Author: Ray Lobo

  • The Unmaking Of A College: Review

    The Unmaking Of A College: Review

    Director Amy Goldstein’s documentary The Unmaking of a College chronicles exactly what its title indicates.  The dismantling of American higher education has been a decades-long project in terms of decreased state funding, reductions in tenured positions, the creation of a large adjunct faculty precariat, absurdly high tuition rates, a systematic deemphasis on the value of the liberal arts and humanities, and a short-term-profit-obsessed ideology that has found its way into every nook and cranny of the academy. 

    The Unmaking of a College focuses on Hampshire College, a small liberal arts college in Massachusetts.  Hampshire’s story is the story of American higher education at hyper-speed.    

    Hampshire was opened in 1970 as an experimental college that prided itself on its interdisciplinary approach, not having set majors, and a hands-on approach to learning.  Hampshire, a small private institution, has always had to navigate through challenging economic waters; nonetheless, that did not dissuade fresh batches of students from applying every year.  Several college presidents guided the college through both good times and bad as the college continually graduated students that were transformed by the Hampshire experience.  Alums such as documentarian Ken Burns show a sparkle in their eye as they speak about their Hampshire years.  

    Hampshire’s steady survival came to an abrupt—and many would argue manufactured– crisis in 2019 when a new college president, Miriam Nelson, came on the scene.  Nelson sent out an email—during winter recess, of all times—announcing that the college desperately needed a “strategic partner” in order to survive.  This announcement was coupled with the announcement that there would not be a new incoming class of students for the following academic year.  Nelson, in a very top-down corporate style, made these unilateral decisions without consulting faculty, students, or even some members of the college’s board of trustees. 

    Nelson was fulfilling her role as a corporate hit woman.  Her job was to lean out Hampshire’s labor force and costs so as to make it attractive for a bigger university to come in and “save” Hampshire—in other words, the bigger university would absorb Hampshire at a bargain cost.  Nelson, in a move that has become all too typical, started using corporate-speak at meetings with the college community.  She attempted to sell her plan to eviscerate Hampshire by using words such as “innovative,” “disruptive,” and “experimental.”  When Hampshire students heard their college president using words that were previously used to describe Hampshire’s approach to higher education in the new context of justifying the school’s dissolution, they decided to act.  Students staged a sit-in.  They occupied President Nelson’s office for a total of 74 days demanding transparency.

    Goldstein’s documentary focuses most of its runtime on the student protestors.  Given it is they who provide the electricity and the dynamic drive for answers, it is a very wise decision on Goldstein’s part.  The eclectic group at the forefront of the sit-in draw the viewer in with their personal stories, rightful indignation, and energy.  Anyone who paints younger folks in broad brushstrokes as apathetic and uninformed, will find no such examples in this group.  Their energy speaks not only of them as individuals, but also of the love they feel for their college.  Activism is often sparked when individuals feel they have been unjustly acted upon by powerful forces. 

    The student protestors of Hampshire came to the college with the hope that they would graduate as educated citizens and better people.  They did not expect obfuscation and chicanery on the part Hampshire’s president.  It is a sad sign of the times that corporate predatory techniques have become all too common in American higher education.  Many American students know the corporate gameplan all too well.  Assuming their naiveté would be a huge mistake.            

  • The Long Goodbye: Review

    The Long Goodbye: Review

    The world has not yet reached Riz Ahmed fatigue; it is understandable.  His eclectic talent seems boundless as is proven by the acclaim he has received for his acting and skills behind the mic.  The Long Goodbye adds yet another skill to his resume—writer.  The Long Goodbye is a short co-written by Ahmed and director Aneil Karia. 

    Though it clocks in at a little over ten minutes, The Long Goodbye is a vehicle combining all of Ahmed’s talents—acting, screenwriting, and lyrical prowess. 

    The Long Goodbye opens with a vibrant family scene inside a crammed flat.  Ahmed teaches a younger sibling dance moves while other family members relax and play games on their phones, discuss an upcoming wedding, and complain about not being able to follow the news on the television due to the clamor inside the flat.  We are taken into a beautifully complex world wherein Urdu and English mingle. 

    Things take a quick turn when government forces show up to Ahmed’s neighborhood and begin rounding up those deemed to be foreigners. 

    The Long Goodbye is far from being subtle in its messaging; but that is more than understandable given the real-world treatment of immigrants and the anti-Muslim policies enacted by Western nations—the US under Trump being a prime example.  The entire piece gains poignancy and a type of transcendence when Ahmed offers his lyrics. 

    The Long Goodbye is a small taste of Ahmed’s talents, but one that brings them together for political impact.  Every line in his lyrical flow is worth more than the hate and empty rhetoric emanating from the mouths of Western politicians.

          

  • First Date: Review

    First Date: Review

    Boy likes girl, boy asks girl out on a date, boy wants a car for the date.  That is the basic structure for directors Manuel Crosby and Darren Knapp’s First Date.  Mike (Tyson Brown) is a shy and sensitive suburban teenager who is attracted to his opposite—Kelsey (Shelby Duclos). 

    Kelsey is a confident straightshooter who practices boxing on her punching bag in her garage.  Her looks attract not only Mike, but a clownish jock (Brandon Kraus).  Given the demand for Kelsey, Mike’s friend helps him summon the courage to call Kelsey and ask her out.  She says yes.  That was the easy part for Mike. 

    Mike takes note of Kelsey’s love for what are considered disposable objects, in this case an old 8-track player her mother used to own.  He finds an advertisement for a used car—exactly what he needs for his first date.  He visits the seller—the sleazy Dennis (Scott Noble)—who shows him a clunker of a car.  Mike, even in all his innocence, senses he is being sweettalked by Dennis into buying the clunker; however, when Mike notices an 8-track player inside the car with the same exact 8-track cassette that Kelsey adores, he feels there is some destiny at work there and purchases it. 

    As soon as Mike starts driving his purchase, things get complicated.  He gets wrapped up in a big mess involving valuables and drugs inside the car, the sleazy criminals who want those valuables and cars, and crooked cops.

    Crosby and Knapp attempt to make First Date a hybrid film.  Think teen caper meets Pulp Fiction.  As teen caper, First Date succeeds just barely thanks to Tyson Brown.  He is believable and adorable at the same time.  He exudes Mike’s awkward sensitivity and makes us believe that he is just a kid who is a passive passenger of circumstance in what is the worst night of his life.  As a film inspired by Pulp Fiction, First Date fails. 

    Tarantino films have given us memorable bumbling criminals and sleazeballs capable of delivering memorable dialogue.  First Date’s characters do not come close to having the same snap or wit as Tarantino’s characters.  The criminals and sleazeballs in First Date are just annoying.  A recurring reference to Mike’s “ball sack” is but one example of what are uninspired lines of dialogue.  First Date is a date you may want to end early.  There are plenty of other fish in the cinematic sea.     

  • A Hero: The BRWC Review

    A Hero: The BRWC Review

    Iranian cinema has always offered sanctuary for individuals like me looking for relief from the empty spectacle and dross offered by Hollywood blockbusters, franchises, and Oscar bait films.  Iranian films place ethical dilemmas and the human condition front and center.  Acclaimed Iranian directors—Kiarostami, Rasoulof, Pahani—inject humanity into a Hollywood dominated cinematic world that often lacks humanity. 

    Director Asghar Farhadi’s (A Separation) latest, A Hero, involves an individual thrown into an ethical dilemma.  Rahim (Amir Jadidi) is serving time for a debt he cannot repay to his creditor Bahrem (Mohsen Tanabandeh).  Rahim can only get out of jail if he repays the debt or gets Bahrem to withdraw his complaint. 

    Rahim is insolvent; however, he uses a two-day leave from jail to set in motion a plan that could set him free.  Rahim’s romantic partner, Farkhondeh (Sahar Goldust), finds a purse with gold coins.  The gold coins are not enough to pay the entirety of the debt, but they could go a long way toward showing Rahim as acting in good faith, changing Bahrem’s opinion of Rahim, and getting Bahrem to withdraw his complaint.    

    Rahim’s best-laid plans, as is usually the case, go awry.   Without giving too much away plot wise, the prison staff learns of a “noble gesture” done by Rahim.  A television crew starts covering Rahim as a “feel good” story of redemption.  Rahim’s plan then implicates Farkhondeh, a charity, prison staff, a taxi driver, Rahim’s family, and even Rahim’s son in a web of deception. 

    Farhadi could not have chosen a better actor to pull off this story than Amir Jadidi.  When Rahim smiles, he radiates a warmth that makes us want to forgive his every misdeed.  Our sympathy for Rahim is Farhadi’s way of indicating that the world is not overpopulated with monsters; if anything, the world is overpopulated with sinful individuals that have been thrown into impossible dilemmas.  

    Farhadi has not strayed far from his formula of presenting a story structured around an ethical dilemma placed within a very specific cultural context.  But, my goodness, what an effective and fecund formula it is. Just like in A Separation, A Hero gives the viewer insight into how individuals navigate within Iranian law and culture; and the film does so with elegance, maturity, compassion, complexity, and a lack of sensationalism. 

    Perhaps A Hero‘s most outstanding feature is how it is able to convey through story and visual the universality of the coverup.  Lies draw in and implicate more and more individuals as they continue their course.  The more individuals a lie implicates, the more of a need for a coverup.  When the closing credits roll, you will be left ruminating on the film’s title.  You may also be thrown into the complexities of the ethical dimension—complexities usually touted by some of the more “serious” American superhero films, but rarely brought to cinematic fruition as beautifully as in A Hero.          

  • King Car: Review

    King Car: Review

    What is it with cars and surrealist films lately?  Titane, The Noise of Engines—reviewed on this site—and now Brazil’s King Car have all contributed to this recent automotive zeitgeist.  Think of King Car as Bacurau meets Cronenberg with heavy doses of political and social commentary.  If all this seems like a film contorting in too many directions, director Renata Pinheiro somehow pulls off the remarkable feat.  

    In the small town of Caruaro, a woman gives birth in the backseat of a car.  In addition to being born in a car, Uno’s (Luciano Pedro Jr.) father owns a fleet of taxis, Uno is taught to drive at a very young age, his mother dies in a car, and he narrowly avoids his own death by a car.  It is as if the entire life cycle—from birth to maturity to death—unfolds through cars.  And oh yes, no small detail, young Uno can communicate with cars.   

    We witness Uno grow into a young man and become interested in agronomy.  He meets a young woman, Amora (Clara Pinheiro), with whom he shares a conviction for the organic and environmentally sustainable as political acts of resistance.  But the inorganic, much to Amora’s disappointment, still calls Uno.  He reconnects with his uncle, Zé (Matheus Nachtergaele), who lives in a junkyard surrounded by old cars.  Zé is an intense individual.  His movements are apelike, but he articulates very seductive transhumanist theories about the merging of humans with machines.  For Zé, tools are extensions of human limbs.  Uno also reconnects with a special car in Zé’s junkyard, the car that spoke to him in his youth, King Car.  

    Political elites come to Uno’s town and impose a law requiring the immediate disuse of any car fifteen years or older.  King Car mobilizes Zé and Uno to refurbish older cars.  King Car rallies the town around a fight for justice and dignity not only for the flesh and blood inhabitants but also the inorganic vehicles that are deemed by the government as disposable.  While King Car’s followers become more militant and resolute in their actions, Amora’s focus is more toward an ethics of care and the organic.  

    King Car shares Bacurau’s aesthetics.  And, admittedly, Bacurau’s characters and setting are more compelling; however, if we are to be frank, King Car’s themes and its political commentary is richer.  Themes of gender, the isolation and atomism created by cars, the disposability of objects, the organic versus the inorganic, and how revolutionary movements can be coopted by capitalist interests all play a big role in King Car.  But perhaps King Car’s most powerful message lies in what it proposes as the most potent form of resistance.  King Car shows us how sometimes tending to one’s garden is not a passive activity, if anything, it is the most active and effective form of resistance.