Regional Review: Jackelope

Any film that features several fleeting shots of landmarks and buildings that stood just a few hundred yards from my childhood home is bound to enamor itself to my heart, which is exactly what Kenneth Harrison's 1976 documentary "Jackelope" has done. Those images- captured while one of the film's subjects is making a pilgrimage down I-35 from Dallas to Austin- only last a second or two, but they serve as a monochrome reminder that no matter what happens to those structures later in life (one of which now has been torn down), they'll be preserved in the cinematic ether for a brief instant... somewhere. Beyond that tangential personal connection, the film also excels because it's an eccentric time capsule of early 1970's Texas through the visionary work of three diverse artists who mold, cut, paint or fabricate their "outsider" folk art. Rarely does a documentary so neatly blend interesting people with the atmospheric poise of the times.

Originally prepared and shown on Dallas' public access channel, KERA, in 1976, "Jackelope" recently received a restoration and became one of the many great entries presented at the 2015 Dallas VideoFest. I wrote in the primer to the festival about "Jackelope", calling it aimless, entrancing and fascinating and a film that highlights the against-the-grain philosophy of the snooty art world paradigms. Patting myself on the back, that's about as apt a description one can muster for it.

Opening on artist James Surls as he scavenges and ultimately finds the perfect tree within an overgrown field on one of those obviously blistering hot summer days we're known for here in Texas, "Jackelope" follows a certain procession of creativity. In Surls' portion, more attention is given with the actual sawing down of the tree and its eventual shape through his endless whittling of the wood into a tall figurine. We're shown the birth of his art from idealized vision to tactile representation. The second portion of "Jackelope" picks up with painter George Green in his Houston studio as he hobknobs with friends and reflects on his past. Glimpses of his art are shown, but the focus in this middle portion lies within the comfortable surroundings of an artist content and at peace with his lot in his life. The third and most rambunctious portion of the film follows sculpture Bob Wade as he roadtrips to Austin, making a pit-stop in Waco, Texas to enjoy a friendly round of shotgun mayhem and car explosions. Just like his art (which has graced so many Central Texas institutions and businesses over the years, including my college grounds), Wade is a colorful and country-funky-steampunk figure who gives "Jackelope" a boundless energy. In this third and final portion, its as if director Harrison is saying that art- come full circle- is an experience that doesn't need to be constipated or retained for a certain percentile of people. It can be wild, joyous and a completely passionate expression of someone who lives life the same way.

An obvious crowd favorite at the festival, my only regret was not hooking up with director Harrison for a chat about his work and the film. I'm sure his memories of crafting such a loving documentary are just as infectious as the buoyant personalities shown on-screen.

Regional Review: A Teacher

Austin Filmmaker Hannah Fidell's technical and thematic maturity doesn't seem to fit her young age (now only 28)..... especially since the salacious material in her feature length debut "A Teacher" is an easily untranslatable subject. But, she makes it work and work beautifully, almost peeling back the skin of her lead character Diana (Lindsay Burdge) with her camera and creating images that feel like they're projecting out of her increasingly crumbling sense of mind. As the thirty-something teacher hopelessly (and physically) unquenched by her relationship with teenage student Eric (Will Brittain), it'd be easy to dismiss "A Teacher" without seeing it for fear of something close to 'erotica-lite'. After all, Jennifer Lopez recently bombed with "The Boy Next Door", so scandalous older woman-student diversions aren't the most respected genres out there. Yet it's not necessarily the material that's stunning about Fidell's film. Although it is sexually frank and continually frames its May-December couple in no nonsense moments of intimacy and grown up playfulness, "A Teacher" is only the jumping off point for something more troubling, which comes into effect through the naturalistic and nuanced performance of Burdge as she reveals a woman running from some whispered emotional vacancies in her life and using her taboo attraction to mask the scars of something deeper.

Employing a mixture of over-the-shoulder hand held shots (as Fidell admitted in an interview with "Filmmaker" magazine that she cribbed from watching all the Dardenne Brothers films) and glacial tracking moves, the overall mood of "A Teacher" is haunting and assured. As Diana's mental state and ability to control the passion confusedly swirling inside her escalates, Fidell's camera sinks closer and more unstable. If anything, Fidell's film belongs in the new wave category of young directors taking the cinema of Michael Haneke a step further and adding their own millennial generation spin. Antonio Campus ("Afterschool" and "Simon Killer"), Sean Durkin ("Marcy May Marlene") and Gerardo Naranjo ("Miss Bala") all tackle uncomfortable subjects head-on, refusing to flinch and utilizing their cameras as if we were watching surveillance footage, daring us to look away at the abhorred themes of youthful dispassion and mental insecurity. Even though we're not dealing with violent Mexican drug cartels or sadistic teen murderers with "A Teacher", its story is equally unsettling in the bland, cumulative ways it reveals the slow dissolve of a fragile mind. The moment teacher Diana (in school dance chaperon mode) hopelessly and jealously stares at a female student in the bathroom mirror simply because she went to the dance as young Eric's age appropriate date, we know the damage is irreparable. Like her entire performance, it's there in the eyes and guarded body language of actress Burdge.

Not a native Texan, Fidell's "A Teacher" does take place in Austin, Texas. Largely indistinguishable (except for a few out-of-focus I-35 shots with downtown looming in the distance), the film does detour into the hill country when Diana and Eric steal away to a ranch in the country. The freedom provided by its sun-drenched country soon becomes troubling. They may feel secluded, but the owner of the ranch (who alludes to knowing Eric but more specifically his father) unexpectedly drops in and almost busts the two together. Serving as the sensible wake-up call to Diana, she suggests the two cool their relationship for a while, which is easier said than done on her part. The rest of the film remains couched in numbing suburbia.... neighborhoods of pleasant looking houses and drab, fluorescent school hallways, but there is that wonderful sense of vastness represented by the ranch. Like Texas itself, "A Teacher" explores the highs and lows of this state's erratic landscapes.

With her next film already completed and receiving good word of mouth at this year's South by Southwest Festival, its fairly easy to say Hannah Fidell has arrived. I hope she continues her competent explorations of both Texas and the complex dynamics of the people who inhabit it.

Regional Review: Drive-In (1976)

There's an extended scene in Rod Amateau's "Drive-In" that places a majority of the film's characters circling each other at a roller skate rink as they flirt, fight and discuss their upcoming weekend plans. Not only does this scene feel uniquely antiquated due to its now foreign setting of a by-gone juvenile playtime (which I took part in weekly myself) that no teenager probably even knows about today, but it creates an innocent introduction to a host of kids without a hint of sarcasm or irony that would surround a scene like this today. Basically, "Drive-In" is a film of its time... and its a wonderfully realized representation of small town Texas.

Filmed in the flat, suburban town of Terrell, Texas (approximately 30 miles east of Dallas), "Drive-In" centers its action around the now defunct drive-in theater that once existed in the small town. Sadly, its now a gas station. We're introduced to a variety of people. There's Orville (Glenn Morshower, the man best known for playing Aaron Pierce on "24"), the laid back good kid who finds himself unwillingly fighting for the affections of beautiful Glowie (Lisa Lemole), even though her ex-boyfriend Enoch (Billy Milliken) is the leader of a local gang. Two older men, Will (Gordon Hurst) and Gifford (Trey Wilson, always remembered for his role as Nathan Arizona in the Coen Brothers "Raising Arizona") plan on robbing the drive-in theater later that night. Local town stud Bill (Kent Perkins) and his girlfriend have taken the first step of engagement, but they are having second thoughts. Throw in the casual mix of best friends, little brothers and adults trying to maintain a grasp on the teenagers and "Drive-In" resembles the many efforts that track teenage angst and emotional confusion through the course of one long, aimless night.

Director Rod Amateau is an interesting study. Mainly working in television, his only other film credit is the 1987 "Garbage Pail Kids Movie". From a visual stand-point, "Drive-In" is ordinary. It's the witty, Texas-lingo'ed script by Bob Peete that makes the film. Full of head-spinning analogies and aw-shucks sayings ("whoo, whee bless your mom and dad" when one character sees an amply bossomed girl), it also features some wise, philosophical moments, especially in its recreation of young love. As Glowie, Lisa Lemole (beautiful beyond belief) gets the best of them. A bit of the eye-roll is necessary at times, but that's the most charming thing about the film. Owing itself to a long line of Texas cinema, we seem to be indebted to the listless days and nights that dot our childhood. From filmmakers Richard Linklater to Texas perennial Eagle Pennell, the minute focus of a small group over the course of a short period of time has been the cathartic ambition of Texas filmmaking. And the ordinary Texas setting of Terrell fits right into the catalog of normal landscapes playing host to larger-than-life events that shape and formulate the young lives of Texas men and women. Whether its a drive-in theater, a local watering hole ("Last Night At the Alamo") or the last night of high school ("Dazed and Confused"), what really matters are the connections we create and destroy at pivotal times in our lives.

Trailers I Love

Not only is it cool to see a local boy doing good, but one that I've converesed with a few times and probably shared a theater with over the years in Dallas. High anticipation for David Lowery's "Aint Them Bodies Saints".

Regional Review: Primer

The cult of Carruth is strong, at least here in Texas. Widely praised (both locally and globally), filmmaker/editor/producer Shane Carruth stirred the intellectual juices in 2004 with the release of his time travel indie "Primer".... so much so that entire web sites and complicated timelines have been established over the years to explain and justify the thoroughly confusing narrative. I, personally, have seen it three times, and only upon viewing it this week did I realize two more aspects of the film I'd never understood before- quick snatches of images (an attic door) and a conversation ("what did you say when you first came in?")- that add new rivets of comprehension to an elaborately realized plot. But, if one hasn't seen "Primer" (or Carruth's hotly anticipated new film "Upstream Color" that I'll be seeing tonight and was cause for minor celebration during the Dallas Film Fest last week), then I highly encourage it. Instead, as with the rest of this series, this review is more attuned to the setting of a film rather than the usual analysis/opinion.


Filmed for reportedly around $7000, Carruth's vision of urban Texas, and specifically Dallas, isn't the high watermark for regional cinema. Due to budgetary constraints, "Primer" is a real low-fi effort, examining the ugly fluorescent interiors of storage lockers and warmly lit urban sprawl homes with precision more so than illuminating the magnificent downtown skyline at night. Yet it works for this film. Aaron (Carruth himself) and Abe (David Sullivan) are seemingly stuck in the same bureaucratic, dead end computer tech lifestyle of the Richardson/North Dallas area much like the characters in "Office Space", albeit with much less comic timing. Anyone who has ever spent time in the Richardson area understands this description, a direct northern suburb of downtown Dallas whose sole architectural palette are rows of endless, non descript office buildings and criss-crossing highways. "Primer" nails this flat landscape with alarming precision. It's fitting that one of the movie's central scenes (both through exposition and visually) sets the duo amongst a cascading water fountain at night, the sounds and deep blacks of the night serving as a powerful contradiction to the sun-lit, concrete scenes that directly proceed this conversation. After that, we're back to the landscape of office buildings, garages, and cramped vertical apartment complexes that dominate the film. Both in editing (snap-bang style of images and sounds that repeats itself like that of Aronofsky or P.T. Anderson) and visual style, Carruth knows what he's doing and milks the North Dallas area for all its banal glory.


By saying all the above, I don't mean to degrade Richardson or North Dallas- hell Richardson will soon be home to the coolest cinema spot in town once the Alamo Drafthouse completes construction of its multimedia center and diner. Some areas are natural overflow for the megaplex of a downtown, and Richardson happens to hold that title. Perhaps its this reason filmmaker Carruth decided to utilize that area as the setting for "Primer", just as he does in his latest film "Upstream Color". Non-descript overflow for downtown can be the most insidious pockets in a city. And while the endless permutations of time travel are front and center in "Primer", Carruth subtly implies that covered garages and Uhaul storage lockers (which are in every city and town) can be ground zero for real psychological horror.

Urban Wasteland: Killer Joe

William Friedkin's "Killer Joe" is an aggressive white-trash film noir that consistently shifts its point of view between its characters, creating a bizarre and almost over-the-top narrative that accelerates as its progresses to its shattering finale. And did I mention it's brutally funny... as well as just brutal?

Starring Matthew McConaughy as the titular cop turned contract killer, he's brought into the illicit scheme of a dumber-than-dirt Dallas family to murder and collect the insurance money of another family member. The father and son duo of Emile Hirsch and Thomas Haden Church fail to realize the full implications of their plan, especially after Joe falls in love with their damaged, vulnerable sister/daughter Juno Temple. Snaking its way through the noir machinations, "Killer Joe" is a dirty, grimy experience that feels like a B-movie from the mid-90's Oliver Stone... and I mean all of this in the most positive way. I was riveted, unable to take my eyes off the screen as McConaughey owns every scene and plot the reversals fly from out of nowhere. "Killer Joe" also takes as its milieu the downtrodden, dilapidated wasteland of West Dallas. Nary a skyscraper or downtown skyline is in view, instead placing the characters among the Trinity river outflow boundary.... a cesspool of abandoned train tracks, broken down pool halls and graffiti rimmed highway underpasses. It's probably one of the most striking films I've ever seen filmed in Dallas without actually revealing any charm or technology of the city.

Adapted from a play by Tracey Letts, this is the second collaboration between he Friedkin, the first being the equally tough "Bug" in 2006. Both films frame their collective genres- psychological horror and film noir- within a strictly interior mode. "Killer Joe" features a wham-bam editing style, whose cuts and reaction shots are incisive and almost hurtful. "Killer Joe" is much closer in style to Freidkin's "The Exorcist" than anything else he's done. Secondly, the sound design is amazing, crafting barking dog noises, helicopters whirling overhead and engines revving into an overwhelming canvas of buzz. All of this frames "Killer Joe" as a technically unnerving effort. But perhaps the most interior moments of all reside in the outstanding finale, where tense conversation and psychological warfare meet over a dinner table full of fried chicken and almost unbearable silence. I doubt this was the type of endorsement KFC was looking for.

Regional Review- Boxing Gym

I've always appreciated the (dying) sport of boxing. I can remember watching Friday Night Fights during the summer with my grandfather. I've been to numerous boxing events in my time, continually marveling at the dynamics of the sport... appreciating the thought that goes into every punch and counter punch. In spite of the now dominant MMA, boxing is and always will be a cerebral event that celebrates and awards reaction over action. As he's done with this country's major institutions over the past 40 years, director Frederick Wiseman simply observes the process and the people, tackling the sport of boxing and its rhythmic, at times floating, mechanics with gentle observation. And even though there are very few exterior shots of Austin, Texas revealed in Wiseman's documentary on Lord's Gym, one can sense the tight community and melancholy attitude that dots this unique Texas landscape previously exploited by filmmakers as diverse as Richard Linklater and Robert Rodriguez.

Tucked away off Lamar Avenue outside downtown Austin, Lord's Gym is presented as a cluttered cave of forgotten equipment and retro ideas. Focusing on its owner and trainer, Richard Lord, he comes off as a tough but loving teacher of the sport. When potential applicants come into the gym, Lord espouses the need for boxing as the ability to avoid fighting rather than getting into them. Wiseman culls footage from several facets of the place, from Lord's training of boxers to the average joe who pays his $50 a month application fee and learns timing from the speed bag. There are hanger-ons (including ex boxers) who watch the flurry of activity with punch-drunk sideways glances, moms with their infant babies perched ever so carefully in their cribs on the floor and youths who begin their experience beating on a tire outside. Wiseman molds all of this into his typically systematic editing style that lulls the viewer into the film's hypnotic spell. And when current events slyly work their way into the documentary- as two men discuss the Virgina Tech shooting that is just happening- "Boxing Gym" becomes a metaphor for defending oneself in these chaotic and unsettling times.

Despite its truncated running time (a mere 90 minutes) perhaps the most revolutionary aspect of Wiseman's latest is the way he builds the context of the film, denying the viewer the ultimate pleasure of watching two people fight, training his camera on the friendly interactions between average customers of the gym and their shared camaraderie in the process of boxing over the brute force. More interesting than watching yet another boxing match is the long take of a man and woman shadow boxing separately in the same ring, seemingly unaware of each other. They are both, obviously, deep in thought over their foot work and ability to bounce off the ropes and Wiseman carries this rhythmic dance for what feels like an eternity, giving us yet another transcendent moment of live lived rather than fictionalized. Shots of the University of Texas and the Austin Capital do make their presence, eventually, in "Boxing Gym" but they're dwarfed by Richard Lord's benevolent monologues and the denizens of his gym.

Regional Review: August Evening

Chris Eska's "August Evening" feels like a seminal Texas film. In capturing the humid, lazy evenings of Southeast Texas and those beautiful orange skies that temporarily pop up in the summer months, "August Evening" speaks volumes about a certain lifestyle. But things can also be hard in this idyllic setting, as the film soon reveals. After the death of her mother, Lupe (Veronica Loren) and her migrant worker father-in-law Jaime (Pedro Castaneda), leave their small shack and bounce back and forth between family members in San Antonio as they desperately try to find a place in this quickly evolving world. Lupe, once married but resistant to meeting anyone new for oblique reasons, forms a relationship with Luis (Walter Perez) that develops in patient, gentle ways.


The initial reaction to "August Evening" is to lump it in with other films that document the rough struggle of Hispanic men and women to fit into the American sideline of life. But a majority of the men and women in Eska's film have already successfully adapted and conquered the hardships of this transition. Jaime's daughter, Andrea (Grisel Rodrigues) is married to a rich white man... so busy with her own life that she doesn't even spend a day at home with her father after the funeral of her mother. And when Jaime and Lupe travel to San Antonio, she gives them shelter for a few days, but finds that putting up with two more people in their luxurious house is too much of a chore and shuttles them off to Victor (Abel Becerra), her brother. Victor's situation is just as stressful, compromised all the more when Lupe mistakenly allows Victor's youngest son to wander away from the house... a plot device that spells out just how vastly different life is from their country shack to the cosmopolitan San Antonio. The main point of "August Evening", while drawing out small sketches of personality in its well-drawn characters, is that life is hard in America, but it's even harder amongst this individual family.


Filmed in the mid-Sothern parts of Texas such as Boerne and Gonzales Texas (i.e. the hinterlands south of Austin and north of San Antonio), Eska nails the laziness these parts of the exude. And while the brilliant sunsets and humidity leak off the screen, most realistic is the sound of crickets that swells and dies off in one scene. Anyone spending any time in Texas surely understands that unmistakable chorus. Released in 2008, "August Evening" was a feature in South By Southwest that year after winning the John Cassavettes award at Sundance in January. The award, which recognizes the best feature made for under $500,000, gives filmmaker Eska a bright future, but once one watches "August Evening", the proof is right there on the screen.

Concrete Beauty

Pretty speechless by this video.... Dallas architecture timed to beautiful perfection.

Dennis Hopper and the Texas Connection

The passing of Dennis Hopper over the weekend brought out alot of RIP pieces... and rightly so. Hopper was a maverick of his generation, a laid back provocateur and diverse actor who (mostly) infused every role with something fierce. Even in some of his very bad direct to video releases, he maintained an edge that is always watchable.

One of the more illuminating pieces on his lifetime was this article in the Dallas Observer, detailing the decades long pissing match between Hopper and Dallas wild child native writer Terry Southern over some copyright issues with the breakthrough late 60's film "Easy Rider". Along the way, the article links out to some rare Dallas photos when Hopper visited in the early 70's for an appearance to the USA Film Festival and details some out of control actions by Hopper during his time here. If one is looking for accolades, look elsewhere. What this excellent article does give is a wide-eyed view of a man kinda lost in the haze of the 70's and unwilling to admit any mistakes after emerging from that haze. As an all encompassing addition to the index of lovingly recreated RIP articles, this one lays out the bad and sometimes ugly. It's only fair that a man's life is remembered in all its aspects.

Regional Review: R.O.T.O.R

If you're like me, this poster for Cullen Blaine's "R.O.T.O.R." is a memorable jog down VHS memory lane. No budget to the max and filmed in and around Dallas and North Texas in the late 80's, "R.O.T.O.R" (which stands for Robotic Officer Tactical Operation Research) attempted to gain some additional mileage out of the popularity of Paul Verhoeven's "Robocop"- another film shot in Dallas due to its then futuristic downtown skyline. But "R.O.T.O.R" is no "Robocop". With a cast of no names whose performances border on extreme camp and very little action until the final 30 minutes, "R.O.T.O.R" does belong in a very small sub sect of films that use Dallas as a backdrop. I just wonder why it always has to be of a city fatigued by futuristics thugs, rapists and thieves?

Beginning as Dr Coldyron (Richard Gesswein) is booted from his beloved project of creating a superhuman robotic police officer due to bureaucratic impatience, "R.O.T.O.R" lingers on the concrete jungle of downtown and I-35. As something goes terribly wrong with his project and the officer is unleashed on the Texas population, the film's no-budget becomes increasingly apparent as the film turns to night-time scenes "somewhere off I-20 West", locating itself around unspecific gas stations, farmland and Lake Dallas (which is nowhere near I-20 unfortunately). In terms of visual acuity, "R.O.T.O.R" has none of it. The pleasure from this film, though, lies in its so-bad-its-good dialogue and obvious affinity for cheap theatrics, such as a robot whose neck is a dryer hose and spouts off lines like "I think this is how the Terminator got its start." In the right frame of mind, "R.O.T.O.R" can be terrifically entertaining though.


Joining the very limited ranks of North Texas set films- Shane Carruth's "Primer", Wes Anderson's "Bottle Rocket", Mike Judge's "Office Space" and the aforementioned "Robobcop" as the most famous- Dallas comes in a distant third behind Texas filmmaking cities. While Austin and Houston contain firm production companies and outfits of filmmakers, Dallas has a spare filmmaking identity. While "R.O.T.O.R" has done little to advance this cause, it's fun to step back in time almost 20 years ago and see even a bad movie glamorizing my fair city.

Regional Review: The Whole Shootin' Match

The story of Eagle Pennell is a truly tragic one, yet we can always find beauty and redemption in the archived work of a filmmaker (justly) coming to light. After IFC snuck Pennell's 1984 film "Last Night At the Alamo" into their lackluster rotation a few months back, I feel privileged to have seen two Eagle films now. His second film, "The Whole Shootin Match", released in 1978, has been credited as the film that encouraged Robert Redford to launch the Sundance Film Festival. And I can't imagine a better film to watch on a hot July Texas night when it's still 95 degrees at 11pm.


Like most of his characters, Lloyd (Lou Perryman) and Frank (Sonny Carl Davis) are decent southern boys constantly trying to carve a niche for themselves amongst their nights of chasing women and drinking. In "The Whole Shootin' Match", Lloyd and Sonny fare much better than the layabouts in "Last Night At the Alamo", though to be fair, that film is strictly about one night in the life of a closing Houston bar and its denizens. Lloyd is an especially inventive guy, continually creating things out of PVC pipe and metal in his backyard. Yet in his customary fatalistic world-view, Pennell chooses to end this stroke of good luck as a corporate fast-one. The good 'ol boys are taken for a ride and lose out on their patent for a mop by a shady downtown Austin businessman who blinds the guys with a wad of quick cash- cash that Sonny quickly wastes on a suit and convertible. While a small part of the film documents the duo's brave attempts to scratch out a living on the fringes of society, the real gist of the film is their lazy interaction with each other and the women in Sonny's life. While this aspect of the film is highly entertaining and Pennell scribbles out some intently hilarious conversations between these two slow-drawl guys, "The Whole Shootin' Match" is (to me) a much more valuable commodity for its anthropological take on Texas in the mid 70's.

Filmed in and around Austin, Pennell frames a bit of his film in the concrete jungle of downtown Austin (as the previously mentioned scene where the guys sell their idea and get taken) but the majority of its setting is the hinterlands of south central Texas. Largely anonymous dirt roads, backyards and darkened highways, Pennell does evoke a serene beauty during the film's final images of the guys wandering in the clustered hills west of Austin. The clash between good 'ol boy nature and hippie central (Austin, well noted, is known as the most liberal city in Texas) is touched on as well during a scene where the guys attempt to kickstart a new polyuerthane business on a unique house in the Austin hills. Whether he means to or not, Pennell conveys alot about the clash of personalities in his films. More sure of himself in the hazy interactions between drinking buddies than fully realized relationships, "The Whole Shootin Match" does give ample screentime to Sonny's wife (a wonderful Doris Hargrave) and her slow attraction to Sonny's cousin (Eric Henshaw) in scenes that come off funny and real. The act of giving a bicycle to Sonny's young son squeezes alot of mileage out of its simple plot point. Pennell condenses alot of personality in conversations and "The Whole Shootin' Match" is a film full of them.


A poignant footnote to my viewing of "The Whole Shootin' Match" was certainly overshadowed by the news of actor Lou Perryman's death just a month or so after this film's DVD release and the virtual excitement being stirred by Pennell's maverick filmmaker status. Watching the scenes towards the end of "The Whole Shootin Match" as Lloyd and Frank dutifully search for lost gold in the hills, yet another unfulfilled get-rich-quick scheme in their never-resting-minds, I kept coming back to the image above as Lou rests on the downslope of a hill with a large tree blotting out the sky behind him. If ever there was a more glorious image of a man at peace with nature, this is it. Again, whether he meant to or not, Pennell and alter-ego Lou Perryman delve into the beauty of the Texas lanscape with a singular feeling for what makes this great state so breathtaking at times.

Regional Review: The Unforeseen

The idea of a documentary about the impending collapse of a nature reserve due to housing development and urban sprawl sounds amazingly dry, but in the hands of documetarian Laure Dunn (and executive producers Terence Malick and Robert Redford), the notion suggests something close to riveting crime scene analysis. In the late 70's, the boom of Austin, Texas poised an interesting dilemma- continue to grow as the state's capital and expand through modern architecture and urban development or maintain its "country family" outlook with a few dashes of liberal (i.e. environmentalists) state of mind. The center of attention for "The Unforeseen" becomes Barton Springs, the largest natural spring water pool in the United States, located in an area that comprises over 300 acres south of Austin. As Austin grew and suburban housing developments became a modern way of slicing up the land and morphing into a metropolis, the city was faced with a dire situation that pitted government against the lowly voter. A political tug of war ensued into the late 80's as the film carefully charts the ebb and tide of manipulative funding institutions, development Realtors, common folk who reminisce about a Barton Springs before pollution, and even George W. Bush. If it's about the evils of Texas politics, then you can be sure W makes an appearance.

But even though Dunn's sympathies are clearly laid out from the beginning (why else make a movie about this??), she does a respectable job of presenting some gray areas as well. The film begins with the life story of Gary Bradley, a West Texas real estate developer who gets in over his head with the housing market in Barton Springs. Inching closer and closer to bankruptcy as the fight over Barton Springs dovetails over the years (and eventually martyred as the scapegoat when the banking and loans crisis hits in the late 80's), Bradley still isn't painted as the big bad corporate guy. Dunn portrays him as a man who simply wanted to make his mark in his homeland state and give something back to the land that nurtured his farming family as a child. In this regard, "The Unforeseen" becomes an even handed examination of the problem. And when Bradley sheds a few tears over the experience, it doesn't ring hollow. Even though I personally have never been to "Barton Springs", I feel a little closer to it's natural landscape and the battles that have given it new life.

Malick Makes My Wish Come True

Late last year, I posted a wish list that surfaced the idea that one of my favorite directors, Terrence Malick, would get his latest film off the ground. Now, it's not a secret that Malick is from my small hometown in Texas, but while visiting family over the weekend, my mother mentioned that part of downtown had been closed for a movie shoot late on Friday night. She brought the article in and, utterly surprised, it described the possibility of director Terrence Malick shooting scenes for his latest film, "Tree Of Life" which was originally thought to be filming outside of Austin with Brad Pitt. Another article from an Austin source describes the film as a memoir of Malick's days growing up in Waco during the 1950's. Very cool stuff. I can only imagine the lyrical greatness Malick could bring to small town Texas. And I apologize if this is redundant news. This was probably posted weeks ago on Variety and other publications, but since I despise those mags that are one step above tabloids, I gather my news from elsewhere.

Regional Review: Room

Director Kyle Henry's debut fiction film, "Room", inspires comparison to the weird vibes present in a lot of David Lynch's dreamy narratives. And while Henry's film leaves just as much to be desired in way of commercial closure as Lynch's trips down nightmare alleys, the overall effect isn't quite as effective. Almost though... and that's a pretty good compliment.

Julia (Cindi Williams) is not your typical movie star. Middle aged, out of shape and average lower middle class, she makes ends meets by working nights in a bingo hall. She has two girls and a loving husband and a scrapped-together existence in Houston. Inexplicably, images start to imprint themselves in her head when she sleeps, eventually overtaking her emotions, causing random black outs. The visions, shown in saturated video clips which include a drone buzzing sound, reveal an unidentifed room. Unable to function and driven by the images, Julia robs her bingo hall and hops the first flight to New York. Once Henry's film globe-trots out of the muggy Houston atmosphere, the mood becomes strange and elliptical, neutralizing spoken dialogue for long stretches as Julia wanders New York City hoping she can find the room. Williams gives a believable performance, transitioning quietly from a subservient mom to obsessed seeker. And director Henry is clearly more interested in the evolution of this single character rather than servicing a story with logical resolution. Not only does Julia leave her suburban Texas life behind, but she initiates a one-night stand with a man in a bar (wearing a cowboy hat and calling himself Big Tex, naturally) and, in the movie's most vivid moment, seeks the advice of a fortune teller. It's a compelling scene that most closely resembles the cryptic impulses of Lynch.

Running only 70 minutes, University of Texas graduate Kyle Henry seems to be struggling with developing from short films and documentaries to feature length efforts, but "Room" showcases a distinct eye and ear for avant garde filmmaking nonetheless. "Room" was nominated at the 2006 Independent Spirit Awards for its John Cassavettes award. Henry's other cinematic passion is editing, and the subliminal cuts to Julia's disturbing images prove a deft touch in image and juxtaposition. The latent feel and expertise is there, now I'm wondering what Henry can do with a fully formed script. Produced by Michael Stipe and Jim McKay, "Room" benefits from their production company, C-Hundred Film Corp which seems to be a mainstay for true independent filmmaking. Not only have they produced a majority of McKay's own films (including "Our Song") but the films of Christopher Munch ("The Hours and the Times" and the hugely underrated "Sleepy Time Gal"). It's encouraging to see a company with disciplined attention on films that could fall through the cracks. "Room" certainly qualifies as one of those films, saved from extinction and breathing life into a burgeoning filmmaker. I look forward to what Henry does next.

Regional Review: Chalk

Mike Akel's Chalk aims to do for public schools what Christopher Guest did with small town pageantry.... and folk music.... and dog shows. But where Guest's comedies often veer into exaggerated territory, most of Chalk keeps its humor close to the vest, creating an affectionate and warmly humorous mockumentary. Following the school year of 4 teachers at Harrison High (actually Austin's own Travis County High school), Chalk received a cinematic push when it cleaned up awards at the 2006 Austin Film Festival, went onto strong word-of-mouth at the AFI fest here in Dallas in early '07, and gained Morgan Spurlock as its central spokesperson and executive producer. But I imagine Chalk would've succeeded without it grass-roots exposure because it feels so genuine. And it can also be interpreted as an eerie companion piece to Season 4 of David Simon's blisteringly authentic HBO series The Wire, in which they spent close to 9-10 episodes focused solely on Baltimore's stumbling educational system and its malcontent students. Taken together, both artistic visions represent a scathing yet redemptive portrait of our modern school districts. The Wire does it through harsh political commentary and young kids falling down the rabbit hole while Chalk gives us teachers who care more about winning the "Teacher of the Year" award rather than actually teaching his class anything. But remember, Chalk is a comedy.

There are five main characters we follow in the film. The new guy on the block is Mr. Lowery (Troy Schremmer), a recent engineer-turned-teacher getting his comeuppance by awkwardly stuttering through his lesson plans, dealing with cell phones in his class and an overall confidence problem. Someone not timid and awkward is Mr. Stroope (co-writer Chris Mass), a thirty-something guy who thinks he's got his classes all figured out. Be their friend, win the Teacher of the Year award and float through the semester. And while Mass could've embodied Stroop as a genuine asshole, there's something very casual and laugh out loud funny about his performance, full of improvisation between the actual students and himself. There's a rapport built up between him and the students that's hard to shake. We're also introduced to Coach Webb (Janelle Schremmer), petite and short-haired who prefers to teach yoga in her gym class rather than volleyball and basketball. She develops a crush on Mr. Lowery. As real life husband and wife, a small but unacknowledged flirtation erupts between the two on film and director Akel adequately exploits the sexual tension just under the surface between these two. It's to his credit that we're given so much with so less. Finally, there's Mrs. Reddell (Shannon Haragan), a music teacher promoted to assistant principal and struggling to find the balance between old friendships (with Coach Webb) and carrying out her administrative duties.

What's most impressive about Chalk is the way it eschews so many 'school drama' cliches and pulls gentle laughs out of its talented and amateur cast. One of the more exhilarating and profound examples of this generosity lies in the "slang bee" that the teachers take part in. Apparently a tradition at Harrison High, the teachers are put on stage by the students and have to spell out slang terms the students use throughout the year. What could have come off as mawkish and stunted turns into a moving vignette of teachers and students bonding over generational gaps and ethnic backgrounds. Everyone sells this moment in the film as believable, and perhaps, what we need more of in this intellectually stunted world are more selfless moments like the slang bee and less self-righteous divisions between educator and student. Chalk is still, after all, just a well intentioned comedy, but it ends up saying a lot more than so many well intentioned films. Director Mike Akel is one to watch.