Not reviewed.

Fairhaven is the best movie I’ve seen so far this year. Keep in mind, we’re still ushering in the world-weary days of mid-January, a month when major studios traditionally serve up half-cooked leftovers from the year before. Fortunately, this stigma does not apply to Fairhaven, a sleepy little gem that would prove just as rewarding during any movie season.

Fairhaven is centered upon the small town reunion of three childhood friends, each of whom share different links to the same woman … each of whom are busy suffering through their own advanced stages of regression.

The pace, direction, and acting in this film are all exceptional. While the three male leads (Chris Messina, Rich Sommer, Tom O’Brien) are more than capable of holding their own, it’s the females of Fairhaven (Sarah Paulson, Alexie Gimore, Natalie Gold) who really steal the show. Their characters are so compassionate, relatable … the kind of women who make men want to fall in love again. To that end, all three actresses serve the material remarkably well.

The bottom line: Fairhaven is your best bet throughout the ides of January, assuming you’re in the market for a strong indie amidst this off-season’s usual cauldron of drivel.

(Fairhaven opens at the Cinema Village in New York and the Somerville Theater in Massachusetts on Friday, January 11th, and will also be available via Video OnDemand the following Tuesday, January 15th.)

“Emotional hurt is the price one has to pay in order to be independent. That’s what I basically believe and I’ve lived my life accordingly. In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person’s heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time cuts away at me from the inside. I think in my own way I’m aware of this danger – probably through experience – and that’s why I’ve had to constantly keep my body in motion, in some cases pushing myself to the limit, in order to heal the loneliness I feel inside and put it in perspective. Not so much as an intentional act, but as an instinctive reaction. Let me be more specific: When I’m criticized unjustly (from my own viewpoint, at least), or when someone I’m sure will understand me doesn’t, I go running for a little longer than usual. By running longer it’s like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent. It also makes me realize again how weak I am, how limited my abilities are. I become aware, physically, of these low points. And one of the results of running a little farther than usual is that I become that much stronger. If I’m angry, I direct that anger toward myself. If I have a frustrating experience, I use that to improve myself. That’s the way I’ve always lived. I quietly absorb the things I’m able to, releasing them later, and in as changed a form as possible, as part of the storyline in a novel.”

  (Good Pictures/Bad Camera is a regular feature on IFB.)

OK, let’s keep this simple: If you maintain a keen interest in the storied history of Palermo, the grand tradition of Sicilian theater, and/or the deep family lineage of John Turturro, there’s a very good chance you might enjoy Rehearsal For a Sicilian Tragedy. Otherwise, not so much.

Either way, there sure is a whole lot of wisdom milling about in this film – the old-world variety that might very well make for a highly entertaining half-hour on the History or Travel Channel. Unfortunately, that same wisdom does not translate in the form of a full-length documentary. Che tragedia!

(Rehearsal For a Sicilian Tragedy will be screening as part of the Stranger Than Fiction Series at the IFC Center in New York City on Tuesday, January 8th, @ 8 pm. Both John Turturro and Director Roman Paska will be in attendance. Tickets are available here.The film is also available on DVD via First Run Features.)  Continue reading →

Tom Waits, Alice (Anti, 2002). Alice is comprised of songs written for a German play of the same name. The play, which opened in 1992, was loosely based on Alice Liddell, a preacher’s daughter who provided the real-life inspiration for Alice in Wonderland. Waits’ accompanying soundtrack plays like a warm blanket on a snowy afternoon. Outside there may be frozen ponds and fading roses, far-off echoes and train whistles. But inside it’s all muted horns and atmosphere; pump organs and viola. A slow waltz here, a ballad there, and just enough stock weirdness tucked in between to keep the tastemakers on their toes. What it all adds up to is one of Tom Waits’ most endearing albums, largely hinged on the bittersweet notion that no one puts flowers on a flower’s grave.

Listen: “Alice” (Title Track)

Ryan Adams, Love Is Hell, Pt. II (Lost Highway, 2004). Both parts of Love is Hell are excellent, but it’s the second half of this double LP that really drives home a desperate sense of urban decay. There’s a prevalent sadness throughout, and yet it’s a sadness most listeners can relate to, if not one the overwhelming majority of us actually prefer to revel in every now and again, if only to remind ourselves we’re still capable of feeling. Love Is Hell is as much about relationships as it is Adams’ on-again/off again love affair with the steam-filled streets of Manhattan: Strung out like some Christmas lights/out there in the Chelsea night.

Listen: “My Blue Manhattan“

Bon Iver, Bon Iver (Jagjaguwar, 2011). Christmas night, boyhood memories, frozen fields and furling forests, all set against the snowy backdrop of Fall Creek, Wisconsin. Bon Iver is a seamless homage to the deep-woods cabin, wrought with cold chimes and hollow echoes. Justin Vernon creates a cavernous feeling here; a weak falsetto calling out across the wilderness. The cover art alone is worth the price of admission, and the band’s name – literally translated – means “good winter.” How on earth could you possibly go wrong?

Listen: “Holocene”

Laura Marling, I Speak Because I Can (Virgin, 2010). The centerpiece of this record is a song called “Goodbye England” that is as beautiful as it is brilliant: You were so smart then/in your jacket and coat. My softest red scarf was/warming your throat. Winter was on us/at the end of my nose. But I never love England more than when covered in snow. The entire album is just as lyrically shrewd and sound, accented by Laura Marling’s unique tuning choices. Perfect for working through the night or kicking back with a
bottle of Merlot.

Listen: “Goodbye England”

The Counting Crows, Recovering the Satellites (Geffen, 1996). If August and Everything After was the beginning, and This Dessert Life was the end, Recovering the Satellites might well have been the all-too-brief sweet spot in between. While there are a handful of rockers on Recovering, it’s the quieter moments that really allow this LP its staying power – “Goodnight, Elisabeth,” “Miller’s Angels,” and “A Long December,” among them. Recovering the Satellites opens like a fairy tale, closes with a whimper, and somehow manages to sneak in a little bit of everything – including a brief sample of “Greensleeves” – via the intervening spectrum.

Listen: “Another Horsedreamer’s Blues”

(Feel free to add any of your own suggestions in the Comments section below.)

The Baytown Outlaws is an ultra-violent thrill ride that also happens to be a good bit of fun, assuming you’re into that type of thing. This movie has no interest in tugging at your heartstrings or making you go all gooey between the thighs. From the opening frame, Baytown‘s very honest intention is to kick the goddamned door down; to shake you and wake you from whatever Amour-induced coma you may have been suffering.

To that end, The Baytown Outlaws hits its mark. This despite the once-venerable Billy Bob Thornton masquerading about as some uber-bad-ass kingpin. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Thornton sure does sound the part. And he acts the part, as well. But he simply does not look the part, what with those steamed-vegetable arms of his, and something akin to a loose twig for a waist. This … This is not the look of a man who strikes grave fear into the hearts of his enemies, let alone a man who would just as soon kiss you as kill you.

That aside, Baytown Outlaws is a gory, gruesome, gratuitous good time – a slick little engine that hums its way straight across the Bible Belt and back again. Perfect for all those lonesome winter nights when there’s absolutely nothing else to order OnDemand.

(The Baytown Outlaws arrives for a limited engagement at New York City’s Cinema Village on January 7th, and is currently available via YouTube and VOD.)  Continue reading →

All pics taken with a metallic-blue Canon PowerShot A495 digital camera, the bottom left-hand side of which is held together with a big ole’ piece of duct tape.

“When you started writing, in high school or college, it wasn’t out of a wish to be published, or to be successful, or even to win a lovely award like the one you’re receiving tonight. It was in response to the wondrousness and humiliation of being alive. Remember? You were fifteen and standing beside a river in wintertime. Ice floes drifted slowly downstream. Your nose was running. Your wool hat smelled like a wet dog. Your dog, panting by your side, smelled like your hat. It was hard to distinguish. As you stood there, watching the river, an imperative communicated itself to you. You were being told to pay attention. You, the designated witness, special little teen-age omniscient you, wearing tennis shoes out in the snow, against your mother’s orders. Just then the sun came out from behind the clouds, revealing that every twig on every tree was encased in ice. The entire world a crystal chandelier that might shatter if you made a sound, so you didn’t. Even your dog knew to keep quiet. And the beauty of the world at that moment, the majestic advance of ice in the river, so like the progress of the thoughts inside your head, overwhelmed you, filling you with one desire and one desire only, which was to go home immediately and write about it.”

1. Why I Quit Drinking & Delco
2. Moving On: One Year in the Making
3. Good Pictures/Bad Camera: Greetings From Asbury Park, New Jersey
4. 5 Facts & 10 Opinions Regarding Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln
5. Good Pictures/Bad Camera: Bar Harbor is Just Bangor (With a Whole Lot in Between), Pt. I
6. Moving On: The Season Finale
7. Moving On: Bob Barker (& The Legend of Tin Can Alley)
8. A Very Rough Estimate of How Much Money I’ve Spent on Drinking Over the Past 20 Years
9. Why Joe Frazier Matters
10. Film Capsule: Brooklyn Castle