Short Ends and Leader

Leave it to film’s last agent provocateur to do what a sloppy stoner comedy couldn’t. A couple of weeks ago, when the lackluster lampoon Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay opened, audiences were treated to a last act exercise in paltry political commentary. Briefly, our Asian/Indian heroes try to reclaim their good patriotic name after being mistaken for terrorists. Through a series of stodgy misadventures, they somehow wind up in Crawford, Texas. There, they hook up with our current Commander In Chief, and after a few blunts, the supposed purple haze induced belly laughs begin.

Now, there is nothing new with painting our sitting President as a foolish frat headed party boy. It was a legacy that he carried across two elections (and two wins), and South Park savants Trey Parker and Matt Stone did something similar - and far funnier - with their 2001 sitcom That’s My Bush. Comedy Central cancelled that sage-like series, only to revive the leader as loser ideal with their Our Gang rip-off L’il Bush. Since the advent of humor, government officials have born the brunt of satire and comic criticism. The powerful have always found themselves in mirth’s machine gun sites.

Mostly, it’s viewed as harmless fun, a chance to knock down an elected official with the only weapon remaining inherent in the people - the freedom of speech. Of course, the current administration has used every post-9/11 tactic they can to curb such rights, but leave it to the jesters to maximize what few liberties are left. The portrait painting is also kind of lame. Bush is dumb. Bush is out of touch. Bush is controlled by advisers out to forward their own agenda, not that of the nation. None of this is new, and seldom is it clever. But it avoids the real problems with this presidency, so it’s also more or less ignored.

Where someone like George W. really needs to worry however is when someone serious takes up their cause. In this case, Oliver Stone has just announced the final casting on his proposed limited biopic on our 43rd executive officer (Entertainment Weekly offered a sneak peek in this week’s edition). The project, entitled W., will begin filming in a few weeks, and while not every role is set (the writer/director is still looking for someone to play vilified VP Dick Cheney), Stone seems ready. With the suddenly hot Josh Brolin parlaying his No Country for Old Men cred into the title part, and supporting turns from Elizabeth Banks (as Laura), James Cromwell (as Daddy Bush Sr.) and Ellen Burstyn (as Momma Barb), this promises to be another controversial send-up of history.

It’s well worn territory for the criminally underrated filmmaker. Even though he owns two Oscars (for Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July) and has made several sizeable box office hits, including Wall Street, Natural Born Killers, and Any Given Sunday, it’s his political pictures that have raised (and equally reduced) his reputation. Many see JFK as a misguided masterpiece, a conspiracy theory tricked out as actual fact, while Salvador is too liberalized to explain the Central American crisis of the mid ‘80s. He’s taken on Fidel Castro (his 2003 documentary Comandate) and made one of the most jingoistic films about the terrorist attacks of seven years ago (World Trade Center).

Yet for anyone looking to gain some insight into what Stone might be attempting here, they need look no further than the brilliant deconstruction of the only US President ever to resign from office. 1995’s Nixon was seen, at the time, as the perfect combination of man and material, a subject that Stone could really sink his teeth into while exploring the post-Vietnam Watergate watershed that drove a decade into decadence and indecision. Yet, oddly enough, the famous burglary celebrated by the Washington Post and its pair of supercop journalists, Bob Woodward and Carl Berstein, was a minor part of the narrative. Instead, Stone looked for a big picture pronouncement, hoping to highlight the paranoia and pettiness that drove this leader to illegal acts of insane arrogance.

While some considered the hiring of Anthony Hopkins antithetical to the movie’s designs (how a British actor best known for playing a suave serial killer could take on one of the most American of political icons was frequently questioned), it turned out to be a masterstroke. Stone wasn’t looking for a mimic, or worse, a Rick Baker manufactured make-up version of Nixon. He wanted to showcase the human being inside. What Hopkins did was genius. By finding out what made this predatory political animal tick, he literally turned into the crooked Commander in Chief. It’s impossible to watch this film 13 years later and not see the media made images present in the UK thespian’s mannerisms.

Apparently, W. won’t be so broad in its scope. Nixon went from the leader’s days as a poor California boy to almost every electoral benchmark in his career. In recent interviews, Stone likened this latest project to The Queen, a narrative that takes seminal events from the subject’s life and shows how they add up to the man we see today. In comparison to Nixon’s “symphony” he says, W. will be more like “chamber music.” Of course, there are other hints at the approach within his comments. He calls Bush “an alcoholic bum”, pointing to his “conversion to Christianity” as the driving force in his professional and political decisions. For a director who never skirted scandal, embracing hot button concepts like addiction and religion seems par for the course.

Yet just like Nixon, one expects extensive dramatization in order to get to the essence of an area. One thing films can be faulted for is such a shorthand concept of truth. It’s impossible to cover all facets of an individual’s personality, even with the jaded judicial notice of an already clued-in audience. Composites have to be created both in characterization and circumstances. Stone is often raked over the coals for taking such a condescend view, but within the language of film, it’s literally impossible to deal with an entire lifetime in three hours. Of course, some might argue with the intent of those who try, but with all great art comes even greater ambition - and hubris.

Additionally, W. is planned for an Election 2008 release date. That means that Bush will still be President when the movie is in theaters - barring any production delays or problems (like the upcoming Actors Guild strike). How that will affect Stone, or his cast, remains to be seen. Additionally, movies like this usually strive to set the tone for someone’s legacy. Nixon wanted to humanize someone that was systematically demonized. It may have wound up doing a little of both. Similarly, W. has the potential for shedding some light on the current Commander’s often puzzling decision making process. It could also go Harold and Kumar all over his rationale.

No one expects Oliver Stone, a serious moviemaker, to have the President of the United States snorting coke off a stripper’s treasure trail, but it’s clear that a subject like George W. Bush places such a sequence in the realm of dramatic possibilities. Even early script reviews have argued that W. balances the administration’s tendency toward bumpkin burlesque with real insights into how the politics of fear work. Maybe Stone will settle for something in the middle. Or we could be seeing the unmaking of an already undone leader. One things for sure - this is one man who may be wishing the world saw him as a dope smoking stooge after all. The truth may be far more telling - and terrifying.

In one week, we critics will know for sure. The time frame is ten days for the rest of the moviegoing rabble. Barring any cosmic collision or other Earth shattering event, the fourth (and hopefully, final) installment in the chronicles of one ‘part-time’ professor Henry Walter “Indiana” Jones, Jr. PhD will finally unfold. It’s been an astounding 27 years since the original Raiders of the Lost Ark redefined the popcorn action movie, setting up a series of like minded entertainments that would come to dominate the ‘80s. In between there have been two sequels (Temple of Doom in 1984, Last Crusade in 1989) and a TV series outlining the archeologist’s earliest exploits.

And now, a mindboggling 19 years since the last motion picture wrapped up the man’s myth quite nicely, reputation ruiner George Lucas and his blackmailed partners in crime Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford, are reviving the series for one last shot at…well, some kind of glory. Given the god awful title of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, the top secret project has seen its far share of controversy. From Ford playing the character at his advanced, AARP-like age (he’ll turn 66 this July), to the pre-production hoopla over the hiring - and unexpected firing - of writer Frank Darabont (who handled similar chores for the property when it was on television), fans have prayed that none of Mr. Star Wars Prequel’s pedestrianism transferred over to this title.

As of today, all signs point to pathetic…or at the very least perfunctory. The trailers have taken the original movies’ mystique and washed it in a veil of forced nostalgia. It wasn’t until recently that we actually got to see parts of the plot, and the From Russia with Love meets Apocalypto vibe isn’t fooling anyone. Now comes the first major death blows - anonymous early reviews on websites like Ain’t It Cool News. Spielberg and company are livid, publically complaining that the first “official” showing for critics won’t be until Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull plays Cannes on 18 May (the same day it screens for other media outlets around the US). Yet somehow, secured to a surreal policy revolving around blind bidding and state’s rights, a few exhibitors have seen the movie - and their opinion is not pretty.

In general, most believe the film won’t match the hype, that obsessives who’ve languished over their VHS/DVD copies of the trilogy will be greatly underwhelmed by what’s onscreen. They point to the well-hidden plot (more on this in a moment) and over-familiarity with the material as weak points, while giving marginal praise to what Spielberg and his capable cast do behind the camera (though Shia LaBeaof suffers the harshest words). While it represents the smallest majority of those who will finally establish the critical consensus on this highly anticipated summer stock, it’s clear that, at least out of the starting gate, Lucas’ decision to reprise this franchise is meeting with high expectations and less than satisfied reactions.

And then there is the storyline. Without going into heavy spoiler territory (and if you want to walk in completely unaware, skip this paragraph and move on), Dr. Jones is a now a WWII vet, compelled by the Soviet government to find the legendary Crystal Skull. Apparently, it’s actually part of an alien skeleton (located in Area 51 - how original) and once returned to its rightful resting place, it provides a source of great power. LeBeaof plays a character named Mutt Williams, who may or may not be Jones’ son, and Marion Ravenwood is back as well. The trailer promises Ama-zombies, jungle car chases, and the standard stunt physicality that made these movies so memorable.

Clearly, any return to this character and these movies creates an almost impossible level of fan frenzy. It’s the reason that Temple of Doom consistently remains the least loved entry in the franchise. Of course, coming on the heels of the brilliant masterpiece that is Raiders, it’s not hard to see why. But as with most one-sided perspective, forged out of personal want more than medium needs, a sequel must suffer through the classic cinematic Catch-22. It has to provide more of the same while being different enough to warrant its existence. It has to recapture the old magic while making new, retelling the same story with the same characters while bringing a freshness to both.

It’s a dodgy motion picture paradigm, one that few filmmakers have ever successfully maneuvered. Peter Jackson may have won an Oscar for The Return of the King, the last installment in the Lord of the Rings epics, but many look at The Fellowship of the Ring as the franchise’s best (good luck with those Hobbit prequels, Guillermo). Similarly, The Matrix may have redefined the artform - at least for a few years - but the subsequent slam bam revisits created more hatred than holiness. Spielberg himself, perhaps the only director capable of capturing lightning in a bottle more than once, has been reluctant to revisit his oeuvre. Over the course of 24 feature films, he’s only been involved in four sequels - the three Indiana Jones films, and a Jurassic Park repeat.

Of course, he’s the only director who could pull this off. While marginalized by minds who think it’s easy to make sharks suspenseful, flying saucers fascinating, aging white men heroic, or animatronic extraterrestrials believable, he stands as one the greatest auteurs of all time. While his participation in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull seemed obvious, a lot had changed in his career since Dr. Jones and his Dad rode off into the sunset nearly two decades ago. Armed with a couple of Oscars, and more than enough industry and commercial cred, going back to this already established property seemed antithetical to his own career needs. Of course, imagine the uproar had Lucas left him out of the project all together, or worse, decided to direct it himself.

Perhaps that’s why everything has felt a little forced since the very beginning. The fourth film was announced a couple of years ago, and comments by Ford even indicated the ticking time clock bomb hanging over everyone’s head. While age is never a major issue in Hollywood (the biz will reconfigure any narrative to meet what they consider to be profitable demographic designs), having someone your grandfather’s age play a rough and tumble man of action pushes the boundaries of believability. The early pre-reviews don’t criticize Ford or his performance - they leave most of the vitriol for Master Shia - but with his sagging star power and paltry box office returns, Indie isn’t innocent either.

As the time clicks away to the planned press screening, as both sides gather ammunition and prepare for a fight, as the turnstiles twist and the money starts rolling in, only time will dictate the final legacy for the Indiana Jones franchise. If this movie makes scads of cash (outside the critical accord), you can bet that the suits will be slobbering for more. If it fails to attract an overwhelming financial windfall, this may be the man-myth’s last hurrah. Whatever the case, it may be time to gear down the rabid love for the series to something more realistic. Sadly, like the serials that inspired them, the time may have long since passed for this particular product. 

What does $100 million mean anymore? Not to the average person, who could bankroll said sum into a whole new life - or at least a pay-off of his (or her) zero down mortgage, and then some. No, what does the figure mean to Hollywood, and specifically, the studio suits and the talent behind the movies. Making that kind of scratch used to be a mind-blowing commercial concept. Ben Hur only made a staggering $39 million in 1959, while The Sound of Music raked in over $70 million. Yet it wasn’t until Jaws that a film officially made $100 million during its initial box office run (and that history has been hacked at quite a bit in recent years). Still, time was that the century mark for money meant something noteworthy. Now, the significance isn’t clear at all.

In 2008, $100 million is not really a milestone, Instead, it’s mandatory. A big budget blockbuster looks anemic without it. In fact, it technically can’t even exist. The faster you get to the number, the better, and it never hurts to do so in record time.  With Iron Man just eking out a $100 million dollar payday over the 2 May weekend (including some early screenings Thursday evening), it joins a very elite group. Few films have done the business it has done this early in the season. It could have taken five days to get there and few would have complained. In fact, reaching the magic number seemed impossible four days ago, according to most prognosticators. They were looking at something closer to $80 million - nothing to sneeze at, but not the cinematic slamdunk $100 million infers.

Of course, there is more cash to be had before Speed Racer and his family step in to rewrite the revenue rules, Wachowski style. Still., by coming in strong, Iron Man settles a lot of questions while raising a few more of its own, specifically regarding the various talents involved. Where does such a fiscal accomplishment lead the powers behind the movie, and better yet, does $100 million really mean much to individuals (and companies) used to dealing in such legitimately large numbers. Of course, we no longer consider a franchise a true blockbuster until it reaches a higher level of accomplishment - say triple the initial take - but in the case of Iron Man, $100 million is major, and here’s the how and why:

The Studios

Paramount
With this long time popcorn factory only handling the distribution, it’s more or less a mixed victory. Success always breeds an aura of same, but without a real stake in the outcome, there’s a hollowness to their dollar sign happiness. At least their next offering, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull flies under their production banner (as does Mike Myers upcoming The Love Guru), so they still have a chance to add real money to their commercial coffers.

Marvel
The decision to drop indirect participation (read: studio made movies) and set up their own projects appears to have paid off - at least for now. Iron Man is a solid mainstream event. The Incredible Hulk will be the real test, considering that there was already a big green meany project a mere five years ago, and the controversy regarding this version’s final cut (suits vs. star Edward Norton) has already tarnished some of its reboot sheen. Still, the new trailer appears promising, and the media’s myopic short attention span means that no one will probably remember the dust up come opening day.

The Producers

Avi Arad & Kevin Feige
As CEO of Marvel and their chief cinematic voice, respectively, Arad and Feige have a lot riding on this Summer. Iron Man is a wonderful first volley, and seems to support their decision to go pseudo-indie. But once again, the Hulk is still sitting out there, ready to divide the devotees and make Ang Lee look like a genius in retrospect. So they better hope Norton and director Louis Leterrier deliver, or this one time windfall will be all 2008 has to offer the duo.

Peter Billingsley
Yes, little Ralphie finally runs with the big dogs. As Favreau’s partner since their Dinner for Five days, he’s been on board for all of his pal’s directorial turns with the exception of Elf. He even gets a clever cameo role. As long as Favreau has a shingle, the star of A Christmas Story always has an awning to hang his burgeoning behind the scenes credentials.

The Director

Jon Favreau
For the actor turned auteur, $100 million means a lot…a whole Helluva lot. It means he can deliver the action goods when necessary. It means a studio can count of him to recognize the difference between art, artifice, and straight up commerciality. It means that film fans can finally embrace someone who shares their aesthetic needs without forgetting that Joe Sixpack also fills theaters seats. Iron Man‘s success may cause some Sam Raimi like repercussions (locked into the sequels, a designer label of his own to distribute subpar genre fare), but for someone whose made respectable, if not quite sensational movies, this opening is monumental. And oddly enough, he seems like the kind of decent, good natured guy who deserves the reward. 

The Actors

Robert Downey Jr.
He’ll never have to worry about money ever again. He can ride this puppy all the way to Westminster if he wants. Here’s hoping he doesn’t do a Michael Keaton and feign disinterest and a “need to grow” instead of hitching his wagon to this inevitable franchise gravy train. There will still be the challenging roles (including comedic controversies like August’s Tropic Thunder), and the ‘aimed at award season’ selections. Clout like this is impossible to come by, and since most reviews have pointed out his crucial role in Iron Man‘s triumph, he’s got more than a couple trump cards up his negotiation sleeves. Let’s hope the contract he signed is flexible, not fatal. 

Terrence Howard
As the next character to get the superhero treatment (along with Samuel L. Jackson, who makes a surprise post-credits appearance as Nick Fury), Howard can bank on gaining some of the series’ cultural buzz. He’s still a very unusual onscreen presence - laconic without being lost, casual while still showing command. While War Machine may be a geek mandate, the novices are still getting used to all the Iron mythos. If anyone can sell future scenarios however, it’s him. 

Gwyneth Paltrow
As Katie Holmes proved in Batman Begins, ladies in superhero films are readily replaceable. Still, Paltrow’s Pepper Potts is pretty great. As long as she doesn’t let the notices go to her head, and doesn’t suffer through another bout of “bored with acting/gotta be a mommy” syndrome, she could stick around for a while. Her cache won’t increase, but she’s already got an Oscar, so what more can she really want?

The Franchise

Marvel’s miracle here is taking a marginal character from their comic universe (unless you’ve followed Stark and his saga since the beginning, you probably only know the hero via the classic Black Sabbath anthem) and turning him into something solid and bankable. Unlike Batman or Superman (and in some post-modern ways, the X-Men), the icon had no real juice prior to the premiere, and they managed to deliver a jolt. Give it up for marketing as well as excellent mainstream moviemaking. If the film goes on to do gangbuster business, earning between $250 and $300 million (as some are predicting), we’ll be involved in this metallic crusader’s cause for years to come. Even with something less in the till, Iron Man is here to stay - that is, until the next tent pole production hits the Cineplex.

Tradition holds that, for Hollywood, the Spring represents the end of ballyhoo - and the business year. During the four month flatline between January and April, every unmarketable mess, every experimental excuse, every contractually obligated star vehicle, and otherwise underdone effort would get a mandatory release - a few days of bewildering box office glory before fading into VHS obscurity. It was always an aesthetic stop gap, a means of making talent happy, critics cranky, and audiences wary. Summer would come soon enough, and with it, the far more palatable popcorn fare. Yet for over 16 weeks, we had to tolerate some pretty pathetic offerings. All of that changed a few years ago when Hollywood realized it could up the ante, just a little, by providing a couple less than mediocre movies. The accompanying turnstile twists proved their approach correct.

Now, Spring is a battle between horrendous and highlights. There are still more stumbles than sonnets, but when you consider the crap that used to pour forth, literally nonstop, a few fine films is all one can ask for. Yet oddly enough, 2008 saw a trend toward documentaries that indicates a real failing among fiction films. While the studios seem convinced that everything old is repackage-able again, the men and women exploring the reality around us are doing it with style, wit, and a clean, clinical eye. They say that everyone has a story to tell, a narrative that if captured properly, would give the old “truth is stranger than…” mantra a clear run for its money. Two of the five films listed below do indeed bring that maxim to startling life.

But there were other excellent offerings that deserve a runner’s up mention: the beat-happy British heist flick The Bank Job; Leatherheads, the half-successful screwball comedy from George Clooney; the uneven document Sputnik Mania, centering on a certain Soviet satellite and the effect it had on a worried West; and the gonzo zombie stomp of Shine a Light, featuring the undead Rolling Stones in all their going through the maverick motions glory. In addition, the underserved demographic of Florida finally got to see two outstanding foreign films from 2007 - The Counterfeiters and Persepolis - movies that would have made this list had they not already had their moment of glory last year. So here is what SE&L thought were the best Spring flings of 2008, beginning with:

# 5 - Forgetting Sarah Marshall
dir. Nicholas Stoller

While some may believe - falsely - that the Apatow era of feature length funny business has peeked and begun to ebb (thanks to Dewey Cox or Drillbit Taylor, take your pick), the truth is that there’s lots of satiric fire left in the old furnace. Case in point, this wonderful brom-com from Freak and Geeks costar Jason Segel. While the story of a rather caustic breakup may seem like the last place heart or hilarity could be found, there’s a heaping helping of both in this tale of a struggling composer dumped by his TV star girlfriend. Our hero hopes a trip to Hawaii will cure what ails him. Turns out, his ex is there with her slezoid British boy toy as well.

There’s so much more to this movie than raunch and the risqué. Sure, penis abounds, but so does some emotional insights into how love can linger long after it really should. Besides, there’s puppets - putting on a production of Dracula - with music! How much more do you want. While Segel is a strange leading man, he is surrounded by a capable cast including Kristen Bell (riffing on her current career arc with self-deprecating brilliance), Mila Kunis, and UK yutz Russell Brand, playing every Amy Winehouse inspired pub spud imaginable. Together they take a subject that should sink like a stone and make it laugh out loud loveable. And rumor has it that Segel will be scripting the new Muppets movie. How weird is that?

# 4 - The Dhamma Brothers
dir. Andrew Kukura, Jenny Phillips, Anne Marie Stein

We really don’t know what to do with our exploding prison population, do we? We love the notion of warehousing the dangerous and deadly, keeping ourselves and our wee ones away from the true (yet undeniable) horrors of the world. Yet mention the concept of rehabilitation or rights and the cold, conservative nature inherent in all of us leaps to the fore. We don’t want inmates given a chance. Instead, we demand that they be kept locked away forever - no matter what the judges, juries, or sentencing guidelines suggest. It’s from this narrow-minded premise that this look at the use of Buddhism in an Alabama penitentiary gets its undeniable power.

Certainly, there is every reason to be skeptical. As one of the guards convincingly argues, prisoners will “fake it ‘til they make it”, meaning they will do anything to gain some early release favor. But Vipassana (a tiring ten day ritual) seems like an insane way to achieve that ends, especially with all the deep-seeded personal problems and unhealed wounds it tends to open up. We learn a lot about these men - stories that seem antithetical to the crimes they committed and yet completely in line with the standard police profiling. Their tales of abandonment and abuse are horrific, just like the ways they choose to compensate for them. This is as eye opening and uneasy as fact filmmaking gets.

# 3 - Cloverfield
dir. Matt Reeves

Sure, the viral marketing campaign that swept the Internet last summer seemed overly calculated, guaranteed to make whatever turned up in theaters four months later appear simultaneously exciting and exasperating. Who knew that producer JJ Abrams and a couple of his TV pals (Felicity‘s Matt Reeves and Lost‘s Drew Goddard) would turn the whole thing into one of the finest genre efforts of the new millennium. Sure, some consider this monster movie nothing more than Godzilla with a Blair Witch POV, but that’s just part of the film’s appeal. There are also riffs on 9/11, our current sense of social fear, and the notion that nothing is real unless it’s viewed through a camera or featured on TV.

Now that it’s out on DVD, the movie can be studied more closely (and without some of the accompanying handheld shaky-cam nausea), and some interesting elements definitely come to the fore. The relationship between the friends (and former lovers) becomes even clearer, the emotional needs that each carries adding to the seriousness of the situation. The monster’s movements are also clarified, thanks to the lack of an anticipation/shock factor. We get to see the amazing CG destruction in all its wow-factor glory. It all makes for one of the most creative kaiju-like efforts ever.

# 2 - Be Kind, Rewind
dir. Michele Gondry

No, this was not that wacky, weirdo comedy that the presence of Mos Def or Jack Black would indicate. Nor was it just another piece of Michele Gondry wistfulness mistaking pure imagination for screenwriting. Instead, this is the finest love letter to the VCR and the videocassette ever constructed, a story that requires audiences to drop their pretexts and perceptions and recognize exactly what the scenes are saying. What we are witnessing here is not just the recreation of classic ‘80s films by a bunch of video store employees turned amateur auteurs. Instead, the so-called “Swedeing” that occurs is a reflection of just how pervasive cinema has become as part of our everyday lives.

As with most broad canvases, it’s the details that get lost. When Black and company make their new versions of these well-remembered films, they are done so without any real reference - no script, definitely no VHS copy to consider. Instead, this is moviemaking from memory, the rote revisiting of favored titles by people who have them memorized. All geek love should be this pure and pristine. Thanks to Gondry’s vision, which places all the action in a gee-whiz setting of communal consideration, we witness the first movie ever to acknowledge the seismic change that occurred when theaters headed home. Destined to be considered a modern masterpiece in the future.

# 1 - Young@Heart
dir. Stephen Walker

Aging in America is its own prison, a metaphysical place where family members forget their loved ones because the stench of mortality is too great to bear. Even worse, because of horrific diseases like Alzheimer’s and dementia, the elderly are additionally viewed as ticking time bombs, burdens placed on relatives for reasons that are uncomfortable and unavoidable. So how refreshing is it to see a group of septa- and octogenarians expressing themselves in song as part of the community chorus. Even better, these good timing geezers use The Ramones, Talking Heads, Sonic Youth, and The Clash as points of sonic reference.

This fantastic feel good documentary, chronicling the preparations by the Massachusetts based choral for their latest world tour (that’s right - WORLD tour), is so uplifting that we need the occasional (and because of the subject matter, unavoidable) tragedy to keep us grounded. Balancing the joy inherent in making music with the inevitability of a life slowly fading away, we meet individuals so inspiring they practically preach to us. Certainly, British filmmaker Stephen Walker pushes a few buttons here and there, and middle aged choir director Bob Cilman can ham it up with the worst of them, but these are minor quibbles in what is destined to be another overlooked fact-film come Oscar time.