Bryan Singer is trying to combine the continuity from all the X-Men movies into one gigantic movie based on the Byrne/Claremont "Days of Future Past" storyline. Here's the trailer:
After seeing Gravity on Sunday, all I could think about was umbilical cords. I Googled "gravity movie umbilical cords" and this has already been written.
I was not expecting much from Gravity. I went in without a single warm feeling for Sandra Bullock or outer space. I came out completely converted. Probably, I admit, this is because at almost every single other movie I watch, I have to check my gender loyalty at the door—especially action movies. Thanks for writing directly about gender loyalty and camera angles this weekend, Manohla: "The truth is, if I were hung up about every predatory director or every degrading image of a woman, I couldn’t be a film critic. So I watch, loving movies that don’t necessarily love or even like women."
Is Gravity the least macho action movie ever to become a Hollywood hit? It certainly felt astonishing to me. A female lead holding the screen alone for almost the entire time? Not one shot fired? Have I entered outer space?
Also tonight: Look at all the booze and food specials you get if you leave the house on a Monday night!
....which kicked off SIFF's French Cinema Now mini-festival: You have got to read Vulture's roundup of all the behind-the-scenes drama between the two lead actors and the director (and between the director and the French film union): A Brief History of All the Drama Surrounding Blue Is the Warmest Color.
Dear everyone else: Blue Is the Warmest Color—which I loved, despite the cinematically audacious/conceptually problematic/sexually explicit sex scenes, and largely because of the tremendous lead performance by Adèle Exarchopoulos—returns for a proper theatrical run at the Harvard Exit on November 22.
Tomorrow at the Cinerama brings the commencement of Horror Week, which is exactly what it says it is: seven days of the world's best horror films—including Psycho, Alien, The Exorcist, The Omen, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, An American Werewolf in London, and more—projected onto the Cinerama's state-of-the-art screen. Tomorrow's special opening-night feature: Army of Darkness, preceded by a Q&A with the film's legendary star Bruce Campbell.
Meanwhile, the Grand Illusion kicks off a week of great, scrappy horror—Hellraiser!, Dario Argento's Deep Red! A triple-feature of classic horror compilations!—and Central Cinema screens The Lost Boys, The Cabin in the Woods, and a one-night-only extravaganza devoted to killer clowns.
(Sadly, Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave—featuring some of the most disturbing villains in cinema history—doesn't open till next week, but this week's citywide parade of horror should make for a good welcome mat...)
In the meantime, here is Kelly O's overview of the 30 scariest movies ever made.
Bleeding Cool points out that the new trailer for next year's first Marvel movie has been released:
It's Robert Redford's superhero movie debut. And so?
I knew when I started writing about horror movies for this issue, there'd be no way in hell I'd have enough space to include everything that's worthy... So I ask, what are YOUR favorite, scariest movies?
Here are some more categories I would like to add...
So you're afraid of... CAVES AND/OR CLAUSTROPHOBIA
So you're afraid of... IMMORTAL PEOPLE WITH THE POINTY CANINE TEETH
So you're afraid of... OUIJA BOARDS AND SEANCES
So you're afraid of... CLOWNS AND DOLLS
So you're afraid of... TELEPHONES!
So you're afraid of... ANYTHING BY THAT ARGENTO DUDE
So you're afraid of... YOUR PERIOD, AND/OR PEOPLE WHO TURN INTO WOLVES
Tom Hardy, who Lindy West has already claimed as her boyfriend, is set to star as Elton John in the upcoming biopic Rocketman. Men and women around the world are going to be having a whole lot of naughty dreams set to "Crocodile Rock" tonight.
I'm a sucker for a Chucky movie. Brad Dourif's scratchy, bemused voice coming out of a plasticky sociopathic living doll is one of the best slasher-film entertainments. And as a rule, the films in the Chucky series have been funnier than Nightmare on Elm Street movies, and since they star a tiny little slasher who can hide in weird places, the scares are often more novel than in Friday the 13th movies. So I was excited when I learned that Curse of Chucky, which promised to be a soft reboot of the series—Dourif, thankfully, is still onboard as Chucky—was coming out in 2013, and I was subsequently a little disappointed to see that the movie was consigned straight to the direct-to-DVD bin. (I rented the movie on International Independent Video Store Day; if you're waiting to get the disc from Redbox or Netflix, the staggered release schedule means you won't get to see the movie until after Halloween.)
The good news is that Curse of Chucky is at first a pretty lively back-to-basics outing for the series. It doesn't obsess over the continuity of the last few films (as much as I loved Jennifer Tilly's scenery-chewing in Bride and Seed of Chucky, her character Tiffany by definition made Chucky feel less special) and it takes its time to build up some really good scares. The victims this time are the dysfunctional family of a young, wheelchair-bound woman (Fiona Dourif, Brad's daughter, doing better-than-expected considering the obvious charges of nepotism that could be levied against her). And the kills are just the right mix of gory and ridiculous.
Considering the fact that it's been almost a decade since the last Chucky movie, one would hope that Curse of Chucky would be a good entry point to the series for first-time viewers. That hope is vanquished in the last reel, which ties things back to the other Child's Play films in unnecessary ways. Where I was hoping for inspiration, the series turned lazy and self-congratulating. I enjoyed Curse of Chucky, but I'm not the audience the movie needs to pull it out of the bargain DVD bin; here's hoping that some hot young director will be able to rescue the property and spit-polish it into something that can pick up some new fans to propel it further into the future. As it is, Chucky's just treading water.
Director Randy Moore had to know that it would be almost impossible for his film Escape from Tomorrow to get out from under its high concept of a movie filmed, guerilla-style, on location at Disney World. With audiences eager to ooh and aah at the transgressive how'd-they-do-that shock of the surreptitious filmmaking, would anyone even notice if Tomorrow turned out to be a good movie? Sadly, that's a question that doesn't need answering.
Tomorrow begins promisingly enough as we follow a typical suburban family around Disney World. The dad (Roy Abramsohn) hasn't yet told his family that he's been fired, and the stress seems to be getting to him. He's hallucinating monsters on the rides, and he's creepily following a pair of too-young French girls around the park with his son in tow. But the filmmaking constraints eventually take its toll on the movie, and the plot veers in every direction at once, picking up and setting down half-baked ideas with every new scene. Tomorrow chooses quantity over quality, and values weird above meaningful. This is an especially poor decision since the cast can't sustain our suspension of disbelief, or our interest, for most of the movie. The wife (Elena Schuber) is a shrieking, unlikeable harpy who kills the momentum of the domestic scenes. A little dimension added to the role would have helped the film immensely, but Escape from Tomorrow is not a film that worries about its characters.
It's not all bad, of course. The thrill of watching the Disney World scenes is surprisingly satisfying. The orchestral soundtrack is excellent. And the black-and-white cinematography in the Disney World scenes is gorgeous. But Escape from Tomorrow can't overcome its devotion to shock tactics long enough to make a case for its own existence. It squanders all the potential that the movie's ambitious premise established in the opening frames.
Generally, when the subject of a biopic is unhappy with the film made of their life, I want to see that movie a little more. Nobody who is noteworthy enough to make headlines should be happy about their own unauthorized biography; for them to love the way they're portrayed would be proof of authorial toothlessness. Last week, Julian Assange issued a statement calling The Fifth Estate, the movie about the birth of WikiLeaks, "a film by the old media about the new media" and "a geriatric snoozefest that only the US government could love." Assange also published a letter he sent to Fifth Estate star Benedict Cumberbatch in January, which opens with starstruck praise, expounds on the "significant" and eternal "bond that develops between an actor and a living subject," and ends with a plea for Cumberbatch to resign from the film:
You will be used, as a hired gun, to assume the appearance of the truth in order to assassinate it. To present me as someone morally compromised and to place me in a falsified history. To create a work, not of fiction, but of debased truth.
The thing is, pretty much everyone but Julian Assange agrees that Julian Assange is an egomaniac. And that's perfectly okay—egomaniacs are often the people who get things done, who break through boundaries. But Assange's response to the movie is a particularly paranoid one that balances his need for attention—his aroused sense of flattery is palpable—with a particularly vivacious messiah complex. In sum, it's sad that a man who started a world-changing website devoted to naked facts has so giddily tossed aside Occam's razor to pronounce a movie to be the result of an international conspiracy against him, with absolutely zero proof to back up his claims.
Assange's outrage made me eager to see The Fifth Estate. And then I saw The Fifth Estate. Movies about current events have to succeed on two fronts: They have to serve as a source of information, a piece of journalism that contextualizes the story in something as close to real time as Hollywood can muster. And they have to be a compelling piece of cinema, a work of art that makes the case for its own existence. The Fifth Estate fails at both these tasks...
Even at this late date in the Netflix era, Seattle remains home—miraculously, wonderfully—to an amazing array of independent video stores. We've got Broadway Video and On 15th Video on Capitol Hill, Rain City Video in Ballard, Reckless Video in Maple Leaf, and the mighty Scarecrow Video in the University District. And today—Saturday, October 19, the third annual International Independent Video Store Day—we're given an official opportunity to celebrate our good fortune.
At Scarecrow, they'll be hosting a day of sales and specials, peaking with an evening screening of the VHS-era horror clip compilation The VCR That Dripped Blood and the unveiling of a new rental section filled with titles selected by local filmmakers (and lifelong VHS connoisseurs) Megan Griffiths and Lacey Leavitt. But every video store in town deserves a visit. Go, stroll, gawk, and rent while you can. Sometime in the next two decades, some installation artist will make a splash with a 3-D realization of the ideal Netflix queue. People will be amazed. It will look exactly like a video store.
It is a difficult time to be a video store, and the past several years have not been kind. Our rental numbers have declined roughly 40% over the past 6 years. This isn’t a huge surprise—obviously technology has been moving this direction for some time—but the decline has been more dramatic than we had anticipated.
We’ve responded to the changing marketplace in pretty much every way we know how to....We’ve added rental specials and date night and family package deals. We’ve increased our on-line presence and web sales. We’ve cut our operations costs as much as we can. But even as we try to offer our customers new and interesting reasons to come in, we simply are not generating enough traffic to support managing and maintaining the world’s largest collection of films. Hence this open letter.
Scarecrow Video is a labor of love. Everyone involved here does what we do because we love this place and what it represents: Uniting People With Film, access to film and film knowledge for everyone. Scarecrow has never been about making money, but it has to support itself. It’s no longer doing that, and hasn’t for a while.
We’re still in this fight, but there is a very real possibility that this will be our last Video Store Day celebration. We are committed to continuing through the holidays in the hopes that the changes we’ve made to our store and our operations will be enough to convince you, the customer, that Scarecrow and its unparalleled collection are worth saving. Ultimately, it comes down to whether people think it’s worth it to come back. So many people say to us, “I love you guys! I used to go in there all the time!” Lately that has included, “What can I do to help?” That’s simple. Come back in! Rent a couple of movies once or twice a month. Pick up a new Criterion film and have a latte. Buy something from us on-line. Come play trivia and have a beer or two, or come to our events. Let us help you find a movie you didn’t even know you’d love!
Read the whole open letter from Scarecrow owners Carl Tostevin and Mickey McDonough here, and confidential to Paul Allen: Please consider buying Scarecrow Video, leaving it where it is, and turning it into a museum/library. Think of it as the cinema wing of the EMP. Thank you.
It's the critically adored film that also happens to be the first feature filmed entirely in Saudi Arabia, and due to a last-minute mistake, it got left out of the print edition of our film calendar. Nevertheless, Wadjda opens tonight at the Harvard Exit, and according to Gillian Anderson and a million other critics, you should go see it.
Wadjda is a 10-year-old Saudi Arabian girl who doesn’t quite fit in: She listens to pop music, wears high-top Converse, has a friend who’s a boy, and really wants a bicycle. Her all-girls school teaches proper moral behavior for women, and she gets in trouble for her entrepreneurial endeavors and uncommon ideas. At home, her father is being pressured to take another wife in order to have a son. Writer-director Haifaa al-Mansour’s debut is the first feature filmed entirely in Saudi Arabia, and it’s a remarkable look inside an intensely religious and closed society.(GILLIAN ANDERSON)
See Wadjda movie times here.
You probably know what you're getting into with a movie starring Sylvester Stallone as a prison-break specialist, right? It's basically the same deal as a Sylvester Stallone mountain-climbing movie, or a Sylvester Stallone bomb-squad thriller. In this variation, Stallone would run afoul of an evil warden who tries to destroy him by trapping him in an inescapable prison. And that is basically the plot of Escape Plan. The prison is supposedly a secret CIA site where the baddest of the bad guys are stashed away from pesky problems like, oh, say, "the legal system," or "rights." And Stallone's nemesis is played by Jim Caviezel as a purring control freak of a warden. That, really, should be just about that.
Except Escape Plan is actually somehow a lot of fun. Don't get me wrong; it's dumb fun, and sometimes it's a lot more dumb than fun, but on the whole, it's a surprisingly good time. Caviezel, for example, is a lot of fun to watch, taking his line readings to Walken-esque extremes. Vincent D'Onofrio seems to be stuck in twitchy mode as Stallone's germ-phobic partner in the prison-break business, and Stallone's other co-workers, played by a wasted Amy Ryan and a laughably bad Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson hiding behind a pair of glasses, are fairly forgettable.
But the best part of Escape Plan is undoubtedly Arnold Schwarzenegger as a mysterious prisoner in the un-break-out-able jail. In the few movies released since Schwarzenegger's return to acting, he hasn't seemed entirely sure-footed, either taking himself too seriously or forgetting how to play himself on screen. Escape Plan is the first movie where he's finally found his old rhythm. Here, he's the comic relief, the mouthy can-you-believe-this-shit sidekick, and he plays it like a hammy child in a school play. He's not convincing as an intelligent man of mystery, but he also knows we're not going to see this movie because we want to see something convincing. So instead, he plays it over-the-top, and even though he's a lot less muscular than the Arnold we remember, and though his hair is graying, you can't help but be swept up in the fun he's having.
You kind of wish, in fact, that Schwarzenegger's sense of frivolity would rub off onto Stallone. Just as in the Expendables franchise and Bullet to the Head, late-stage Stallone is dense and rugged and barely lifelike. With a slightly more self-aware script and a more nimble protagonist—say, Bruce Willis or The Rock—Escape Plan could have maybe risen to true trash-cinema greatness, alongside Face/Off and Con Air and The Rundown. But because Stallone can't seem to learn any new tricks, we'll just have to make do with a much-better-than-average release from the 90s Action Hero Old Folk's Home.
RETURN TO GREY GARDENS
So, anyway, Jinkx Monsoon. She's been away for ever so damn long, you know—Vaudevillians-ing it up all over NYC, touring the lush wilds of Europe, basically living the rich and glamorous life of a current America's Next Drag Superstar™. And, oh! How we've missed her. (I, for one, was beginning to twitch and slobber.) Tonight, however, she returns to us at last (thrill!) for a brief engagement with San Francisco's shock queen Peaches Christ in Return to Grey Gardens. Jinkx is reviving that most popular and noted of her staunch characters, Little Edie Beale, and Peaches Christ is her batty old mum. But wait! The concept gets a little confusing: See, Jinkx isn't playing Little Edie, per se—she is playing herself 40 years from now, when they call her Little Queenie, and she finds herself in very Grey Gardens–like states of madness and squalor. Peaches is Big Queenie, her drag mother. So I guess it's fair to say that she's channeling Little Edie or something? See? No? Well, anyway, the two killed it with this show at Castro Theatre earlier this month, and tonight they bring it to us, complete with a screening of the actual documentary Grey Gardens just to muddle matters even more. And then an after-party at Julia's! But don't worry. Confused or not, you're going to love the shit out of this thing—just like everyone else. Harvard Exit, 7:15 pm, $33/$60 VIP, all ages.
The new star-packed Wes Anderson film has a trailer. It's due out in March.
You certainly can't argue that there wasn't enough stuff in that trailer.
Jen Graves wrote recently:
Do you know about Clyde Petersen, the Seattle artist/musician/filmmaker? He is a force. But not a forceful force. He's more like a radical shift in the air. He's political but not oppositional because he just doesn't even start from the terms as they are given. He goes a different way entirely , joining and bringing with him a giant bunch of other people who feel the same way, that things are crazy, that people who feel this way aren't alone, and that even if everything in the world feels wrong, you still have each other, and music, and art, and laughing and puppets and Lake Washington. You could talk about queer and trans politics, or you could just say that Boating with Clyde...is about getting off this land and entering a very different world to meet up with some people you will really value.
Tonight, as part of the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival, the Northwest Film Forum screens a special edition of Boating with Clyde, curated by Petersen specifically for SLGFF, and featuring "regional queer musicians, scientists, and authors performing songs and musing on science and culture, paired with puppet shows starring queer underwater news anchorfish. Prepare for a fun melding of music, philosophy, and storytelling—with a few live surprises!" Full info here.
Thanks to Edward Champion for posting these on Twitter.
Over the weekend, The Verge's Dante D'Orazio wrote that Stanley Kubrick was at one time considering a Dr. Strangelove sequel that would be directed by Terry Gilliam. it didn't move very far down the road to development, but the project did have a concept:
...the limited documents on Son of Strangelove suggest the film would have taken place in underground bunkers after the apocalyptic events of the original, with Strangelove taking shelter with a group of female survivors.
Scarecrow Video shares the good news:
Tonight at 6 pm, we welcome Chicago Sun-Times editor Robert K. Elder to the store with his new book The Best Film You've Never Seen. In this book, Elder interviews 35 directors, including Guillermo del Toro, John Waters, Edgar Wright, and John Woo, about their favorite overlooked, forgotten or critically-savaged films....After Mr. Elder's signing here at the store, he'll head up the street to our good neighbors at Grand Illusion Cinema to introduce a 35mm screening of one of the overlooked films, the 1988 horror-comedy Killer Klowns from Outer Space. The film will be followed by a Skype Q & A with Killer Klowns director Stephen Chiodo and a reception with Mr. Elder.
Trailer below, full info here.
This afternoon at the Harvard Exit brings Valencia, the experimental film adaptation of Michelle Tea's beloved autobiography, where each of the book's 20 chapters are brought to the screen by a different director (including Cheryl Dunye, Jill Soloway, and Silas Howard) working with a different cast. Screens at 4:30 pm, hull info here.
And tonight at the Northwest Film Forum brings Ian Bell's Reading Rainbow: "Flamingos Forever", a one-of-a-kind theatrical event I'll allow to describe itself. From the SLGFF program:
Ian Bell, creator of the Brown Derby Series and director of the Moore Theatre’s Hedwig & the Angry Inch (with Jerick Hoffer), presents an informal reading of John Waters’s screenplay “Flamingos Forever,” the never-produced sequel to PINK FLAMINGOS, wherein, after 15 years living in gas station lavatories in Boise, Divine comes out of hiding to claim the title of Filthiest Person Alive. Bell will blow this outrageous piece of smut off the page and into the dirty mouths of Seattle gay celebri-trash Jackie Hell, Marcus Wilson, Rebecca Davis, Scott Shoemaker, Freddy Molitch, and others. One night only—you’ve been warned!
Full info here.
At venues on Capitol Hill and downtown, there's the 18th annual Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival.
At venues all over town, there's the amazing-looking Social Justice Film Festival, and at SIFF Cinema, there's the also-amazing-looking Seattle Polish Film Festival. (Read about both fests in this week's Festive.)
Finally at Scarecrow Video, the weekend brings screenings of two trashy alleged treasures: 1992's The Cat (8 pm Friday) and 1991's Blood Massacre (8 pm Saturday). The screenings are free, and there will be beer and snacks for sale.
ALL OF THIS FILM IS NOT GOING TO WATCH ITSELF. Get out there. (But if you insist on staying home, the universally despised Salinger documentary that was stinking up cinemas just two weeks ago is now available on Netflix Streaming.)
The Atlantic says a new moviemaking fad is sweeping South Korea:
ScreenX extends the movie onto the sidewalls of the theater, effectively wrapping certain scenes around the audience by filming in 270 degrees. SoundX was also developed to complement the visual technology and convey a richer sense of space and distance. These inventions provide a way to surround viewers more fully, but more enticingly, they also may offer new narrative possibilities for filmmakers.
Earlier this year, Microsoft presented an XBox project called Illumiroom, which projects the action outside the edges of the TV. The point of the Illumiroom and ScreenX doesn't seem to be enlarging your focus so much as playing with your peripheral vision. It sounds as though ScreenX adds tension to action and suspense screens, by giving you the feeling that danger could be lurking behind you. I imagine it also adds to the thrill of chase scenes when you can see things whipping past your head out of the corner of your eyes. This is a gimmick for sure, but it's a gimmick that could be really dazzling.
There are moments in Machete Kills that are as weirdly funny as the comedies of an in-his-prime David Zucker. Machete's inventive ways of killing faceless goons get more and more elaborate, until there's no way to interpret them as anything but parody. The plot never takes itself seriously, which is often a blessing. Rodriguez surrounds the mostly silent Trejo with a bunch of actors who seem excited to say lines at him like "you know Mexico. Hell, you are Mexico," and "consider this the Swiss Army Knife of machetes, Machete," and "motherfucker, I'm not asking. I'm the President of the United States!" There are goofy-looking missiles aimed at Washington DC and a luchador-mask-wearing man wielding a sci-fi ray gun and split-personality drug lords with bombs wired to their heartbeats and a bunch of scantily clad prostitutes (led by a scenery-chewing Sofía Vergara) who are armed like a small army and desperate for Machete's head. Cuba Gooding Jr and Lady Gaga show up for a few entertaining minutes, because why not?
But this is a movie with no self-control, and so a bad decision rears its ugly head every few minutes. A scene goes on for too long, say, or an homage falls flat. Or Mel Gibson shows up for a significant part. Don't get me wrong; I'm usually okay with setting aside an actor's real-life exploits for the sake of a film. Charlie Sheen (billed as Carlos Estevez) stars in Machete Kills as President Rathcock, and I thoroughly enjoyed his scenes, especially because they felt like bizarro twists on his dad's role in The West Wing. But Mel Gibson these days is so obviously a creep that he sucks a lot of the life out of the third act. He looks creepy, he delivers lines like he's aiming for self-awareness and failing, and it's just painful to watch him in a way that pulls you out of the fun. With his hambone delivery and his zany wardrobe, I just kept wondering, wasn't William Shatner available for this part? Shatner might be an asshole, but he's not a monster.
Machete Kills has a lot more problems than just Gibson. The movie doesn't really end, and it telegraphs its non-ending in the very first reel. Trejo beats one of the best lines in the first film—"Machete don't text"—to death with repetition. Rodriguez needs more discipline, and that's a shame, because the moments in Machete Kills where he's indulging his sense of humor, or trying to build Machete into a cinematic icon, are pretty damn fun.
The 2013 Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival packs an extravagant array of films into ten days of queer filmy goodness, starting with tonight's opening-night feature I Am Divine. As I wrote in my SLGFF preview:
One of the many revelatory elements of I Am Divine—the new documentary about the legendary drag-queen performance artist and the opening-night film of SLGFF 2013—is the careful parsing of credit in Divine's creation. Makeup artist Van Smith is the one who shaved back Divine's hairline, creating a vast expanse for explosively dramatic eyebrow situations. Filmmaker John Waters is the one who urged his friend Glenn Milstead to channel his anger—over daily beatings in high school, over being a fat queer kid rotting in Baltimore—into the character of Divine. But beyond this, it was all Divine creating Divine, a fearless gender warrior who means as much to the history of punk as the history of drag, and one of America's great movie stars.
Directed by Jeffrey Schwarz, I Am Divine covers all its biopic bases well. Kicking off with the premiere of Hairspray—Divine and John Waters's 1988 mainstream breakthrough—the film tracks back to Milstead's privileged but lonely childhood in Baltimore, carries us through the birth and reign of Divine, and gathers voluminous evidence of Divine's star power to make his premature death land as it should. ("I still can't believe he's dead," says Waters, with love and light bafflement.) Beyond the basics, Schwarz shines plenty of light into less-investigated corners of the story: Divine's love life (robust!), pot habit (robust!), and career beyond the John Waters universe (from off-Broadway plays to international disco hits). Bookending the film are stories from Divine's high-drama family saga, which I won't spoil for you here, but which will muss much mascara among audiences. (Bring a tissue.)
Watch the I Am Divine trailer below, find full info on tonight's Cinerama screening here, and if you want to take your exposure to the world of John Waters and Divine to the next level (which you should), don't miss the Saturday extravaganza hosted by Ian Bell, mastermind behind the beloved Brown Derby readings, who'll here present a "ridiculously staged reading" of the screenplay to John Waters' forever-unproduced Pink Flamingos sequel Flamingos Forever.
Veteran Seattle documentary filmmaker Heather Dew Oaksen spent 20 years making Minor Differences. She didn't mean to. It just wasn't enough to meet and talk to five kids while they were in maximum security lockup, though—for her or for them.
So they ended up forming long-term relationships. The movie follows all five youth 18 years later, too.
Two of the subjects plus the filmmaker will be at SIFF Film Center on Monday night to talk and screen excerpts from the movie.
The Vera Project's Diversity Committee is hosting the conversation, about race, criminality, and youth imprisonment, kicking off a Social Justice Fall Workshop Series on Indigenous People's Day.
The event is free.
WikiLeaks just published a letter sent from Julian Assange to Benedict Cumberbatch in January of this year. Cumberbatch is playing Assange in The Fifth Estate, a WikiLeaks biopic coming out this month.
Thank you for trying to contact me. It is the first approach by anyone from the Dreamworks production to me or WikiLeaks.
My assistants communicated your request to me, and I have given it a lot of thought and examined your previous work, which I am fond of.
I think I would enjoy meeting you.
The bond that develops between an actor and a living subject is significant.
If the film reaches distribution we will forever be correlated in the public imagination. Our paths will be forever entwined. Each of us will be granted standing to comment on the other for many years to come and others will compare our characters and trajectories.
But I must speak directly.
It is a very long letter where Assange details the aspects of the film that he believes would be personally damaging to him. You can find the whole thing right here. Is Assange overreacting, or will The Fifth Estate hurt Assange and WikiLeaks? You won't have to wait very long to decide for yourself. And you won't have to wait very long to see what I think: I've seen The Fifth Estate, and my review will be in next's week paper, just in time for the movie's release.