HBO Films

Monica & David

barbara — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

One of the many things people take for granted—Americans especially—is free will. Basic human rights. When you are able-bodied, physically able to take care of yourself, the ways to access free will seem limitless—there are plenty of things you are able to participate in, such as having a job, living on your own, and preparing your own meals. In Monica & David, novice filmmaker Alexandra Codina documents the wedding and first year of marriage between Monica and David, two adults living with Down’s syndrome.

The titular Monica is Codina’s cousin and it is clear to see why the filmmaker was interested in filming the couple. The best moments celebrate the tenderness between the couple whose love for each other is more than apparent through constant physical affection, pet-name-calling and emotional support. They exude a genuine excitement about spending their lives together and take pride in calling each other husband and wife. In an especially touching moment, Monica shares a letter she’s written to her birth father, who left when she was very young, and David sits next to her holding her hand and offering soft words of encouragement.

Codina’s footage offers a personal glimpse into issues around independence, identity, and care-taking: how we construct who we are in relationship to who we are to others. The dependent relationship in the roles of parents and children is highlighted by Monica’s mother, Maria Elena, and step-father, Bob, who are sincerely trying to offer the couple autonomy but cannot quite loosen their grip. Having both lived in their parents’ homes, as a couple Monica and David move into a separate wing of Maria Elena and Bob’s house, the parents who appear to be more financially equipped to support the couple. A discussion of financial privilege and women’s work would have been effective here, but Codina fail to flush out these issues. There is a brief mention of Maria Elena’s experience as a single mother who worked her way up from an airline flight attendant to VP of the company so that she‘d be able to provide for her daughter.

Overall, had Codina given more attention to the experiences of Monica and David’s mothers raising their children, it may have made for a richer film. Both hardly twenty years old when their children were born, the women immediately faced resistance from their doctors. Maria Elena recalls the doctor walking in to her room at her first ultrasound and announcing “Your child is a mongoloid,” while David’s mother was persuaded to give her son up for adoption. Here Codina misses an opportunity to bring this experience into a larger dialogue surrounding reproductive rights and our nation’s pro-natal “family values” narrative. Perhaps this drawback points to the flaw in researching your family, but the lack of subtext is ultimately the flaw of the film.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, December 22nd 2010

El Espiritu De La Salsa (The Spirit of Salsa)

brittany — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

Directed by Tim Sternberg, Francisco Bell

HBO Films

I love to dance, but I am not gifted with quick feet. As a teen, this made me a hesitant and awkward dance student. Thankfully, when I discovered African dance, it changed my outlook in many positive ways. In the first year, my intimate class included a grandmother in her seventies and her teenage granddaughter. By creating art through movement together, we also created community and bonds similar to an extended family. It was empowering to know the class would be about feeling the music and loving the movement, about celebrating the pure power of music to move and connect humans, not about self-criticism. Sure enough, under the guidance of a gifted teacher, my feet eventually found the rhythm.

In many ways, El Espiritu De La Salsa embodies the spirit of what I experienced in African dance. This HBO documentary shows salsa dance as an art form with tremendous power to transform lives. In this film, ten amateur dancers train for their first performance, under the guidance of Tomas Guerrero of the Santo Rico Dance Company, founded in 1995. These dancers come from all walks of life to a dance studio in New York’s Spanish Harlem, to study, sweat, and sow seeds of positive change in their lives.

During the film viewers see glimpses of six salsa classes, the conflicts that arise, and the advice dancers receive from Guerrero. In between, there are shots of dancers practicing—while waiting for the light to change, on a park stage, in their apartments. Very brief biographical scenes of the dancers are interspersed. They are enough for the viewer to see the diversity of the dancers: a multiracial group including an emergency room doctor, bodega owner, NYPD lieutenant, commodities trader, retired teachers, single parent, man with chronic fatigue, building contractor, caterer. However, with less than an hour of film and so many individuals to include, we do not get to know any of the dancers beyond a glimpse.

Each dancer shares their reasons for studying salsa. Several people hope to meet friends or find romance, while for others, stress release is the biggest draw. Watching Dr. Michelle Quash race from the emergency room in Brooklyn uptown to East Harlem for class, the importance of salsa in her life becomes very clear. In fact, viewers who think they have no time to take classes might find inspiration in her example.

The film notes that Guerrero “is determined to prove that anyone can dance salsa—and they can,” and this theme recurs during several of the dance classes. The viewer gets a taste of Guerrero’s teaching style. In one session in which the students were feeling stressed an uninspired, he asks the dancers to reach inside and recall a time when they overcame a challenge. He offers reminders to smile, but also, as any excellent trainer would, he can be demanding. I was surprised that the film does not provide much background about Guerrero. We get to know him only through his interactions with students, and a very few observations directed at the camera.

The film’s soundtrack features notable salseros including Tito Puente, Eddie Santiago, Ismael Rivera, and Héctor Lavoe, as well as original music by Daniel Freiberg and sounds from contemporary artists. I presume that the film title is Spanish as a way to honor the roots of the salsa music, from Spanish-speaking Caribbean islands where enslaved Africans had contributed their instruments and rhythms.

For me, the film could be credited a success if one viewer, drawn to dance but hesitant, would walk into a dance studio and take the risk. Stepping out of one’s comfort zone, leaving ego at the door, and exploring irresistible Afro-Cuban beats could lead to an adventure on the dance floor.

El Espiritu De La Salsa (The Spirit of Salsa) premieres on HBO tonight

Written by: Lisa Rand, September 20th 2010

Homeless: The Motel Kids of Orange County

admin — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Alexandra Pelosi

HBO Films

Orange County, California is known for both wealth and political conservatism. In fact, the most recent American Community Survey reports that the largely Caucasian locale boasts a median household income of $81,260.

But as filmmaker Alexandra Pelosi’s latest documentary, Homeless: The Motel Kids of Orange County, demonstrates, more than ten percent of OC residents live below the poverty line. Some sleep on the streets while others find shelter in rundown hotels, where single rooms rent for between $800 and $900 a month. Ironically, Disneyland is a short distance from the county’s seediest areas, but for impoverished motel residents, Disney is no more accessible than Saturn.

Pelosi’s camera gives viewers an inside peak into the desperation of those living in cramped and often bedbug-infested quarters, places rife with drug dealing, prostitution, and police surveillance. That kids grow up in this environment—sharing one tiny room with siblings, parents, and pets—is sobering and should be an indictment of U.S. housing policies. Sadly, it falls short.

One of the problems is that Pelosi interviews too many people, and it’s hard to remember who’s who. In addition, she never moves beyond the personal, and fails to inject needed political analysis into the discussion. For example, why is housing so expensive? Do motel residents have access to social service programs, job training, or counseling? And most importantly, why has the government refused to build new public housing for those unable to pay market rates?

Despite these flaws, the film is not without its poignant moments. One woman, a married mom of two, proudly touts her family’s survival. Although she admits that she hated living on the streets, she champions the things she learned there. “We know how to bathe in eight ounces of water,” she begins. “We know how to do pooh-pooh in a bag.”

Like all of the “motel kids,” her daughters attend Perfect Hope School, a public program exclusively for those without permanent housing. The sixty-seven pupils stay at Hope as long as they remain in the OC, meaning their education is not interrupted if they leave the motel. Teacher Judy explains one of the school’s advantages: “No one makes fun of you if you wear the same clothes for thirty days.” Plus, she continues, two meals a day—albeit heavy on sugar and fat—are provided.

Predictably, many of the kids have deep problems. One boy, eleven-year-old Zack, is already on probation for robbery. “Some of us kids want what other people have,” he says, “so we just take it.” He later expresses surprising self-awareness. “Sometimes I do it for attention,” he admits. “My mom is too busy.”

Profiling Zack’s family in greater depth would have made the film more insightful and would have given viewers a better understanding of how easily life can fray for the working poor. After all, Zack’s mother and twenty-one-year-old sister both work full-time, but simply don’t earn enough to save the thousands of dollars they’d need to get into an apartment.

Despite these faults, Pelosi deserves recognition for bringing attention to a population that too-often falls through the cracks. What’s more, Homeless: The Motel Kids of Orange County prods lawmakers to do something about the country’s worsening affordable housing crisis. Since approximately two percent of U.S. children are presently undomiciled, the film is a stark, if understated, wake-up call. Let’s hope Pelosi’s mom—yes, Alexandra is Nancy’s daughter—and her colleagues will watch it and once-and-for-all do something about this shameful reality.

Premieres on HBO tonight at 9p.m. EST

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, July 26th 2010

Youth Knows No Pain

admin — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 04:07:00 +0000

Directed by Mitch McCabe

HBO Films

Four viewings of Mitch McCabe’s documentary, Youth Knows No Pain, have me scratching my head. I am puzzled over exactly what McCabe was attempting to say with this film. Is Youth Knows No Pain a love letter to McCabe’s deceased plastic surgeon father or an obsession with mortality? Is this is a commentary on the consumerism and increasing narcissism of Western society? How about a meditation on how youth obsessed Americans are? An exploration of how ageism and sexism conflate to render women of a certain age invisible? Youth Knows No Pain is all of these things and none of these things. The film is rather unfocused, never deeply delving into any of the issues raised.

The film all too often degenerates into navel-gazing. McCabe is obsessed with her own image, and there are no fewer than forty shots of McCabe gazing into mirrors or taking photographs of herself. McCabe admits she spends exorbitant sums on wrinkle creams, despite $70,000 of debt. She also says she would happily let her health insurance lapse so that she can afford salon visits every six weeks.

Youth Knows No Pain’s other subjects are equally shallow. Shelley soothes the pain of an impoverished upbringing with unabashed materialism; dropping $35,000 on plastic surgery in one year, she states that she misses being the target of street harassment. Lyndsay feels its her asymmetrical mouth that holds her back from a career in broadcasting. Dr. Zein Obagi injected his fifteen year old daughter with Botox. Erica, another daughter of a plastic surgeon, aspires to appear in Playboy. Erica’s father, Frank, regularly criticized his daughter’s appearance during her teen years, going so far as to ask her if her breasts were symmetrical. And I wanted to slap the taste out of Gary’s mouth when he suggests Hillary Clinton is long overdue for plastic surgery because, according to him, no one wants to see a woman looking “old and haggy.”

All of the subjects state that plastic surgery makes people feel good and that alone is a sufficient justification for it. The subjects equate aging with being ugly and alone, an assumption McCabe seems to share as she never challenges it. Many of the subjects insensitively insult McCabe’s appearance, but McCabe doesn’t have the salt to call any of them on it. She seems not the least bit interested in the “grow old gracefully” position, either. Two interviewees expressed outright disdain for cosmetic procedures, decrying society’s fear of the aged, but neither woman is identified by name and neither gets more than two minutes of screen time.

The film’s title is belied by an interview early in the film. One subject bursts into tears upon seeing a picture of himself at age twenty-four, stating that he was thinking of all the things he put himself through at that age. He also remains unidentified and is never seen again. Freak Out Over Aging would have been a much better title for this movie, which premieres tonight at 9 p.m. EST/PST on HBO.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, August 31st 2009

Life Support

admin — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 22:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nelson George

HBO Films

HIV isn't the death sentence that it used to be, but that doesn't mean it isn't affecting people's lives in enormous ways. Life Support is a new film starring Queen Latifah, inspired by a true story, that tackles the complexities of living with the virus, particularly as low-income, women of color. This film couldn't come at a better time, as infection rates continue to grow among young, African American girls. It is said that the disease is getting younger, darker, and more female, and Life Support shows the importance of prevention and of letting people see the human side of those living with HIV.

Queen Latifah plays the part of Ana, an HIV+ mother of two and sex education outreach worker, who comes from a background of drug addiction and other "high risk" behavior. Her oldest daughter, Kelly (Rachel Nicks) lives with Ana's mother (Anna Deavere Smith) and harbors much anger and resentment toward Ana for her past mistakes. Ana wants nothing more than to rekindle a love bond with her daughter before Kelly leaves the city to start her own life. Both struggle to combine their own self-interest with their relationships with loved ones in a tumultuous journey. Life Support is an emotional tribute to the thousands of people touched by HIV and props to HBO for making this film available.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, April 21st 2007

When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts

admin — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 21:56:00 +0000

Directed by Spike Lee

HBO Films

Spike Lee's 2006 documentary When the Levees Broke is no small commitment—though clocking in at four hours, its length isn't what devastates. The film passes shockingly quickly, translating a vague sense of unease in the viewer into heavy understanding. Lee has accomplished a brilliant and agonizing oral history of a great betrayal of human rights, democracy and good governance.

A requiem is meant to ease the spirits of the dead. If film can speak for human pain, When the Levees Broke sings and screams and sobs. The setup of each domino is carefully described. As they topple we watch their force bottleneck into the same spot. All of a sudden what was reported "unavoidable," "overlooked" and "accidental" seems obvious and premeditated. Lee lifts a veil of illusion from the twin juggernauts of racist, indifferent governance and institutional violence. Viewers become witnesses.

We witness survivors prevail to a bridge out of the city. We watch footage of them meeting with police who threaten to shoot anyone who crosses, echoing similar events on other Southern bridges. To those ignorant of race dynamics in the United States, the suspicion of many Ninth Ward residents that the levees were intentionally blown may sound conspiracy theory-esque until viewers learn that twice before, exactly that has happened. When Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco says, "They have M16s and are locked and loaded. These troops know how to shoot and kill, and I expect they will," she is talking about a military force sent to protect the private property of businesses from people struggling to live.

When the Levees Broke is beautifully composed and bare of rhetoric. There is no voice-over narration. The story interweaves images and sounds from the disaster with the testimonies and art of survivors. We hear wind pound on the roof of the Superdome. We watch refugees fight despair with song on the third day of oppressive heat, death and filth without aid. And while the movie is profoundly intimate, it is not voyeuristic, paternalistic or exploitative. Its entire body resounds with integrity.

Contextually implicit in Lee's requiem is an imperative to action. He draws out running themes, reveals why the city's agony was both inevitable and entirely preventable, brings criminality to light and spotlights the perpetrators. United States viewers remain governed by those who allowed the atrocities to occur. Under democracy, this spells change or complicity.

Written by: Amory Ballantine, March 12th 2007