OSCARS 2019: Of Fathers and Sons (2017)

Unfortunately, as long as the wars there rage on, documentary filmmakers will be drawn to the Middle East. Of course, a war zone is going to bring out the best and worst of humanity, creating the sort of naturally dramatic situations that make for compelling film making. One of the strongest films in last year's round-up of Academy Award nominated documentaries was “Last Men in Aleppo,” which was about the bloody Civil War in Syria. This year, the same category returns to the same country with “Of Fathers and Sons.” You can't blame the Academy for being attracted to this stuff because it's undoubtedly important types of films being made in a contested area.

Much like many of these other documentary makers, the director of “Of Fathers and Sons” risked life and limb to tell this story. Talal Derki pretended to be sympathetic to Salafi jidahism and would-be terrorists in the area in order to gain access to the families. He eventually befriends Abu Osama, a Muslim extremist who works as a mine remover. Abu is a huge fan of the Taliban and the September 11th terrorists attacks, naming the oldest of his two sons after Osama bin Laden. (Giving the kid the name Osama Osama.) Derki's camera follows the man and his sons, watching as the kids are indoctrinated into the ways of violence and hate. After Abu has a leg blown off by a mine, the boys are sent off to a terrorism training camp.

By taking his camera into the home of a fanatical would-be terrorist, Derki does an unlikely thing: He humanizes extremists. We see Abu doing normal, everyday thing. He plays with his kids, frequently in the kind of way any father would. He sits around, eating with his friends and talking about the things that concern him. (Which just happens to be punishing infidels.) More than anything else, Derki shows that Abu isn't a very good extremist. He is mocked by his neighbors. His attempts to shoot at someone off-screen goes awry, the man claiming his gun jammed. His friends often do not seem impressed by his exuberant shouts of support. Yet, no matter how disgusting or imbecilic a figure Abu is, you can't help but feel sorry for him when he looses his leg or his collection of beloved books are burned.

Yet do not mistake this intimacy for sympathy. Derki does capture some disturbing behavior, made all the more disturbing by how casual it is. The father teaches his sons to speak the language of violence. The boys capture a bird, eventually stabbing it to death and burning the dead body. Dad is not bothered by this behavior. The kids get into fights at school, throwing rocks at teachers and other students. When its discovered one of those boys is starting fights, his father smacks him. While playing with his youngest son, Abu's friend starts casually making jokes about electrocuting the child. Nobody in the household finds any of this unnerving. This is normal for them. When contrast with the youth of the brothers, the easy way they accept this violence becomes more disturbing.

That sense of unease only grows as “Of Fathers and Sons” continues and Osama Osama winds up in a terrorism training camp. Derki watches the horrendous training boys as young as seven undergo. They leap through flaming rings, forced to do chin-ups while being shot at. They even observe their play time through the lens of religious warfare. It's certainly disturbing to watch such young children being shipped off, carrying machine guns and told to kill. Yet Osama – who does poorly in school and can't make friends – flocks to these ideas. Obviously, because he wants to impress his father. In the film's final minutes, as Derki leaves Syria forever, he mentions how Osama would continue down this path of violence, while his brother would focus on school.

It's a sad, sad story. Yet “Of Fathers and Sons” isn't just a story of Islamic extremists. Its theme – of men being taught that violence is the only way they can communicate, of someone substituting actual potential with religious fanaticism – is not exclusive to the war in the Middle East. The disturbing frankness with which Derki captures this behavior definitely makes “Of Fathers and Sons” an important document of a country in crisis. It's not light viewing but films like this should be seen, as its educational in the truest sense of the world. [7/10]

OSCARS 2019: First Reformed (2017)

Paul Schrader knows what he's doing but rarely gets credit for it. You'd think having classics like “Taxi Driver” and “Raging Bull” on his screenwriting resume would secure Schrader's reputation among America's most important filmmakers. Instead, his name doesn't come up nearly as often as it should. His first five features as director – running from “Blue Collar,” through “Hardcore” and the underrated remake of “Cat People,” and into “Mishima” – all have cult followings of some sort. Yet the number of motion pictures he's made since then have been largely ignored. I'm not suggesting disowned Nicolas Cage crime flicks or movies with Lindsey Lohan deserve a second look. However, I would hope the wave of critical praise that has greeted “First Reformed” will finally give one of American cinema's most enigmatic figures a little more respect. It got him his first Oscar nomination, because the Academy is among those that underappreciated Schrader.

Ernst Toller is the head pastor of First Reformed, a 250 year old church in upstate New York. He has recently decided to start keeping a journal, in hopes of reaffirming his faith during the church's re-dedication, which a local megachurch is sponsoring. He is having health problems of increasing severity and using alcohol to dull the constant pain. His concerns are drawn into sharp relief when parishioners – Michael and his pregnant wife Mary – ask him for council. Michael is an environmental activist, who protested a local factory ran by a man named Balq. Michael wonders if it's right to bring life into this world when humanity has inevitably pushed it towards environmental catastrophe. This awakens a crisis in Ernst.

“First Reformed” summons up and tackles about a hundred different issues. It has been self-described as an encapsulation of all the themes Schrader has wrestled with over the years. Yet the movie is most about how the human soul reacts in the face of hopelessness. This sense of despair ranges from the deeply personal to global in nature. Ernst became a pastor after his son died in Iraq. Despite saying he found solace in God, this is a pain he clearly has never totally processed. He feels deeply unsatisfied with his work. His congregation shrinks, more people flocking to the near-by megachurch, with First Reformed becoming a tourist attraction. (The quietness with which he responds to said tourists is one of the few moments of comedy in the film.) When Michael’s research forces him to confront the irreparable damage man has done to Earth, he has trouble correlating the inactive role religion plays in the world with the fear and rage he feels. He feels professionally, personally, and existentially useless. These questions – what do we do when life feels useless? When the planet seems to be hurdling towards total destruction? – are ones many people are feeling these days. I know I am. “First Reformed” provides no easy answers but stares into the dread these feelings cause.

Throughout the film, Ernst refers to the grievances of his life as “petty.” Yet these petty concerns seem to be piling up. Schrader lingers on the everyday anxiety this causes. Such as the excruciating pain Ernst feels when urinating blood or vomiting. Or the humiliation during the everyday work of running a church, unclogging a toilet, removing a dead animal caught on a fence, worrying about old plumbing, accidentally spilling food on a man at the soup kitchen. Is this Doing the Lord’s Work? He dismisses these feelings, including his depression, as prideful. Yet other people cause him anger too. Such as an obnoxious America First kid in the youth group he councils, a scene that so perfectly captures the frustration of our modern political discourse. Or Esther, a woman active in the church that has a crush on him. He eventually lashes out at her, causing another moment of uncomfortable comedy. If these concerns are as petty as Ernst describes them, why do they bother him so much?

The audience is made directly privy to these anxieties through voiceover, as Toller’s diary entries are narrated to us. The diary is an act of self-flagellation, as writing down and re-examinating his thoughts only increases his anxiety. Despite the storm raging inside, Ethan Hawks stays mostly quiet in the role. At least at first, he has a certain dignity to maintain, as an authority figure in his dwindling community. As the story goes on, as Toller’s fears become harder to control, Hawke’s performance gives over more and more to desperation. He stammers during heated debates about environmentalism before finally flailing into animal cries of agony at the very end. Hawke so perfectly captures the anxiety of our modern age, trying to hold it together even though everything, inside and out, is crumbling.

Schrader shot the film in 4:3 ratio, the black bars on both sides of the screen narrowing the eyes into the center of the frame. This causes the audience to even further examine the exact, precise images unfolding. Everything inside “First Reformed” has been placed there with a purpose. It’s a quiet, still film, much like attending church. The perfectly arranged nature of the film causes an odd beauty, in moments as brutal as a dead body discovered among a stainless field of snow. It also causes discomfort in the audience when that stillness is disturbed. Such as a hallucinogenic moment when Ernst and Mary levitate through scenes of natural beauty, before his thoughts of environmental destruction intrude, in a way any anxious person will recognize. Or the deeply disturbing ending, where the church-like hush of the film is disrupted by acts of violence, bodily lust, and a dream-like tone that leaves the exact implications of the events open to interpretation. This approach, a horrifying blackness intruding into the spiritual tranquility, extends to the musical score. It’s largely quiet and empty, save for when Lustmord’s churning, discordant noise bubbles up, a bad memory stabbing into a calm day.

There’s so much more to say about “First Reformed,” as Schrader litters the movie with symbols and question. What to make of Amanda Seyfried’s Mary, a pregnant woman that is as virginal seeming as her namesake? Or quizzical shots, like Peptol-Bismol swirling ugily into a tumbler of booze? It’s part of the director’s Transcendental style, his way of making movies that function more like visions than straight narratives. What makes “First Reformed” work the best for me is how accurately it captures living a life with anxiety, how any peace is squeezed out by an uncontrollable feeling that the world is ending or that your body is dying. It’s obviously one of last year’s best films. The Academy overlooking it in the Lead Actor, Director, Cinematography, and Best Picture categories truly calls for penance. [9/10]

OSCARS 2019: RBG (2018)

The documentary continues to make in-roads into the mainstream in 2018. If one documentary can be said to truly connect with a broader audience last year, it was “Won't You Be My Neighbor?” Millennial audiences desperate for earnestness in the blazing hellscape that is our modern world flocked to the Mister Rogers doc. This turned it into the highest grossing biographical documentary of all time. But, for whatever reason, the Academy wasn't impressed enough with that film to actually nominate it for Best Documentary Feature. Instead, they sought out the other biographic documentary that made some box office waves last year. “RBG,” following the career of Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

As you'd expect, “RBG: The Film” gives us a look at the life of RBG: The Woman. As with most biographical documentaries, the film begins in the modern day before tracing back to Ginsberg's roots. We see how she was raised by a tough but principled woman, a mother that passed away when Ruth was only 17. This principal, to never show anger, to always speak truth to power, has carried Ginsberg through her career. We see how she journeyed through law school, despite facing discrimination based on her gender. Her role as a women's right activist, speaking before the Supreme Court on several groundbreaking cases, is detailed. As is her eventual appointment to the Supreme Court and the challenges she has faced in the two decades since.

The facts of Ruth Bader Ginsberg's career can be easily uncovered. That's the kind of thing we have Wikipedia for. While “RBG” is zippy, the sequences focused on this information are only compelling in a baseline sort of way. More interesting is the peaks we get into Ginsberg's personal life. We see her interacting with her granddaughter, a recent graduate of law school herself, the esteemed woman acting like a traditional Jewish bubbe. She shows her closest full of special collars to the camera, detailing their meaning. We meet her children, childhood best friends, personal trainer, and co-workers. (Including an unlikely friendship with Antonin Scalia, her philosophical opposite on the court.) Especially touching are the portions devoted to her late husband, Martin. It's obvious he complimented her, with his soft-spoken humor. Without hammering it home, it's apparent how much she misses him now.

Especially entertaining, and likely the reason why “RBG” got made at this time, is how the film tracks Ginsberg's resurgence into pop culture. Her status as a light of sanity in an increasingly insane modern climate, resisting the rise of crypto-fascist “conservative” politics, is shown as the cause for her popularity. Though the film doesn't deny the humor in making an 87 year old woman into an exaggerated bad-ass. The film shows various internet memes comparing her to Wonder Woman, Black Widow, and the Notorious B.I.G. While the interviews with the creators of this memes are mildly interesting, Ginsberg's reaction to her newfound status as an internet star is more amusing. She nonchalantly accepts the “Notorious R.B.G.” nickname, pointing the similarities she had with Biggie Smalls. We see her watching a rowdy Saturday Night Live sketch about her, giggling enthusiastically. Ginsberg seems delighted by her role in pop culture but clearly never lets it distract from the seriousness of her work.

Just taken as a straight-ahead documentary, “RBG” sets off with few bells and whistles. Directors Julie Cohen and Betsy West deploy the occasional visual gimmick. The landmark cases of Ginsberg's career are presented on-screen as titles on very official looking papers. The recordings of Supreme Court cases play as voice-overs over footage of the empty court room, the words appearing as text above the seats. Ginsberg is frequently called upon to recite some of her more famous words directly to the camera, often emphasizing her incredible abilities as an orator. Otherwise, “RBG” is a pretty standard talking heads documentary. 

Not that there's anything wrong with that. You don't need flashy visuals or fancy cinematic techniques to get your point across. Just as a portrayal of an extraordinary woman, “RBG” is more than valid. It's a pretty fluffy doc, basically feel-good comfort food for people who lean left on the political spectrum. Will it win the Oscar? If the Academy feels the need to reward a box office success, it might. It would certainly be among the more socially conscious choices the voters could make as well. I guess we'll just see. Until then, this film might preach to the choir but it still succeeds at what it set out to do. [7/10]

OSCARS 2019: First Man (2018)

For all the bitching I do about how predictable the Oscars are, the truth is you never really know what movies they'll love and what they'll appear indifferent too. If you had asked me early last year, I would've bet money on “First Man” being a front-runner at the 2019 Oscars. This was, after all, Damien Chazelle's follow-up to his Oscar-winning “La La Land.” He was re-teaming with that film's Ryan Gosling. Even better, it was a biopic about extraordinary historical figure Neil Armstrong. This should've been a lock in the top categories, right? Despite receiving largely positive reviews, “First Man” failed to connect with audiences and created at least one extremely stupid controversy. While the film received four nominations in technical categories – Production Design, Visual Effects, Sound Editing and Sound Mixing – it was left out of any of the bigger areas.

Neil Armstrong is a NASA test pilot devoted to his work or so it would seem. While he pilots the X-15 test rockets, his mind is with his sick daughter Karen. When she passes, he's heartbroken but continues his devotion to the space program. He's soon chosen for Project Gemini, the first mission to dock two shuttles in space. Though nearly a catastrophe, the mission is largely a success. Armstrong is chosen for the Apollo 1 mission to land a man on the moon. Though work related tragedy and personal struggles haunt Armstrong, he's determined to succeed.

While other famous astronauts went into politics or where happy to make pop culture appearances, Neil Armstrong was always a more enigmatic and quiet figure. “First Man” attempts to get at the humanity underneath Armstrong's famous modesty and finds a surprisingly neurotic soul. He's shown as an intensely private man, always putting a stoic face on in public. He doesn't even cry at his daughter's funeral, hiding away to weep in isolation. He's shown as an almost obsessive recorder of notes. At a party, Armstrong retreats to the backyard to look at the stars. When a guest attempts to reach out to him, Armstrong rudely rebuffs him. When pressed by his wife, he simply describes the space program as “neat.” While the character never admits as much, he's deeply unhappy and wishes to achieve his mission more to honor those who have died. It's a fascinating portrayal of a real, complicated man who has largely been absorbed into American legend. Armstrong's sons, portrayed in the film, have said it's an accurate depiction of their father.

Chazelle sought utmost realism when designing “First Man.” He depicts the space program with the same intensity shown in “Whiplash,” as a potentially self-destructive goal pursued by men determined to achieve something greater than themselves. The opening scene focuses on Armstrong's face as the X-15 trip goes wrong. Similarly, when the Gemini 6 shuttle nearly crashes, the camera's spin. The editing becomes fierce. The sound design ramps up. The film wants the audience to feel the panic and chaos the astronauts felt in the moment. We see this same approach to a failed testing of the moon-lander or a trip in the gyroscope. Yet perhaps it is worth it, as in the startling beautiful scenes depicting Armstrong seeing Earth from space for the first time. Or the quiet starkness of his trip across the moon's surface. The reoccurring themes of Chazelle's previous film – the ecstasy of succeeding at a goal, the bloody sacrifice made to reach that point – hold true.

Ryan Gosling seems especially well chosen to play Armstrong. Gosling is quickly coming to specialize in strong, silent types. Gosling's movie star good looks and charms speak to Armstrong's all-American values. Yet the actor also gets at the alienation the man felt, grasping the mysterious drives that pushed him forward and understanding his unwillingness to share them. Look at a brilliant key scene – telling his sons he may not return from the moon voyage – for a good example of that. This contrasts with Claire Foy as his wife, Janet. Foy's panics and frets, over her sons and her husband. Eventually, she is nearly pushed to the limit by Neil's practically obsessive focus to achieve his goal. While Neil keeps his secrets to himself, Foy's Janet is an open wound, desperate for love and reaffirmation that her husband is not always great at expressing.

Why “First Man” didn't succeed with audience or Academy voters is hard to say. It's a brilliant, stirring motion picture, fantastically acted, beautifully directed, with strong emotions just under the surface. Perhaps its long run time and decision not to be a typical, feel-good biopic put off movie goers. The dumb-ass manufactured outrage that the film “wasn't patriotic enough” certainly didn't help. (The movie isn't about Patriotism or even the American government but the men who did these things.) And this just seems to be the year the Academy leaped on feel-good, middle-of-the-road garbage like “Green Book” or “Bohemian Rhapsody,” rather than genuinely challenging and fulfilling art. I think history will recognize “First Man” as the achievement it is. Its score is absolutely brilliant too, by the way. [9/10] 

OSCARS 2018: Hale County This Morning This Evening (2018)

As an amateur film critic, it can sometimes be difficult to see some of the Oscar-nominated films every February. While studios are increasingly learning that digital streaming and rentals are the best way to make many of these films available, a lot of distributors are still sticking to the limiting strategy of dropping foreign language films or documentaries into a few art house theaters in big cities. Because of this, there's going to be three or four nominees this year that I won't be able to see before the ceremony. Which is why I'm thankful that PBS decided to showcase “Hale County, This Morning This Evening” as part of its Independent Lens series. I probably wouldn't have been able to see what is now my favorite of the nominated documentaries otherwise.

As the title indicates, “Hale County, This Morning This Evening” is about Hale County, Alabama. RaMell Ross' film does not have a traditional narrative. The closest we get is following a new father leading up to the birth and how he reacts when the child dies suddenly of SIDS. Instead, the photographer-turned-director gives us little snapshots all throughout the town, showing brief glimpses of people as they go about their lives. This ends up making “Hale County, This Morning This Evening” sometimes feel less like a movie and more like some sort of art installation. Yet it's utterly fascinating nevertheless.

“Hale County,” in the best way, reminded of the early films of Errol Morris, “Gates of Heaven” and “Vernon, Florida” especially. Like those groundbreaking documentaries, Ross' film does an excellent job of capturing little moments as they happen. We watch, for several minutes, as a little child walks back and forth through a room. We see the newfound excitement and joy the kid greets this simple action with. We watch people walk their dogs around a neighborhood, talking to each other and gently socializing. We see Hale County residents plays sports, hang-out, casually interact. Sometimes, Ross just drives around the town, looking at the streets and store fronts. Yet it's never tedious or dull. Instead, it feels like you are getting a perfect encapsulation of life in this small town.

This extends to grabbing small moments of beauty, the type of sights you see every day but do not think about much. After a man drags a large tire into a fire, the camera focuses on the smoke as it dances up into the blue sky. Sometimes, Ross pushes things even further in an abstract direction. A shot of a baby playing in a bath is slowly overlaid with a shot of a flashlight moving through the night. For a brief minute, it looks like the infant has suddenly grabbed a ball of light out of nowhere. Later, during a basketball game, Ross lapses into slow motion as people cheer and leap out of their seats. The words “Whose boy is this?” echoes for a few minutes over the next scene. I know calling a motion picture a “tone poem” is rather pretentious but “Hale County, This Morning This Evening” really does seem like one. It's a series of images and sounds that evoke a very specific feeling quite effectively.

Yet I suspect Ross' goals are more complex than just capturing life in a small town or pointing out the little moments of beauty that we pass by every day. It's not mistake that Hale County is largely occupied by black people, that nearly every person we see in the film is of color. Ross peppers the film with vague intertitles, many of which seem to be speaking to some greater statement about what being black in the American south is like. Among these digression is footage of silent black performer Bert Williams. What exactly these moments mean I can't quite decipher. However, by so intimately capturing life in this largely black town, Ross beautifully paints a picture of How Things Are, how everyone is different and similar. Without many big statements or a sense of self-importance,  “Hale County” makes a subtle point about race.

The other night, I said “Roma” was a film that “moved at the speed of life.” This is even more true of “Hale County,” a movie that progresses from one seemingly unimportant event to another, in much the same way real life does. It's a motion picture of quiet beauty, taking us into the lives of others in an unobtrusive but intimate way. If you've ever spent a few nights in a small town, you recognize the very particular feeling the movie captures. When paired with Ross' talent for creating unexpected moments of poetry, it makes “Hale County, This Morning This Evening” an act of true art, as well as an interesting social statement. I liked it a lot, so thank you, PBS. [8/10]

OSCARS 2019: A Quiet Place (2018)

Even though it's all cinema, my horror movie fandom and my love/hate relationship with the Oscars do not crossover very often. Yes, the cliché that the Academy turns its collective nose up at “low” genres like horror, sci-fi, action, and comedy is still largely true, even in 2019. Look no further than Toni Collete's incredible performance in “Hereditary,” clearly among the year's best acting, being snubbed even with an aggressive campaign from A24. So, anytime a horror movie does manage to snag an Oscar nomination, it's a pretty big deal. Even if it's only in one of the weird technical categories most people don't care about. Such is the case with “A Quiet Place,” a critically acclaimed horror sleeper hit from last year. While John Krasinski's debut directorial credit was not ignored during awards season, the only Oscar nomination it received was in the very appropriate category of Best Sound Editing.

Set in the near future, after Earth has been taken over by predatory monsters that hunt strictly by sound, “A Quiet Place” follows the Abbott family. Evelyn and Lee were more prepared for a quiet world than most, as their daughter – Regan – was born deaf. Despite everyone, including oldest son Marcus, knowing sign language, youngest son Beau is still killed by one of the creatures. A year later, Evelyn is pregnant again, about to give birth. Regan is spending more time away from home, blaming herself for Beau's death. While out on a fishing trip with Marcus, a group of monsters sneak into the Abbott household just as Evelyn starts to give birth.

“A Quiet Place” is John Krasinski's baby, as he stars, directs, and co-wrote the screenplay. The former sitcom star proves surprisingly adapt at generating scenes of suspense. “A Quiet Place” functions on drawn-out sequences of tension. The movie successfully piles on one grim thrill after another. While out on a hike, Lee and Marcus come upon an old man. The camera lingers on everyone's faces, as you prepare for the inevitable scream to come, summoning the creatures. This technique – long build-up follow by monster attacks – becomes especially apparent in the last act. There are multiple scenes of the family hiding from the monsters, mere feet from them. Whether it's lurking through water or hiding in a grain silo, the movie does well by constantly placing its protagonists into danger and letting the audience simmer in that doubt as long as possible.

The balance of silence and noise is especially important to the film. Look at its opening sequence. We follow the Abbots as they raid a grocery store for supplies. The film watches quietly, as Beau is tempted to pick up a toy space shuttle. Finally, the overwhelming quiet is overturned when one of the beasts springs forward to attack. Later, a nail protruding from a staircase sets up an even grislier moment later in the film. Krasinski doesn't quite keep this balance throughout. The movie has its share of jump-scares, loud noises shrieking on the soundtrack. In the final act, tension fades as the family takes on the monsters one-on-one, Marco Beltrami's score blaring. But, for a long time, “A Quite Place” is pretty damn effective.

Another thing I like about the movie is the nature of its monstrous antagonists. We get vague hints at where these creatures come from. Newspaper headlines are glimpsed in the background, establishing the monsters' method of hunting. The exact origins of the creatures, however, are kept delightfully vague. Are they extraterrestrial in nature? Demonic? We don't know. “A Quiet Place' isn't about a global invasion of monsters. Instead, it focuses in on this very specific corner of the world during this particular crisis. The monsters themselves – I've taken to calling them Ear Mantises – are “Cloverfield” style hairless spider monkeys. I do like the way their Venom-esque heads open up into giant hearing organs though.

What perhaps makes “A Quiet Place” better than the typical mall horror installment is its sense of heart. There's a definite story of forgiveness and familial love here. Regan blames herself for Beau's death and feels like her father hasn't forgiven her. Ultimately, this is a story about the family overcoming this trauma. A strong cast helps further sell this emotion. Krasinski keeps it in the family, casting real life wife Emily Blunt as Evelyn. Blunt is especially good at conveying pain and fear through suppressed gasps and concerned faces. The real revelation here are the kids. Millicent Simmonds as Regan and Noah Jupe as Marcus are both excellent. The emotion Simmonds shows during the tense scenes with Krasinski are extremely well done. It's a good thing you root for these kids, since them being endangered is what drives the entire last third.

I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to horror, I'll be the first to admit that. When I saw the posters and trailers for “A Quiet Place” last year, I expected another lame, PG-13 jump scare fest. Especially once I saw the Platinum Dunes production logo. I'm happy to eat some crow in cases like this, as the movie turned out to be pretty good. I'd even be up for that sequel that's been announced, as there's certainly more of this world and scenario to explore. (Even if it means spoiling the ambiguity that worked so well here.) And should win the Sound Editing Oscar? Well, it would be pretty neat if a creature feature grabbed a little gold man. [7/10]

OSCARS 2019: Minding the Gap (2018)

I still have so many mixed feelings with the wealth of content being produced by various streaming companies. However, the boom has certainly been good for documentaries. It's become increasingly common for the Academy to fill the Best Documentary category out with picks from various streaming services. In recent years, Netflix has provided “13th,” “Strong Island,” and “Icarus.” (The latter of which undeservedly got a win.) Amazon premiered “Abacus: Small Enough to Jail.” And now Hulu has scored a nomination with “Minding the Gap.” While most of these are highly relevant documentaries discussing important, modern issues, Bing Liu's documentary is more about classical themes of coming-of-age, struggling against poverty, and familial trauma.

“Minding the Gap” follows three friends and their relations as they grow up in a small American town, gripped with unemployment and few options. Bing, Zack, and Kiere have always bonded over their mutual love of skateboarding. As they leave their teen years behind and become twenty-somethings, they each face new challenges. Kiere tries to find steady work, so he can move out of his Mom's house. Zack fathers a child and finds cohabiting with the mother difficult, largely due to his increased dependency on alcohol. Bing, meanwhile, tries to process a traumatic childhood of living with an abusive stepdad. In fact, all the boys have abuse in their past. And now history looks to repeat itself, with the way the increasingly volatile Zack treats his partner.

You know why I really liked “Minding the Gap?” It's basically a real life Larry Clark movie. Most of the less salacious elements are present: Young adults living in a dead-end small town, struggling with the new responsibilities of adulthood, substance abuse, romance, and mental instability. Oh yeah, and lots of skateboarding. Of course, this is real life and not the deranged shouting of an old pervert. So there's a lot less orgies, barely legal nudity, and melodramatic violence in “Minding the Gap.” However, the comparison is apt. Liu acknowledges the debt he owes Clark by showing his friends watching “Kids” at one point. And you can tell Liu has cinematic ambitions, as many of the doc's scenes have an overly staged, scripted quality to them. (Zack, at one point, even acknowledges the awkward set-up of making a documentary.)

While it's more story-driven than a lot of documentaries these days, “Minding the Gap” still counts as an issues doc of sorts. The common thread of domestic abuse in the boys' lives forms a thematic backbone. Liu takes care to show the mental anguish him, his brother, and his friends feel because of the abuse. They recount harrowing stories of being belittled, hit, or punished. Yet what's most chilling is how commonplace and unextraordinary this abuse appears. Kiere's mom is discouraged from being interviewed by her off-screen boyfriend, who is obviously threatening her into silence. The way alcoholism and self-hatred plays a role in Zack's own unambiguously abusive behavior is acknowledged without letting him off the hook. While the film is fascinated by the cycle of hurt that causes this behavior to grow, Liu's film is at its best when showing this awful behavior as part of everyday life for folks in an impoverished community.

You get the impression that Liu didn't totally intend to document the role violence has played in the lives of him and his friends. “Minding the Gap” was likely born out of the skateboarding footage he was already making. Yet the two elements are undeniably intertwined. To these boys, skateboarding provides a release. While zipping through the air and up ramps on a board, they feel a sense of freedom that escapes them in their day-to-day lives. There is a definite lack of control for them normally but, when skateboarding, they feel totally in charge of their fates. Liu emphasizes this with exciting and often handheld footage of the guys moving on their boards. It's a nice side note to the doc's heavier moments, the way it captures how people escape from the doldrums of their lives in a place like this.

“Minding the Gap” does become a bit of a miserablist slog in its second half, as the focus turns more towards the boys recounting their abusive childhoods. During a montage of the interviews, getting in detail about this stuff, the film almost becomes unbearable. It then ends afterwards in a sudden way, with the required post-script talking about where everyone is now. Still, “Minding the Gap” has some grabbing, stirring moments. Liu definitely achieved his goal of documenting the struggles of life in a stagnating small town, the triumphs and failures his friends have endured. I think Larry Clark would like it too, though he'd probably say it needs more dick shots and murder. [7/10]