For all the George Floyds.

One news story this week has stolen world headlines, as you probably know already, from the COVID-19 pandemic, and it's not a good one. I obviously mean the choking death of African-American crime suspect George Floyd at the hands of white policeman Derek Chauvin in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Floyd was arrested for trying to use a counterfeit $20 note in a deli and during the arrest, was held down as Chauvin pressed his knee against Floyd's neck for eight minutes and forty-six seconds, during which time Floyd repeatedly complained of being unable to breathe.

The four officers involved in Floyd's arrest have already been fired, thankfully. But that firing could not prevent public demonstrations happening in support of him, which quickly escalated into riots that are now spreading across the US. These riots have already been likened to those that happened in Los Angeles in 1992, although those ones happened not after the assault of African-American motorist Rodney King but after the officers involved were all acquitted.

But enough of the journalistic commentary for now. The fact that these riots have happened, and are spreading, during a time of demanded social distancing because of a global pandemic, emphasises clearly just how little the United States are truly united still, along racial lines. That disunity must be fixed, as must racial inequality here in Australia where the indigenous population are disproportionately represented in prison statistics much like African-Americans are Stateside.

My heart and thoughts go out to Mr. Floyd's entire community, particularly his family, and I hope the causes of these ongoing riots across America are eradicated quickly, peacefully, and permanently.

RIP. #BlackLivesMatter.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #189: The Institute (2017).

It's 1893, in Baltimore. Isabel Porter (Allie Gallerani) is a wealthy young aristocrat grieving her recently deceased parents. Upon her doctor's recommendation, she checks herself into the Rosewood Institute, where the upper classes are promised R&R. But this promise is not kept. For on the watch of head physician Dr. Cairnes (James Franco, with a handlebar moustache that could make you think he's actually playing Lord Kitchener), young women are faced with strange and unorthodox procedures in mind control and personality changing, to instead satisfy the cravings of a dangerous secret cult.

This Gothic horror by directors Franco and Pamela Romanowski and writers Adam and Matt Rager may claim to be "Based on terrifying true events," but I found the end product about as terrifying as a basket of puppies. Maybe it's just my more contemporary horror taste, and to their credits the team here try hard to avoid resorting to tropes like jump scares, but the violence and suspense are simply spread far too far apart and revealed too subtly for me. Additionally, the Ragers' dialogue is thoroughly insipid and their plotting too by-the-numbers. Gallerani shows a bit of effort and range but all her co-stars look like they're just slumming it (even Franco). There is some attractive period design but on the visual flipside, the photography is focused much too glossily for this sort of material. There's also a very boring score. The Institute is more of an ordeal for the viewer than any of the characters harmed in it.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #188: The Motorcyle Diaries (2004).

Most of us know his image, having seen it staring back at us from a poster, T-shirt or some other kind of memorabilia. But there's a far less well-known part of Ernesto "Che" Guevara's life that helped shaped him into the Argentine guerilla revolutionary he became. In 1952, he and his biochemist friend Alberto Granado embarked on a nine-month motorcycle journey of Latin America, which began with youthfully hedonistic adventures but gradually became, for Guevara, a conscience-awakening discovery of everything he came to believe was wrong with that region. Guevara kept a diary of the trip, and that diary became a bestseller and then Brazilian director Walter Salles' 2004 film The Motorcycle Diaries.

Here, Gabriel Garcia Bernal appropriately plays Guevara just as a serious and rather petulant but disciplined young student as opposed to a fists-in-the-air freedom fighter, but more impressive is Rodrigo de la Serna as Granado, who becomes more of a diplomatic voice of reason to Guevara's firebrand activist rather than a conventional wingman; the real Alberto, aged 82, also makes a cameo at the end. But while Salles coaxes these compelling performances from his two leads, his direction is very uneven. He paces the travelling scenes with engaging briskness, but the others are so relaxed they threaten to derail everything else and while the road scenes are strikingly well-shot, there's also not enough music to really enhance the culture that's being literally and visually explored here (although its theme song, Al Otro Lado del Rio, won an Oscar). However, Jose Rivera's screenplay is consistently eloquent and authentic.

Overall, The Motorcycle Diaries is a watchable coming-of-age film, but as a recreation of a journey that turned an impressionable young student into an iconic revolutionary for his downtrodden people, it needs more fuel in its engine.

A remembrance and tribute, eight years overdue.

I can't think of how to start this entry, but start - and complete - it, I must. Today I was scrolling back through my Facebook memories when I found one from 2009 from a former high school friend of mine. But what puzzled and concerned me wasn't his message; it was how the word "Remembering" was above his name. That gave me a sinking feeling immediately, and so I clicked on his name and saw some of the posts people had made there. That was when I was saddened and very shocked to learn he had died, and not recently, either. It happened in 2012.

His name was Tayler, and he was just 24 when he passed; I don't know how. He was originally from New Zealand (in fact he was the first Kiwi I ever met) but in school he could keep up with us Aussie kids in every area like it was nobody's business. We were English classmates, and a sweeter and more laidback soul you could never hope to meet. Loyal and funny, too.

After Tayler moved away with his family once he and I both completed Year Nine in 2002, I never heard from him again (although I promise you I never forgot about him) until that Facebook message he sent me in '09 after adding me on there, which turned out to be the last time we'd ever speak. I'm glad we were able to reconnect just that once and that it had a happy tone, but I'm ashamed of myself for not knowing he had been gone all this time. Nobody ever told me, but I should've been more observant. But I suppose at least now I know why I hadn't heard from him in 11 years. And I know I'll hear from him again.

Rest in peace, Tayler, and I'll see you on the other side. Love always.

1988 - 2012.

Something Cult, Foreign or Indie #187: O.J.: Made in America (2016).

We all remember his rise and fall; how could you or not? Orenthal James Simpson, the man who went from American football hero and Hollywood star to accused (later acquitted) murderer and, finally, convicted burglar. This fall from grace also revealed to the world an America still deeply divided among racial lines. The Oscar-winning 2016 ESPN Films documentary O.J.: Made in America, released theatrically and in five parts on TV, covers everything and withholds nothing.

At over seven hours in length and with a gruesomely detailed visual exploration of the murder scene, this is certainly a demanding watch, but despite knowing the conclusion from the start, my stomach was in a permanent knot and I couldn't look away. Director Ezra Edelman tells the story chronologically and with extensive use of archival footage, but his eye for and commitment to detail are just too lucid and appropriate, respectively, to not become utterly engrossing. Even more powerful and emotional are the interviews from many key players, including prosecutor Marcia Clark, Simpson's former friend and filmmaker Peter Hyams and of course members of the Brown and Goldman families, who all deserve praise for their participation.

Despite its title, O.J.: Made in America ultimately becomes as much about modern American culture and history as about Simpson himself, and it attempts to get us under his skin without ever defending his crimes. It stands as a courageous, objective, non-partisan, definitely unflinching and thoroughly riveting peek inside the ultimate Icarus fall of our time, and its aftermath.

For Greta 2.0.

This week as you probably know already, Greta Thunberg has been back in the news after being named to an upcoming CNN town hall conference on the coronavirus. Cue the renewed slew of bullying social media memes about her. I know how inobjective this will sound even by my standards but I can't help but feel protective of her since we both have Asperger's. What's your excuse?

That doesn't mean I think she's never misbehaved; everybody has. And I can understand how her no-nonsense, in-your-face attitude may be off-putting for some. But the fact that she has been ecologically concerned - or at least claims to have been - since she was just eight years old and is now so publicly leading a crusade for it at 17, to my mind, shows real sincerity, no matter how academically qualified she might or mightn't be.

However, since her focus until now has been climate change which is a scientific matter, I do have to question why Greta has been summoned to a conference on one more of medicine than science. I hope she will give me an answer for that - and more so, that she will keep at what she's doing and show all her detractors.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #186: Amanda (2018).

David (Vincent Lacoste) is a 24-year-old Parisian who makes a living doing odd jobs for the council, primarily as a gardener (or, rather, a "tree surgeon" as he prefers). He's just met and fallen for Lena (Stacy Martin), the new girl in town, but this sunshine turns to real rain when his sister Sandrine (Ophelia Kolb) is killed in a terrorist shooting. Their father is dead and their mother lives in London, so David now has to care for his seven-year-old niece, Amanda (Isaure Multrier). She, of course, is not initially told of her mother's death, and David has to think of how to break that to her while turning his entire lifestyle around in order to be her caregiver. With help from Lena, his eccentric but loving aunt Maud (Marianne Basler) and his best mate Axel (Jonathan Cohen), David gradually steps up and fights for legal custody of Amanda.

This unique family French family drama is a resonant and charming effort by director Mikhael Hers and his co-writer Maud Ameline. Rather than taking the frequently overdone route of feuding relatives, Amanda obviously chooses that of grief but through the perspective of a young uncle and niece, which to my knowledge has very rarely been explored in film. Thankfully, Hers and Ameline also sidestep maudlin overkill by focusing as much on David's innocent efforts to bond with Amanda as on his own pain and the parts of his life he hides from her; this makes for a cohesive and well-balanced narrative triptych, with fully authentic dialogue. As David, Lacoste conveys just the right blend of rambunctiousness and conscientiousness to convincingly portray a doting young uncle/father figure, and Multrier isn't excessively cute or emotional as his titular juvenile charge.

There's too little music, and for some reason Amanda's father is never even mentioned, but those two gripes aside, Amanda is a real little charmer. 8/10.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #185: Cooped Up (2016).

Professional wrestler Jake Ridge (Charles Cottier) escapes from a local hospital where he's just been tested for a potentially fatal coronavirus strain, and reluctantly returns to his childhood home where he's forced to isolate himself for 21 days with no TV or internet. During that time, young doctor Emily (Kathryn Beck) visits daily to check up on him, and since she's his only company, they gradually get to know each other quite deeply. But not before he snaps from boredom and succumbs to cabin fever.

This 2016 Australian comedy was the brainchild of writers Kane Guglielmi and John Ratchford and of course, four years later it's proven eerily prescient. But that doesn't mean it's exactly engaging, resonant or imaginative. Under Guglielmi's direction, Cottier makes a fairly amiable and accurately tormented hero and Beck tries her best with a pretty by-the-numbers emotional support role. But it's aesthetically lazy even for a film with such a small budget and contained setting; there are no dolly or zoom shots or anything to more flashily explore the house's interior, even, and the soundtrack is bare-bones.

Its most frustrating flaw, however, for me is the increasingly predictable and cliched plotting. We eventually learn why Jake has returned to an empty house and the reasons for that feel like they were torn straight out of a John Hughes film, and Jake's relationship with Emily practically spoils itself, ultimately. Cooped Up is no thumps up of an effort.

Something Cult, Foreign-Language or Indie #184: What We Do in the Shadows (2014).

In modern-day Wellington, New Zealand, four vampires - Viago (Taika Waititi), Vladislav (Jemaine Clement), Deacon (Jonathan Brugh) and Petyr (Ben Fransham) - share a suburban house and generally get along well together, but they're having continued trouble adapting to contemporary culture. A documentary crew arrives to follow them around and capture their escapades as they handle everyday household tasks and go club-hopping on weekends in search of potential victims; one of these turns out to be Nick (Cori Gonzalez-Macuer), who instead survives and becomes a vampire himself, introducing the boys to modern technology once he's welcomed into the fold. His welcoming, however, may just be their undoing.

I had very high hopes for this joint effort by Clement and Waititi, having loved Hunt for the Wilderpeople and particularly Jojo Rabbit as much as I did, but since it employs the mockumentary format which is very hit-and-miss for me, I'm afraid it ultimately left me out in the cold. There are some mockumentaries I've loved (Summer Heights High, This Is Spinal Tap) but they are haystack needles and obviously, this wasn't one of them. I can appreciate that format's originality but I simply find it usually too openly experimental, technically, for something as content-focused as comedy is meant to be, and that was the case here.

The cast all give engaging performances (they also include Breaker Upperer Jackie van Beek as the boys' human cleaner and hunting consultant and Deacon's familiar spirit, and Rhys Darby as the leader of a rival local werewolf gang) and Clement and Waititi's screenplay is very lucid and fairly witty, but I'm afraid their format choice really turned me off.