Wise Gals

A very Indie film that feeds off of both the buddy film craze of the time and the concluding notes of the Vietnam war, 1975's Best Friends, written by Arnold Somkin and directed by Noel Nosseck, is exactly as it sounds, that is, until it isn’t. Jesse (Richard Hatch) and Pat (Doug Chapin) have been best friends for years. Frick to the other’s Frack, they spend all of their time together. . . going as far as heading off to war when they are of age. Now returning from Vietnam, Jesse has set up a special surprise for his bestie – having both of their fiancées join them for an RV road trip all the way to California.

I’m still not exactly sure what I’m doing here, but here we go. . . 1986's Rad is one of the films that has the greatest discrepancies between critic and fan ratings – despised by the former, loved by the latter. An unknown to even the most fanatical of film fans, yet also a cult classic adored by its underground supporters, this motion picture, directed by stuntman nonpareil Hal Needham, is like a scientifically concocted adrenaline shot of cheese, kitsch, B movie badness, with a fantastical twist on the 80s. . . and, for some bizarre reason, I kind of liked it. Welcome to the town of Cochrane, a fictional place where the newspaper delivery boys are aided and cheered on by its local citizens (including the garbage men), where the cops love nothing more than playing a motorcycle versus bike version of hide and go seek against the kids in the local wood mill, where everyone’s favourite pastime is called ‘ass sliding’ – no, it’s not as dirty or fun as it sounds, where the dancing looks like a part of a Siegfried & Roy show (and that’s not to mention the sexualized bicycle tango), and each and every person (be it the Shriners on their little clown cars, or its aged population) seems to be absolutely enthralled by BMX biking.

An example of Indie, guerilla-style film making, Anthony Z. James writes, directs and produces his first feature film, 2020's Ghost (also known as Ex-Con); shooting on the mean streets of London, the production was simply shot with an Iphone (with an anamorphic lens) – something you will find increasingly hard to believe the longer you delve into this motion picture. Dropping us into an important day in the life of Tony Ward (Anthony Mark Streeter), the man is officially an ex-con – just released from prison. Following him in his first steps back in the real world (approximately seven minutes without a word of dialogue – somewhat bringing to mind Patrick Ryan’s sadly under-seen 2014 Irish Indie film Darkness on the Edge of Town), James places us in the man’s shoes, engrossing tracking shots reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory – uprooted from the muddy trenches of World War I to the gritty side-streets of London, these techniques allowing his steps to become ours. Hoping that each stride is one into a more straight-laced and balanced future, the shadows of his past linger, shrouding the very day in a gloomy, melancholic uncertainty.

It is likely that any other year, outside of 2018, would have meant that a second one of Pawel Pawlikowski’s films would have won Best Foreign Language Film at the Academy Awards (the other is 2013's Ida). Instead, Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma (in its own right, a truly visionary film) froze out Cold War. Though this Polish export did achieve a nomination in the above mentioned category, as well as receive nods for Best Achievement in Directing and Best Achievement in Cinematography, it, in many ways, got overshadowed by another black and white foreign film released the exact same year. . . which is truly a shame. Set in post-war Poland – 1949, to be exact, Wiktor (Tomasz Kot), a very bourgeoisie musician (a dynamo who can play the piano, as well as write and arrange music) – bold, confident, and gifted, tours the countryside, recruiting the most talented teens and twenty somethings for a folk music ensemble that will tour Poland and the rest of the Eastern Bloc. One of the finds, Zula (Joanna Kulig), an undaunted singer, may not be the most pure talent, though she has that certain ‘je ne sais quoi’. With a mystifying persona, she is spark plug, femme fatale (both director and actress inspired by Lauren Bacall and her sarcastic delivery), and, somehow, ingénue. Wiktor has found his muse. . . love at first sight. . . the genesis of a change that you can never return from. A love affair blossoms.

Norway is quickly becoming the master of the grounded disaster film. In 2015, The Wave received critical acclaim. . . three years later, the same creative team (including producer Are Heidenstorm and writers John Kåre Raake, Harald Rosenløw-Eeg) brought forth a sequel, The Quake, directed this time by John Andreas Andersen. If there was one complaint about the previous film, it is that there could have been a bit more depth in regard to the characters. Learning from their mistakes, The Quake takes place three years later. . . Kristian Eikjord (Kristoffer Joner) is deemed a hero by the country – though he does not feel one. Bogged down by the countless lives lost after the title wave hit the tourist town Geiranger, the now bearded man is in a fugue-like nervous state.