At the movies: Escape from Tomorrow.

Though I think I still prefer the Sundance cut a little more, I still love Escape from Tomorrow, and I urge anyone who might be reading this to check out my review and then check out the film. Or, if you're an adventurous type, just check out the film first. If you have pasts (or presents) with theme park drama in them, it will be all the more resonant for you.

At the movies: Meek's Cutoff.

Adrift. Three families and the yammering jackanape Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood, channeling Tom Waits as nineteenth century snakeoil salesman) traversing the Oregon Trail. Lost, with water and decency in short supply and the creeping sensation that hope has forsaken their small expedition. Meek’s Cutoff is the most politically lacerating film of the year; an anguished but restrained call to ask questions and openly communicate with your fellow human beings.

Wide Oregon frontiers yielding to intimate character moments, held prisoner in precise portraiture. Director Kelly Reichardt (Wendy and Lucy, Old Joy) uses the 1.33:1 Academy aspect ratio as a physical (and philosophical) representation of the limits of vision. When we think of the frontier, we think of wide open spaces; but we are lucky if we can really take in everything in front of us. The women’s bonnets are a form of bondage, but one that represents all too well the inescapable uncertainties of ‘that life.’ When you look at the process involved in fording a river, or moving covered wagons down steep inclines, you have to acknowledge some truths. I couldn’t do it. Few of us today could. But for its measured runtime, we enter into the frontier experience, and it is absolutely terrifying.

At its heart, Meek’s Cutoff is one of those very special films, like Gerry or The Blair Witch Project or Eyes of Fire, that taps into the primal American experience, the vast expanses of land and mystery that build upon secrets and legends and fears. Unlike those films, it hews to the path of realism, though that is in no way reassuring; the infinite horrors of the land come through in an even more upsetting form. Saltwater. Mocking, neverending horizons. And the ceaseless prattle of some good ol’ boy who talks a good game but has led you astray.

I’ve called it a political film, and it is. But not in the almost reductive fashion by which the mysterious Indian prisoner has come to be an Obama signifier (though there is certainly enough ammunition for such an interpretation). The Indian is simply The Other that is always part of the American experience.

Perhaps it is that way for all cultures, but the quintessential American experience involves the individual, The Other, and then other American individuals. Bound to one another by geography and (to some extent) ideology, Americans are tied to the thoughts and emotions of other Americans (those who’ve traveled internationally in the past decade can address this specifically), and whether through debate, intimidation, or reasoned discourse, we constantly strive for consensus. We cling to tradition, and custom, and, when necessary, hope. Meek’s Cutoff is an ongoing story, and one that should reverberate in the heart of anyone who has ever stopped and thought about history.

Originally reviewed at the 2010 New York Film Festival
--Jason Shawhan

For those of you who didn't know-

and there are apparently many throughout the world, my hometown of Nashville, Tennessee got flooded during a torrential bipartite downpour last weekend. There are a horrifying number of people who have lost everything- their homes, their possessions, their vehicles, their pets, some would say their very selves.

I was lucky. Luckier than most.

My house flooded, I lost a bunch of stuff, and I've spent the past week hopping from one friend's couch to another, trying to keep on keeping on, as the axiom goes. I'm back in my home, with a place of my own to sleep in, and I am grateful.

But I can't even begin to express the surreality of the situation, and part of me (perhaps praeteritively) questions whether I should even try. The water shortages are a hurdle, to be sure, and there's nowhere in the city you can go that isn't offering up personalized devastation, sitting in the front of thousands of yards. And the number of homeless pets is heartwrenching; I've seen so many animals in and around the city, with collars and a frantic look on their faces, trying to find home.

But there's something that feels completely off in the air, and it isn't just the near-omnipresent stank of stagnating water (or the mosquitoes that ensue in such situations). I love this city, in the way that you can only love something that occasionally threatens to push you over the edge into madness. I love this city like an old married couple who occasionally exchange gunfire at one another while remaining completely devoted to one another.

The way to avoid feeling helpless, they say, is to help others. And that's exactly right.

In the words of Haven Hamilton, "They can't do this to us here in Nashville! Let's show them what we're made of."

A Trip down Elm Street (before).

Louisville gets the Original, uncontaminated by the remake.
Elm Street 1.0