Showing posts with label Movie Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Movie Review. Show all posts

Saturday, March 12, 2016

FILM REVIEW: The Dicks from Texas


When it comes to documentaries, a fascinating subject can often compensate for a lack of style or technique, and that goes double for music docs. It's a category built on outsized personalities, archival footage and killer soundtracks, all of which can go a long way toward covering up the cracks in an otherwise clumsily made film. And since the viewer is there for the musical content as much as the craft, if not more so, a bad movie about a good band can still be worth watching in a lot of ways, and that's certainly the case with The Dicks from Texas, just released on DVD courtesy of MVD Entertainment.

If having a good subject is half the battle, the film certainly has that aspect covered. Though one of the most interesting early purveyors or American hardcore, the Dicks have long been criminally under-examined in the seemingly endless march of punk-era chronicles. That's probably because the Austin provocateurs' unusual music set them apart from the wider scene almost as much as geography did. A roiling mix of seething anti-authoritarian politics, blunt LGBT themes and profane gallows humor, all bubbling up through an unhinged, beer-and-blues-drenched din that is at once smart and as subtle as a fist, it was menacingly alien compared to the taut sounds of Los Angeles or DC.

Featuring plenty of interviews with the original members, as well as punk-doc regulars like Ian MacKaye and Henry Rollins, the film does a decent job of recounting their tumultuous, short-lived anti-career, their lives thereafter and, of course, the inevitable reunion shows. Unfortunately though, while it boasts just enough interesting stories and vintage footage to keep you involved, the low-budget film, directed and produced by Cindy Marabito, is also rather amateurishly shot and put together, full of grainy, poorly lit talking heads and student film-style editing. As such, It's hardly the documentary the Dicks deserve, but ultimately the band itself is engaging enough to distract you from the film's many flaws.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

FILM REVIEW: Computer Chess


Though it's a landmark moment that's now long since passed, before Garry Kasparov was defeated by Deep Blue in 1997, developing a computer that could best a human chess Grandmaster was one of the loftiest goals for generations of programmers and artificial intelligence researchers. The philosophical question at the heart of their quest was whether raw number-crunching power could ever compete with the uniquely human lateral thinking and creativity the game was believed to require and, if so, what kind of future could humanity have. These heady themes are omnipresent in writer-director Andrew Bujalski's new Computer Chess, permeating every conversation, but they ultimately serve more as a backdrop for his peculiar brand of offbeat comedy than the subject of any substantive exploration.

The film takes you back to an unspecified time in the early 1980s, as an oddball assortment of scientists and academics converge on a drab hotel for a weekend-long tournament pitting their chess-playing programs against one another. Though Bujalski has an eye for accuracy in regards to his retro setting, from the dorky clothes to the charmingly clunky computers, the film departs from reality fairly quickly, following the surreal goings-on between matches, including run-ins with paranoid drug peddlers, the kooky couples therapy retreat also utilizing the conference room, and a sentient, suicidal machine. None of these subplots are pursued with any real zeal, the hotel's mysterious cat infestation or the Pentagon's interest in the competition leaving a lot of intentionally unanswered questions.

Computer Chess won't appeal to every taste, the humor being of the supremely awkward, stuttering sort that earned Bujalski, director of Funny Ha Ha and Beeswax, recognition as the father of mumblecore, and its look, a grainy (mostly) black-and-white video appropriate to the era it's depicting without going full-on mockumentary, is purposefully cheap and sometimes feels more like an aesthetic exercise than a movie, but it's not without its own goofy appeal, which lies mostly in the convincing performances from perfectly cast unknown actors and the light, dreamlike feel. It's quirky strangeness, its technophile nostalgia and, at 90 minutes, its relative brevity, should serve it well once it hits Netflix, but as theatre fare, it's probably not worth leaving the house for. 
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