SIFF 2016: Day Four

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We headed up to Shoreline Community College to see The Intervention, starring Melanie Lynskey. Writer/director/star Clea Duvall introduced the film and participated in post-show Q&A. Touted a Big Chill of a new generation, it is a great effort for the first-time director. They call it a comedy, but I’d call it more of a drama with comedic moments and elements. I suppose, as most things, it is subjective, as one audience member mentioned that it was the first time they had laughed out loud at a movie in a long time. Laugh or cry, it was good enough that it got bought at Sundance, which means more people will have the opportunity to feel what they’re going to feel.

Does this film pass the Bechdel Test? I think it might, if only for at least one scene where two women are talking about their relationship with each other.

I hope Shoreline has a little more money to invest in a better sound system.

SIFF 2016: Day Three, Twice As Nice

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Saturday found us back at the Uptown for two films, before enjoying some aprés film banter and then a birthday party in Ballard.

Up first was a surreal Australian coming-of-age story called Girl Asleep. Set in what could have been the late 1970s or early 1980s, or maybe No Time, our heroine makes the transition from not-girl to almost-woman by transporting to the fantasy world of an old, possibly magical, music box. Fun to watch eye candy, there is nothing new as far as the general plot and “moral” of the story go, but overall quite a nice film. Even nicer, it was sponspored by Snoqualmie Ice Cream who handed out free samples afterward. (It was preceded by the short film “Driftwood Dustmites” – ten minutes, but I could not wait for it to be over.) I see Girl Asleep has been picked by Oscilloscope, so it should be available for viewing in the near future. Bechdel Test: PASS.

We were joined by a couple friends for Kedi, a documentary about the special relationship cats have with the city of Istanbul. Like Neko Atsume but with real cats (BTW – two dudes sitting in front of us for My Blind Brother immediately each checked their game when the film was over). We are introduced to several cats and the humans who have assumed the role of caretaker for them. The cats have free reign over Istanbul, and they are many. Amazingly, I think the film could have used more cats (just like this paragraph). There were too many shots of the city itself – expansive views of the skyline, overhead shots of the old buildings, shift tilted vistas of the harbor. I get it, it’s not just about the cats.

We headed over to a nearby coffeehouse to discuss, and yet another coffee-related mishap befell me. This time I did not even want coffee, but ordered a peppermint steamer (presumably syrup and steamed milk). I was handed a cappuccino. In a way, it may have been making up for the spilled coffee of the previous day, or maybe the universe is just messing with me.

SIFF 2016: Day Two

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On Friday we headed over to Pacific Place for My Blind Brother, the full-length adaptation of a short from 2003. Writer-director Sophie Goodhart was on hand to introduce the film and to participate in a Q&A after the film. A charming and somewhat off-beat romantic comedy, it stars Jenny Slate, Nick Kroll, and Adam Scott as the titular brother. It’s a funny tale of sibling rivalry. I’ve had a crush on Mr. Scott for some years now, but by the end of the film I was actually a bit smitten with Mr. Kroll – a very funny guy, but not someone who is usually a love interest.

It has no more screenings at this festival, but I would think at the very least it will be on one of the streaming services before too long. Did not pass the Bechdel Test.

The evening did contain some tragedy, as my barely-sipped-upon cup of coffee took a header onto the floor while I waited in line. Nothing could be done to save it, and it was soaked up by a travel pack of tissues and a couple handfuls of paper towels. It was the second coffee-related misfortune in recent days. The first happened in Portland when I ordered a Mexican Mocha in a drive-thru and was served a latte. At least then I still had a nice cup of coffee.

SIFF 2016: Day One, Here We Go Again

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Yes, folks, the Seattle International Film Festival is upon us once again. I have eleven films to see this year, and I am keeping the world up to date on my viewings. We’ve got selections from Australia, Belgium, France, New Zealand, Turkey, and the UK, as well as five from the US. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, one of these years I’ll get a Full Series pass and take off work for the duration of the festival. There are just too many to choose from, and obligations just get in the way.

For the first time, a week of screenings is being held at the Majestic Bay in Ballard. We start our adventure here with Microbe and Gasoline (Microbe et Gasoil), from Michel Gondry. Introduced to us a kid’s movie, I wouldn’t pigeonhole it as such. It is a road movie involving two outcast middle school boys who decide to take their summer break, and their destinies, into their own hands and out into the French countryside. It is whimsical and endearing, with a touch of fantasy. Fun for all ages, but be aware that there are some nude (lewd) drawings shown.

This film fails the Bechdel Test, but it would have been weird if it had passed, considering its titular subject matter. There is another screening on 5/23 at 7pm at the Egyptian, and it will have a week-long run at SIFF Uptown in June or July.

And Then I Did Something Slightly Different

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The Seattle Public Library had a flash fiction contest, so I entered it. The aim was to celebrate the late Octavia Butler, a writer I’m sad to have only just learned about, on the anniversary of her death. I wish I would have known about her when I was much younger and more willing to take myself down dark paths.

I was informed that I did not win, so I guess it’s OK for me to “publish” my work now. 

It Was a Cloudy Afternoon

It is Saturday and I’m putting on my shoes. I drag out the process, like a toddler getting ready for bed. When it comes to walking I’m of two minds. Having lived in New York for some years, I’ve walked miles with no complaint. Having lived in Seattle now even longer, I’ve grown lazy and impatient. “Can’t we just drive? It will be faster.” Sometimes I say this out loud. Mostly I keep my whining internal.

Once outside, I forget my struggle. The daffodils have started blooming, the cherry blossoms budding. Small, brown birds are chirping from the bare branches of trees. We can smell food grilling somewhere. There is a thick layer of clouds making the air cool but not cold. The sidewalk is clear and smooth. It’s never as bad as the anticipation.

We’re analyzing the architecture of the houses we pass, marveling at the uniformity in what ostensibly are unique, old buildings. Each facade its own color, windows placed similarly but with varying shapes. We lament the proliferation of new construction, devoid of personality. “Was it really any better fifty, sixty years ago? Back then, each family was packaged in their own little box, the same but different from the one next door. Now the packaging might be uglier, but really the only thing that’s changed is that we’re packed in bulk.”

On the corner waiting for the signal to cross Interlake Avenue, we pat the head of the bronze walrus. “Remember when this whole block was scaffolding?”  We’re startled by a flash of light streaking by overhead. Another whizzes over, then several more. The air fills with static electricity, and I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

We continue east on Forty-fifth, not saying anything, but walking with urgency now.  A few more flashes slice through the sky as we pass the Mexican restaurant. The library is on the next block, and we go inside.

A few people have also seen the light show from inside and have gathered near the windows. We join them in the northeast corner, where we can get the widest view. Those who had still been seated when we entered raise their heads one by one. Each one fills in the spaces at the perimeter of the room. Everyone is now pressed up against each other, gaping silently out the windows.

Whirlpools form in the cloud cover, and out of them reach slender black legs. I can see this happening across our entire vista. The closest is not quite overhead, maybe above Ravenna. The spindly legs reach down further from the flashing clouds, followed by glistening black vessels hundreds of feet across.

A whimper breaks the silence. We turn to each other with expectant faces. Someone must know what is happening. In a moment there is a burst of activity. The librarians lock the doors, the lights are turned off, orders are given to be seated among the book stacks. We could be the lucky ones, they say, since the food bank is in the same building. I’m not sure luck has anything to do with it.

The invasion has begun.

What’s that Definition of Insanity Again?

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I entered the NYC Midnight short story contest yet again. I’m never going to win it, but somehow I keep trying. The parameters this time: 2000 word maximum, Sci-fi, an ultra-marathoner, and a hand drawn map. I learned about rogaining while researching for my story, so I did get something out of the exercise, at least. Anyway, here’s my entry:

ON COURSE FOR YESTERDAY

“Oatmeal, bacon, two eggs over easy, wheat toast.” She rattled off her order with one arm outstretched, menu in hand. “Oh, and fruit salad.” Her teammates made similar orders, then Hana made a trip to the restroom. When the food arrived they had trouble fitting all the plates on the table, and Kali remarked, “I think she forgot your fruit salad.” Amid the chaos they deliberated on their strategy once again.

 

“I’m really looking for that slow burn, you know?”

 

Previously, they had settled on a plan to hit as many low-score checkpoints as possible in daylight, and save some of the majors for the moonlight. This had been decided after many hours of discourse which included countless rehashing of past competitions. This morning, Hana found the conversation tedious and concentrated instead on wiping up the last bit of egg yolk from her plate.

 

When they piled up into Kali and Jay’s SUV the team’s game plan was still being discussed. Hana climbed into the back seat next to Ben and gazed out the window at the blinking red and blue neon sign above the diner. There was no point in getting involved in the dialogue. She didn’t care that much about what they did on the course; she only cared that they were doing it.

 

They got to the site, checked in, set up camp, and got to work on the map. Jay was the map keeper, as usual, and highlighted their movements according to plan. Hana studied the diagram and its intricate details closely. She followed the contour lines, trying to get an idea of what the course had in store for them. The terrain was fairly flat but rugged, with several rock formations strewn about. A shallow canyon cut the course almost diagonally. They would be crossing it a few times, but if they interpreted the map correctly, it would not be a hardship. The biggest challenge for Hana, just as it always was, would be to resist the urge to abandon her team mid-competition. Once out in the field she could easily be distracted by a set of animal tracks, a pile of mystery scat, or even a fluttering leaf.

 

Time was called, and they set out for the twenty-four hour event. Ben and Kali wore the team’s wrist tags, and while they punched in at each checkpoint, Hana reviewed the map with Jay. By the time they left the third checkpoint, the team was moving in a light jog. They wasted no energy speaking, but they didn’t need to. They had prepared for this. They were all thinking the same thing. “There is no way we won’t win this year.”

 

The first canyon crossing was a bit more treacherous than they had anticipated. They pushed and pulled each other from one edge to the other, and made up some of the time by sprinting across a shaded gully.

 

As dusk approached, the team had met their goal and were brimming with confidence. They converged in the long, diffuse shadow of a nearby outcropping, their collective bliss resonating in the cool air surrounding them. They passed around protein bars and fruit and recounted in clipped and excited tones the highlights of the day. After so many hours of not speaking, their words tumbled out, bouncing and ricocheting around them. They each only heard a few of the others’ words, but it didn’t matter.

 

As the cacophony died out, Kali and Jay huddled together, Ben curled up with a pack for a pillow, and Hana took a journal out to write down some of the thoughts that had come to her during their trek. They had allowed themselves a two-hour break, one sleep cycle, before taking on a few of the high-value checkpoints. Despite being on the move for most of the day, however, Hana could not fall asleep. She had written all she wanted, then made a few doodles in her journal before returning the book to her pack. She sat for a moment, listening to the breathing of her team members. Then she stood and quietly made her way to the other side of the boulder. She took her pack to avoid waking the others with her rummaging. After digging a small hole with her spade for a latrine, she came to a squat over it.

 

Hana became aware of a buzzing, which gradually became a low hum. It was a less of a sound than a mere vibration; Hana didn’t really hear it, but felt it. The hairs on her arm stood straight out from her skin, and the air became warm and still. She might have seen a light flash, but she couldn’t be sure. Her thoughts were confused for what seemed like maybe a half hour. Or maybe it was only a minute. Just as quickly as she realized that she felt quite weird, she felt quite normal again. It was dark except for the glow of the moon. It was quiet.

 

Hana gathered herself and walked around the boulder. She nearly made a complete circuit around the object before she realized her teammates were not there. Their packs were gone, and there was no trace of them. Flipping on her headlamp, Hana scoured the surrounding ground for tracks but found none. She stood very still for a long moment. The cold air caused her to shiver, and an idea sparked in her mind. She searched her pockets for her whistle. Poised to sound the distress call, she saw in the distance a flash and a green beacon. It burned for a whole minute then was gone.

 

Hana put away the whistle and grabbed the journal out of her pack. She squatted on the ground and shut her eyes tight. She had seen the map many times that day. She drew it in her notebook, trying to remember as much of the detail as possible, and hoped she wasn’t remembering some of it upside down. In the upper left corner, she drew a capital D and next to it a question mark. Once she had it all sketched out, she studied it intently with her compass before switching her headlamp off again. She took one step, then another, in what she hoped was the correct direction.

 

The air had cooled considerably since sundown, but like most other sensations, Hana was no longer aware of it. She was determined to move forward and would not let herself be distracted by minor annoyances. An hour had passed when she encountered a furry lump in her path. It was unmoving, and she knelt down and saw it was a coyote with singed fur and a missing hind quarter. From it emanated a musky, smoky scent, and enough heat to tell her it had not been dead long.

 

There was no point in dwelling, so she kept moving. She sang camp songs and stayed focused on the ground just ahead of her, pulling out her compass periodically to remain on course. She had reached the transition point where night turns into morning, and she acknowledged that information just enough to allow herself to look beyond her immediate space. The sky was just beginning to separate from earth. Inspired, she began to jog. The horizon became more defined as the dark continued its slow exit. The stars dimmed and birds began to twitter. Eventually it really was morning. Structures appeared in the distance. Hana could just make out a flash of red and blue. She began to run.

 

Hana stopped just outside the door to catch her breath. Despite the cool air, she was quite hot and went straight in to the restroom. She splashed her face with water from the dingy sink and allowed her mind to relax just a moment. Her shoulders heaved as she considered her teammates. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew crying wouldn’t help. She splashed her face one last time and dried it with the rough paper towels.

 

Back out in the diner, she was looking for an empty table when familiar voices startled her. She approached the booth and sat down. Ben and Jay were discussing strategy. Kali’s eyes twinged with a sarcastic smile. “I think she forgot your fruit salad.”

SIFF 2015: Day Nine, the end

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I really didn’t want to see Tig, at least not in a theatre surrounded by strangers. Although I knew a documentary about a comedian would have some funny bits, I also knew that a documentary about a cancer survivor would have some, uh, sad bits. Still, we needed to see one last film during the festival, and I did want to see the film, in general. We hear the story of Tig Notaro and her debilitating gut illness, followed by her mother’s death, followed by her diagnosis of breast cancer. We follow her in the aftermath and beyond, as she pursues her dream to become a mother. There were some highs and lows, some good stuff and some bad stuff. Tig was there after the film, along with director Kristina Goolsby, to answer some questions, and give us a little more of the comedy. In the end, I was glad to have seen it this way.

Tig‘s Bechdel rating: EXEMPT. However, if it had been a work of fiction, it would have been a massive PASS.