Reviews of selected general release films
The most fun part is actually an ongoing cameo by Sir Elton John that is delightfully sassy and several times made the guy sitting next to me cheer quietly (thanks, buddy, for being a good movie neighbor!).
With a clarion cry of rationalization, the phrase, “The pervert can be blackmailed!” was the passport to oppression used by everybody from the FBI to the Postmaster General’s office to root out, expose, and expel gay people from all sorts of government jobs. Howard introduces the audience to several victims of the gay purge: military men and women, scientists, clerks.
And there is craftiness. Petersen is telling us something we all know, but don’t want to admit to ourselves: our pleasant memories are easily deconstructed into impactful trauma, and not even the warm fuzzies of crayons and construction paper can hide the truth from a person honest with themselves.
Allowing oneself to be basted in the film’s world is transformative. Never again will you look at “bums” and “degenerates” in a one-dimensional way. Because now, you’ve lived with them. Forget the soft edges and Hollywood dazzle of films like Midnight Cowboy or My Own Private Idaho. Such works don’t dare to delve into the filmic poetry and crushingly honest depictions which EKAJ achieves.
It’s hard to talk about the progression of events without giving away too much. But in case any viewer worries that the mystery of the missing hubby isn’t resolved (a la Fellini’s L’avventura), no need to fear. The building up of events comes full circle with a hard-hitting twist ending you won’t see coming, probably the most surprising reveal since…but that would be telling.
Beneath the surface, however, seems to be another theme that is perhaps a bold statement on the dangers of disassociation of connections and relationships in modern urban culture. It is strongly implied that this abrupt disruption from home, wife, child, professional identity and economic class helped ignite the doctor’s decline in mental stability—that the strain of these sudden jarring changes and absence of connectedness brought on a psychological collapse.
Dim the Fluorescents is officially on my list of per-annum must-watch with a pint of ice cream films of the “essential popular feminist” canon that manage to blend this kind of messaging with a compelling narrative. Not because it doesn’t transcend the boundaries of Hollywood to be in essence a work of contemporary art film or an underground film (it does).
For all of the heady titles a fancy fest like Tribeca boasts, there’s also a nice bit of midnight movie material floating around. Two standouts grabbed my attention, albeit for very different reasons. One is a bizarro bit of dark folklore from deep within the Baltic states. The other is an old-fashioned supernatural yarn set in rural America in the mold of The Twilight Zone. Both are great examples of how a discerning festival can find sublime treasures even in the over-trodden tropes of fantasy flicks.
The film itself is very well-handled. It hits most of the standard biopic tropes with exceeding competence and sensitivity. Setting the stoic nature of Finnish culture aside, Pekka Strang’s performance as Tom evokes a great deal of the frustration and longing which surely the artist felt. It’s a maddening proposition.
Prepare to witness jarring scenes of the couple having sex – not regular sex – it’s almost at a genuinely daredevil level. No, this isn’t a porno, but it certainly edges up against those borders at times. Thankfully, there isn’t too much of this, and it really does serve a purpose. This film is all about vulnerability. These are people slicing themselves open on screen, going to a lot of trouble to show us in piercing detail all of their flaws and frailty.
