‘Hearts’ Attack

Stephen King steps into Norman Rockwell’s shoes

By

IT’S HARD to figure out how audiences will react to Hearts in Atlantis. On the one hand, we’ve been softened up by recent terror and are ready to have the nostalgia nerve pinched. On the other, this film is very close to the dregs of the bottomless barrel of Stephen King, upon whose book Hearts in Atlantis is based.

Here King is working in the Norman Rockwell field, in a story that crosses Needful Things with Stand by Me.

In 1960, in a New England town, the fatherless boy Bobby Garfield (Anton Yelchin) is being raised, sort of, by his mom Liz (Hope Davis, better than her role). A world-weary stranger named Ted Brautigan (Anthony Hopkins) moves into the apartment upstairs. He turns out to have the gift of second sight and is a fugitive from mysterious pursuers.

Events come to a head when Liz leaves her son for a weekend, despite her suspicions that the old man might be unnaturally fond of boys. (The fact that she suspects such a thing proves what a silly creature she is.)

Hopkins can be an evil delight, as we’ve seen when he’s played Dr. Lecter or Picasso, or in the mad scenes in Titus. He can also be Sir Anthony Hopkins, living embodiment of a stale theatrical tradition that always seems like class to American (or in this case Australian) directors. Here, mostly he’s the latter.

Hopkins is impressive in a pair of scenes: one, a little monologue about the last touchdown of football great Bronko Nagurski; second, in the most typically Stephen King moment in the film, when he uses his gifts as a psychic to cow a neighborhood bully.

It’s actually David Morse who gives the most memorable performance. In the film’s opening and closing sequences, Morse plays the elder Bobby, forced by a funeral to revisit his lost past. Morse emotes the anger and confusion of grief beautifully.

And to his credit, director Scott Hicks (Shine) does tend to dry up this wet material, though Hearts in Atlantis is overproduced to the extreme. Occasionally, Hicks recalls director Terrence Malick in passages of afternoon reveries, wind chimes on the front porch, a farewell scene first half-hidden and then eclipsed by white sheets on a clothesline.

In one moment, Hopkins quotes Ben Jonson on the subject of time, “the old, bold cheater.” Screenwriter William Goldman (The Princess Bride) is as old and bold and cheating as anyone in the business.

Some may swallow the film’s “truths” whole: that childhood is our happiest time, a fabulous land like Atlantis, and all else is ashes. Our first kiss “is the one you’ll measure all others by” (what, that dry smooch with Sandra Baldwin? She was 6 years old and had a lazy-eye patch!). Finally, that a negligent mother ought to watch her step.

There are neither enough supernatural or film noir elements here to disguise the sour tastes of Goldman’s moralizing, or to hide the film’s grim approval of the way Liz gets a harsh lesson on the importance of being a stay-home parent.

From the September 27-October 3, 2001 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Island Lovers

‘Italian Affair’ author fiddles with ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This is not a review; rather, it’s a freewheeling discussion of art, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

LAURA FRASER would take a love story over a war story any day. Blood and gore, it seems, make the San Francisco author cringe and shudder, which is what she does through much of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, the new Nicolas Cage World War II epic that swings manic-depressively between operatic scenes of misty-eyed romance and frightening moments of blood-soaked slaughter.

A stripped-down version of Louis de Berniere’s bestselling novel, the film follows the wartime romance between an Italian soldier-mandolinist (Cage) and the Greek beauty Pelagia (Penelope Cruz), whose charming little island, Cephalonia, is occupied by the Italian army for several months during the war.

Love occurs. Breasts are exposed. Bullets rip through quivering flesh.

“E cosi e finito,” Fraser sighs gratefully when the credits finally roll. “And so, it is over.”

With that, we head out in search of pizza.

Fraser, 40, is the author of An Italian Affair (Pantheon, $22). Written in novelesque second person, the unique travelogue recounts the writer’s sexual and spiritual adventures with a married Italian professor, whom Fraser met while mending a post-divorce broken heart on the little island of Ischia, west of Naples.

During the two-year affair, Fraser met the professor in various romantic locations around the globe. Many of those spots–like Ischia, the Aeolians, and Catalina–were islands.

But more on that later.

“The movie is, as they’d say in Italian, esagerato,” pronounces Fraser, sipping a beer while waiting for our pizza to arrive. “It was a big, operatic tearjerker where every emotion is exaggerated–the love speeches, the earthquakes–everything is overblown.”

Overblown, in particular, are the stereotyped portrayals of the Greeks and Italians.

“Especially the Italians,” she says. “I mean. the first thing out of Cage’s mouth is ‘Bella Bambina!’ Then there’s all that ‘We Italians, we love food, and wine, and making love’ stuff. Hollywood has a tendency to look at all Italians that way.”

“It’s not just Hollywood,” I point out. “Italian travel brochures tend to push that image as well.”

“True,” she allows. “Don’t get me wrong. Italians do put a high priority on eating and drinking and making love. They live their lives with a sense of gusto that American’s don’t. It’s one of the things I love about Italy. But that’s not all there is to Italians. They have a serious, dark side too.”

“How did Cage rate as an Italian?” I ask.

“Well, of course, he is an Italian-American,” she reminds me. “Actually, his accent wasn’t that bad.”

SHE ASKS if I’ve ever seen the film Mediterraneo, the 1991 Oscar winner about a band of Italian soldiers who are transformed from killers into human beings while stationed on a small Greek island.

That film, she argues, was a better representation of Italians, and also showed the transformative power of beautiful places, particularly of islands.

“Islands, says Fraser, “are great places to fall in love. In the book, just going to Italy to get over heartbreak, wasn’t enough. I had to go to an island. On an island, there’s a sense of leaving the rest of the world. It wasn’t until I got on the boat to Ischia that I truly believed I could leave something behind me, could leave some pain behind me.

And, evidently, find something as well.

“I think that, to fall in love, you have to have a sense that you’ve stepped outside your regular world,” Fraser says.

“There’s something about a place like Catalina Island or the Aeolian Islands, north of Sicily, that gives you a sense of space, that makes you feel vulnerable, that makes it possible to open up to another person.”

Corelli and Pelagia might agree. Had they met in, say, San Francisco, who knows if they’d have even noticed each other?

“Though, as far as cities go,” Fraser says, “San Francisco is not a bad place to fall in love.”

From the September 27-October 3, 2001 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Worlds of Wonder

Mill Valley Film Festival offers global visions

and Patrick Sullivan

For better or worse, the 24th annual Mill Valley Film Festival will take place in the early days of a whole new world–a world that began on Sept. 11. But while that day of terror has made travel difficult, all but one of the filmmakers invited to this international film festival will be in attendance. And all film prints are expected to arrive, even those coming from Beirut and Haifa.

By odd coincidence, this year’s festival features an abundance of films from around the world that, in the words of festival programmer Zoe Elton, show people enduring “extreme adversity, which they survive by learning compassion.”

From the Indian film Calmness (Oct. 9 at the Sequoia; Oct. 13 at the Rafael)–about a mother trying to forgive her son’s murderer–to the Robert Carlyle and Kiefer Sutherland drama To End All Wars (Oct. 6 at the Sequoia; Oct. 14 at the Rafael), the theme of compassion and forgiveness runs through the entire festival. “It’s something that we need right now,” says Elton.

The 11-day festival celebrates the accomplishments of a number of big names in contemporary cinema. MVFF kicks off on Thursday, Oct. 4, with a celebrity-packed opening night gala at the Mill Valley Community Center. On Saturday, Oct. 6, the festival salutes Ismail Merchant and screens the acclaimed director’s new film, The Mystic Masseur. Enjoy a “Pleasant (ville)” evening on Tuesday, Oct. 9, at a tribute to acclaimed indie actor William H. Macy. Jonathan Winters appears on Wednesday, Oct. 10, for an onstage interview and a screening of clips from this comic actor’s long career. On Thursday, Oct. 11, the festival offers a tribute to actor Malcolm McDowell. And finally, on Saturday, Oct. 13, celebrate the multitalented Sissy Spacek’s offbeat career.

World cinema always has a big presence at MVFF. Of special note is this year’s focus on films from Iran, that paradoxical land of government censorship and brilliant filmmaking talent. Seven Iranian films will be screened, including the promising The Legend of Love (Oct. 5 at the Sequoia; Oct. 6 at the Rafael), an allegoric tale about a woman’s search for her lost love from director Farhad Mehranfar (Paper Airplanes).

The festival also gives fans a chance to get an early look at some highly anticipated films from quirky American talents. On Oct. 6 and 7 at the Sequoia, catch Novocaine, a nasty little thriller starring Steve Martin as a dentist diving into the dark side of dental hygiene. On Sunday, Oct. 14, at the Rafael, see The Man Who Wasn’t There, the Coen Brothers’ new noir flick (which is set in Santa Rosa!).

Most films screen at two venues: the Rafael Film Center, 1118 Fourth St., San Rafael; and the Sequoia Theatre, 25 Throckmorton Ave., Mill Valley. Film festival schedules are available at both theaters and at many North Bay bookstores and coffeehouses. For details, call 925/866-9559 or log on to www.mvff.com.

From the September 27-October 3, 2001 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Local action: The colonel (actor Erik Chipchase) reviews his troops in John Harden’s ‘Breakfast with the Colonel,’ shot on a shoestring at the Marin Center and other North Bay locations.

Chilling Out

Rejects from Mill Valley Film Fest find new home

WHEN SANTA ROSA filmmaker John Harden first read the letter from the Sundance Film Festival, he wasn’t all that upset. Though his years-in-the-making feature-length film–a futuristic satire called Breakfast with the Colonel–had just been soundly rejected, Harden remained optimistic. Confident. Upbeat.

“All year long I’d been watching rejection slips come in from different festivals,” he explains, “all the while thinking I still had an ace in the hole. I still had the Mill Valley Film Festival.”

The affable Harden, 39 (who is the manager of the production department at the Bohemian), had enjoyed success with MVFF once before. In 1991, his documentary short Crute Mobile–which was selected to play on PBS’ acclaimed POV show–screened in Mill Valley. So he thought getting the new film into the festival seemed reasonably certain.

Then came the rejection letter from Mill Valley.

“At first I was just depressed,” Harden says. “The way I look at it, [the Mill Valley Film Festival] is too exclusive of local filmmakers. I don’t think it’s all about quality. I’ve seen some real stinkers at the festival. Shouldn’t being a local stinker give you some edge?”

Good question. Petaluma filmmakers Mitch Altieri and Phil Flores have been thinking about the same issue since Long Cut, their locally filmed drama, was passed over by Mill Valley. Says Altieri, “We were extremely shocked. We thought this was a festival that would support our film. Maybe they have to shove local films out of the way to make room for all the big-name prestige films.”

Flores, on the other hand, isn’t quite so surprised that Long Cut was cut. “It stings a bit, but I understand,” he says. “Our film is not for every audience. It’s a strange film. It probably didn’t fit the tone of this year’s festival. And maybe Mill Valley is a little dislocated from its own local filmmakers. I don’t know. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

But it does bother Harden, whose malaise gave way to an impulse to action. “Dammit,” he recalls deciding, “I’ll just have my own film festival!”

This reaction, a mix of disillusionment and good old American defiance–with perhaps a drop of the juice of sour grapes–began to take shape in Harden’s mind: he would create a film festival showcasing only movies that Mill Valley had rejected. Who wouldn’t want to see that? He posted a notice on the Internet and immediately received 16 replies from other disgruntled filmmakers–and thus was the Chill Valley Film Festival born.

Alongside Breakfast with the Colonel (co-created with San Rafael’s Glen Kinion), the Oct. 13 event will include Glen Grefe’s Nutcracker, a psychological thriller; and several yet-to-be-determined features and short films–all 100 percent guaranteed to have been flushed by the Mill Valley Film Festival.

Now, when it’s suggested that these films might have been turned down because they were maybe, ahem, not that good, Harden just laughs.

“Could be,” he says. “I certainly can’t be objective about my own movie. I think it’s pretty good. What the Chill Valley Film Festival will do is allow people to come see for themselves what was winnowed out.”

Right. By looking at films that were turned away by Mill Valley, film fans can learn a bit about the process of film selection at a prestigious international film festival. It’s a bit like seeing the outtakes on your Titanic DVD.

Worlds of Wonder: Mill Valley Film Festival offers global visions.

How, exactly, are films selected for the Mill Valley Film Festival? The short answer, according to the festival’s programming director Zoe Elton, is “very carefully.”

Each year, MVFF receives between 800 and 1,000 submissions, including shorts, full-length feature films, and documentaries. From these, says Elton, around 200 are ultimately chosen. Of those, approximately 70 are feature films.

“There are a lot of filmmakers out there,” she says.

Film selection is a two-tiered process. All submissions first pass through a screening committee made up of film professionals–writers, directors, and producers–from around the country. Each screener makes recommendations, which are passed on to a team of programmers, who look at the most highly recommended films. At least two specialized programmers–foreign-film specialists, documentary specialists, etc.–look at every film.

In response to Harden’s concern that local filmmakers aren’t properly represented, Elton explains that, of the films selected under this year’s American film program–that’s 21 flicks–more than a third were made by Bay Area directors.

NOT BAD, she says, when you consider this fact: “When we started, 24 years ago, we had to scrape around for local films.” Elton says, “The Bay Area has become a remarkable breeding ground for filmmakers. This is what Coppola and Lucas and Kaufman were dreaming of when they came here in the ’70s.”

As for Harden and any other locals who don’t make the cut, Elton understands their disappointment.

“You have to applaud anyone who completes a film, especially a feature film,” she says. “When it gets turned down, it’s hard not to take it personally.”

For Harden, as plans for the Chill Valley event develop, the pain of rejection is growing dimmer. Now he’s enjoying the connections he’s making with local filmmakers.

“After toiling in isolation for so long,” he says, “It’ll be fun to get together, show off our films, and swap stories.”

And, no doubt, compare a few rejection-slip battle scars.

The Chill Valley Film Festival takes place on Saturday, Oct. 13, from 1 to 11 p.m. at the College of Marin’s Olney Hall, 835 College Ave., Kentfield. Admission is $10. 415/457-8811 or chillvalley.com.

From the September 27-October 3, 2001 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Dark Victory

Shadows shine in ‘The Adventures of Prince Achmed’

By Patrick Sullivan

ONCE UPON a time, there was a clever girl whose skill with scissors was beyond compare. In her deft hands, these simple tools could produce paper wonderlands full of brave princes, evil wizards, and fearsome monsters. When she grew up, she created what may be the first animated feature film ever made.

Ten years before Walt Disney brought Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to the big screen, German experimental filmmaker Lotte Reiniger–the woman with the magic hands–and her collaborators finished The Adventures of Prince Achmed. In 1926, this silent masterpiece of silhouette animation began dazzling audiences from Berlin to Paris. But in 1945, Reiniger’s original print was destroyed in the Battle of Berlin.

Now the film is back, recently restored by the British Film Institute to its full-color, 35 mm glory, complete with the original score by composer Wolfgang Zeller.

The story itself is pure Arabian Nights–often entrancing, sometimes unintentionally hilarious, but always entertaining.

The epic tale begins when the caliph’s court in Baghdad is thrown into an uproar by the arrival of the mysterious African Sorcerer. The caliph covets the sorcerer’s magical flying horse and unwisely tells the wily knave to choose any treasure in return. Naturally, the scheming sorcerer wants the caliph’s daughter, the lovely Princess Dinarzade.

When the woman’s brother, Prince Achmed, intervenes, the sorcerer tricks the intrepid young man into mounting the magic horse, which promptly carries him off to parts unknown.

That doesn’t much bother Achmed, who is “young, and brave, and eager for adventure.” After discovering how to control his magic mount, he lands on a mysterious island, where he discovers true love with the exquisite Princess Peri Banu, ruler of the spirit land of the Waq Waq.

But the sorcerer ain’t done yet. Transforming himself into the most evil kangaroo ever seen on film, he tricks the prince again, kidnaps Peri Banu, and sells her to the emperor of China (another symptom of the strong strain of racial-sexual anxiety that runs through the film). Then the sorcerer goes back for the prince’s sister.

As the film explains, “Great was the might of the African Sorcerer,” so Prince Achmed continues to get his butt kicked until he wises up and enlists allies–the fearsome Fire Mountain Witch, plus Aladdin and his famous lamp. With magical help, the prince bests a staggering array of supernatural baddies, from the vengeful spirits of the Waq Waq to a hilariously carnivorous elephant with giant fangs.

Anyone who imagines that shadow puppets captured frame by frame on film cannot tell a compelling story has not seen The Adventures of Prince Achmed.

These characters are often more fun to watch than those found in the most finely detailed computer animation from Pixar. Especially good is the African Sorcerer, whose insectile body goes through incredible contortions as he scuttles through the scenery or transforms into various terrifying creatures.

Reiniger’s film also offers stunningly dramatic visuals that make very effective use of background color. In one notable scene, the prince watches Peri Banu and her maidens as they shed their magic flying cloaks to bathe in a lake. This enchanting interlude is heart-stopping in its ethereal black-on-blue beauty.

The only disquieting thing about this film (besides the racial stereotypes) is the troublesome questions it raises about 21st-century animators.

Seventy-five years after the debut of The Adventures of Prince Achmed, filmmakers have amazing technical innovations at their disposal. But most of them have a lot to learn from an old-fashioned storyteller named Lotte Reiniger.

‘The Adventures of Prince Achmed’ screens Sept. 28-29 at 7 p.m. at the Sonoma Film Institute, Sonoma State University, 1108 Darwin Hall, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. $4.50. 707/664-2606.

From the September 27-October 3, 2001 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.