Gerald Peary
Russian intellectuals privately grasp that they must seem like jackasses to the outside world with their primitive attitudes about homosexuality, aligning not with Western Europe but with Nigeria and Uganda and the Muslim world.
Even with its audience-unfriendly head games and confusions, “Post Tenebras Lux” is an imposing spiritual work, and totally original.
In Russia, the defenders of Nadia, Masha, and Katia have compared their plight to the victims of the infamous Stalinist “Show Trials” of the ’30s.
We’ve reached a sad situation in America where even sophisticated art house audiences balk at foreign-language films except those made in a handful of favored countries.
The filmmaker is annoyingly passive and star-struck, as the documentary’s subject, Ricky Jay, speaks to his chosen agenda: a wish to tell stories about his mentors and favorite magicians.
The astute filmmakers, Scott McGehee and David Siegel, seem not at all intimidated by Henry James’s formidable prose.
I confess: I also was among those who witnessed Peter Rowan play a zillion years ago, circa 1970, when he sang like an angel with Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys.
The only way to sort of enjoy “Family Tree” is with modest expectations; and indeed, this is the most modest of series, as Christopher Guest cuts his molars on TV with a program which rarely tries to be more than fairly amusing, mildly ambitious, a kind of bemused apprentice work in a new medium.
Assayas’s splendid autobiographical feature is about a young man who refuses to turn his back on the radicalism of the ’60s
What about Bert Stern, the artist? He deserves credit for bringing fashion photography into the modernist moment in the late 1950s and early 1960s.
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