A Beautiful Life, a film that I produced and co-wrote with Wendy Hammond, opens on October 2nd in limited release and stars Jesse Garcia, Angela Sarafyan, Bai Ling, Dana Delany, and Debi Mazar. The film deals with sexual abuse, love and violence. I'm not going to give the plot away except to say it ends with hope, which is why I spent so many years of my life trying to make it. I understand this story. I, like Maggie, the main character, am a survivor. I know what made her run and I understand what made her hide and search for a better existence. My wish is for this film to contribute to the continuing dialogue of how to better prevent abuse, as well as to protect and understand the survivors of sexual abuse. We need to know abuse occurs in many forms and many times a day all over this country.
- 9/29/2009
- by Deborah Calla
- Huffington Post
This week's offerings give us the choice of walking with death or battling the undead. For those taking it easy this week, there's also roller skating with Ellen Page and having fun playing God (or inventing him, at any rate) with Ricky Gervais.
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"Afterschool"
After making a name for himself at Cannes with his award-winning shorts, Nyu film grad Antonio Campos took his feature debut there last year. "Afterschool" earned its share of controversy during its festival run, along with as a Spirit Award nomination for best first feature. Reminiscent of Gus Van Sant and Michael Haneke, this hazy story of digital detachment blends viral video and prep school tragedy in its story of a paranoid internet junkie (Ezra Miller) who witnesses the death of a pair of classmates who overdose on drugs, and...
Download this in audio form (MP3: 14:51 minutes, 13.6 Mb) Subscribe to the In Theaters podcast: [Xml] [iTunes]
"Afterschool"
After making a name for himself at Cannes with his award-winning shorts, Nyu film grad Antonio Campos took his feature debut there last year. "Afterschool" earned its share of controversy during its festival run, along with as a Spirit Award nomination for best first feature. Reminiscent of Gus Van Sant and Michael Haneke, this hazy story of digital detachment blends viral video and prep school tragedy in its story of a paranoid internet junkie (Ezra Miller) who witnesses the death of a pair of classmates who overdose on drugs, and...
- 9/29/2009
- by Neil Pedley
- ifc.com
"Rocky" meets "Rain Man" in female clothing here at the Sundance Film Festival, which although wildly erratic as a movie, might have had some potential as a skit within "The Player". Starring Lili Taylor as a Jersey mom with a blue-collar family who has been suppressing a secret yen for theoretical physics, "Julie Johnson" is a well-intentioned muddle that you have to see to disbelieve. Unfortunately, "Julie"'s every decent theme of equal opportunity for women, which the film so earnestly embraces, is subverted by its soapy, drippy storytelling. So daft is this PC piffle that one can only conclude that it might have been perpetrated by a sinister cabal of reactionary right-wing male chauvinists to discredit feminism. Did we mention that Courtney Love co-stars as Julie's confidante, her go-for-the-physics chum?
Embroidered with the thickest of blue-collar story apparel, "Julie" centers on a beleaguered, overworked Hoboken wife, Julie (Taylor), who trudges through life, essentially, as a beast of burden. Her old-school hubbie, a cop (Noah Emmerich), is two rungs below Archie Bunker and wants his brewskis on the table with supper at the same time every night. He treats her like the hired help, and it's his condescending wrath that makes Julie hide the science magazines she has bought for years at the grocery store (evidently Hoboken has more sophisticated checkout-line reading matter than, say, Westwood). One typical night, between Beer 1 and Beer 2 at the table, Julie drops her freedom-of-expression mandate on hubby: She wants to go back to school to get her GED and then maybe study computers. The kids gulp and hubbie roars, and Julie scampers back to the kitchen.
Julie is plucky, however, and soon announces that she's going to school with or without his permission. Not surprisingly, her hirsute mate objects, and she throws him out, much to the shock of her two teen and preteen kids (Gideon Jacobs and Mischa Barton). Has this physics thing warped her mind, or is it just an excuse to get rid of The Old Man? We're never completely sure, owing to the surface transparency of the writing, but we gather that Julie, unlike Edith Bunker, is just sick and tired of being "stifled," regarded merely as a beer- and sex-dispensing machine.
Even her best friend, Claire, believes Julie's sudden need for high-physics fulfillment is "strange." But presto-chango, Claire too dumps her couch-potato guy and comes to live with Julie. And, viva la liberation, life becomes a pajama party for the Jersey women. Showing the extent of their bonding, Julie also arm-twists Claire into trotting along with her to her evening classes, where fellow high school dropout Claire inures herself by disregarding the lectures on "chaos theory" and other high science. Indeed, Claire is particularly baffled by Julie's craze for knowledge because she remembers her as an indifferent and decidedly noncerebral high school student. Despite Julie's prior nonintellectual life, in which she never demonstrated any special talents, she's suddenly burning up the chalkboard with fancy math, deconstructing algorithms -- or something like that. In her dazzling high-power math performances, she's akin to Rain Man counting matches. Soon, her teacher-mentor (Spalding Gray), a tweedy old male, is talking college to her. How come Julie or no one else detected this "gift" before? Well, it's not so implicitly understood that it's because she has been a victim throughout life, suppressed and oppressed. Now, for the first time, her self-esteem is above ground level. It's in these proud moments, as the young woman beams with accomplishment, that the film rings truest and touches us. We embrace Julie, appreciating that this woman has long been just a service person to everyone else, never complimented or encouraged in anything beyond domestic duties. It's not only her husband who has been her "oppressor," but it's also the whole working-class mind-set of women remaining in their kitchen-ly place. Unfortunately, screenwriters Wendy Hammond and Bob Grosse don't demonstrate the writing skills to blend their more big-bang themes with the everyday world of a Jersey woman. Yelping about "chaos theory" and ramblings about the nature of the universe ring out as alien nonsense in this "I Am Blue-collar Woman" filmic anthem.
Now, just when we're kind of plugged into the escape from the chauvinistic-society themery, the filmmakers heap it on: Julie begins to snuggle up to Claire. Despite some initial reservations from Claire, whose tight, sexy, man-targeting apparel doesn't clue us to any sexual urgings other than the sports-bar male, the two become ardent nuzzlers. Two equations later, they're lovers and having a romp hiding from the kids. Yikes. It's as if the filmmakers didn't have enough story matter or writing skills to complete the liberated-from-drudgery theme, so they orbited out into an alternative sexual universe. At this juncture, my entire row at the Sundance premiere began its descending slump.
Although "Julie" gyrates all over the story universe, it never convinces even on a rudimentary level. Usually, one would have to linger at the Starbucks in Brentwood to pick up a similar slant on blue-collar life such as the one that "Julie" posits. The whole working-class milieu -- not to mention the stereotypical characters, from downtrodden Julie to the across-the-board bozos on the male side -- rings out as a thematic construct rather than real life. Thankfully, Love, as the bimbo-ish waitress and best girlfriend, has enough snap and saucy swagger to get beyond the dimensions of her big-earringed, blowsy-blonde character. Love's performance is about the only thing in this by-the-numbers scrabble that doesn't seem squared to the nth degree from a story equation.
Eventually, "Julie" flutters off into a little-bang puff of drippy visual flourishes and gooey narrative. The half-baked story line is further grounded by director Bob Gosse's gummy aesthetics, most cloyingly the strummy, good-feel musical accompaniment. Visually, it's just as clouded: "Julie" literally ends on a moony shot of the stars just at the point you hope it will begin to reconnect all of its loose ends. Evidently, the filmmakers have their own transcendent version of "chaos theory" as it applies to making sense of everyday life stories.
JULIE JOHNSON
Shooting Gallery
Producers: Ray Angelic, Larry Meistrich
Director: Bob Gosse
Screenwriters: Wendy Hammond, Bob Gosse
Executive producers: Steve Carlis, Donald C. Carter, Keith Abell
Director of photography: David M. Dunlap
Costume designer: Kathryn Nixon
Production designer: Mark Ricker
Executive music producer: Tracy McKnight
Visual effects supervisor: Jonathan Flack
Postproduction supervisor: Chris Kenneally
Supervising sound editor: Jennifer Ralston
Color/Stereo
Julie: Lili Taylor
Claire: : Courtney Love
Mr. Miranda: : Spalding Gray
Rick: : Noah Emmerich
Lisa: Mischa Barton
Frank: Gideon Jacobs
Running time -- 94 minutes
No MPAA rating...
Embroidered with the thickest of blue-collar story apparel, "Julie" centers on a beleaguered, overworked Hoboken wife, Julie (Taylor), who trudges through life, essentially, as a beast of burden. Her old-school hubbie, a cop (Noah Emmerich), is two rungs below Archie Bunker and wants his brewskis on the table with supper at the same time every night. He treats her like the hired help, and it's his condescending wrath that makes Julie hide the science magazines she has bought for years at the grocery store (evidently Hoboken has more sophisticated checkout-line reading matter than, say, Westwood). One typical night, between Beer 1 and Beer 2 at the table, Julie drops her freedom-of-expression mandate on hubby: She wants to go back to school to get her GED and then maybe study computers. The kids gulp and hubbie roars, and Julie scampers back to the kitchen.
Julie is plucky, however, and soon announces that she's going to school with or without his permission. Not surprisingly, her hirsute mate objects, and she throws him out, much to the shock of her two teen and preteen kids (Gideon Jacobs and Mischa Barton). Has this physics thing warped her mind, or is it just an excuse to get rid of The Old Man? We're never completely sure, owing to the surface transparency of the writing, but we gather that Julie, unlike Edith Bunker, is just sick and tired of being "stifled," regarded merely as a beer- and sex-dispensing machine.
Even her best friend, Claire, believes Julie's sudden need for high-physics fulfillment is "strange." But presto-chango, Claire too dumps her couch-potato guy and comes to live with Julie. And, viva la liberation, life becomes a pajama party for the Jersey women. Showing the extent of their bonding, Julie also arm-twists Claire into trotting along with her to her evening classes, where fellow high school dropout Claire inures herself by disregarding the lectures on "chaos theory" and other high science. Indeed, Claire is particularly baffled by Julie's craze for knowledge because she remembers her as an indifferent and decidedly noncerebral high school student. Despite Julie's prior nonintellectual life, in which she never demonstrated any special talents, she's suddenly burning up the chalkboard with fancy math, deconstructing algorithms -- or something like that. In her dazzling high-power math performances, she's akin to Rain Man counting matches. Soon, her teacher-mentor (Spalding Gray), a tweedy old male, is talking college to her. How come Julie or no one else detected this "gift" before? Well, it's not so implicitly understood that it's because she has been a victim throughout life, suppressed and oppressed. Now, for the first time, her self-esteem is above ground level. It's in these proud moments, as the young woman beams with accomplishment, that the film rings truest and touches us. We embrace Julie, appreciating that this woman has long been just a service person to everyone else, never complimented or encouraged in anything beyond domestic duties. It's not only her husband who has been her "oppressor," but it's also the whole working-class mind-set of women remaining in their kitchen-ly place. Unfortunately, screenwriters Wendy Hammond and Bob Grosse don't demonstrate the writing skills to blend their more big-bang themes with the everyday world of a Jersey woman. Yelping about "chaos theory" and ramblings about the nature of the universe ring out as alien nonsense in this "I Am Blue-collar Woman" filmic anthem.
Now, just when we're kind of plugged into the escape from the chauvinistic-society themery, the filmmakers heap it on: Julie begins to snuggle up to Claire. Despite some initial reservations from Claire, whose tight, sexy, man-targeting apparel doesn't clue us to any sexual urgings other than the sports-bar male, the two become ardent nuzzlers. Two equations later, they're lovers and having a romp hiding from the kids. Yikes. It's as if the filmmakers didn't have enough story matter or writing skills to complete the liberated-from-drudgery theme, so they orbited out into an alternative sexual universe. At this juncture, my entire row at the Sundance premiere began its descending slump.
Although "Julie" gyrates all over the story universe, it never convinces even on a rudimentary level. Usually, one would have to linger at the Starbucks in Brentwood to pick up a similar slant on blue-collar life such as the one that "Julie" posits. The whole working-class milieu -- not to mention the stereotypical characters, from downtrodden Julie to the across-the-board bozos on the male side -- rings out as a thematic construct rather than real life. Thankfully, Love, as the bimbo-ish waitress and best girlfriend, has enough snap and saucy swagger to get beyond the dimensions of her big-earringed, blowsy-blonde character. Love's performance is about the only thing in this by-the-numbers scrabble that doesn't seem squared to the nth degree from a story equation.
Eventually, "Julie" flutters off into a little-bang puff of drippy visual flourishes and gooey narrative. The half-baked story line is further grounded by director Bob Gosse's gummy aesthetics, most cloyingly the strummy, good-feel musical accompaniment. Visually, it's just as clouded: "Julie" literally ends on a moony shot of the stars just at the point you hope it will begin to reconnect all of its loose ends. Evidently, the filmmakers have their own transcendent version of "chaos theory" as it applies to making sense of everyday life stories.
JULIE JOHNSON
Shooting Gallery
Producers: Ray Angelic, Larry Meistrich
Director: Bob Gosse
Screenwriters: Wendy Hammond, Bob Gosse
Executive producers: Steve Carlis, Donald C. Carter, Keith Abell
Director of photography: David M. Dunlap
Costume designer: Kathryn Nixon
Production designer: Mark Ricker
Executive music producer: Tracy McKnight
Visual effects supervisor: Jonathan Flack
Postproduction supervisor: Chris Kenneally
Supervising sound editor: Jennifer Ralston
Color/Stereo
Julie: Lili Taylor
Claire: : Courtney Love
Mr. Miranda: : Spalding Gray
Rick: : Noah Emmerich
Lisa: Mischa Barton
Frank: Gideon Jacobs
Running time -- 94 minutes
No MPAA rating...
- 1/29/2001
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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