-guy maxims while he squares off against a group of small-town lunatics, led by James Ransone as the would be tyrant and John Travolta in full ridiculousBroken Arrow/Face/Off villain mode. It’s an entertaining and surprising hit that also includes one of the cutest dogs on screen, with plenty of scenery for all of the actors to chew in their heightened performances.
Insatiable: The Homaro Cantu Story (dir. Brett A. Schwartz)
It’s highly unlikely that any significant portion of the audience for Insatiable will ever get to taste the food that comes out of Cantu’s restaurants in Chicago. The famed chef lauded for his Michelin-graded molecular gastronomy institution, Moto, was as well-known for his obsession with food innovation as he was for his rough early years, spent occasionally homeless and living with unofficial foster parents. As a documentary, the film does little to really vindicate Homaro’s impact on modern food, as we see little outside his realm of expertise and colleagues, but the focus remains on his vision and personality, and thankfully not insufferable montages of foamed and beaded foodstuffs being constructed on a plate (although there is definitely some of that). The concluding tragedy of the documentary comes with a somewhat deaf tone, leaving a bad taste in the mouth at the end, but the rest piles on enough of its subject’s charisma and clout to at least make you root for him.
Under The Shadow (dir. Babak Anvari)
Described by many as the Iranian Babadook, that shorthand tease does Anvari’s film a disservice as there’s a lot more going on here than a simple ghost story with a child involved. Anvari sets the film in 1989 at the very end of the Iran/Iraq war, and for much of it, the tension is derived not from the supernatural elements but from the chaotic changes a country is undergoing. Once the film begins to swerve into the horror elements, though, it delivers possibly one of the best jump scares ever and also an excellent metaphor for the creeping dread the protagonist feels about her changing country. A dynamic film with excellent performances that brings in viewers only to terrify them, Under The Shadow should not be missed for those seeking intelligent horror films that will still give them the heebie jeebies.
Pee-wee’s Big Holiday (dir. John Lee)
Does the world need another Pee-wee Herman movie? Does Paul Reubens? It doesn’t matter. Those who love Pee-Wee will find equal reasons to love and hate this movie, but it’s the uninitiated that should be the real focus for this film’s success. Premiering at SXSW the day before it would do the same on Netflix, the Judd Apatow-produced revamp of Reubens’ beloved (autist? Manchild? Misprogrammed cyborg?) has Pee-Wee heading out on a road movie, unfolding towards the promise of Joe Manganiello’s birthday party in New York City. Sure, why not. Whatever Pee-Wee is, he’s beloved, and while this film may not enchant a new generation of Herman-fans, it certainly doesn’t tarnish his impeccable, bow-tied image.
War On Everyone (dir. John Michael McDonagh)
The writer/director of The Guard and Calvary comes stateside for his take on the buddy-cop picture, and it is a brilliant, hilarious, and profane ride. Michael Peña and Alexander Skarsgård star as the two crooked cops who maintain some sense of ethics as they take on Theo James’ empire of pornographers and robbers. The film often dips between low and high brow with simple pratfalls one second and then discussions of feminist critique the next. And it all works! Malcolm Barrett deserves special mention as the informant they lean on, and Paul Reiser is particularly good in his role as the beleaguered captain. It’s trading in clichés of a genre that hasn’t been good for a while, but reinvents them with McDonagh’s brilliant writing and character work that will have audiences cheering and laughing hysterically.
Baby Bump (dir. Kuba Czekaj)
A delightfully stressful and fleshy film, the Polish Baby Bump initially screened at 2015’s Venice Film Festival, and contorts a relatively simple coming of age experience into a visceral confrontation with masculinity, Oedipal complexes, growth, and strength. At the center of the film is Mickey House, a boy at the precipice of puberty, and his mother, simply known as Mummy. There are crossed borders, lots of bodily fluids, and a good dosing of punkishness in the score and cinematography that enliven the film’s sometimes predictable stabs at shock value. It has a happy ending, in its way, even though everyone knows puberty definitely doesn’t.
Miss Stevens (dir. Julia Hart)
An incredible debut feature by writer/director Julia Hart, Miss Stevens sometimes falls into a too twee indie dramedy cliché but is always rescued by the strong work of its cast. In particular, Lily Rabe shines as the titular character who is a lonely teacher that appears on the verge of a severe breakdown when she chaperones three students to a drama competition one weekend. Rabe (and the other main cast members) elevate the material with their tender portrayals of people on the cusp of either falling apart or discovering who they truly are. It’s a poignant film that doesn’t offer many answers or much resolution, but instead simply visits these characters for one weekend and spies all of the cracks forming in their personas.
TOWER (dir. Keith Maitland)
A powerful and emotional film that covers a dark day that has since been repeated many times across the U.S. and a few times in other countries, TOWER is a bold documentary that looks at that fateful day 50 years ago when a man begin shooting people at the University of Texas. The filmmakers have done amazing work with this piece, first interviewing a large group of survivors and participants in the events, then casting actors to portray them 50 years ago, then rotoscoping and animating the proceedings that make the reenactment work and also lends it a real immediacy with its occasional dips into surreal expressionism. The film is sadly as relevant as ever, but focuses not on the shooter himself, but instead on those who lived through it and how they remember that day and how it has affected them many years after. In short, TOWER is visually dynamic, emotionally powerful, beautifully done, and not to be missed.
Little Sister (dir. Zach Clark)
A family drama of religious proportions, Little Sister is a lovely film spun from the unavoidable desire to assign order within chaos, and to find meaning from irrational tragedy. As the titular nun-in-training returns to the family home to see her brother, monstrously deformed from a tour in Iraq, a cascading sequence of experimentation and exploration lead the family into tragedy and absolution, through equal parts weed-cupcakes and pink Manic Panic hair dye. It sounds like an indie darling, but don’t hate it for that — it wears its black lipstick well.
Don’t Breathe (dir. Fede Alvarez)
An interesting follow-up to his Evil Dead remake, Fede Alvarez returns to the screen with this simple premise of a robbery gone wrong when three teens break into the house of a blind man… and things go horribly awry. Whereas his previous film traded in skin-crawling gore and shocking violence, this new one has its fair share of violence but mostly succeeds thanks to the excellent sense of tension that Alvarez builds within the house. The insanity of the situation keeps mounting higher and higher as the protagonists try to find some way to escape, only to find themselves with a losing hand. A good companion to Green Room with its own tale of contained violence and tension, Don’t Breathe is a badass film that constantly surprises and reveals itself to be darker, more twisted, and smarter than previously thought.
More about: SXSW
