Category: Reviews

Faculty Film Review: Ted Murphy

Immigration issues in Europe have reached such a pitch that it has been the lead story just about every night on National Public Radio (NPR) and other news venues for the last three weeks.

The refugee crisis has merged with the economic crisis by many third world countries who were forced to mortgage their economies to an international system that has lead to conditions where people are compelled to find somewhere- almost anywhere to migrate to in order to earn a living wage. We are witnessing an adjustment to new fears of protecting borders.

These issues have brought back to me a film that seems always relevant to what historically can be called The other”, “the stranger among us” and the ancient notion of xenos.

Xenos means “the stranger”(fear of strangers is known as xenophobia) and is one of the fundamental ideas of much ancient text, from the Old and New Testament, to Homer and Ovid to the Koran. Giving comfort to the stranger is more than mere hospitality. It is a cultural virtue.

Fassbinder’s 1974 masterful film Ali: Fear Eats The Soul tells the story of a 60-year-old widow Emmi whom one evening enters a bar to get out of the rain. The bar is filled with immigrants of Arabic North Africa. On a dare, a young woman taunts Ali (in his mid 30s) to go and ask Emmi to dance. One expects Ali to embarrass and humiliate Emmi. Everything is off in the scene…the age of the couple, the races of the couple, the alcohol among Islamic people, and the music…everything.  

Fassbinder intentionally provokes as many conflicts with this scene as possible. The shock of the film is what follows. Ali and Emmi develop a connection. They fall in love. Their love is too much for everyone else in the film. Her adult children revolt when she introduces her new husband. All the people on both sides of the relationship are confused and against the relationship. It is a brilliant and subtle study of all of our deepest held prejudices.  Racism, nationalism, ageism, classism, religious bigotry and even clever hints at homophobia (Fassbinder not only wrote and directed the film, he also plays Emmi’s son-in-law) Fassbinder was homosexual.

He died young at 37. He was also specifically suggesting in this film that Love between two people can and should never be anything but a celebration. Love is always a good thing. Love should break down all barriers. But in Ali: Fear Eats The Soul love becomes a brutal “fear filled” affair that leads to sadness and isolation.  

Germany has historically not been a nation associated with open warm embrace of ‘the other”. At the time of this film the immigration crisis with Turkey was reaching a near panic state in West Germany.

Tribalism is perhaps one of our deepest held cultural connections. Marx believed that workers of vastly different cultures would come together from a common experience.  For Marx, a British laborer would unite with a Russian who worked in similar status. Ultimately the world wars of the 20th century tragically revealed that tribalism and nationalism trump nearly every other connection humans could forge in society. Fassbinder’s film takes you into a world where strangers are asked to set aside their differences and embrace the power of Love. 1 John 4:18 states that “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” (NIV) Ali tells Emmi that in Islam there is a saying that “Fear eats the soul”. The film ends with Emmi sitting beside Ali in a hospital where he has been taken after he collapses from complications of an ulcer. In Fassbinder’s film the inverse of 1 John 4:18 becomes the thesis of the film. Perfect fear casts out not only love but also every other human emotion.

Every night I see the faces of the various people who are trying to enter new countries …their faces are filled with fear. The faces of the people standing guard at their borders are filled with fear. The politicians currently running for nomination use rhetoric that is filled with fear about the stranger at our borders, the undocumented among us- the xenophobia is ramped up to shrill tones and the leaders in the polls are those who play the fear card to the fullest extent.

Christ welcomed the outsider. How we think about such issues reflects our embrace of the invitation of the gospel. The world is changing. The economic, environmental and political challenges in our near future will lead to an increase of migration. How we welcome those people will reflect much about our character. These are not simple ideas or challenges. The responsible questions of protecting borders while at the same time being open to those most in need are complex issues. We should never allow the pundits to try and capitalize on our easy slide into fear. Fassbinder offers up a story of profound implications. The story of two people from radically different worlds coming together is a metaphor as much relevant today as it was in 1974.
This film is in the Houghton college library film collection. It is Criterion 2 DVD set. Consider it as a means for generating discussion.

Eclectic indie pop band Passion Pit released their third album Kindred this past Tuesday, full of vibrating, bubbly synth and sparkling vocals. The album is frontrunner Michael Angelakos most cohesive work to date, deftly weaving sonic euphoria with sounds of nostalgia and inward struggle.

While previous Passion Pit hits, like “Make Light” or “Little Secrets” are deceptively upbeat, often masking cynical undertones, the lyrics of Kindred are more attune with their vibrant sound. This is most likely due to Angelakos’s brazen honesty concerning his own personal struggle with bipolar disorder. Despite the stigma attached to mental health diseases, Angelakos halted his 2012 Gossamer tour in order to seek help for the extreme highs and lows he experiences. “Once I started accepting my mental condition, it stung for a little bit, and then everything improved,” he comments.

Arguably the catchiest tune on the track list is “Lifted Up (1985)” a song bursting with Passion Pit’s characteristic frenzied electronica, dedicated to Angelakos’s wife, Kristina Mucci. Glitchy synth and Angelakos’s giddy voice proclaim, “1985 was a good year/The sky broke apart and you appeared.” Contrary to a typical love song, the speaker acknowledges his intrinsic faults, and subsequent failures: “Oh, but yeah I’m so tired/I fight so hard and come back beaten…Oh but yeah, all my life I stay here waiting.” In “Whole Life Story”, also inspired by Mucci, the listener is given insight into their complicated relationship. Amidst peppy handclaps and sugary synth-sounds, a falsetto voice cries: “I’m sorry darling, how could I have turned this/Into such a, darling, difficult position for you”.  Yet this apology is quietly accepted: “And you didn’t make a sound/You were looking out the window at the city/Then you turned and said you loved me.” The most beautiful aspect of Kindred is its persistent optimism despite acknowledged failures. In an interview with TIME, Angelakos speaks in regards to his inspiration: “Growing up. It’s all the things I wish I had been doing instead of dealing with all of the complications from my disorder. It’s also about figuring out my relationships with other people and how to deal with love in a very real way.”

This is evidenced especially in lilting tracks like “Five Foot Ten (I)” and “Until We Can’t (Let’s Go)”, where pounding, out-of-control synth undulates the listener up and down, a visceral parallel for Angelakos’s intense mood shifts. Admirably, the only extraneous track on the album is the autotune experiment gone wrong, “Ten Feet Tall (II)” where Angelakos’s high pitched, overzealous techno-warbling serves more to give the listener a headache than convey any concrete emotion. Taken as whole however, Kindred does well to reflect it’s creator’s liberating ideal: “Being as honest and transparent as you can be…that’s actually really, really empowering. It shows you have guts.”

Angelakos’s attempted honesty makes Kindred as a whole chaotically compelling. It’s messy, but underlying its sonic extremes is an overall message of perseverance.

9th Annual Film Fest Celebrates Veteran and Amateur Filmmakers Alike

2015 marks the ninth consecutive year that Houghton has hosted Film Fest, its annual celebration of student-made films. Its purpose has been to exhibit and reward the work of these students who are willing to submit their projects and relinquish them to the critical eyes of a panel of judges as well as the hundreds of others who fill Wesley Chapel to congratulate the winners on their films as they are shown.

Film Fest covered a wide array of submissions, ranging from narrative driven films, to more technical ones showcasing an attention to shot composition, to commercials for certain events, as well as many other categories. Hosted entertainingly by JL Miller, townhouse resident director, and Michael Jordan, dean of the chapel, the event chugged on without too many hiccups, as the space in-between viewings of each category’s submissions was filled with their banter and commentary. Overall, the quality of films put on display this year was good, there being some truly impressive stand-outs among the winners and runners-up. The coveted Willard Awards were distributed to the winners, a few student filmmakers picking up more than one.

Ice Nine Studios (a collaboration between Colin Belt ‘15 and Matthew Grim ‘16) snagged four Willards for their animations: one for the best animation award for the eye-catching, ethereal, and especially well done Allice trailer, another for best editing for the bizarre mind-trip that was, The Supple Chunk, the third for best drama with Candle’s Tale, another animated feature. The last film of theirs to take home the Willard for best sound was one of my personal favorites, Rainbow Kitten Fun Time, an energetic, colorful, and nostalgic homage to classic video games and the power of friendship. Ice Nine Studios and their strength in this year’s Film Fest hopefully signifies an increase in the presence of animated features in the coming years.

Hannah Folkerts pulled in two Willards as well. The first for best documentary with Andrea, a well-shot film that tells the story of the titular young woman Andrea who aspires to be a ballet dancer despite the many setbacks she has experienced. The film cuts back and forth between Andrea speaking to the camera and her dancing in the studio, capturing both the expressiveness in her face as she tells her story and the expressiveness in her body as she floats, twirls, and spins across the floor. The second of Folkerts’ Willard’s came for best cinematography for Country and City, a collection of truly excellent camera work, gathering contrasting shots from environments both urban and rural, showing some remarkably beautiful scenery in both settings.

The Willard awarded for best film of the night went to Derek Brooker’s Lucid, an incredibly shot and innovatively edited film that held my breathless attention from the very first scene. Lucid excels in conveying the anxiety and bleakness of the situation faced by the short film’s silent protagonist, played well by Brooker himself. Lucid fully deserved its recognition as the best of the best.

Several submissions were made by first time filmmakers, introduced to the field through various outlets, be that through sheer curiosity or class assignments. Ava Bergen ‘17 won her Willard for best comedy with her film Coffee, a project made initially for her Digital Video class. Her film advocated for the “wonder-drug” that college students have become all too well acquainted with, caffeine. Ava commented in regard to her film, “Though it was satirical, the message was one that I relate to on a personal level. I’m fascinated by the effects of sleep deprivation on the brain, as well as my hopeless dependence on coffee.” Bergen described her decision to submit Coffee as an easy one, “I thought, why not? There is no downside to submitting and seeing what happens.” When asked what the recognition that comes with winning a Willard has done for her motivation as a burgeoning filmmaker, she responded, “It’s definitely an encouragement, especially because filmmaking is so fun. I love doing it, so it was nice to receive the positive feedback.” In addition to some of the more seasoned veterans of the filmmaking trade, students like Bergen are the success stories that will hopefully influence other potential filmmakers out there who will do their best to ensure that Film Fest retains its quality and diversity for years to come.

Hotels are neutralizing. They exist as these in-between purgatorial vacation places, where you can pretend to live without the nagging burdens of modern life. You have a pool now, and a maid, and endless patterned hallways to explore, all filled with people who are only temporarily living in this halfway home for the well-off with you. Anything can happen in a hotel. You are a new person, in a new place where nobody knows you. This is the timeless in-between space that Lost in Translation takes place in and pulls its acerbic wit and quiet energy from, creating a nuanced, contemplative experience that dazzles with its emotional subtleties.

The story of Lost in Translation is fundamentally simple. Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is an American film actor who has lived to see his glory days come and pass, along with the happiness of his marriage. His career is no longer defined by his skill as a performer, but by his marketability as a face that people remember fondly. He now finds himself in Tokyo starring in an ad campaign for a pronounced whiskey brand, away from home, surrounded by a language he doesn’t understand, on the verge of a mid-life crisis. Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) is a recent college grad and the young wife of an up-and-coming photographer, tagging along on his job trip, caught between imposing existential and marital quandaries. Two wandering souls searching for meaning in a westernized, urban landscape. Their meeting place? A smoke-filled, burgundy-carpeted hotel lounge, overlooking the city with poetic, restrained arrogance. After glances grow into larger interactions, they discover that maybe the best way to find yourself in a culture that is not your own, is to be lost in it with someone else.

It feels typical, soapy, even expected, but despite any attempt to make it sound like the tagline for Nicholas Sparks’ most recent cinematic offering, there should be no detraction from the quiet brilliance of Sophia Coppola’s vision of hopeful melancholy. Coppola has a deft understanding of film; from her drifting cinematography, to the subtle acting cues that shape the atmosphere of the film, everything is near-perfect. Yet the true beauty of the movie is in its narrative execution, in its ability to take the familiar and the occasionally cringe-inducing aspects of life and roll them into intricate character interactions that shine in their small moments and large alike.

Murray and Johansson are both tastefully, even impeccably cast. Murray bounces off of Johansson with a romantic charm that would be considered creepy if the film were in less capable hands. Yet their age difference is never an issue. If anything, it adds significantly to the spirit of what a hotel is: a timeless, ageless crossroads for people searching for fulfillment away from the comforts of home. This theme is crucial to understanding who these people are and why they would be vulnerable enough to approach one another in the first place. There is a youthful zeal to Bob’s antics, a sense of wonderment in Charlotte’s longing for purpose, and together they’re delightful in their tragic meeting. Despite the joy that they experience in their first quiet conversations at the hotel bar or in their escapades through the arcades of downtown Tokyo, there is always a knowing look of loss in their eyes. To each other, they are like beautiful relapses away from normal, and they both know that soon they will return to their homes and spouses again, and re-adjust. These things are never stated, only read. Read in the quaint eyebrow shifts, the mumbled trailing-off of loving sentences, the aching, intimate glances in the midst of open-mic karaoke. These are the moments that make Lost in Translation feel whole.

Lost in Translation speaks to a wistful transience, captured in its brittle, contemplative story of hotel guests transitioning from facelessness to fleeting connection. Just as a brief hotel stay, the experience exists in its own place, separated and distinct from the world, yet still familiar. And in the end, we must go home.