May 21, 2017
Religious art, teenage grief, secret weapons
Hacksaw Ridge (Mel Gibson, 2016). In which Mel Gibson proves, once and for all, that his religious art is every bit as distinctive and personal as that of Malick, Tarkovsky or Scorsese. Even if you don’t warm to it – it’s earnest, defensive and repellent, bold, violent and anti-modern (his art, his thinking as well as this film) – you have to give him that. But his “realistic” war scenes depend on horror movie tropes.
Sun Ra: A Joyful Noise (Robert Mugge, 1980). “I’m not part of history. I’m part of mystery, which is my story.” Space-jazz aphorisms in museums and on rooftops and ecstatic sax freak-outs. I don’t think I got it before.
The Other One: The Long, Strange Trip of Bob Weir (Mike Fleiss, 2014). Other kinds of excursions. A key moment comes when the young Weir finds his psychedelic family, with Neal Cassady as his telepathic uncle (he teaches Weir to drive) and Jerry Garcia as his musical brother. When Cassady and Garcia died, about 30 years apart, Weir dreamed about or sensed their passing. There is a kind of intuition (not just musical) that comes as naturally as breathing.
The Edge of Seventeen (Kelly Fremon Craig, 2016). Teenage angst, grief and some kind of realisation. See it for Woody Harrelson, but not only that. See also: Hailee Steinfeld, Kyra Sedgwick and even Blake Jenner, reprising the likeable athlete from Everybody Wants Some!! (in both films, likeable athlete seems at first to be a contradiction).
Zero Days (Alex Gibney, 2016). Invisible wars with weapons so secret that when they hit us, we didn’t even know they were ours. Equally, it is about billions devoted to the industrial-scale production of paranoia.