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Heading South
Grade: A-

Laurent Cantet (Time Out) confirms that he is one of France’s top directors with this controversial and engrossing drama. Karen Young and Charlotte Rampling are terrific as sexually frustrated middle-aged women who vacation in Haiti in the late 1970s and pay a young Haitian man to get down and dirty with them. Viewing their beach resort as a private playground, they’re more or less oblivious to the poverty and political unrest that surrounds them. In a unique and effective stylistic maneuver, each major character reveals intimate details about themselves in a soliloquy.

The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue
(Nan A. Talese, $23.95)

First time novelist Keith Donohue has crafted a fairy tale for adults that starts off with a roar and ends with a whimper. The editors at Amazon.com have all but declared The Stolen Child the best book since sliced bread. I agree that he's working with a dynamite premise, but his writing is often wooden and humorless, a flaw that leeches much of the magic out of the story.
The Stolen Child is inspired by mythological entities called changelings - wilderness hobgoblins who, unbeknownst to humans, switch places with human children and live out their lives. As the novel opens a a tribe of changelings abduct a boy named Henry Day and rename him Aniday. If you can follow me here, a one hundred year old changeling (who was once wrested by changelings from his idyllic childhood in Germany) takes Henry's place in the human world, blending in with most of his friends and family but driving his confused and suspicious father to suicide.

Donohue structures the novel so that Henry and Aniday swap narrator duties. Each chapter narrated by Henry, in other words, is followed by an Aniday adventure. At first this technique made me eager to read long stretches at a time, but after awhile I found it to be rather monotonous.

All this bitching aside, The Stolen Child is a unique and frequently charming book that deserves a wide readership because, well, there's nothing else like it. It's not nearly as good as recent fantasy whoppers like Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy or Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, but it least it reminds us what it feels like to be a wide-eyed and open to all the world's crazy strange possibilities.

SUMMER CAMP

For the general population “camp” is a place where you toast marshmallows and douse yourself with insect repellent. But for many homos and with-it heteros, the word also conjures wonderfully tacky spectacles and deliciously overripe melodramas.
The late novelist and cultural critic Susan Sontag mused about this phenomenon in her classic 1964 essay “Notes on Camp.” She writes, “Camp is art that proposes itself seriously, but cannot be taken altogether seriously because it is ‘too much.’”
Queers, she continues, “constitute the vanguard – and the most articulate audience – of camp.”
Recently four camp movie classics received the deluxe DVD treatment, complete with glamorous packaging, hours of extras and commentary tracks by dirt-dishers like John Waters.
I’m sure that only the butchiest of readers will disagree when I say that this kind of summer camp beats a week in the woods with mosquitoes and outdoor plumbing.

Valley of the Dolls
Upon its publication in 1966, Jacqueline Susann’s novel Valley of the Dolls sold over 30 million copies and joined the Bible as one of the ten bestselling books of all time. Not bad for a trash fest about three starlets undone by their addiction to booze and dolls (a nickname for uppers, downers and every other kind of pill you can name).
For the record, Susann hated director Mark Robson’s garish 1967 film adaptation. But that didn’t stop the film from being a huge hit, or from becoming a cult favorite among gay fans – even though we’re still sore that Robson fired Judy Garland and replaced her with Susan Hayward for the role of bitchy Broadway grand dame Helen Lawson.
Village Voice gossip columnist Michael Musto wrote, “If you’re not gay, you will turn gay from watching this movie.” It sounds extreme, but I’d wager that there’s not a latent drama queen on earth who wouldn’t go into full fag blossom after hearing the dejected Neely O’Hara (Patty Duke) scream, “The whole world loves me!”
This movie has it all: booze, drugs, insanity, horrible acting and one of Sharon Tate’s final screen appearances before her murder at the hands of the Manson gang.
The new double disc package is as stacked as, well, Sharon Tate. Encased in hot pink plastic, the set comes with original lobby cards that will look great alongside your favorite family photos. The DVD features a fawning commentary track by E! columnist Ted Casablanca and actress Barbara Parkin, several documentaries, screen tests and a trivia track.

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls
Valley of the Dolls is a classic example of a film that is campy because it fails so thoroughly in its mission to be a legitimate work of art. Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, the 1970 “sequel” that has practically nothing to do with the original, is campy because director Russ Meyer and screenwriter Roger Ebert deliberately injected spoofy fun into every scene. But you still have to be a connoisseur of camp to get the jokes.
Famous for his profitable nudie films with buxom stars, the late Meyer is highly revered in cult film circles for blurring the line between high art and low art. Equal parts Orson Welles and Andy Warhol, he used visionary camera angles and sophisticated editing to celebrate gratuitous sex and violence.
Ebert’s infinitely quotable script recalls the original Valley only in the sense that it follows three beautiful young women in search of stardom. They go to Hollywood and become rock ‘n’ roll royalty, rubbing elbows and crotches with nymphomaniacs, transsexuals and perfectly chiseled studs. This is a free loving, anything goes world where people say things like, “I’d like to strap you on sometime!”
Despite lots of straight sex and Playboy centerfold moments, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls easily qualifies as a queer film. There are several same-sex make out sessions, and some scorching babe-on-babe boudoir antics.
Set aside a whole lazy afternoon for all the extras. Ebert provides excellent commentary, but the commentary by various cast members on another audio track is scattered and dull. Bust out disc two for eye-popping photo galleries and excellent featurettes that show how the film reflects the chaos of the late 1960s.

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
Let the battle of the bitches begin!
Due to an ongoing rivalry that served them well in their roles as battling sisters, Bette Davis and Joan Crawford never worked together prior to What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? But by 1962 Davis desperately wanted to win her third Oscar, and Crawford thought Baby Jane was a surefire hit that would catapult her back to the box office glory of her early career.
Directed by Robert Aldrich, the low budget black-and-white production became a sleeper hit and earned five Academy Award nominations. Crawford, who was not nominated, reportedly campaigned against her costar to ensure that she went home empty-handed on Oscar night. No wonder that Davis arranged for Crawford to get the boot on their follow-up project, Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte.
Over-the-top even by horror movie standards, Baby Jane is the eerie, hilarious and occasionally sluggish tale of a reclusive former child star (Davis) who thrashes her wheelchair-bound sister (Crawford) with verbal abuse. On special occasions she serves her fancy dinner platters that conceal dead rats.
All the while, Davis wears girlish wigs and so much makeup that it looks like a five pound bag of pancake batter exploded in her face. Crawford’s expressions are so anguished that you can’t tell if she’s terrified, constipated, or both.
One exchange is especially popular with drag queens according to DVD commentators Charles Busch and John “Lypsinka” Epperson:
“You wouldn’t be able to do these awful things to me if I weren’t still in this chair,” says Crawford.
Davis grins, rolls her eyes and replies, “But you are, Blanche! You are in that chair!”
The best bit on the new two-disc set is a comprehensive Davis documentary hosted by Jodie Foster.

Mommie Dearest
If you’re not sufficiently frightened by Joan Crawford after watching Baby Jane, pop Mommie Dearest into your DVD player and you’ll be forever traumatized.
As the child abusing Crawford, Faye Dunaway delivers an astonishingly intense performance that might have won her an Oscar if the movie weren’t so patently ludicrous.
Who could ever forget her screaming, “No wire hangers!” or the image of her chopping down a tree like some drag queen Johnny Appleseed? And who can blame her for forcing her little brat daughter Christina to eat her cold raw rotting steak? Doesn’t anyone understand just how hard it is to be a single working mother?
Paramount originally released Mommie on DVD in 2001. The main reason to scoop up this new “Hollywood Royalty Edition” is the commentary by Pink Flamingos director John Waters. As funny and articulate as ever, he dishes out some good Faye Dunaway gossip, and argues that this much-maligned picture is actually “so good it’s perfect.”
He seems a bit out of touch with the movie’s ceaseless ridiculousness when he says that there are only a few scenes that are so campy that they cannot be taken seriously (such as the tree chopping scene). The whole movie is a campy train wreck as far as I’m concerned.
The disc also contains three featurettes about the film’s production, its cult following and the screen adaptation of Christina Crawford’s famous tell-all biography.


Now that you’ve overdosed on dolls and Joan Crawford, why not take these other campy flicks for a spin?

Showgirls
Except for a revolting rape scene near the end, Paul Verhoeven’s update of All About Eve is a marvelously lurid vision of Las Vegas garishness, glittery boobs and lesbo catfights. Invest in the “V.I.P Edition” for fabulous extras like lap dance lessons, commentary by gay Seattle actor David Schmader and a naughty parlor game called “Pin the Pasties on the Showgirl.”

The Bad Seed
Nothing says “camp” like an evil little girl with pigtails and spookily good manners. The DVD of this corny thriller includes a behind-the-scenes featurette with former child star Patty McCormack and commentary by McCormack and gay actor Charles Busch.

Catwoman
Who knows if Halle Berry’s litter box stink bomb will ever become a legitimate camp classic, but for the time being fetishistic fans can derive plenty of pleasure from her skin tight leather suits, whip-wielding dominatrix maneuvers, and strategic utterances of the words “meow” and “purrfect.”

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby
Grade: B

Who knew that the gayest mainstream movie of the year would come in the form of a NASCAR spoof? In his least annoying film role in ages, Will Ferrell plays a redneck racer who gets ousted from his #1 ranking by a debonair French fag (the hilarious Sacha Baron Cohen, a.k.a. Ali G). In a glorious affront to machismo, the rivals ultimately engage in a marathon lip-lock. The premium unleaded supporting cast includes John C. Reilly, Amy Adams and Jane Lynch.

DREAM WEAVER

One of the best films so far this year opens soon at an arthouse near you:

The Science of Sleep
Grade: A

Michel Gondry (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) wrote and directed this charming, surreal and visually inventive romantic comedy. Mexican heartthrob Gael Garcia Bernal stars as an artist and inventor who has immense difficulty distinguishing between dreams and reality, and Charlotte Gainsbourg plays his perplexed love interest. Like Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, this is a cinematic acid trip that will leave you wondering if someone sprinkled hallucinogens on your popcorn. In English and French.

BABY
BABY
BABY
BABY
OH
BABY

Every once in a while I lose control, pump up the volume on my stereo and pop in a CD by The Carpenters. Yes, I feel a little bit embarrassed as the schmaltzy sounds of "Superstar" and "I Won't Last a Day Without You" pipe through the speakers and float out the screen doors and open windows of the house. What will the neighbors think? Will I be forever uncool in their eyes for my lapse in musical judgement?

After going on a very satisfying Carpenters jag this past week, I've decided that I'm ready to put my shame aside and tell the world that I heart Karen and Richard. Sure, lots of their lyrics make Hallmark cards look like philosophical treatises. But let's fact facts: Karen's voice is a velvety, pitch-perfect force of nature that trumps the trite sentiments and the glorified Muzak in the background. I can only stand these siblings in small doses, but I'm most definitely on top of the world while the buzz lasts.

Are you game for a little quality Carp time? Click on the following link to see a medley of their greatest hits:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TArTFZa4ESo

MOUNTAIN MEN

Old Joy (Grade: A-)

Kelly Reichardt's Old Joy was a huge hit with critics at this year's Sundance Film Festival, but it was shown in such obscure venues that the public missed out. Whether or not you get a chance to see it in the theater will probably depend on ticket sales from its extremely limited release over the next few months. It plays at Cinema 21 in Portland from August 25-31, and it opens at the Film Forum in New York City on September 20.

Old Joy is extremely satisfying , even though the action is limited to two men driving in a car, talking, walking in the woods and soaking in hot springs. The pacing is slow and meditative, with gorgeous Oregon scenery to keep us fixated on the screen (the film was shot in Portland and at the secluded Bagby Hot Springs in the Cascade Mountains). Knowing that the premise is limited, Reichardt wisely keeps the running time down to a trim 70 minutes.

Daniel London and Will Oldham are both excellent as Mark and Kurt, two friends who have grown apart over the years. Mark is about to become a father, while Kurt seems to recoil at idea of settling down. This is the lowkey, Valium version of the clash between Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church in Sideways.

Since gay director Todd Haynes (Far From Heaven) produced the film, it's tempting to assign queer significance to a pivotal event toward the end of the film. While Mark soaks in the tub, Kurt begins massaging his neck, staring down at Mark's wedding ring in a way that left me wondering if he'd been pining for his friend all these years. Reviews in straight publications like Entertainment Weekly haven't made a big deal out of this, but it will be interesting to see if the gay press shares my impression that there is at least a modicum of homo tension between these men.

BLOODY OREGON TRAIL

Strange Piece of Paradise by Terri Jentz

(Farrar, Straus and Giroux, $27)

In 1977 Yale undergrad Terri Jentz and her friend, Shayna, grabbed the spirit of adventure by the balls and decided to bike across the United States. They hopped on a Greyhound bus to Astoria, Oregon and began the mammoth journey eastward by pedaling down the coast and then cutting across the Cascade Mountains to the desert landscape of central Oregon.

On June 22 Jentz and Shayna decided to camp for the night at Cline Falls, a state park north of Bend. Soon after drifting off to sleep they woke up in the middle of a living nightmare. After deliberately driving his truck into the tent and momentarily crushing Jentz, a man repeatedly struck the women with an axe. Both women survived, though the attack left Shayna partially blind and scarred Jentz physically and psychologically. Though the residents of that area strongly suspected that a violent high school boy committed the crime, the local and state police conducted a shoddy investigation and never fingered the culprit.

Nearly 30 years later Jentz has published the fascinating - though overdescriptive and overlong - memoir Strange Piece of Paradise. She interweaves the horrific events of June 22, 1977 with an extremely detailed account of the investigation she launched 15 years after the crime. She has an abiding need to know who tried to kill her, even though the statute of limitations for attempted murder has long since expired. Jentz takes us along on multiple trips back to Oregon, where she teams up with victims' rights advocates and interviews dozens of people linked to the awful night in question.

Jentz is no Truman Capote, but her book certainly deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as In Cold Blood. Both books stem from years of painstaking research, and they chronicle crimes that are so unexpected and upsetting that we can't help but be captivated by them.

Despite its obvious strengths, Strange Piece of Paradise is problematic in one regard. Jentz is a lesbian whose partner is film director Donna Deitch (Desert Hearts). But for whatever reason she goes out of her way to avoid the word "lesbian" throughout the book, referring to her obsession with Shayna and then awkwardly explaining away the sexual feelings that must have gone along with that. This evasiveness hurts the book because it rules out the possibility that the attempted murder was possibly a hate crime against women and lesbians in particular. Jentz is an incredibly thorough investigator, which makes this omission all the more baffling.

If you'd like to hear from Jentz directly, click on this link to a recent NPR interview:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5562295

Opening August 18th:

Factotum
Grade: A-

Norwegian director Bent Hamer (Kitchen Stories) turns his lens on the seamy underbelly of America in this funny and gritty adaptation of Charles Bukowski’s 1975 novel. Matt Dillon delivers a brilliant and unsettling performance as a boozer, gambler and struggling writer who bungles his way through a series of volatile relationships and degrading odd jobs. Lili Taylor has her best film role in ages as his unstable girlfriend, and Marisa Tomei makes a brief but memorable appearance as a floundering femme fatale.

GAY GROSSOUT

This flawed but enjoyable exercise in bad taste is already playing in New York and L.A. It opens on August 4 in San Fran, and on August 11 in Portland. Check http://www.anothergaymovie.com/ for opening dates in other cities.

Another Gay Movie
Grade: B-

Though it never seemed like there was much of a demand for it, the queer version of American Pie has arrived. The good news is that Another Gay Movie compensates for its lack of originality with endearing characters and plenty of cheap, smutty fun. But keep in mind that your enjoyment will totally depend on your threshold for raunchiness.
Here are a few images to whet your appetite: A teenage boy electrocutes his most prized appendage with a malfunctioning penis pump. A monster-hung sadist named Rodzilla takes a dump on a glass coffee table. Richard Hatch – the gay nudist tax crook who won the original Survivor – brings full frontal nudity to new lows by flashing his flaccid member. And this time there’s no CBS digital censorship to protect us.
Todd Stephens – the screenwriter behind the sensitive coming-of-age tale Edge of Seventeen – wrote and directed Another Gay Movie. The action opens on high school graduation day. Four gay friends lament the fact that they’ve never had anal sex, and vow that they’ll each do the deed before summer’s end.
Stephens clearly hopes to topple stereotypes with these characters. Nico (the hilarious Jonah Blechman) is bitchy and effeminate, but Jarod (Jonathan Chase) is a hunky baseball star and Andy (Michael Carbonaro) is a boy-next-door type who could easily pass for straight.
The supporting cast is uniformly excellent. Famed New York drag queen John “Lypsynka” Epperson is hilarious as Andy’s Mommie Dearest-esque mother, and Kids in the Hall’s Scott Thompson is a hoot as Andy’s not-so-secretly queer father. Newcomer Ashlie Atkinson delivers the juiciest and funniest performance of the bunch as a mouthy bull dyke named Muffler.
Stephens wrongly assumes at times that sex, nudity and gross out humor are enough to carry a movie. His film would benefit from a little more heartfelt humor – not just a parade of sight gags.
But Another Gay Movie is entertaining while it lasts, providing you don’t bolt for the exit when Jarod pukes on another man’s bare butt.
Also, the film leaves bottoms with a truly empowering mantra: “Real men take it up the ass.”