What makes a film “independent?” From catch phrase to catch all, the term “independent” has ceased being descriptive. Most major studios have “independent” wings — once Disney bought Miramax, the jig was pretty much up. But we still like to think of independent films as wild things, plucky pictures that will surprise and shock. Nowadays those pleasant jolts are few and far between — there is a formula for “independent” films and those who abandon that formula are something else entirely. We haven’t yet come up with a term for them.
The San Francisco Independent Film Festival traffics in those films upon which the “independent” label sits uneasily. Most of the work they show isn’t safe or formulaic, and doesn’t belong to that former category of independents released through the above-mentioned Miramax, Sony Pictures Classics, Warner Brothers Independent, et al. These aren’t the overly-hyped little pictures with big stars feted every winter at Sundance, so what are they?
Well first off, there is the bizarre. The festival opens with David Lynch’s Inland Empire and closes with Fido, a zombie love story. Everyone knows that David Lynch has spent his life depicting the sinister and surreal hidden at the heart every small town. From Eraserhead to Blue Velvet to Twin Peaks, Lynch has consistently produced stunning images alongside increasingly perplexing stories. He’s not always successful. I personally didn’t care much for the director’s last few movies, Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive, which seemed more like parodies of David Lynch films than actual David Lynch films. But The Straight Story was perfection, so we know the master is alive and well and will at least provoke a response. I didn’t get to see Inland Empire for this review, but by all accounts it’s as bizarre as one would expect. You’ll have to find out for yourself at the Castro Theater opening night, Thursday, Feb 8.
What I did see was a mixed bag. The festival provided a list of several works available for preview and I chose to watch three, so this is by no means a See’s sampler of what’s on offer at the fest, just the three that caught my eye. Two of them were documentaries, Karen Kramer’s The Ballad of Greenwich Village and Tara Wray’s Manhattan, Kansas. Kramer’s film is an overview of the history of New York’s Greenwich Village, including brief portraits of the interesting folk who lived there. The neighborhood has famously been home to a number of bohemian groups including the Beats in the fifties and the Folkies in the early sixties. The film cross cuts quite interesting modern portraits of contemporary residents with short pieces covering the almost 300-year history of the neighborhood. For those who have never heard of Greenwich Village, it’s a pretty good primer. For anyone who has, the film’s a bit of a snooze. I don’t know why I expected to see something new about ground that has been so thoroughly trod.
A few words about Tara Wray’s Manhattan, Kansas: what’s the point? Wray has a problem with her obviously crazy mother, so she puts a camera in the poor woman’s face and tries to trap her into being as wacko as possible. Tara, honey, we’ve all got issues with our parents. Nobody is perfect. Your mom has an obvious imbalance of some kind. It affected you negatively growing up. You’re in therapy now, that’s good, but do you have to share it with the rest of us?