A half-step down from a masterpiece, “Wind River” didn’t quite get the attention or traction at the office as last year’s “Hell or High Water.” Both are thematically similar neo-Westerns written by Taylor Sheridan, who also steps behind the camera to direct. It’s a gripping tale of alienation, justice and revenge, and how those impulses mix together when a young girl turns up dead.
Jeremy Renner plays Cory Lambert, a hardscrabble man who is a hunter of hunters -- in his case, dangerous predators for the federal Fish and Wildlife Service. Though with his big bolt-action rifle, peerless outdoorsman skills and dead eye, it’s apparent to anyone that his capacity to kill is not limited to the four-legged.
His jurisdiction, and his home, is the Native American reserve in the cold, craggy reaches of Wyoming, where the snows blow year-round. When a local teen turns up frozen to death, having fled across the icy ground barefoot, an investigation is launched. The local lawman (Graham Greene) goes through the motions, but an FBI agent is sent to do the real snooping.
Played by Elizabeth Olsen, Jane Banner is green enough to immediately be in over her head, and smart enough to recognize it. She recruits Cory to be her tracker, and the two begin to sift through the barely buried dirt of the reservation, where pride and despair resound in equal measures.
The scene where they interview the victim’s father, played by Gil Birmingham, packs as big an emotional wallop as anything you’re apt to see at the cinema this year.
Filled with a bleak, despairing sort of beauty, “Wind River” is one drama that hits its storytelling targets with surefire accuracy.
Alas, video extras are sorely lacking for this film. They consist of a few deleted scenes and a gallery of still photos from the set.
“I know you’re looking for clues, but you’re missing all the signs.” --Cory Lambert
Last year’s “Hell or High Water” was my pick for the best movie in a very good film year, and writer Taylor Sheridan is back with another superlative crime drama for late summer, “Wind River,” which he also directed.
Sheridan, who also wrote the screenplay for “Sicario,” has quickly become the most authoritative voice of the modern Western. His stories are ones of revenge, the pioneer code, paying for old debts. They’re very old-school, male-centric films, yet this one also has a strong female character near the center.
Moving from West Texas to the Arapaho/Shoshone Indian reservation of hardscrabble Wyoming, “Wind River” is steeped in Native American culture but has two Caucasian main characters. I’m sure some people will find that politically objectionable for its own sake, but the very theme of the film is about strangers -- the interlopers who barge in, and the outsiders within our own midst.
This is not one of those reservations with a big casino and fat gold belt buckles. It’s a land of bitter cold and bleak mountains that keep people apart. They huddle in mobile homes against snows that pile deep even in spring, drowning in drink, drugs and despair. A fleeting shot shows some locals burning pieces of their house to stay warm.
Cory Lambert is very much integrated into this community. A hunter of predators for the federal Fish and Wildlife Service, he roams the land on a snowmobile, tracking deadly beasts that prey on livestock and, occasionally, people. He’s searching for some lions that took down a steer on his father-in-law’s ranch when he finds a teenage girl’s body in the snow.
She’s beat up and barefoot, and the frostbite extends up to her ankles -- telling you how far she walked before finally falling. “That’s a warrior,” Cory intones.
This is the first role since “The Hurt Locker” that gives Jeremy Renner full rein to explore a character from the inside out. A f’real cowboy -- he trains his own horses, makes his own bullets and favors a lever-action rifle over modern snipers -- Cory doesn’t talk much but speaks volumes. There’s a lot of hurt in his own life, and his marriage to a Native woman (Julia Jones) has crumbled.
Elisabeth Olsen plays the intruder, Jane Banner, a young FBI agent sent out from Las Vegas to investigate the death. She’s resilient and smart -- shrewd enough to know she’s completely out of her element in a land where six reservation officers patrol a land the side of Rhode Island, and screaming winds and 20 degrees below zero can cause lungs to bleed, and then freeze.
“Luck don’t live out here,” Cory warns.
Jane recruits him to be her scout and tracker, though Cory clearly has his own ideas how the investigation is going to play out. Visiting the dead girl’s father (an amazing Gil Birmingham), Jane clumsily displays her privilege and presumption, seeing the man’s pride and stoicism, and interpreting that as hardheartedness.
When Cory shows up and the dad melts into his arms, we’re as astonished as she is. They share a connection no one else can.
Acting as facilitator is Graham Greene as the reservation police chief. He knows the people and wants to do the right thing, but also understands that his job will continue after the feds have gone back home. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m used to no help,” he says.
They follow the tracks in the snow, which leads to questions, which suggest possible answers.
If “Hell or High Water” was a bona fide masterpiece, then “Wind River” is just a half-step down. It doesn’t quite have the same narrative momentum, tending to pool in eddies of contemplation rather than driving a potboiler plot.
But this approach has its own rewards, as in a scene where Jane goes into Cory’s home, and we sense the pull between them and think we know what’s going to happen. But it’s another form of intimacy that takes place, where the leathery gunman opens up his heart in a way we can’t possibly imagine John Wayne doing.
Today’s cinematic cowboys kill, but can also weep.
“I know you’re looking for clues, but you’re missing all the signs.” --Cory Lambert
Last year’s “Hell or High Water” was my pick for the best movie in a very good film year, and writer Taylor Sheridan is back with another superlative crime drama for late summer, “Wind River,” which he also directed.
Sheridan, who also wrote the screenplay for “Sicario,” has quickly become the most authoritative voice of the modern Western. His stories are ones of revenge, the pioneer code, paying for old debts. They’re very old-school, male-centric films, yet this one also has a strong female character near the center.
Moving from West Texas to the Arapaho/Shoshone Indian reservation of hardscrabble Wyoming, “Wind River” is steeped in Native American culture but has two Caucasian main characters. I’m sure some people will find that politically objectionable for its own sake, but the very theme of the film is about strangers -- the interlopers who barge in, and the outsiders within our own midst.
This is not one of those reservations with a big casino and fat gold belt buckles. It’s a land of bitter cold and bleak mountains that keep people apart. They huddle in mobile homes against snows that pile deep even in spring, drowning in drink, drugs and despair. A fleeting shot shows some locals burning pieces of their house to stay warm.
Cory Lambert is very much integrated into this community. A hunter of predators for the federal Fish and Wildlife Service, he roams the land on a snowmobile, tracking deadline beasts that prey on livestock and, occasionally, people. He’s searching for some lions that took down a steer on his father-in-law’s ranch when he finds a teenage girl’s body in the snow.
She’s beat up and barefoot, and the frostbite extends up to her ankles -- telling you how far she walked before finally falling. “That’s a warrior,” Cory intones.
This is the first role since “The Hurt Locker” that gives Jeremy Renner full rein to explore a character from the inside out. A f’real cowboy -- he trains his own horses, makes his own bullets and favors a lever-action rifle over modern snipers -- Cory doesn’t talk much but speaks volumes. There’s a lot of hurt in his own life, and his marriage to a Native woman (Julia Jones) has crumbled.
Elisabeth Olsen plays the intruder, Jane Banner, a young FBI agent sent out from Las Vegas to investigate the death. She’s resilient and smart -- shrewd enough to know she’s completely out of her element in a land where six reservation officers patrol a land the side of Rhode Island, and screaming winds and 20 degrees below zero can cause lungs to bleed, and then freeze.
“Luck don’t live out here,” Cory warns.
Jane recruits him to be her scout and tracker, though Cory clearly has his own ideas how the investigation is going to play out. Visiting the dead girl’s father (an amazing Gil Birmingham), Jane clumsily displays her privilege and presumption, seeing the man’s pride and stoicism, and interpreting that as hardheartedness.
When Cory shows up and the dad melts into his arms, we’re as astonished as she is. They share a connection no one else can.
Acting as facilitator is Graham Greene as the reservation police chief. He knows the people and wants to do the right thing, but also understands that his job will continue after the feds have gone back home. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m used to no help,” he says.
They follow the tracks in the snow, which leads to questions, which suggest possible answers.
If “Hell or High Water” was a bona fide masterpiece, then “Wind River” is just a half-step down. It doesn’t quite have the same narrative momentum, tending to pool in eddies of contemplation rather than driving a potboiler plot.
But this approach has its own rewards, as in a scene where Jane goes into Cory’s home, and we sense the pull between them and think we know what’s going to happen. But it’s another form of intimacy that takes place, where the leathery gunman opens up his heart in a way we can’t possibly imagine John Wayne doing.
Today’s cinematic cowboys kill, but can also weep.
For a decade or so there’s been a thing in Hollywood called the Black List, which is screenplays that are greatly admired but for some reason haven’t been picked up for production. In general these tend to be smaller, more challenging stories that might not necessarily have mass appeal. The idea is to garner these languishing scripts attention so somebody will make a movie out of them.
Roughly one-third have been, including Best Picture Oscar winners “Argo,” “The King’s Speech,” “Spotlight” and “Slumdog Millionaire.” But there have also been many Black List flops like “Black Snake Moan,” “Our Brand Is Crisis,” “47 Ronin,” etc.
“Hell or High Water,” despite that subpar, generic-sounding title -- I at first thought it had something to do with boats -- belongs among any estimation of home runs.
Deeply moody and evocative, yet with a potboiler plot that steadily builds a head of steam, “Hell” is sharp as a leather strap cracked against bare skin in the scorching West Texas sun.
The film is part crime story, part throwback Western, part family reconciliation. It’s about old cowboys and young, lawmen versus bandits, the sins of bank robbers weighed against those of the bankers. It wears the long prairie duster of the Old West, as hard men wander out of the hot, flat pan and converge toward a grim reckoning.
Jeff Bridges, Chris Pine and Ben Foster each deliver some of the best performances of their careers, layered and bone-deep. They’re playing outwardly simplistic men who’ve thought about their lives and found them wanting.
Bridges is Marcus, a Texas Ranger facing mandatory retirement in a few weeks who’d like to go out in a blaze of glory rather than face the terror of sitting on his front porch with no purpose to life.
With a silver mustache, thick middle and a tendency to chew his words like cud, Marcus is a legend fading before his own eyes -- probably been carrying around the same bullets in his sidearm for 15 years. He’s ornery and cussed, likes to insult the hybrid Mexican/Comanche heritage of his partner, then dismiss it as teasing.
“I don’t know how you’re going to survive without someone to outsmart,” the partner (a fine Gil Birmingham) says, giving a little back.
Pine and Foster are Toby and Tanner Howard, brothers both alike and differing in a lot of ways. Toby is reserved, thoughtful, remorseful. His marriage and job have cratered, he’s estranged from his ex-wife and teenage sons, just buried his mother after a long illness and is trying to prevent the bank from foreclosing on the family ranch.
Tanner is a career criminal who calculates he’s spent half of his adult life behind bars, a dead-ender who embraces his outlaw reputation and calls it an ethos. He never makes any plans beyond the limits of the cash in his pocket or what he can steal. He does what he does because he’s good at it and he likes it; as Marcus wryly observes, if Tanner ever got himself a big pile of money he’d probably spend it all on stupid junk just so he could have an excuse to go out and steal again.
The Howard boys are knocking over small-fry banks in tiny Texas towns, places with names like Coleman and Post, sometimes two or three a day. Too small a haul to warrant FBI attention, it’s dropped into Marcus’ lap. He makes the rounds, interviews the witnesses, is confounded by the repeated lack of video surveillance. At first bored, his old juices get flowing again. They’re just the sort of crimes that seem random and stupid, but require a smart mind to string together.
Directed by David Mackenzie (“Young Adam”) from a script by Taylor Sheridan (“Sicario”), this is the sort of movie that’s always on the move but never seems in a hurry. It takes the time to flesh out scenes and polish minor characters, like the sassy waitress who refuses to relinquish the fat tip the brothers left with (maybe) stolen money. Or the elderly cowpoke caught up in one of the robberies who, when asked if he’s armed, spits, “Of course I’ve got a gun!”
“Hell or High Water” is a taut modern masterpiece that learned its lessons well from the classics -- both the tough, unruly Texas folk and the movies made about them.
"Little Men" is a movie about the little moments and in-between spaces of human relationships. It sets out not to spin a complicated plot but to present a small group of people to you and then observe them closely. It's a tender and true portrait of what it's like to be a 13-year-old boy, or a parent of one.
Theo Taplitz and Michael Barbieri play the boys, and they're just magnificent. Honest, unadorned reflections of the awkwardness and cockiness of that age. Taplitz plays Jake, a budding artist who's reserved and thoughtful, a tiny bit alienated. Barbieri is Tony, outspoken and outgoing, delighting us with a New York patois filled with verbal idiosyncrasies and rhythms.
Tony, not surprisingly, wants to be an actor. They both aspire to get into a fancy Manhattan arts high school.
Jake's parents are Brian (Greg Kinnear, in fine form), an actor who labors for his craft but earns little income doing it, and Kathy (Jennifer Ehle), a psychotherapist who acts as the family's even keel. Tony's only parent is Paulina (Leonor Calvelli), a Chilean expat who runs a quaint little dress shop in Brooklyn.
The group is brought together by the death of Brian's father, who owned the shop building shop and the apartment above, where Brian grew up. They decide to leave their pricey Manhattan place to take up residence there. Their interactions with Paulina are pleasant if a little distant. But Tony and Jake become instant best friends.
Director Ira Sachs ("Love Is Strange"), who co-wrote the original script with Mauricio Zacharias, has an intrinsic feel for the outlook and emotionality of young teenagers. It's a tough age for boys (or anyone), caught between school, girls, video games and parents. Tony feels the pull to maintain a sense of bravado, so he instigates a fight against a friend in the face of some harmless teasing. Jake is more an observer and introvert, so having someone like Tony to push and pull him into socializing is beneficial.
I adored the moment where Tony plucks up the courage to ask a classmate out while they're dancing in a crowded club and she tells him she's "into older men." (Like what? A 17-year-old? Honey, 17-year-olds don't want to date 13-year-olds unless some of their wiring is crossed.) Rather than going screwy with anger, Tony simply says, "Thank you for being honest," then slinks away.
The trouble arises when it comes time to renew the lease for Leonor's store. Brian's dad never raised the rent, so the $1,100 a month she's paying is seriously under-market in a hip gentrifying neighborhood. Brian's more mercenary sister, Audrey (Talia Balsam), insists they could get $5,000. He's a decent man but they could use the money. He offers an in-between price.
When presented with this problem, Leonor tends to just... disappear. She avoids conversations, or steers it in another direction. When eventually confronted, she goes into long speeches about how much Brian's father appreciated having her there, how her ship is a staple of the neighborhood. When this doesn't work she grows more subtly caustic, insinuating the Brian's father questioned his manhood because his wife brings in almost all their family income.
Leonor likes to think of herself as the voice of wisdom, valuing the community over the individual -- but she's got a streak of steel in her, too. Meanwhile, Leonor's friend the lawyer (Alfred Molina) takes a look at the paperwork, ratcheting up tensions.
The boys react to the conflict by drawing closer to each other. They make a pact not to speak to their parents until the matter is resolved. The trio of grownups try to brush off this minor rebellion, but their patience eventually wears thin. (There's only so much nodding a parent can take at the dinner table.)
"Little Men" is a movie of small revelations, not any big "aha" moment. Things end on an ambiguous note, because that's how life mostly plays out. It's a story of people intersecting -- sometimes hugging, sometimes abrading against each other.
"Sleeping with Other People" never made it far past the festival circuit and a modest theatrical release, but it was probably the best romantic movie I saw this year. It's funny, smart, sexy and treats its main characters like knowable people rather than mice scuttling through the same tired old romcom maze.
Alison Brie and Jason Sudeikis play a pair who lost their virginity to each other back in college, and reconnect as friends. Unlike the usual romantic movie tropes, in which the couple spend the entire film ignoring the fact that they're perfect for each other, Lainey and Jake openly acknowledge their lingering attraction.
But they undertake a conscious effort to break free from their inability to commit, using each other as foils and advisers for the journey. They make a pledge not to hook up to see if they're capable of love without sex, a notion that of course gets tested.
The dialogue from writer/director Leslye Headland ("Bachelorette") is whip-smart and surprisingly honest. The supporting cast is uniformly good, existing as believable people who go on living their lives whenever they're not hanging around the main characters.
This is the sort of movie that blends romantic, comedic and dramatic elements so deftly that we don't work to label it.
Alas, bonus features are non-existent, on both DVD and Blu-ray editions.
"Sleeping with Other People" is the most ambitious romantic comedy I've seen since "(500) Days of Summer." It probably doesn't even belong in that category, since it contains many notes of drama and pathos in addition to plenty of laughs and witty wooing. It's also fairly raunchy, without ever showing any real skin.
It stars Alison Brie and Jason Sudeikis as a messed-up pair of lovers who run into each other about 10 or 15 years after losing their virginity to each other in college. Each was a late bloomer who finally decided sex was something to just have and get over with so it doesn't become a big thing. Neverthless, it became a big thing despite their one night stand, with neither able to commit despite a string of flings.
They resolve to have a platonic friendship, despite the attraction between them, basically as a test to see if they're capable of a loving relationship sans sex. This goes on for more than a year, with predictable results.
I say the end point of this story is unsurprising, but what's unconventional is how writer/director Leslye Headland ("Bachelorette") arrives at the destination.
We quickly know that Lainey (Brie) and Jake (Sudeikis) are meant for each other; usually these sorts of movies are an exercise in the audience waiting for the characters to catch up with them. But here the couple also senses this, talks about it between them, but decide to continue the experiment because they value the relationship that's grown more than they care about physical intimacy.
Take Jake, for instance. He's a variation of the wiseacre lothario, a guy we've seen in countless movies before. But here Sudeikis and the script endow the character with self-awareness and doubt. He presents to the world the image of a fearless ladies' man, but inside he knows he's mostly a coward who's afraid of women.
"If you want someone to fall for you, you gotta be you," Lainey advises.
"Yeah, I don't think I like me enough to introduce him to other people," Jake says, but we understand the loathing underneath the quip.
Lainey, for her part, has been pining for the same guy since college, secretly believing he would choose her despite the way he's always kept her on a shelf. Matthew, now a successful OB/GYN, is played by Adam Scott, who's cold and manipulative in a way we haven't seen from the self-effacing funnyman.
He's just one of a terrific supporting cast that fills in the gap around the main players. Amanda Peet plays Jake's new boss, whom he immediately puts into his crosshairs despite the professional barrier between them. (He threatens to quit, walking away from a contract that will make him a millionaire, in return for one date.)
Jason Mantzoukas shines as Jake's long-suffering best friend, who resents but secretly desires his hedonistic, attachment-free lifestyle. (An Ecstasy-fueled scene at his son's birthday party is one of the film's giddy high points.) Natasha Lyonne plays the counterpoint role of Lainey's wingwoman, offering sage advice and a prod when needed.
I don't like to make predictions about how a movie will do, but "Sleeping with Other People" feels like it will break out a number of careers. Headland crafts some of the cleverest lines and vivid characters I've seen in a while. Brie is charming and vulnerable, a woman who can both admire and, at times, pity.
Sudeikis, though, just steals the show. Headland sets him up with a juicy part and he cracks it out of the ballpark. It's a familiar archetype that he endows with all sorts of shadings and subtleties. Sudeikis is entertaining yet believable. Plus, he's funny as all get out, spewing one-liners at a near-constant pace.
This must-see take on modern love is tragic, wise and hilarious.
If you subscribe to the Indy Star or look at the links of my published work, you'll note a piece I have today in The Indianapolis Star. It's the cover story of GO (the Friday entertainment section) on the Heartland Film Festival.
I thought I'd point it out, and offer my thoughts on why I took the freelance job.
Given how much has gone on with the whole layoff/arbitration thing, I'm sure there are folks who consider me a massive hypocrite for accepting work from the newspaper that cut me loose. Given all the (unwarranted) attention to my donation of my settlement check from Gannett, it may seem strange to take money from the same institution.
"You haughtily refused to take their money on principle, but now you'll cash their freelance check?" is likely what some may say.
The truth is I bear no ill will against the Star as an institution. I may dislike, even detest some of the decisions they've made, particularly related to how they treat their labor force. But I still take the newspaper, I still care about the product and I have a great deal of affection and respect for the people who toil to put out a quality product.
If I can do anything to help them do that, I'm thrilled to contribute -- particularly to the "soft news" side of lifestyle and arts coverage.
As I said in my web video about the settlement check: The legal process is done. It's time to move on.
This was a high-profile freelance job on a subject in which I like to think I'm an expert. I gave no second thought to taking it, and now that I do, the feeling remains the same.
You can read the main article here and the sidebar here.
As you may know, Joe Shearer and I were each jurors for the Indianapolis International Film Festival. As such, we felt it was best that we not review the feature films for the category in which we were judging. (I did American Spectrum; Joe was on the feature documentary panel.)I had already written reviews of two of the movies in my category. Now that the festival has given out its awards, I felt it was OK to publish them here.
A street hustler, his boss, his ex-girlfriend and the baby she unceremoniously dumps on him -- that's the extended family spotlighted in "Prince of Broadway," which explores the underbelly of the Big Apple, finding both harshness and tenderness.
Lucky (Prince Adu) is an illegal immigrant from Jamaica who works the street. His stock in trade is not drugs, but cheap knock-offs of designer purses, coats and shoes. A natural charmer, Lucky entices clients off the streets into the shop run by Levon (Karren Karagulian), himself an immigrant from Lebanon. Hidden in the back is a special room with the loot. Levon watches the streets for police while Lucky works the customers.
Lucky's relationship to Levon is more older/younger brothers than father/son. Levon is even willing to slip some money into Lucky's pocket and give him the day off when trouble comes his way.
That trouble arrives in the form of a toddler, whose mother shows up one day and informs Lucky that he is the father, and he must watch the boy for a couple of weeks while she's busy. This happens right in the middle of a transaction between Lucky and two middle-aged white women, who doubtless will have a story to tell when they get back to the suburbs.
Lucky is stuck. He doesn't believe the child is his -- the boy, who he eventually dubs Prince, is light-skinned while Lucky himself is dark as a moonless night. And he can't call the authorities since he's in the country illegally. So the only solution is to continue his street hustling with a baby in tow, which puts a bit of a damper in his business. It also throws a wrench into his relationship with his current girlfriend, who is educated and uncomfortable with his life of petty crime.
He's infuriated and frustrated with the situation he's in, but Lucky isn't a bad guy. He tells Prince that he knows he is just an innocent, and will stick by him.
In a parallel storyline, we observe the deterioration of Levon's marriage to his wife. She's a dancer and much younger than he, and it's clear that she views her marriage as one of convenience, and whose benefits have become decidedly one-sided.
Director Sean Baker, who co-wrote the script with Darren Dean, has a sharp ear for street dialogue -- much of which was improvised in coordination with his cast. The saga of Prince and Lucky is a compelling one, but the Levon segment feels stitched on. The film probably would have been better served by centering on Lucky's story, with a few hints about his boss' personal life.
Still, "Prince of Broadway" is a sharp and emotionally rich look people getting by on the fringe of society, eager for an easy score but still willing to do the right thing.
As you may know, Joe Shearer and I were each jurors for the Indianapolis International Film Festival. As such, we felt it was best that we not review the feature films for the category in which we were judging. (I did American Spectrum; Joe was on the feature documentary panel.)I had already written reviews of two of the movies in my category. Now that the festival has given out its awards, I felt it was OK to publish them here.
Following in the wake of "Persepolis" and "Waltz with Bashir," "Sita Sings the Blues" continues a promising trend of animated films telling international stories that aren't intended for just little children. This breezy conconction of Indian folklore, 1920s American torch songs and filmmaker Nina Paley's personal life, all told in a vibrant and varied hand-drawn style, is an unlikely combination that somehow seems like a perfect blend of diverse ingredients.
This movie is a sheer delight from beginning to end.
The story is based on The Ramayan, a piece of Indian mythology by the ancient poet Valmiki. It is the story of the great hero-king Rama, who goes through a series of arduous hardships, but told from the perspective of his wife Sita. From the feminine side of things, Sita displays an astonishing amount of patience and unconditional love. After being kidnapped by an evil king, she refuses his advances and his eventually rescued by Rama and an army of monkey warriors. But Rama sees Sita as tainted by her association with another man -- even after she faces a ritual trial of fire to prove her purity.
Paley uses a wonderfully original method to tell the story. She has three modern Indians, represented as silhouettes, setting up each segment of the story and commenting on it, often hilariously. Then it switches to a musical interlude depicting the action to the tune of bluesy songs such as "Who's That Knocking at My Door" and "Am I Blue?" by the great jazz singer Annette Hanshaw. It's amazing how the lyrics of the various tunes jibe so well with the Indian epic.
Intercut with all of this is Paley's story of her own love gone sour. Told in a minimalist style, her own heartbreak parallels that of Sita, as well as providing the inspiration for this mash-up of Indian and American iconography.
Paley -- who wrote, directed, animated, produced, edited and did pretty much everything else but provide the music and voices -- employs a variety of animation styles. Each of them is distinct, and yet we immediately recognize the major characters at first glance. There's one style for the songs, another for the narration, and a distinctly different one for the New York sequences.
I can't begin to describe how vibrant and innovative this film is. Nina Paley has given us a major triumph. "Sita Sings the Blues" will knock your socks off.
The Indianapolis International Film Festival kicks off today with a screening of "(500) Days of Summer." Things really kick into high gear tomorrow, when a full slate of movies starts showing.
The biggest change this year is that it has changed locations to the Indianapolis Museum of Art. There are only two theaters, but with a single consolidated venue there will be as many screenings this year as last.
We have been working our butts off over at The Film Yap to provide extensive coverage with reviews and interviews. Keep coming back every day of the festival, as we'll be highlighting different material as we go, and adding more.
Make sure to head over to the festival's Web site to check out movies and showtimes. Then come back to The Film Yap for news and views!
