“Sleeping Dogs Lie” lacks the marquee names and production values of
big studio romantic comedies, but it connects on an emotional level most of
them fail to do. That’s because it addresses an all-too familiar dilemma in the
dating world: How to respond when your lover wants to know your deepest,
darkest secret?
This black comedy, written and directed by stand-up comic and occasional
San Franciscan “Bobcat” Goldthwait, plays into an almost primal fear that
there’s something so awful in your past that if you spill the beans the other
person will split — no matter how much he or she professes that nothing you
could say would ever have that effect.
Goldthwait conceives a secret for his heroine, Amy (Melinda Page
Hamilton), which might give any significant other pause. It’s more dicey than
Daryl Hannah’s in “Splash” — and remember how Tom Hanks fled the instant
her fin wiggled free of a bathtub?
The skeleton in Amy’s closet is a sexual impulse she found herself unable
to control in her college days. The object was man’s best friend. You probably
get the picture, so let sleeping dogs lie — especially Amy’s coddled pooch,
Rufus. At Sundance, where the subject matter caused a bit of a stir, even among
the seen-it-all crowd, the film was less prosaically titled “Stay.”
But to dwell too much on the nature of Amy’s youthful indiscretion is to
miss the subtle humor in Goldthwait’s wildly inventive script, which includes
several hilarious fantasy moments involving canines. (Not to worry, no dogs
were either harmed or pleasured in the making of his film.).
But for those few misbegotten moments, Amy has led an exemplary life.
She’s a grade school teacher, for goodness sake, bright eyed and spunky.
Her parents put her on a pedestal, and so does her fiance, John (Bryce
Johnson). The trip home to have him meet the folks is to be savored — a
really low-budget version of what transpired in “Annie Hall,” complete with a
creepy brother. While asking her mother’s advice about whether to accede to
John’s request to know everything about her, she discovers that Mom, whom Dad
steadfastly believes came to their wedding bed a virgin, had been a groupie in
her day, whose conquests included Roy Orbison and Elvis. She tells her daughter
that her marriage hasn’t been all it should be because she kept her past a
secret. That’s all Amy needs to hear. The next time John is hot to trade sexual
secrets, she confesses hers.
A cast of largely unknowns brings a real poignancy to the scenes that
follow her disclosure. Hamilton (the promiscuous nun in “Desperate
Housewives”) vividly captures Amy’s slide into hysteria as her worst fears are
realized. Through it all, she maintains a captivating innocence reminiscent of
Mary Ann Singleton (a comparison compounded by Hamilton’s resemblance to Laura
Linney). Johnson ably captures Amy’s boyfriend’s disbelief followed by
confusion and unintentional cruelty. Colby French deserves mention as Amy’s
colleague and pal. He brings depth to what could have been a thankless role of
the sympathetic friend.
Although Goldthwait has directed two small features before and numerous
Comedy Central shows, he’s hardly an accomplished filmmaker. He has yet to
learn the art of making scenes fluidly segue into one another; his just stop
and start. “Sleeping Dogs Lie” has a chintzy look to it, the result of severe
budget constraints. But Goldthwait makes up for it by possessing not only a
great sense of humor but also a sense of the vulnerability that relationships
bring out even in those with nothing to hide.
– Advisory: Sexual references.
– Ruthe Stein
‘Iraq in Fragments’
Documentary. Directed by James Longley. (Not rated. 94 minutes. At the Opera
Plaza, Berkeley Shattuck.)
Perhaps the most intriguing thing about “Iraq in Fragments” isn’t its
subjects, although they are indeed pretty interesting, but the circumstances in
which this film was made. A Seattle filmmaker, presumably sane, sneaked across
the Iraq border from Egypt after the U.S.-led invasion in 2003 and stayed in
Iraq for two years, without a visa or proper permission, shooting this
documentary.
As the title implies, James Longley’s objective was not to make a
comprehensive documentary about the Iraq war but instead to focus on one human
story for each of the three predominant ethnic groups in Iraq — Sunni
Muslims, Shiite Muslims and Kurds. Except for a couple of brief shots of
American soldiers guarding checkpoints, there is no foreign presence in this
documentary other than behind the camera: This is a documentary about the Iraqi
people.
Part 1 follows 11-year-old Mohammed, a child in Baghdad with no interest
in school (he is in his fifth year at the first-grade level), whose future
appears to be as an auto mechanic. He works at an auto repair shop owned by the
man who adopted him (Mohammed’s father has been missing for years, apparently
imprisoned or executed by Saddam Hussein’s regime). Frightened by memories of
air attacks and bombings, the boy wishes “to go abroad, where nothing will
happen to you.”
Part 2 is at once the most amazing part of the film and its least
compelling. It takes place within the Shiite movement of Moqtada Sadr and
follows one of Sadr’s lieutenants, sheikh Aws al-Khafaji, a 32-year-old
cleric, as Sadr’s regime in Naseriyah and Najaf organizes elections and pushes
its interpretation of Islam.
I say amazing because it would have seemed impossible for an American
journalist to gain access to “the enemy” as it strategizes in private meetings,
obtain interviews and even be allowed to film a raid against alcohol sellers at
a local market. Yet the film drags in this section because it is about a
movement more than one human’s journey, and is filled with one speech after
another at Shiite rallies.
Part 3 takes place in a rural village in Kurdish-controlled northern Iraq,
a place that seems very far from the war. In this village, farmers grow wheat,
tomatoes and sunflowers and make bricks in ovens. Against a sky filled with
black smoke from petroleum fires, Longley focuses on the friendship between two
boys and their fathers.
In this last passage Longley shows a poetic, almost elegiacal artistry.
After two years, he might not understand the Iraqi people fully, but they have
won his heart and mind.
– G. Allen Johnson
‘Cocaine Cowboys’
Documentary. Directed by Billy Corben. (R. 118 minutes. At the Lumiere.)
“Cocaine Cowboys” has the attraction of a bad car wreck — it’s so
horrible, yet you can’t turn away. Do you really want to see a documentary
about the Miami drug wars of the 1970s and ’80s that basically makes heroes out
of former traffickers and a former hit man? This is an ugly film, but with an
undeniable allure.
This is the real “Miami Vice” — and it even has a score (music, that
is) by “Vice” composer Jan Hammer.
Director Billy Corben makes the case that Miami’s reputation as a hip,
cutting-edge urban playground and as one of the major cities of America is
completely based on the drug trade — which attracted movers and shakers,
financed construction projects and led to a vibrant nightclub scene. Before
cocaine, Miami was a sleepy retirement community.
That seems excessive, but Corben does provide some compelling evidence. He
structures his film around the recollections of Jon Roberts, a trafficker who
smuggled 10 tons of cocaine, worth more than $2 billion, for the Colombian
Medellin cartel, with his pilot, Mickey Munday.
At first, it was all fun. The borders were not secure, there was no
violence, cocaine was widely used by young jet-setters, and there were lavish
parties. Roberts was a regular supplier for NFL players, including members of
the Oakland Raiders.
Suddenly, there was a proliferation of banks — many small mom-and-pop
operations that existed to launder drug money. There was a building boom in
downtown Miami. Four mayors were indicted for corruption.
All that money, of course, meant competition and turf wars. There was also
an “invading army” — Cuban undesirables cut loose by Castro in the famous
“boatlift” of 1980. Soon, the city’s murder rate more than tripled (621 in
1981), and the most powerful and violent drug warlord was a woman called La
Madrina (the Godmother), Griselda Blanco.
Many of her ordered hits are described in detail (backed up by grisly
photos and videotape) by her main hit man, Jorge “Rivi” Ayala, in a
matter-of-fact manner, in a jailhouse interview.
Yes, there are interviews with former law enforcement and judicial
officials, but balance is basically thrown out the window. This is a
documentary that glamorizes the drug trade. Have fun.
– Advisory: Violent, bloody images and strong language.
– G. Allen Johnson
‘In Debt We Trust’
Documentary. Directed by Danny Schechter. Not rated. 89 minutes. At the Roxie.)
The subtitle of this documentary about this country’s burgeoning credit
card debt and the corporate machine driving it is “America Before the Bubble
Bursts,” and that’s the really scary part of Danny Schechter’s film.
Unfortunately, there isn’t much insight into this possible bleak future,
nor is there anything new in this 89-minute film, which plays more like an
episode of “20/20″ or “Dateline NBC.”
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What’s true and quite alarming is that debt is strangling the lives of
millions of Americans — for the first time in history, debt outweighs
savings for the average American, who is about $20,000 in the hole. Big banks
and credit card companies have powerful lobbies, leading to bills that throttle
consumers, such as the legislation championed by President Bush that makes it
harder for individuals to declare bankruptcy.
Schechter introduces us to many Americans who have had terrible financial
problems, including “Sopranos” actress Lorraine Bracco; a congresswoman from
Texas, Democrat Sheila Jackson Lee, who is trying to enact legislation to
protect consumers; and a minister who leads “debt liquidation revivals.”
The most fascinating possibility in the movie is the looming
Depression-like collapse that could happen when America’s collective bills come
due. Schechter imagines a financial collapse that will turn us into modern-day
serfs, but I would have liked to see more about what this potential future will
be like, and how we can avoid it.
– G. Allen Johnson