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The St. Louis International Film Festival is over. Sad to see it go – but happily, remembering a movie is part of the film-going experience; right? While it’s easy to rate movies individually, it’s almost impossible to review a film festival in its entirety. Even if you watched movies back to back, you’d still miss as many as you’d see, because screenings are constantly scheduled simultaneously. Therefore, it’s possible for a multitude of people to have an infinite number of film-festival experiences. After all, how many viewers – particularly avid attendees -- saw exactly the same features? Like fingerprints – or, for our purposes, movie prints – one ventures to presume that no two film-watching journeys were exactly the same. But all roads lead to Rome. And some roads lead to Frontenac.
Here are a few of my personal highlights of this year’s SLIFF, followed by some of my disappointments and regrets.
Highlights and Fortuitous Events:
1. At the last minute, deciding to drive to the Frontenac to see Hooked, a Romanian film that held my attention from the first to last frame, thanks to documentary-realistic performances, a semi-surreal plot, and its thoughtful, humorous meditation on the built-in pitfalls of relationships. Was the woman who came between the two principals during their picnic a pernicious harlot or a shapely angel sent down to do repair work on broken love affairs? The fact that I wonder – and that I’m even supposed to – made Hooked a really entertaining thought piece, if not nearly a masterpiece.
2. Going to see the Connie Stevens-directed Saving Grace B. Jones with the rather off-the-beaten-path objective of meeting Scott Wilson. Wilson is probably the great unheralded character actor, a man whose work has made an impression on me ever since I saw The Great Gatsby in the theater as a kid. In that underrated adaptation of the F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, he was one of the few people to ever kill Robert Redford on a movie screen. Wilson’s most famous role was In Cold Blood, but in The Grissom Gang and many other features, his performance marked the difference between a good film and a great film. Generally portraying unhinged, broken men who do terrible things but elicit a pathetic sympathy, Wilson is one of the few actors who can go all out in an acting role while remaining as far away from ham as k.d. lang. In Grace B. Jones, he turns the tables by playing a rather quiet town preacher with a cynical streak that turns out to be, sadly, prescient. The movie itself, incidentally, was anything but disappointing – and it was an illuminating treat to have most of the cast show up at the screening (with the noticeable exceptions of Michael Biehn and Tatum O’Neal, whose absence could be explained away in terms of being too busy, but who are, in fact, the only cast members who might have stolen celebrity thunder from the still-vivacious Stevens). Incidentally, I worked out the back story of how the film must have arrived at its underwhelming title. Saving Grace, which I’ll bet was the original titular inkling, is too obvious, not very uninspired, and not actually original because it’s already been used. On the other hand, simply calling it Saving Grace Jones might have made people believe it was a documentary about that androgynous, avant garde chanteuse who hasn’t been heard from since the ‘80s. In the long run, adding that middle initial made all the difference in the world, but I still think there’s a better title out there somewhere. Even something like Rescuing Grace would have worked out quite nicely.
3. Running into some old friends at one of the Frontenac screenings. The movie wasn’t very good, but the trip was worth it for the unexpected reunion. Therefore, I must credit the SLIFF for being a better social networking resource than Facebook. (What’s more, Facebook doesn’t show movies, despite all the drama.)
Disappointments and Regrets:
1. Having to miss rock documentaries by Thomas Crone and Michael Steinberg – Old Dog and Pride of St. Louis -- because I found it impossible to spontaneously clone myself on the evening of Saving Grace B. Jones. Therefore, I want to give a shout out – complete with my extended harm holding out a rock-concert lighter – to Thomas and Michael, not only two of the most talented and driven human resources in St. Louis, but craftsmen whose work is often inseparable from the city they love. Few others have managed to transform artifacts into art; to nurture neglected topics left on the doorstep of history. Fortunately, both films are available on DVD, and therefore infinitely watchable (in both senses). Though Steinberg now resides in Montana, his presence in the St. Louis film scene endures.
2. Sitting through two of the most boring, self-important and unfocused “noirs” I’ve ever had the displeasure of watching. Desdemona: A Love Story and 2:22 shared both a director and a penchant for leaky plots, TV commercial-like photography (complete with sudden bolts of sped-up or stuttered action, which was a stale special effect years ago) and breathless, push-your-lover-up-against-the-wall sex-scene clichés. The elliptical story-telling of Desdemona might have been compelling if only there were a good story to begin with (especially considering the title). 2:22 blows the heist genre as badly as its unlikable characters blow the heist itself. (I would recommend director Phillip Guzman carefully study a solid hotel-burglary movie like The Anderson Tapes.) It’s when I endure reel failures like these – and other, more obvious, low-points like Albino Farm – that I wonder if the film-selection committee occasionally took a mental intermission.
Over all, though, the SLIFF was a resounding success, with enough great movies to make a critic’s head spin. Several screenings sold out pretty quickly, and, besides, what other event that isn’t sports-related can bring so many St. Louisans together? Go lobby cards!
Jordan Oakes is a local journalist who has written for publications such as St. Louis Magazine and the Christian Science Monitor. He has strong opinions that begin to atrophy if he doesn't exercise his right to express them. Tune in every Wednesday for another installment of Mediatribe - and if you missed last week's post, click here.
