Casualties
by
Howard
Schumann

"You got your lanes going east, you got your lanes going west, and you got your lanes going straight to hell."

Perched on a barrier above the Long Island Expressway, ready to jump, 15- year-old Howie Blitzer (Paul Franklin Dano) tells us that the L.I.E. has claimed many lives, including folk singer Harry Chapin, film director Alan J. Pakula, and Howie's mother in a recent car crash. Now scared and alone, emotionally distant from his sleazy, corrupt father, and having fallen in with a gang of thieves and male prostitutes, Howie is poised to become the Expressway's next victim.

L.I.E., the debut film of director Michael Cuesta, is the coming-of-age story of a boy who must quickly develop resiliency in order to cope with the loss of those closest to him - his mother to the L.I.E., his father to the criminal justice system, and his best friend Gary to the lure of California. More real than American Beauty, more honest than Ghost World, less sensationalistic than Kids or Happiness, L.I.E. is a tender and thoughtful, often funny, examination of the lives of suburban teens who are without guidance or adult role models and who must develop inner strength to survive.

Like taking drugs to numb the pain of their boredom and loneliness, Howie, his friend Gary, and a few others have been robbing the expensive houses of their Long Island neighbors just for the excitement of seeing how much they can get away with. One of their escapades takes them to the house of Big John Harrigan (brilliantly performed by Scottish actor Brian Cox), a macho ex-marine well known in the neighborhood as a "chickenhawk" (an older man with a predilection for sex with young men). This encounter is a turning point for young Howie.

Howie and Big John develop a relationship that, while the possibility of man-boy sex is clearly implied, is not threatening or exploitative, but provides Howie with the substitute father-figure he so desperately needs. In portraying Big John, first time director, Michael Cuesta resists moralizing and courageously defies stereotyping. (In reality, the sexual predator is more likely to be an inconspicuous business or professional man who uses sex in a furtive manner to satisfy some unfilled need, not the flamboyant, in-your-face sleazeball that Big John represents).

Dano completely captures the confusion and neediness of a lonely teen trying to discover who he is, reminiscent of the young River Phoenix. He makes Howie come alive as an immature, lonely, and sexually confused young man, yet a sensitive and intelligent individual who writes poetry to give voice to his loneliness. Howie startles Big John with his knowledge of Chagall, and quotes a passage from Walt Whitman to him while riding in his car. It is uncertain until the end whether Howie will succumb to the forces closing in on him or develop the inner strength to cope with his loss.

The movie has caused consternation in some quarters because it shows a sexual predator as a complex human being with feelings. Cuesta does not advocate man-boy relationships, but does show that these relationships can often be based on mutual need, something some may overlook when screaming "sexual abuse." Cuesta forces us to look at the multi-leveled components of the relationship, both the predator and the protector, the manipulator and the manipulated. The filmmaker presents the older man as he is, an exploiter with layers of self-hatred and shame, but also as a human being, capable of warmth and love.

Despite some poorly drawn characters (Howie's father in particular is a caricature) and an oversimplified ending that would have been better left on the cutting room floor, I recommend the film highly. At the end I sensed that Howie had become older, wiser, and much more capable of dealing with his problems. Stupidly rated NC-17, L.I.E. is a film that should be seen by both teenagers and their parents.

La Ciénaga is the new Argentine film directed by first timer Lucrecia Martel. Martel uses a seemingly uneventful series of episodes and an atmospheric sense of impending doom to make a statement about the decadence of the Argentine middle class. The decaying families are portrayed without much sympathy, showing them as racist, uncaring, and self-indulgent. The screen veritably pulsates with life and ugliness. Every frame is filled with children and animals running in and out, dogs barking, everyone talking at the same time, music blaring, and the TV bellowing something about Virgin Mary sightings. It's almost as if the camera is eavesdropping on an intimate family gathering, making the viewer feel like an uninvited guest at a party.

The narrative (such as it is) concerns two families and their children thrown together at the end of a stifling hot summer, and how everybody bears the marks of carelessness and inattention: scars, burns, bruises. Nothing works in this milieu; the pool is very dirty, one boy has lost an eye, another is afraid of stories about dog-rats, drinking is excessive and accidents result as a consequence. The mother (Graciela Borges) is a drunk who seems to be just waiting for the end of her life in bed, like her own mother. She makes racist remarks about her servant, yells at her own daughter Momi (Sofia Bertolotto) who is herself infatuated with the servant, and makes vague plans to go to Bolivia to buy school supplies for the kids.

La Ciénaga is not easy to watch. It is moody, sensual, atmospheric, almost unbearably intimate, with a constant level of anxiety and tension. You can feel the humidity building on your forehead. Danger is always near, and violence seems not just possible but probable. There is an unspoken longing for something, anything good to happen to relieve the emptiness of life. (I was reminded of Chekhov.) It is almost Buñuelian in its feeling but, unlike the films of Buñuel, it is not dark comedy - just dark. The unspoken backdrop is the recent history of Argentina, an unending nightmare of political violence, social unrest, and fiscal disaster. Only the children give us any hope for the future. This is a compelling picture of class arrogance, with an ending as moving as any I've seen. Strongly recommended, but bring a lot of patience, and a dehumidifier.

Shot by B.Z. Goldberg between 1997 and 2000, Promises is a timely and moving look at the Arab-Israeli conflict from the point of view of seven Israeli and Palestinian children. The film, with Carlos Bolado and Justine Shapiro helping as co-directors, was nominated for an Academy Award in documentary. It gives truth to the Biblical refrain that "a child shall lead them" and provides hope for a better understanding from the next generation. Indeed, if adults were as open, honest, and giving as these children, there would be no more terrorists, occupation, reprisals, or innocent people blown to bits.

Filmed in Israel and the West Bank Occupied Territories, we see an Israel rarely shown on CNN, a country of checkpoints and segregated corridors reinforced by violence. Goldberg, a secular Jew who grew up in Jerusalem, studied film at New York University and worked as a journalist in Israel. He filmed 170 hours and narrowed it down to 106 minutes. Throughout the film, each child is interviewed separately, and most of them recite the litany of hatred and misunderstanding that they have learned. Moishe, 12, lost his best friend in the Intifada, while Faraj, a young Arab, mourns for his closest friend who was killed by an Israeli soldier. "The more Jews we kill, the stronger the Arabs will be," states a Palestinian boy.

As the film progresses, a strong desire for peace and reconciliation emerges through the quiet, thoughtful questions posed by Goldberg. At one point, he brings the Israeli twins Yarko and Daniel to spend a day with their Palestinian neighbor Faraj. At first they maintain an aloofness, but as the day progresses they forget all about their politics in a few hours of wrestling, playing ball, and eating a delicious meal. The most emotional moment comes when Faraq breaks down and cries because he realizes that when the cameras leave, everything will be the same as before and they will never see each other again. In a sad epilogue, the children are shown two years later, hardened in their attitudes, ready to sacrifice themselves for a futile conflict. Perhaps by now, some of them have blown themselves up in glorious martyrdom or were simply caught in the wrong place at the wrong time when a bomb went off.

The most heartbreaking statement comes from one of the children, who says, "The life we live doesn't allow us to accomplish our dreams." Nevertheless, listening to these children, there is some reason for optimism. "In war both sides suffer," one of the Israeli twins says. "Maybe there's a winner, but what is a winner?" Perhaps what we need are more people like Yarko, Faraj and Goldberg to show us the way.

©2002 Howard Schumann
CineScene