It was the oddest entry in the film career of esteemed director Arthur Penn. The 1969 film adaptation of folk singer Arlo Guthrie's Alice's Restaurant has endured as a popular cult hit. Writer Christopher Robinson provides an interesting analysis of the movie on the Rare Cult Cinema web site. Ironically, the movie is out of print on DVD. How about bringing out a special edition?  Click here to read.  

By Lee Pfeiffer 

"More Than thea Rainbow" is director Dan Wechsler's homage to New York street photographer Matt Weber. What is a "street photographer"? He/she is someone who simply wanders around the city they reside in snapping photographs at a rapid-fire rate in the hopes of capturing some spontaneous bit of magic. Weber prowls the back streets and main drags of Manhattan, the beaches of Coney Island and anywhere else he might find everyday people engaging in interesting activities. These might include playing with children, having casual sex in an open area, frolicking at the seaside, sleeping on sidewalks or park benches or engaging in violence. Weber's photos tell the story of a city: the good, the bad and the ugly. Weber looks like an unmade bed and talks in  machine-gun fire fashion to such an extent that it often becomes exhausting just listening to him. However, he has an interesting story to tell and his photographs, which are seen abundantly throughout the film, are indeed mesmerizing. Weber began driving a taxi cab during the 1970s when Scorese and De Niro immortalized the profession in their classic 1976 Taxi Driver. In those days, Gotham was a deteriorating behemoth, with crime and pollution out of control. Weber ultimately sold his cab (an action he still sometimes regrets) in order to take to it to the streets to photograph the most exciting city on the planet. He admits that he got a significant financial boost to his meager income when he accepted $500,000 to move from his apartment many years ago. (The developer ended up going bankrupt before he could renovate the building into a luxury complex.)  With a degree of financial security, Weber shoots photos virtually non-stop, admitting that the most memorable photos come about unexpectedly. He asks no permission from his subjects and shoots their photos before most of them have time to react or object. He's strictly old school, shooting in B&W on 35mm film. He describes the wonders of using his darkroom equipment to see an image appear from a blank piece of paper before his eyes-- and the viewer ends up sharing in his enthusiasm. (He does acknowledge the expense and limitations of 35mm vs. digital and seems to be weakening in his refusal to work in the format.)

The movie, which is set to funky jazz music by Theolonius Monk and Keith Gurland, is a rich looking production, considering its a rather low-budget affair. Wechsler, like his subject, is also old school and has shot at least some of the film in 35mm. The movie is bit schizophrenic in terms of its content. Although Weber is clearly the main subject, Wechsler also interviews numerous colleagues of his who are also street photographers. The problem is that the film begins to treat them not only as people who comment on Weber's life and work, but also subject matters themselves. Thus, the movie often drifts from its original intention, which is to present Weber as the focus of the piece. The other photographers are an interesting lot, however. Some are likable and engaging, others are so pretentious they remind one of the types of pretentious snobs who are satirized in Woody Allen comedies. One of the photographers, Eric Kroll, seems a bit out of place here. He does offer some biting criticism of Weber's work, which is refreshing in an otherwise cinematic wet kiss to its subject, but Kroll is not a street photographer in the traditional sense. Rather, he specializes in  elaborate, staged sexual fetishes and there are plenty of eye-popping examples of his work in the film. He is also inexplicably joined throughout the interview by a lovely, well-endowed young lady who is virtually silent and sits attired in a corset that presents her two main assets in an almost 3-D effect. But what is she, or Kroll for that matter, doing in the film? They seem placed there purely for purposes of titillation.  

The movie is at its best when it sticks with Weber himself. He relates his transformation from taxi driver to photographer and along the way there are interviews with his wife (presumably ex-wife, as it is revealed they were in the process of getting a divorce during filming.) She is a rather unique character in her own way. She damns Weber with faint praise by listing his attributes while simultaneously telling viewers he's virtually impossible to live with. In a bizarre moment, she also assures the viewer that, not to worry, despite problems in the marriage, their sex life was satisfactory.

More Than the Rainbow's greatest attributes are Weber's photographs and director Wechsler wisely lets the pictures do the talking throughout most of the film. His cameras linger lovingly on some fascinating slice-of-life shots that are mini works of art. A homeless man with a resemblance to Van Gogh sleeps on the sidewalk under posters that promote an exhibition of the artist's works. The beginnings of a brutal fight between two men arguing in the street are caught on camera. Small children in Harlem stand outside a seedy bar in their Sunday finest on Easter. A group of young sailors give Weber a cautionary glance as they move past the porn palaces of old Times Square. Weber is clearly among those who extol the virtues of that era. Many don't. The past is always glamorized but, while the edginess and danger of New York in those days does have an appeal in retrospect and in Weber's photographs, for many of us the "new" New York, with its cleaner streets and low crime rates, is a far better place. Still, it's fun to revisit the bad old days through Weber's extraordinary photos.

More Than the Rainbow is an ambitious and highly entertaining film about a genuine  New York "character" who is every bit as intriguing as the subjects he photographs.

The film opens in New York at the Quad Cinema on May 2 and in L.A. at the Arena Cinema on May 24.  

To view the trailer click here 

Click here to visit the official web page view more of Matt Weber's photos. 

Sheila Exteberria and Ed Ryan in Nathan Silver's new indie film Soft in the Head.

By Don L. Stradley

There is a startling scene in Nathan Silver’s Soft In The Head where Natalia, a reckless woman/child who causes trouble wherever she goes, looks at her reflection in a cracked compact mirror.  The effect of the crack distorts her face to where she looks like one of the garish women in a Willem De Kooning painting. It’s jolting, for we’ve suspected Natalia is a monster of sorts, the type of young woman who is destined to be a skid row casualty, but is still young enough to manipulate a few men here and there. In the cracked reflection, we get a glimpse of Natalia’s true self, or at the very least, a peek at her grotesque future.

When we first see Natalia she’s being smacked around by her boyfriend. She leaves him, but intends to go back at some point because she believes the reunion will be passionate. Love and self-destruction seem abutted in her mind.  After showing up drunk at the family home of her friend Hannah, Natalia wanders into the night, oblivious to the catcalls from street people who mock her.  She intends to spend the night on the sidewalk, until she meets Maury, a well-meaning fellow who has turned his home into a sanctuary for derelicts. Maury invites Natalia over for dinner where she sits among men seemingly plucked from a touring production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.  Natalia isn’t intimidated, though. She’s in her element, letting a bunch of homeless men fawn over her.

Even at her lowest, Natalia’s able to work her way into the hearts of vulnerable males, including Hannah’s shy brother Nathan.  He’s so smitten by her that he steals one of his mother’s necklaces for her, which sets off a major row in his very old-fashioned Jewish household. Nathan’s parents seem a bit thick – their son can barely dress himself or hold a conversation (Natalia describes him at one point as “mildly autistic…like a baby…”) but they spend an entire scene badgering him to meet a nice girl and give them some grandchildren.  When he announces that Natalia has won his heart, their shock is off the charts.

Some observers have already compared Soft In The Head to the films of John Cassavetes, but the comparison works at only the most superficial level. Cassavetes’ casts were headed by highly charismatic Hollywood actors – Peter Falk, Gena Rowlands, Ben Gazzara, etc. Soft In The Head has no such glossy veneer, being made up of unknown New York actors who often look like they’re reaching, trying to be “real,” but also struggling to be amusing.  Silver, to his credit, allows his actors plenty of room for a kind of realistic give and take, but his scenes can’t match one of Cassavetes’ high-wire acts.  Also, Silver’s not aiming for the kind of philosophical statements that gave Cassavetes’ films an ersatz profundity. Silver’s aiming at smaller targets, but even so, his scenes feel self-conscience, as if he’s a bit too in love with the idea of being a filmmaker.  Silver lets the camera linger on   Natalia while she combs her hair out of her face, or sucks at her crooked teeth; it’s rare in recent movies that a camera has so desperately adored a female subject, as if Silver, too, is under Natalia’s spell.  (Still, even with shots that go on too long, Silver brings the movie in at a tight 75 minutes, something Cassavetes could never do!)

Soft In The Head doesn’t remind me of Cassavetes as much as it reminds me of certain films, novels and plays of the 1960s (i.e. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Dutchman, Tell Me That You Love Me, Junie Moon). It was a genre with no name, but the distinctive trait was a melting pot of disparate characters (usually one African-American, a Jew, a war veteran, a hooker, a homosexual, an old man, and a hippie). They’d be thrown together, usually during a power failure or a housing shortage, or they’d be stuck in the same subway car.  Tempers would flair. The stories usually ended with a murder or a suicide, the remaining characters huddling together, waiting for the police.  Soft In The Head goes that way, too, but not in the way you might imagine.  

Silver ignores the usual narrative pattern we’d expect in a film like this one. He’s less interested in developing plots than in throwing some characters together to see what transpires. You can feel his love for these people, but this technique doesn’t allow the characters to take charge of the story. They have altercations that feel like acting class exercises, but nothing moves the plot forward. The sense we get is that the story is fidgeting, chasing its own tail. More, for instance, could have been done with Maury and his band of idiots. Where Silver really dropped the ball was in the storyline involving Natalia and Nathan.

Natalia and Nathan (their names even mirror each other) are two sides of the same person. Both are painfully immature, unable to stake out a spot in the adult world: one is homeless; the other still lives with his parents. Both could be described as soft in the head. Nathan is pure, knowing nothing of the weird games that go on between males and females, while Natalia, dense though she may be, has mastered those games. Nathan is horrified by Natalia’s revelation that she actually enjoys being abused, but just when that part of the story is gaining momentum, Silver lets it trail off…

Perhaps from a youthful flaunting of the rules, Silver shuffles the deck on us and gives us an ending that is unexpected, but also unengaging. He might have been better served if he’d chosen one of his plot strings and followed it to a conclusion, rather than floating from one plot to the next. Silver has some good instincts, though, and I’ll look forward to the day when he acquaints himself with the nuts and bolts of storytelling. As it is, Soft In The Head is a strangely intriguing work. It’s flawed, but unique. No one but Silver could have made it.

Sheila Etxeberría is believable as Natalia, bringing to the role a kind of ratty vulnerability.  There are some good turns by other actors, too, including  Ed Ryan as the enigmatic Maury, and Theodore Bouloukos as David, the most volatile of Maury’s guests. Carl Kranz, bless him, has an almost thankless role as Nathan. Here’s an isolated young guy who decorates his room with Woody Allen posters as if he’s searching for the right nebbish to model himself after, but instead of meeting Diane Keaton he meets Natalia.  Something tells me he’ll soon tear down Sleeper and replace it with The Blue Angel. 

The film opens in New York City, April 18.

The addictive retro-based web site Hill Place offers an extensive analysis and appreciation of John Ford's The Were Expendable, an homage to the heroic U.S. Navy men who manned the P.T. Boats in WWII. The flick starred Robert Montgomery and John Wayne and is today considered one of the best movies in the WWII genre. However, at the time of its release at the very end of the conflict, it was vastly under-appreciated by a war-weary  public that just wanted to indulge in relatively lightweight fare. (The same fate befell Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life, which was considered by many to be too downbeat for audiences that had just undergone years of personal suffering).

Click here to read the article about They Were Expendable and realize why it represents Ford at his best.