Kids rule the multiplex. That's why they're the most targeted audience and the most targeted consumers as far as Hollywood and concession suppliers are respectively concerned. But where would the kids be without their parents? Perhaps they'd still be watching movies, but maybe not at the cinema. To see a movie at the multiplex, they need a ride from their mom, or they require the companionship of their blockbuster-loving dad. Sure, things may be a little different today, but my experience of being a moviegoing child entailed a lot of assistance and encouragement from my mom and dad.

It's hard to decide which parent had greater influence on my cinephilia, especially since I only recently recognized my mother's contributions. My father was the one who usually took my brothers and me to the movies every other weekend, and each time we stayed with him we seemed to rent more videos than could be watched in a 48-hour period. Meanwhile my mother let us watch cable, including as much R-rated fare as HBO would broadcast. At a very, very young age I was already familiar with a lot of horror, violence, swearing, nudity and other "restricted" content that the MPAA was only OK with me seeing if it was OK with my "accompanying parent or adult guardian."

Welcome to another nutritious edition of The (Mostly) Indie Film Calendar, a weekly roundup of what's happening beyond the multiplexes in this great land of ours. If you know of something cool going on where you live -- a small film festival, retrospective, midnight movies, etc. -- let me know! You can find me at Eric.Snider (at) Weblogsinc (dot) com.

INDIE THEATRICAL RELEASES

• Frontiere(s) is a French horror flick whose history is almost as torturous as its content. It was supposed to be part of the After Dark series last fall, but its NC-17 rating made that impossible due to the contract that the After Dark people had with the theatrical venues. So now it's basically going straight to DVD -- but first it's being deposited in a handful of theaters today in New York, L.A., Denver, Seattle, Philly, Austin, and maybe a few other places. Cinematical's Scott Weinberg gave it a mixed review at Toronto last year.

• The Fall: Remember The Cell, that freaky Jennifer Lopez movie from 2000? I know I do! (I never forget a movie with a vivisected horse.) The director, Tarsem Singh, is back now with The Fall, a visually stunning fable where a man in a hospital tells a little girl a story, and that story is craaaazy. Opens in New York and L.A. today.

More indie releases and a city-by-city list of cool events after the jump....

Whether or not shows like Aqua Teen Hunger Force or The Simpsons succeeded in translating their television dynamics to the big screen depends on your point of view, but the release of Speed Racer this weekend raises a more specific question about the viability of turning an animated series into a live action spectacle on the big screen. The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle and Underdog both suggest how this goal can go wrong -- namely, by imploding on its absurd conceits. You may disagree with the inclusion of some of the following titles, all of which culled their material from animation, but it's fair to say that each of them takes its subject matter at face value, allowing the natural ingredients of the original sources to remain intact. Well, maybe not Super Mario Bros., but that one is a special case (fire away, if you must). Until somebody makes an Animaniacs movie with real actors, I'm sticking to this list.

1. Popeye (1980)

Robert Altman's offbeat ode to the famous Fleisher cartoon starring the spinach-eating strongman and his darling Olive Oil is the great misunderstood work of the director's career. Robin Williams and Shelley Duvall manage to bring utterly ridiculous characters into a realm of believability that you could never imagine when watching the show. Suddenly, Popeye made sense -- goofy, almost surreal sense, but sense nonetheless -- in the real world. Thanks to veteran adult cartoonist Jules Feiffer's screenplay and a soundtrack so catchy Paul Thomas Anderson borrowed from it twenty years later in Punch-Drunk Love, the classic status of Popeye can't be denied.

A few weeks ago a DVD of Laurent Cantet's 2000 film Human Resources arrived on my doorstep. I hadn't seen it, but it rung a bell for me, and it took me a little while to remember: the Shooting Gallery series! I couldn't believe I had forgotten about it. It was a huge event in less-than-400-screen lore, successful as well as artistically daring. I poked around and discovered that this brave little distributor had -- of course -- gone out of business. In 2000 and 2001, the Shooting Gallery lined up three series of six movies each, releasing each one for a two-week period, usually on a specific movie screen in selected cities, and then replaced it with the next in the series. If something took off and became a hit, it could play longer. I didn't see all the films, but there were some amazing entries, and certainly some films that otherwise would never have seen the light of day.

The first series unfolded in the spring of 2000. The quirky, dreamy, black-and-white comedy Judy Berlin, starring a then up-and-coming Edie Falco ("The Sopranos"), came first. It didn't exactly break any box office records, but I wouldn't be surprised if it has a small following today. Next up came Peter Mullan's Orphans, which I didn't see, followed by Such a Long Journey, which was yet another story from India about an old-fashioned father balking at the ways of his modern children, but beautifully realized. (The great character actor Om Puri was on hand for a supporting role.) Southpaw was a snappy little boxing documentary about promising Irish fighter Francis Barrett. The sixth film, from Japan, was Adrenaline Drive, a kind of crime story crossed with a drawing room comedy. It seemed ripe for an American remake, which never came.

Iron Man opens this week, and thus the summer movie season has officially arrived. I love a good summer movie as much a the next guy, but this morning I found myself looking back at some of the little films that cropped up during the summer; some of them managed to get a "summer" feel on a much lower budget and without all the advertisement and hype. My absolute favorite summer art house movie has to be Tom Tykwer's Run Lola Run (1999). I saw it three times that summer, and each time I clutched my seat, my heart pounding. I was amazed at how brilliantly Tywker had mapped out his three possible storylines and how lovely the small, quiet interludes were. I loved Franka Potente, and I loved his throbbing score, which practically entered into your bloodstream and pumped up your adrenaline by hand. Every color, movement and cut was designed for maximum effect (I've always been puzzled how Tykwer's movies since have seemed so long and sluggish.)

Also that same summer, John Sayles delivered his baffling adventure/suspense film Limbo, which had several people trapped on an island awaiting rescue and stalked by bad guys. The ending had everybody in an uproar and caused the film to die a quick death. The summer before that one, Darren Aronofsky's debut feature Pi gave me a good dose of sci-fi thrills, as well as a few head-scratching puzzles (which were actually real). 2000 was a particularly bad summer, but John Waters' Cecil B. DeMented provided a mischievous little oasis in the middle of it all. In that film, renegade filmmakers kidnap a Hollywood starlet and force her to be in their indie production; each team member has a tattoo of a maverick filmmaker's name. (I've often wondered which filmmaker's name I would pick for a tattoo? Maybe David Cronenberg...)

Today is the semi-official start of the Summer Blockbuster Season, but don't despair! The (Mostly) Indie Film Calendar is here to fill you in on cool stuff happening outside the multiplexes in the coming week -- the perfect antidote to mainstream ennui. If you know of something interesting going on near you -- retrospectives, special screenings, etc. -- please let me know! Point your e-mail thingee at Eric.Snider@Weblogsinc.com and I'll put it on the calendar.

INDIE THEATRICAL RELEASES

• I don't know if famed critic-hater David Mamet still counts as "independent," but I'm including his new film, Redbelt, here just in case. It's a heady drama about a martial-arts instructor who gets tangled up with a Hollywood film shoot, a misfired policeman's gun, and several other things. ME LIKEY. Opens today on a few screens in New York and L.A.

• Son of Rambow was, hands down, the best film I saw at Sundance last year. It was snatched up by Paramount Vantage, which for some reason sat on it until now. It's a funny, creative, and sweet story about two British kids in the mid-'80s who film their own homemade version of First Blood (aka Rambo I). Cinematical's James Rocchi reviewed it at Sundance 2007 and loved it too, in case my word isn't good enough for you. It's in a few theaters today, with more to come.
  

After the jump, more indie releases in theaters, and a list of special events happening around the country....

With all the excitement this week over the news of Guillermo del Toro's confirmed role in the director's chair for the two Hobbit movies, it's a little refreshing to find a dissenting opinion, if only to keep the excitement from getting to exaggerated. Salon's Andrew O'Heir doesn't take kindly to the news in his Beyond the Multiplex blog, structuring his argument against the latest report in a calculated manner. First, O'Heir quotes from an interview he did with del Toro at Cannes in 2006, where the director stated his disdain for "heroic fantasy." It's quite possible that he has changed his stance on this, and not just because of The Hobbit: As recently as a few days ago, he was spotted at a protest staged by HETFET (Humans for the Ethical Treatment of Faeries, Elves and Trolls), which may or may not have been a publicity stunt on his part.

The rest of O'Heir's piece holds water. He thinks the franchise has been ensnared by greed and too many people are in charge. Reflecting on Peter Jackson's expansive power, O'Heir questions the director's comfort with handing the story over to another filmmaker ("It smells of George Lucas") and predicts an incoming conflict. He likes del Toro's work, but worries that the director might be working in somebody else's back yard. "We've got one of the true cinematic visionaries of our age, spending four years of his life in a universe created by another one," he writes. "It's just too many cooks in the kitchen."

What do you think? Is del Toro getting in over his head?

Once in awhile I come across little stories that are relevant to this column that don't necessarily call for so many words of commentary. But it's a shame to skip over them, so occasionally, I'd like to break The Exhibitionist up a bit and write about a few of them at once.


The first thing that caught my attention this week was a report of a study focused on ambient lighting, such as the kind used in cinemas. According to research conducted by academics at the University of Cumbria in England, and at University College Dublin in Ireland, movies should be viewed in rooms that are as well lit as the movies themselves. So, yes, that means your local multiplex has the lights dimmed way too low.

But, you wonder, isn't it dark in theaters because we can see the movie much better that way? And when we're at home don't we turn out the lights, or, when it's daytime, close the shades for the same reason? Well, yes, but incorrectly so, say Cumbria's Professor David Manning and UCD's Professor Patrick Brennan. Their findings indicate that such darkness actually hinders the eye's ability to see at optimum capability. "Ideally, ambient light should be adapted to the brightness of the screen for the eye to pick up as much detail as it can," Manning said. "However, most people prefer to watch films in a darkened room, but as the eye adapts to the surrounding light these conditions may not be conducive to picking up maximum visual detail."

Saddle up! It's time for another edition of The (Mostly) Indie Film Calendar, a weekly roundup of movie stuff that's happening beyond the multiplexes. I've got my usual sources that I go to for info on things taking place in some of the major cities, but if you know of a cool event happening where you are, please let me know! You'll find me at Eric.Snider (at) Weblogsinc (dot) com. I'll leave the key under the doormat.

INDIE THEATRICAL RELEASES

• Deal is another gambling movie, this time about the World Series of Poker. It stars Burt Reynolds, Bret Harrison, and Shannon Elizabeth, and opens today on a few dozen screens nationwide (mostly L.A., NYC, Chicago, and of course Las Vegas).

• Then She Found Me, which has played at seemingly every film festival of the past six months, is the directorial debut of Helen Hunt, who also stars as a woman whose birth mother (Bette Midler) comes into her life just when it's at its most hectic. Cinematical's Ryan Stewart gave it a passing grade at Toronto last fall. It's in NYC and L.A. as of today.

• Roman de Gare comes to us from France, where the title is a term for popular, disposable novels (think John Grisham). Fittingly, the film is being described as a watchable but forgettable story about a mystery novelist who gets wrapped up in a real-life mystery. Opens today in NYC.

More theatrical releases, plus a city-by-city list of special events, after the jump....

Like a collector of stray dogs, I have likewise assembled my personal canon of misfit filmmakers, artists who have fallen out of fashion or just never caught on. Jacques Rivette, whose new The Duchess of Langeais (6 screens) is currently struggling in art house theaters, is a prime example. According to his bio on the IMDB, he has always nestled in an uncomfortable place between film snobs and film populists. His films are too playful for intellectuals and yet too severe for mainstream consumption. He was a critic at Cahiers du Cinema alongside Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard and Claude Chabrol (some of his writing has been translated to English; I especially love his piece on Howard Hawks and the 1952 film Monkey Business) yet his work does not seem like that of a film buff; it springs more from literature and from his own temperament. Indeed, he's very hard to pin down, perhaps partially because hardly anyone has seen very many of his films. His 12-1/2 hour film Out 1 (1972), which has been called his greatest achievement, has screened in America so few times that probably less than a thousand people have seen it.

Roger Ebert is, by far, the most recognized name in film criticism. He started writing about film for the Chigaco Sun-Times the year before I was born, won the Pulitzer the year I turned eight, and he's been at it prolifically ever since. The man sees more movies and writes more reviews than just about anyone I know, and he's barely let the past year-and-a-half or so of illness and rehabilitation put a dent in his workload.

Monday, with typically little fanfare, Ebert took on even more work, this time in the form of a blog added to his website. He's calling it "Roger Ebert's Journal," and his first entry is about leading a delegation of the Urbana High School Science Fiction Club to a speech by Sir Arthur C. Clarke at the University of Illinois. (Can't you just picture him as the leader of a sci-fi club? I can.) Ebert shares a little slice of movie history in the post, talking about the Cinenamia CD-ROM (kind of a precursor to IMDb), of which Clarke was apparently quite fond.

The best part for Ebert's fans is that, in addition to being able to read more of his excellent writings, he's left comments open on the blog. So pop on over there, read his inaugural post, and give him a warm shout-out in the comments. Welcome, Roger, to the fast-paced world of film blogging. We at Cinematical give you our warmest welcome, and we'll be keeping an eye on your journal to see what you're writing about, in between churning out all those reviews.

The Life Before Her Eyes, the latest film by Vadim Perelman (House of Sand and Fog), opened this weekend in limited release. In part as a response to the negative reviews by a number of critics, Perelman said recently in an interview that he's decided that it's better for audiences to know the ending going in (I did confirm with Perelman that he actually said this, because I was rather surprised that he would). And while I understand Perelman's desire to counter the critical response to the film in this way, I decided to take a look at what the negative reviews actually say.

First, I'm going to largely ignore the reviews (good and bad) that came out of the Toronto International Film Festival last year, because the cut of the film in theaters now is different. So let's look at what critics have to say about the current cut. Let's look at one titled (ever so objectively) "Hollywood and the War on Women", by Prairie Miller over on News Blaze. Miller starts her "review" of the film with a five-paragraph rant that tries to tie films about the Iraq war into a perceived "war against women" in Hollywood, going so far as to make the accusation that this war is fueled, in part, by male directors and producers whose coffers are being drained by alimony and child support payments. Uh, what?

Is film really better than digital? Or vice versa? Following the news that Steven Spielberg is allegedly to blame for the slow rollout of digital projectors into cinemas, I've been thinking about the questions all week. And I have no idea. But not because siding with Spielberg, just because he's Spielberg, is difficult when he suddenly announces a new digital 3-D project (Ghost and the Shell) he'll be producing. The reality is that I'm not technologically informed enough and, more importantly, my eyesight isn't good enough for me to really make the distinction anymore.

That isn't to say I can't tell if I'm watching film or digital. I definitely can. Especially when it's digital 3-D, or when it's an incorrectly projected HD copy of The Wackness, which looks very crisp but also very dark (for the purpose of this week's column, it's not important to point a finger at the cinema responsible). What I can't tell is which format is better. And I mean better in a sort of ideological mixed with functionality context. If just going by ideals, I have to keep pledging allegiance to film, but perhaps only as a traditionalist. Yet if going by functionality, I have to swear by digital, from DVD to DLP to 4K to whatever (again, I just can't keep up tech-wise), but perhaps only as a futurist.

It's a good weekend to live in Los Angeles if you happen to love film festivals. Through this weekend, City of Lights, City of Angels, a weeklong extravaganza of French film premieres, is still going on. If you, like me, love subtitles, you'll want to check out what's still up on the program. Looking the schedule over, I do have a few recommendations for you. Film noir fans, tonight is your night, with a quadruplet of French noir fun for your viewing pleasure.

I don't know much about the films on the noir slate, but after dealing with a pack of kids sick with strep all week, I'm most assuredly in a darkish-noir mood, and I'd love to just sit in the dark for eight hours and chill with these films. Besides, check out the fabulously porntastic noir-stache on the dude on the right, from the poster for Rivals, one of the films on the noir schedule. That's a truly spectacular 'stache, and the whole poster kind of feels like a very dark, very French Starsky and Hutch, n'est-ce pas?

(ed. note: This post was accidentally published at 1AM, instead of 1PM, so we're re-publishing it at the correct time.)

I've been thinking about the largely negative response to Wong Kar-wai's My Blueberry Nights (6 screens), a film I quite liked. As of today it's at 43% on Rotten Tomatoes, though it opens wider this weekend (including here in the Bay Area) and more reviews are surely coming in. Most critics I've spoken with around here likewise didn't think much of it. What are the reasons for all this disappointment? The main reason has to do with its weight. It's a lightweight movie, a trifle, flimsy, vapid, thin, etc. Wong is considered one of the world's greatest filmmakers, a maker of "weighty" works of art, and so this "lighter" film is beneath him. It's a letdown, a step backward.

Well, I say that's nonsense. Many great filmmakers dallied in lightweight, lesser trifles during their careers, and it didn't make them any less great. Martin Scorsese has made lots of them. After Hours (1985) and The Color of Money (1986) may not pack the punch of Raging Bull, but they are quite enjoyable, and pure Scorsese. (His current Shine a Light, 277 screens, feels like a trifle.) Fritz Lang came to the United States from a position of great power and unlimited resources in Germany and found himself assigned cheap crime pictures. Yet few critics today would complain about the "lightness" of The Big Heat or Scarlet Street. Max Ophuls also made crime films in Hollywood (Caught and The Reckless Moment), and his reputation remains intact. Some consider John Ford the greatest American director of all time, and even though his goofball Donovan's Reef (1963) isn't counted among his classics, I love it just as much. It has moments of great beauty that reflect its maker's personality. My Blueberry Nights may not stand up to In the Mood for Love, but it's unquestionably a Wong Kar-wai film.