You’d think that in the five years since that film that they might have learned some valuable lessons; but sadly, their adaptation of the popular cartoon—excuse me, anime—series Speed Racer ends up lost in its own sensory-overload and indulgence.

Speed Racer was making engine noises before he could talk, dreaming of racing since he was a little boy. Growing up, he idolized his older brother Rex, who would take him to the track and let him drive. But Speed’s life was turned upside-down when Rex was accused of foul play—but the worst was yet to come, when Rex died in a devastating car accident.

Now a young man, Speed is the hottest racer in town, being courted by all the major racing companies. But when he rejects the offer of an obsessed tycoon, Speed is given a crash course in the history of the dirty sport, and his hopes of racing in the big Grand Prix are dashed when his qualifying race is cut short by foul play.

A second chance comes in the form of the mysterious Racer X, a masked driver who has dedicated his life to exposing the corrupt businessmen who have effectively ruined the sport. To restore the integrity and authenticity to the sport, Speed and X must team up to win the most dangerous of all races—not surprisingly, the same race in which Speed’s brother died.

There, that’s three paragraphs worth of plot that are really not important in Speed Racer. The “plot” simply exists as a device to showcase the bright, colorful, and fast computer effects created by the same team that developed the groundbreaking techniques showcased in The Matrix. Unfortunately, Speed Racer never gives the audience much opportunity to enjoy the visual effects. Instead, the sensory overload feels frenetic; the overall result of so much simultaneous sensory overload instantly left me virtually numb to the visual effects.

An additional problem caused by the plethora of computer effects is that the actors were forced to spend most of the movie acting in front of a neon green screen—or even an entirely green room—resulting in some tragically flat performances. Hot off his epic, Oscar-worthy performance in Into the Wild, Emile Hirsch doesn’t get to do much more than look intense, while his CGI Mach 5 goes whirring around racetracks that quite frankly look like they were developed for a Mario Kart game.

Another problem Speed Racer may face during this crowded summer season is an apparent lack of a target audience. Like last year’s Transformers, Speed Racer has a built-in fan base from the generation who vividly recall the cartoon’s popularity on television—and perhaps expected this film to aim for the generation that were children then—but this is no mere reminiscence film for now-adult Speed fans. It appears to me that the likely intended audience is children who have never even set eyes on a full episode of the original cartoon. There are childish jokes aplenty and significant screen time is devoted to Speed’s little brother Spritle and his chimp friend Chim Chim. Granted, this opinion comes from someone who never watched the original Speed Racer; I humbly admit I may be completely off base. Besides, there are definitely some brief flourishes by the Wachowski brothers that certainly hark back to the anime style that spawned the show.

I’ll be interested to see how this film fares at the boxoffice. I imagine it will suffer from a conspicuous lack of good word-of-mouth, and falter after a mediocre opening weekend. Of course, it’s not really fair that its competitors at the cinema are Iron Man, Prince Caspian and Indiana Jones. Then again, maybe the (presumably targeted) younger audience will make it a surprise hit. It’s difficult to tell from the advance screening since, well, there weren’t many kids there. That could be a bad sign.

Speed Racer is rated PG for “sequences of action, some violence and language.” There’s some serious action and violence, but it is all rather cartoony and shouldn’t be a problem for most parents. The language is very minimal and is even bleeped at one point. At any rate, Speed Racer is made for kids.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Jeff attended a promotional screening of Speed Racer.

Over the last twenty years, Morris has done a wide variety of documentary and commercial advertising work. His higher profile titles include The Fog of War, A Brief History of Time, and Mr. Death. His films are always provocative and stimulating, are almost always riveting, and have shaped the way that that the public and other filmmakers think about the potential benefits (and unique limitations) of the documentary artform.

Courtesy of a local publicist, I was able to spend twenty minutes talking with Morris in a suite at a downtown Seattle hotel about his latest film, Standard Operating Procedure, reviewed last week here at Past the Popcorn.

I’ve really enjoyed the articles you’ve written in the New York Times this month.

Errol Morris: Thank you very much.

Particularly because, to me, it’s really nice to see the artform being talked about in that level of detail in a public forum—as opposed to in some film journal like Film Comment that regular people don’t read.

EM: Yes.

The topics that you’re talking about—how we process information, and what our expectations are as we go in to sit down and watch a movie, much less a documentary—are important issues that most moviegoers aren’t very interested in. And yet it’s part of the whole basic cultural literacy project.

EM: Maybe they are. They just don’t know about it, or don’t think about it.

Right. It’s just not out there and being talked about. I mean, you don’t pick up Entertainment Weekly and read an interview with Errol Morris talking about how we process visual information. That’s not what the mainstream entertainment magazines are pushing at people. So you’re right. They may be interested; they’re just not seeing it.

EM: Of course, you might be right. They may not be interested in it at all.

Well, we’re running an experiment—that’s why I’m interviewing you! We’ll run that in front of our readers and see if they care. One of the statements that you made in the Times is that there is “no mode of expression, no technique of production that will instantly produce truth or falsehood. There is no veritas lens that provides a truthful picture of events. There is cinema verite and kino pravda, but no cinematic truth. So the engine of uncovering truth is not some special lens or the unadorned human eye; it is unadorned human reason.”

EM: Yes.

Now, how do you think that plays out with the average audience member? For instance, when people go to sit down and see one of your films, do you think there’s a different level of interaction than when they sit down to watch Iron Man, or entertainment du jour?

EM: It’s hard for me to even imagine how people experience my films. I’m so involved with thinking about them and making them. It’s always been my hope that they can be taken on lots and lots of different levels. They can be taken as just entertainment. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. They are, after all, supposed to be movies.

And if you don’t entertain first off, you don’t get to the other levels—at least, not when you release a film into theaters.

EM: No. Every movie I’ve made has been released in theaters. And they’ve been released in theaters because they work with audiences, at least on some level.

I’ve heard you mention that you prefer to be thought of as just a filmmaker in general, not specifically a maker of documentaries.

EM: Well, documentary filmmaking—in terms of style—gives you all of these possibilities. In a certain sense you can reinvent what documentary filmmaking is every time you make a documentary film. You can change the balance of elements; you can tell a story in different ways. Of course, there are common themes in what I do, and techniques that I’ve used over and over and over again. But I like to think that I’m always doing something different. I’m always finding a different way to shoot an interview; I’m finding a different way to tell a story, or a different way to use visuals or re-enacted material in a movie. But the underlying idea: it goes back to “unadorned human reason.” The underlying idea is that you’re trying to find out something about reality. That’s what makes it different [from] a work of pure fiction. The intention underneath all of that other stuff is to find things out—to investigate.

And yet it’s really just a different form of investigation. Most workers in the fantasy genre, for instance, would say that the level of abstraction in that particular form of fiction is just another way of getting at truth, and getting at reality—so that you come back to reality and have a fresher perspective on it.

EM: I would describe it differently, because I am very much interested in what actually happened. That question. I mean, that’s true of The Thin Blue Line. What actually happened? Did Randall Adams shoot the cop? Or did David Harris shoot the cop? That’s the central question—and the belief that the question has an answer. Real world. Things happen. We may be horribly confused about what happened; we may have false views about what happened; but we can investigate. We can think about evidence and we can try to figure out what is really true and what is false. And that’s run through a lot of my films.

Absolutely. And yet, looking back at what’s happened in the last twenty-five or thirty years of documentary filmmaking, as somebody who’s been watching it progress—

EM: Yes.

Since The Thin Blue Line, it seems that because that film in particular led to a reversal and to actual justice being done for Randall Adams, there has now been levied upon that form of filmmaking the expectation that, when you sit down and watch a documentary (whether it’s yours or anyone else’s), that’s the objective: getting at the truth of what really happened. And yet there are many, many documentaries out there where the filmmakers really aren’t interested in that at all, but in, as Michael Moore has said, shaping a new myth—shaping a new reality, as opposed to getting at the truth of what really happened.

EM: Yeah. You know, I can’t speak for other filmmakers.

Right. I’m talking about how the audiences perceive them, and how audiences experience documentaries—and the level of expectations they bring into them. Which is why I think your articles in the Times are particularly important. They get at the idea that if you are not intellectually engaged with what you’re seeing, whether it’s your films or the films of Michael Moore—or even Prince Caspian—if you’re not really engaged with what’s happening at an intellectual level, it’s making you think things, and do things that you may be completely unaware of.

EM: One of the things, of course, that I’m really, really interested in is how photographs… Othello demands from Iago ocular proof. And we all know that the ocular proof does not serve Othello well in the end—that appearances can, in fact, be deceiving. The ocular proof may not be any kind of proof at all. We see photographs—and I guess that’s the underlying idea behind Standard Operating Procedure—and we think instantly, “I know what I’m looking at; I know what I’m seeing here before me.” And there’s another odd phenomenon when you have a whole pile of photographs. There were two hundred and seventy photographs from Abu Ghraib put into evidence—and somebody dumps those two hundred and seventy photographs in front of you and you start to think: “That’s Abu Ghraib.” I’m not seeing what’s not in the photographs; I’m just seeing what’s in the photographs. That’s what I see. That’s it.

You’re not even seeing a three-year sample of what happened at Abu Ghraib; you’re just seeing a four-month window.

EM: You’re seeing a four-month window. That’s correct. October, November, December, and part of January of 2004. I remember wondering whether Abu Ghraib was one corridor in a prison block: what you basically see in the photographs. I later found out, of course, that this is a huge place. Better than 10,000 prisoners by the end of 2003. It’s not a corridor; it was a city, the hub of intelligence operations in Iraq, what was known as JDIC, the Joint Intelligence and Debriefing Center, where intelligence efforts are coordinated: constant communication with the Department of Defense at the highest levels. A different kind of picture [from] a picture that emerges from just looking at a sample of photographs.

Well, the ocular evidence that I want to focus on in your film is Sabrina Harman’s letters—because those are read from; and not only the oral retelling of it as Sabrina reads those letter, but we actually see the sheets from the yellow legal pads with the words written on them.

EM: They’re scanned from the actual letters themselves.

That’s very interesting, because that fact brings up a lot of questions. As we are given to understand it, those letters were sent back by Sabrina to her partner, essentially as the events were unfolding during that period.

EM: That’s correct.

And yet, as we hear those letters read and see them on the screen, there is no indication that they were seen by anybody else—that they were censored or edited. What’s the story with that? Where did those letter end up, and how is it that they made it home without anyone being aware that they had been written? And if someone were aware that they had been written, why did nobody act on them?

EM: I don’t think [military officials] were aware that they had been written. I think that the place was incredibly disorganized. I know that a lot of people would like to believe that Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfeld were in control of everything; but the place was just too disorganized for anybody to be in control of anything.

In organizations, that’s one of the elements necessary for conspiracy isn’t it?

EM: That’s another subject altogethe—conspiracies—which are endlessly fascinating. But I’m not a great believer in them. But part of the story of the Iraq War is the sending of an army to Iraq that was under-trained, ill-equipped, understaffed—a situation devolving into bedlam. If the question is, “Is it surprising that all of these letters weren’t read and checked before they were sent to America?” No, I’m not surprised. They had enough on their hands to deal with.

But at the same time, the fact that those letters weren’t—which is standard operating procedure in other war settings, for national security reasons—is an indicator of how information in general was out of control. Information was not being monitored—such as video recorders and digital cameras.

EM: Well, it becomes harder to control everything. Of course, one of the central aspects of this story is the digital revolution we’ve gone through: the fact that photographs can be sent around the world with one click. They can be sent a hundred thousand places with one click. You can’t control the distribution of photographs the way you could have in the past. They’re not even printed. They’re shown on screens; they’re displayed on LCDs or CRTs—whatever. There’s one aspect to the story that very few people know about: When the photographs were turned in by Joseph Darby in January of 2004, we somehow think that we know about those photographs because of Darby, but we don’t. Not at all. The military, given its druthers, would have buried them altogether. They never would have seen the light of day. In fact, the soldiers were in limbo for many, many, many months before the military could decide what to do, and whether the stuff was going to get out or not. They sent police officer’s to Kelly and Sabrina’s house in Virginia looking for photographs. The way I’ve heard the story, they came in saying that they were acting under the authority of the President of the United States. The photographs got out because of a little-known (but I think heroic) Lieutenant Colonel in the public affairs office working for [Maj. Gen. Antonio] Taguba at [Camp] Doha [in Kuwait], who told 60 Minutes that there were these photographs. The photographs got to 60 Minutes via a different source; but they were leaked to Seymour Hirsch and 60 Minutes via a completely different path altogether. Otherwise we would never, never, never know about them. It’s an endlessly interesting story, a story of photography, of cover-ups, of cover-ups of cover-ups—a story of the propagandist and political purposes they can be put to.

Well, now we have Redbelt, Mamet’s foray into the world of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. If I hadn’t been holding my fancy-pants press booklet in my hot little hands immediately after the screening, I would have thought one of two things: Mamet has gone totally soft on us, and completely and utterly lost his gourd; or, This must be one of the most subtle works of cynicism I’ve ever seen.

Somewhat surprisingly, the film’s press kit clarifies that neither is the case. In fact, Mamet has actually not gone not soft; in fact, quite contrarily, he has gone hardbody, becoming a Jiu-Jitsu practitioner in his own right—and he’s neither lost his gourd nor sublimated his cynicism. No, it actually appears as if Mamet has found something he actually believes in: “a vision of correct moral behavior in all circumstances.” Sounds like something the characters in any number of Mamet’s plays and movies could have spoken, without ever personally accepting or believing it.

The hero of Redbelt, however, is a man clearly guided by his profound belief in such a vision. Moreso than any other character, it seems Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Mike Terry serves as the voice of Mamet. A proponent of “the code of the warrior,” as he puts it, Terry’s object is not to win (“Competition is weakening,” he says) but to prevail, and to prevail for a purpose: “Who controls the terms of the battle controls the terms of the peace.” Jiu-Jitsui is not a tool to bring others down, but a method of thinking—and conserving energy by harnessing the energy of one’s opponent—that prevents others from bringing you down.

And who, exactly, could possibly be interested in bringing Mike Terry down? He’s simply a martial arts instructor in an out-of-the-way dojo, training people not to win tournaments but—as with one police officer working toward his black belt—to overcome their own weaknesses and demons.

But when a pair of chance encounters brings Terry into conflict with both Hollywood high-rollers and local loan sharks, Terry’s principles become sorely tested. In order to save his dojo and his marriage—not to mention his reputation—he finds himself lined up to do that which he had passionately declared he would not do: compete on the undercard of the grand poobah of all Jiu-Jitsu matches… and he discovers that the sport—no, the philosophy—to which he has been so passionately devoted is as dirty as, well, Glengarry Glen Ross.

Ouch. What’s an honorable man to do? Suffice to say that Terry doesn’t go the route of Mamet’s Eliot Ness.

There are interesting subtexts to the story, which on its surface isn’t all that different from, say, Rocky or The Hustler. But Mamet’s not after something as specific as a “Jiu-Jitsu film” or as generalized as a commentary on honor. The subplot involving movie-star Chet Frank (played surprisingly dark and convincingly by Tim Allen) makes it clear that Mamet finds these principles specifically extensible to the practice of war… and thereby to filmmaking. Redbelt functions not only as story, but as an extended metaphor (“It’s about the artist in the big, bad world,” he told Sports Illustrated); and that’s a curious thing to find in a Mamet film, which, as a rule, are more concrete than abstract (if also mind-bending exercises in sleight of hand).

Here, also, there is a conspicuous absence of the hyper-eloquence and ellipses characteristic of Mamet dialogue. In fact, just when you’re expecting the Big Speech, you might just get silence (or merely a slap in the face); and just when you’re looking for the big Moment of Cynicism, you might want to be prepared for a deep swig of—would this be pushing it too far?—hope for the human condition.

This ain’t your mom and pop’s Mamet. But I’m not really sure whose it will be. It’s a well-acted, well-written character study; but Mamet’s body of work may have painted him into a corner with audience expectations.

If you’re ready to let Mamet out of his dark, interesting little box, Redbelt may pleasantly surprise you. But if the idea of sunny optimism coming from the bard of “the Chicago way” is just too much for you to contemplate, you might find (as I did) that this Redbelt fits Mamet a little too tightly. He might have done better to dish the material to a different director.

Redbelt is rated R for “strong language.” Seriously. Nothing else. And yet… Glengarry Glen Ross was also rated R for language, and this was nowhere near that strong. Either Ross should have been rated more strongly than R, or (as I believe) Redbelt should have gotten a PG-13. Your teens won’t hear anything worse here than they do in their locker rooms or hallways at school.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg viewed a promotional screener of Redbelt.

It is a tumultuous time in Italian politics: the Communist party and a resurgent Fascist party have the country embroiled in a power struggle. The elder brother, Manrico, is passionately involved in the Communist party. An outspoken and bossy womanizer, he is the handsome golden son. His family, while not very politically involved, often unthinkingly shares the charming Manrico’s political opinions.

The younger brother, Accio, struggles to soundly establish his own identity, having been labeled early on as a troublemaker. Although his name “Accio” also means “bully”—and he does beat up neighborhood kids he disagrees with—his particular motives are not those we normally ascribe to a genuine, out-for-blood “bully.” Instead, he is as passionate as his brother but sadly lacks the charm to overcome the classification. Even during the brief period he spent in seminary, his earnest desire to be a good priest by truly confessing his sin is interpreted as over-exuberance and improper.

Eventually, Accio is befriended by Mario, an older man—and rampant fascist. Since Accio gets no support from his family, he is easily influenced by Mario’s view of the world, joining the Fascist Party as a young teen.

This does not go over well at home. Unsurprisingly, Manrico is especially earnest to change his brother’s mind, using tactics that generations of brothers the world over have honed to perfection—sparring both physically and verbally. Their fights spill over into the community, however, when demonstrators from both parties clash in the streets; ultimately, the brothers must decide which bond is stronger: family or political philosophy.

To further complicate their relationship, Accio incrementally falls in love with Manrico’s girlfriend, Francesca. Also a communist, Francesca loves to debate with Accio while waiting for Manrico to take her out.

As the brothers mature, their philosophies and ideas follow suit, evolving and developing, becoming more complex as well as more intertwined—somewhat analogous of the increasingly blurred politics of Italy itself. The film’s publicity materials note of the era that

The youth of those years resembled each other, both those belonging to the left and right wings. Ideas are not all the same, but human beings are. Everywhere, there was a widespread sense of rebellion and of protest—a wish to live intensely and share passions within a strong spirit of community.

The film evokes this in the brothers—they, too, are remarkably similar in their intensity, passion, and sense of urgency to save their country and their people. But it is not only a film about Italian politics personified; it is also a film about the delicate and complex relationships between people, regardless of politics.

Because of the talented direction of Daniele Luchetti and her skilled cast and crew, a full understanding of the political backdrop is not a prerequisite for understanding and enjoying this film. Anyone can appreciate the film as a worthy exploration of the common human desires to improve a corner of the world, whether that means leading a political movement or making sacrifices for one’s family.

My Brother is an Only Child is not rated; however there are mild language and sexual situations that I think would earn a PG-13. The film is subtitled.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Jennie attended a press screening of My Brother is an Only Child.

Exhibit A… Joy and Jack. Joy just got dumped by her straitlaced corporate drone of a fiancé—at a surprise birthday party she arranged for him… in front of all their friends. Jack just got fired from his job in a furniture making factory—by the owner… his dad.

What do you do at a time like that? Head to Vegas, baby! A mix-up with rooms at their hotel throws them together, and after a drunken night on the town they wake up married. No problem: they both want out… until a lucky pull at a slot machine gives them three million reasons to stick around.

What Happens in Vegas is one of those movies that leverages its stars to get you into the theater. In this case, it’s Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher. You’re probably going to see it based on whether you like one or both of them. The draw is certainly not the story or the special effects or even the director—a mostly unknown Tom Vaughan.

In truth, the two stars do a pretty good job here, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Diaz is the pretty, slightly ditzy girl next door and Kutcher plays the party boy to the hilt, though with occasional surprising glimpses of depth. They have good chemistry onscreen and that certainly helps.

They’ve also got a strong supporting cast. Rob Corddry plays Jack’s wingman (Jeff the “Hater”) and Lake Bell is opposite him as Joy’s BFF Toni. Queen Latifah and Dennis Miller also show up to lend their brand of humor to the story.

Speaking of the story, it’s mostly run-of-the-mill “battle of the sexes” material as the dueling couple cross and double-cross each other trying to force the other out and grab their share of the cash. It’s pretty predictable stuff. You’re bound to see the resolution coming long before the characters themselves do.

Still—for all that—I was entertained, and compared to some of the recent films going for romantic comedy, that’s something of a recommendation. Most of the time, the film falls short of being laugh-out-loud funny, but I did experience a guffaw or two. If you find the big blockbusters sold out this weekend and you’re in need of a good date movie, What Happens In Vegas could pay off for you.

What Happens In Vegas is rated PG-13 for “some sexual and crude content, and language, including a drug reference.” Overall, it’s about what you would expect. No surprises here. Did we mention Vegas?

Courtesy of a local publicist, Michael attended a press screening of What Happens In Vegas.

From my perspective, the great thing about Iron Man is that he’s a comic book character that only diehard fans really know much about. For most of the movie-going public, the transformation of Tony Stark from genius billionaire playboy to reluctant hero is virtually unknown. The lack of exposure in the mainstream means this is new, fertile ground for storytelling.

At the helm of Stark Industries since the death of his father, Tony Stark has been content to develop weapons of war without really caring about how they’re used once they’re delivered. An ambush by terrorists after a weapons demonstration leaves Stark in captivity and witnessing—up close—the uses to which his weapons technology are being applied.

With the aid and sacrifice of a fellow captive, he makes good his escape but is left marked by the experience. He returns to his former life but can’t avoid the fact that his eyes have been opened to the reality of war… and to the fact that he has the knowledge, skills, and opportunity to change things. When thought becomes action, Iron Man is born.

A hallmark of the summer blockbuster is spectacular special effects, and Iron Man delivers the goods in spades. Combining practical effects by Stan Winston with digital effects by Industrial Light & Magic, the resulting film is a fantastic visual treat. The Iron Man suit is so detailed and seems so realistic that I was left wondering if they’d managed to build it for real.

Special effects alone won’t sell a superhero, though; fans care about the person behind the mask. To be successful the story has to work and, most importantly, casting is critical. The story here is steeped in the original comic book canon with only minor revisions and updates for the big screen. I’m also happy to report that Favreau has assembled a fantastic cast for Iron Man. Frankly it’s hard to imagine how you could get better casting.

Obviously the role of Tony Stark is the key to the entire movie. I confess that when it was initially reported that Robert Downey, Jr. was cast in the part, I had doubts. Now that I’ve seen him on the screen, I wouldn’t want anyone else. Downey has made the role his own with a brilliant performance. He strikes just the right balance, I think, between sarcastic irreverence and utter seriousness.

In another bit of “I wouldn’t have thought of that” casting, Jeff Bridges appears as corporate heavy Obadiah Stane. When I think of intimidating, Bridges doesn’t leap to mind; but his performance in this role just demonstrates why no one lets me cast movies. He’s fantastic.

In supporting roles we have Gwyneth Paltrow as Stark’s assistant Pepper Potts, and Terrence Howard as Lt. Colonel Jim Rhodes. Both turn in good performances but really have little to do. It’s puzzling until you realize that a three-film story arc is envisioned for Iron Man, and both characters will no doubt feature more prominently in future installments. All principal actors are apparently signed on for the sequels as well. (Also be sure to watch for cameos from Favreau himself as Stark’s driver Happy Hogan and comic book legend Stan Lee.)

If Iron Man is any indication of what we can expect this summer, I think we’re in for a great time at the movie house. In this film at least, Hollywood returns to a simpler, unambiguous adventure story—and I for one greatly appreciate it. Real life is complex enough; I go to the movies to escape from reality for a while, and this is the kind of film that works for me. If the thunderous cheering as the credits rolled were any indication, the rest of the audience was in violent agreement.

My recommendation? Stop reading this review, go buy your tickets, grab a bag of popcorn, and then sit back and enjoy one of the most entertaining superhero movies you’ve likely seen. I plan to do that again this weekend myself: I was ready to sit through it a second time as soon as my first viewing was over, and that doesn’t happen very often!

Iron Man is rated PG-13 for “some intense sequences of sci-fi action and violence, and brief suggestive content.” I’d say this is pretty accurate, though the description may make it seem more intense than it really is. I wouldn’t hesitate to take my kids to see this.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Michael attended a promotional screening of Iron Man.

Eduardo Verástegui has a most improbable story. The son of sugar cane farmers in Xicotencatl, a village in northern Mexico, he left for Mexico City at 18 with a head full of ideas about becoming a superstar entertainer.

His dreams mostly came true.

In the space of about ten years, he had toured with the Mexican pop-music group Kairo, starred in five Mexican soap operas, been voted as one of the “50 Most Beautiful People” in People En Español, and appeared in a music video with Jennifer Lopez.

Most recently, he produced (and starred as Jose in) Bella, a small film which earned the Grand Prize from the Heartland Film Festival; the People’s Choice Award at the 2007 Toronto Film Festival; Best Picture and Best Actor Awards at the 2008 MovieGuide Awards; and was named one of the Top 10 Most Redeeming Films of 2007 by CT Movies. The Indie film—a quiet drama about a man who stands by a virtual stranger when her life starts falling apart—earned nearly $8 million during its theatrical run and has an impressive 96% positive rating from the Rotten Tomatoes Community.

Somehow, we missed it when it played in Seattle.

But on Tuesday, May 6, it’s being released on DVD. A couple of weeks ago, I managed to screen the movie and, courtesy of a national publicist, talk on the phone for fifteen minutes with Verástegui. I was very impressed by the film and all of the performances, and was even more impressed after talking with Verástegui.

How are you?

Eduardo Verástegui: Good. I’m here in New York, just back from Mexico a few days ago. We’re going to be launching Bella there next week, and the DVD is coming out here in a couple of weeks. So, working hard, man.

Yeah, I can imagine. Hey, one of the lines you have early in the movie is, “I hate interviews; I’m not a speaker.” Does that feel like an autobiographical statement for you?

EV: No, no, no. What I don’t like sometimes is a speech, speaking in public, you know. I’m a little shy. But interviews are a great opportunity to speak—knowing that the media are interested, and that the media are reaching young people. We have this tendency and inclination to imitate or copy what we see on film or television, and what we read in magazines or interviews, Internet, music, radio, et cetera. So if that’s the case, I have to see this as an opportunity—even though this may not be the part that I enjoy the most, because as an actor I more enjoy the creative side: building the character and script development and producing—to say a few words of hope, so when people read those interviews they will be influenced in a positive way. Because I, myself, when I was a teenager, all these things that I did—many of them—I was influenced by the magazines I was reading and the TV shows I was watching, and the movies I was watching. And now that I look back, I think, “My gosh! I can’t believe I was influenced by this person’s interview!” I was imitating everything that people were saying in that interview; and they were not good things, you know?

Can you remember any really positive examples that you heard back in those formative days?

EV: I don’t know; let me think. Uh, let’s see. When I was a teenager, I think everything was bad. I don’t know. Maybe the people who were supporting charities, and celebrities who were using their talents to make a difference, were able to influence you. But I’d say it was probably 99% bad things I was reading. And with the celebrities, it was just all about the fame and the pleasure, and it’s very easy—if you’re a young guy and you don’t have a spiritual foundation—to let the media tell you how to live in a way that contradicts what my faith was teaching me. You know, you slip into the mentality of “everybody’s doing this, everybody’s doing that”—so you lose perspective on what is good and what is bad, and everything becomes relative. You’re seduced by the whole environment of superficiality, and vanity, and ego—all the things that can seduce you and destroy you.

So I was seduced by that for many years, until six years ago when I realized that the lifestyle I was living wasn’t fulfilling. I felt empty; I realized that I became an actor and studied acting for very superficial reasons: fame, money, pleasure, success. But that definition of success was wrong for me, as well. So I realized that I was using my talents in a selfish way. And I decided—because I met a person, the English teacher that I hired in Los Angeles; she was the one who not only taught me English but changed my life in a way—I was looking for something deeper in my life. I didn’t know what it was; it felt like I was in a big labyrinth without faith, trying to find the exit. But I couldn’t; and she came in that moment and started asking me the right questions, like: What is the purpose of life? How are you using your talents? What kind of a message do you want to our society? Are you assuming the responsibility that you have to assume as an actor? How are you picking your projects? Who is guiding your life? Things like that, you know, until one day I decided I was wrong and my life needed to change.

And that’s when I realized that I was, in a way, worsening our society by the projects I was involved with—by the lifestyle I was leading. And that’s when I went to my knees and asked God to forgive me. He broke my heart when I realized that I was offending God with the talents that He gave me, and instead of using them to serve Him and serve others, I was using them to serve myself. And that’s when everything changed. I was 28, and I promised Him—I made a promise to God that I would never again use my talents in anything that would offend Him or offend my faith, my family, my Latino culture. Because at the same time, I realized that Latinos have been stereotyped in a very negative way in the media, with the bandido, the criminal, the thief, drug dealer, gang member—and if you are good looking, you are the Latin Lover, a womanizer. I think it’s very sad because that negative stereotype was exactly the way I was living.

But whatever you are doing is a manifestation of who you really are. You can judge the tree by its fruit, and whatever you speak comes from your heart. So that’s when I made the promise: I repented and asked God to forgive me; and He not only forgave me, but gave me a new heart and made me a new man. I started a new life.

And that’s when I realized that, as an actor, it’s very hard to fulfill that promise because you don’t have the power to control the message in the movie or TV show. Everything is already there, and you just have to go there and submit yourself to the script. So the only way that you— Well, not the only way, but it’s easier if you become the producer, because then you have the power to control the message. And I found this desire in my heart, this ambition, to open a production company so that we can produce films that have the potential to not only entertain but to make a difference and highlight human dignity.

Very few times in the Latino community do you have the opportunity of portraying heroes—but not heroes like Superman or Spider-man, but everyday people like the man who is honest, and faithful to his wife, loyal to his friends, and willing to sacrifice everything to help his family: a man of character, a man of faith, a man of integrity, a real hero. The everyday hero. And women as well. We see them being reduced to objects. It’s ridiculous. My mother is not an object; my grandmother, my sisters, my aunt: they are not objects. They are the heart of the family. They are full of wisdom. They are smart; they are beautiful.

So that’s when I found this desire in my heart: I only want to be involved in projects that will have the power to touch people’s hearts, and won’t ask people to compromise themselves in order to express their values or tell the story they need to tell. So we opened this company called Metanoia Films.

That’s great. Say, you know there’s a key scene in Bella when Jose takes Nina to sit in the car, and tells her the story about what happened to him in his past. And it seemed like that was a great metaphor: where he has already invested himself in her life, and so he has earned the right to tell her that story—whereas if Manny or someone else had come from the outside of her life and tried to lecture her, they wouldn’t have the moral authority to tell her anything. And it sounds kind of like that’s what you’re talking about doing with Metanoia: to try to earn the right to tell these stories to people.

EV: Well, this is the thing. It’s tough for me because I’m coming from a life where I was immersed in superficiality; and I always use the analogy of— Have you ever seen the greyhound races?

Yes.

EV: You know, they’re chasing this fake rabbit. And every once in a while, one of these dogs—the one who is very fast—catches and bites the rabbit. And that dog is hurt. He bleeds; sometimes they break their jaws and teeth. And they’re suffering; they’re in pain. And that dog will never race again in its life, because he realizes he was chasing a lie. But the sad part is that the other dogs end up chasing that rabbit forever.

Set squarely in the 1980s, we find ourselves with Will Proudfoot, the son of a widowed mother whose family are Plymouth Brethren. Not allowed to watch television or listen to music, he’s teased mercilessly at school but still manages to keep a positive and curious attitude. A doodling addict, his mind is filled with stories and characters that he draws on everything from scrap paper to notepads to his favorite bathroom stall. He is most prolific in drawing on the pages of his Bible. Dinosaurs and monsters, people on adventures, happy homes and landscapes, it is all reminiscent of the painstakingly illustrated medieval texts from the monasteries…. the difference being these are not images from Bible stories, but from the intricate dreams and fantasies of a young and secluded boy.

Enter Lee Carter, the mean-as-spit school bully who lives with his older bully of a brother while his mother gallivants around Europe with some new fling. When Carter heckles Will in the hall and they are both sent to the principal’s office, Carter convinces the impressionable Will that he’ll take the blame if Will promises to make it up to him.

Carter’s demand is that Will be the stunt man in his re-making of Rambo for a young filmmakers’ contest. As Will sees a pirated copy of Rambo—the first media experience of his life—he is stunned and utterly taken in. He will be the Son of Rambow (his misspelling) and rescue his Dad from evil! Carter has created a crazed lead character for his film.

An unlikely friendship develops between the two boys as conflict develops at home for Will. He starts lying to his mother and to the Brethren to be able to spend time with Carter and make the movie. As more students want to get involved in the film and Will gets into deeper lies with his family and church, he has to decide what is most important. Is it making the film, or staying true to a friend? Is it honoring his mother and his faith, or is it living in his gifts and being true to himself?

Rambow raises these issues of childhood and life with a fresh and light hand. While certainly not rough in anyway, a la Kids or 13, nothing feels forced or syrupy even when the kids become blood brothers and Will loses a prized possession. Rather, the film creates tender moments while never losing its humor. It deftly follows Will’s and Carter’s developing characters (and bond) with a believable complexity and insight into young boys and their social dynamics.

It also does an impressive job of not completely demonizing a religious belief system. While the Brethren are certainly set far outside the culture and many of their rules seem archaic and overly cautious, they are never portrayed as intentionally cruel or barbaric. They are seen as perhaps out of touch and needlessly scared of society, but they are not seen as evil overlords taking all joy and good out of the world. At worst, they are just misguided and stiff.

Other impressive work is done by all the young actors in the films, especially the two leads. They appear as real boys, not some version of what an adult imagines a boy to be. And, as with the issues the film deals with, none of the performances are forced or over-the-top. They have surprising nuance and wit not often seen in child actors.

All of this makes for a wonderfully different film that families can watch and enjoy together. It hits just the right note on universal issues of not only growing up but of being in true relationship with oneself and with others.

Son of Rambow is rated PG-13 for “some violence and reckless behavior.” Yes, kids, don’t try this at home!

Courtesy of a local publicist, Jennie attended a press screening of Son of Rambow.

What seemed like a somewhat melancholy but charming film to me then held deeper implications that were lost on my eight-year-old mind. The themes I missed—the threatened loss of childhood naïveté, the harsh edge of everyday adult life, the sweetness of an imagination satisfied, the loneliness of the “real” world—are explored softly and lyrically in acclaimed Chinese director Hsaio-Hsien Hou’s tribute to Albert Lamorisse’s 1956 classic.

Suzanne, a puppeteer by vocation, is a harried divorcée with a young son, Simon. Her performance venue, rather than busker-style in the park, takes place inside black-box theatres with rehearsals, musicians, and creative voicing. She has a lot on her plate: dealing with her ex-husband’s shenanigans; chasing down the tenant who hasn’t paid rent; missing her older daughter who is away at school; and struggling with her own loneliness in the midst of all the chaos.

She decides to hire a nanny for the curious and playful Simon. Song, in addition to her post as nanny, is a Taiwanese student studying film—and, significantly, she also serves as a calming, constant influence in the midst of the family. As she brings out her video camera to film her own tribute to the famous Red Balloon, she also films Simon throughout the city—all the while oblivious to the actual balloon that keeps flitting on the outside of Simon’s life.

Simon is a boy on the brink of reaching ’tweenhood. He still believes in fantasy—talking to a red balloon and asking it to come home with him, staring wide-eyed at his mother’s puppet show. But he is also lured by PlayStation and rides public transit by himself. He’s on the edge of losing his wonder; yet with Song’s help, he is able to capture these treasured moments of childhood.

This is not a fast-paced, plot driven film. It is slow and drifting, with long shots of the cast sipping tea or the balloon floating through the Parisian rooftops. It is a film meant to be taken in slowly, much as Paris itself is best seen while enjoying a drink in a boulevard café, or while strolling through a city park eating a crêpe. No hurrying: simply calming down and quietly observing the life going on everywhere around you, and letting it soak in.

To add to this ambiance, Hou did not use a “proper” script with lines for the actors provided for memorization. Rather, he described what he’d like to happen in a scene, and for the most part allowed the actors come up with the dialogue. This gives the film a sense of realism—sometimes the actors interrupt each other; other times there are prominent “pregnant pauses” between cues. It is as if someone set up a camera in this average Parisian woman’s flat and just let it roll.

Critics’ responses to this film have been from both ends of the spectrum: it is either exceptionally brilliant or exasperatingly dull, and I can understand both points of view. For me, the most poignant aspect of the film was how it led to a struggle with my own potent memories and emotions from the 1956 Red Balloon—and continually trying to reconcile the old with the new.

The child in me wanted more of the balloon, more of the wonder of Simon, more of his discovery that the balloon is following him—that the balloon, in a sense, cares about him. And yet this tribute, aptly titled Flight of the Red Balloon, is a modern perspective, as if Hou asked, “What happens to the balloon when society moves on? What happens when the magic of childhood is starting to fly away?” He is asking the child to genuinely look at the adult, and the adult to genuinely look at the child, in long contemplative stares.

Flight of the Red Balloon is unrated, but would probably garner a PG, given that there is no offensive language, no hint of violence, and no overt sexuality. However, even if your kids are fans of the original, they will most likely not be able to sit through this film; it is nearly two hours long, and is subtitled, which tends to either bore or overwhelm the younger crowd.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Jennie attended a press screening of Flight of the Red Balloon.

Graduation is a little more efficient than that, and its opening hook is pretty potent and elegant. The narrator is talking about his high school graduation ceremony, and as the camera dollies across a blood-puddled floor to his feet, he intones: “I would have gone, except for one thing: the police have us surrounded.”

Oh, yeah.

If you’ve got a taste for films that try to capture something of the high-school loser experience in an offbeat way, Graduation mixes in enough plotting to keep your interest and remind you of films like Dazed and Confused (without all the drugs, booze, and four-letter words) or Pump Up the Volume (without the nudity or music) or Some Kind of Wonderful (without it really being a romance). At the heist level, it might remind you of The Score—as it might have been, without Robert DeNiro or Edward Norton.

The story is pretty simple. As four low-rent small-town teens careen toward Emancipation Day, one of them finds out that his mother is terminally ill… and they’ve capped out the benefits on their medical insurance. To save his mom’s life, Carl needs to raise a bundle of cash… and when his buddy Polly discovers that her banker dad has been making some, uh, extra-marital deposits, she decides some pay-out payback is order. She hatches a plot to coordinate a heist with the crew’s Monday-morning graduation ceremony. (Say what? Never mind.)

So where does the Wonderful connection come in? Seems that our herorrator Tom has an unrequited thing for Polly; and the rather loutish Chauncey, to whom Polly’s hip is attached, veritably shoves Polly into Tom’s waiting arms… with some really bad timing. Hence that blood on the floor in the very efficient opening sequence…

There’s not a lot to say about the film, other than to remark that’s it’s a very fun little flick that doesn’t pander to the usual conventions of high-schooler dramas. It feels a lot like Coppola’s S.E. Hinton adaptations—Rumble Fish and The Outsiders—without being quite so self-conscious or arty. This is director Michael Mayer’s first real stab at a theatrical release, and if he connects with the right audience he could have a success on his hands.

The real strength of the film is in its casting and direction. Mayer found four very strong actors for his leads, and even the weakest of the bunch (Riley Smith as Chauncey) is still highly watchable and entertaining. Chris Lowell, as Tom, feels a lot like the TV actor that he has recently become, but has the right feel as the underachieving hero who doesn’t know what he wants out of life.

But the star of this show is Shannon Lucio as Polly. She’s already put together a smallish if decent résumé of TV and film work; but here I felt as if I was watching an early Grace Kelly crossed with Bridget Fonda… or something. There’s real talent there, and a good deal of charisma.

Also very much worth mentioning in a supporting performance is Chris Marquette as Carl. He’s got a John Cusack vibe to him, which is good. Cusack is still Cusack, but as Accepted demonstrated last year, we need a younger Cusack type in certain films. I recommend Marquette for that job; he was also memorable in a small role in Alpha Dog last year.

Don’t expect anything mindbinding from Graduation. It’s chock full of clichés—like class sessions that begin with chalk on a blackboard, last ninety seconds, and end with a bell that nobody seems to be expecting. The characters are none too deep, and the final scenes aren’t all that satisfying.

But Mayer has done a good, enjoyable job with this material. As Polly says, “Nothing is just a test.” And with Graduation, Mayer proves he’s ready to move on to the next level.

Graduation is, oddly enough, apparently being released unrated. I’m not sure why that would be. Given the relative absence of drugs, booze, language, and breasts, I don’t know why the film would not have been submitted for rating. I guess I’d give it a pretty light PG-13, mostly just because it’s not the kind of film you want pre-teens getting ideas from. They’ve already got enough screwy ideas of their own.

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg attended a press screening of Graduation.