The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Thursday, October 19, 2017 — 5
Arts
AMAZON STUDIOS
‘Last Flag Flying’ is one of the many films playing at Chicago Film Festival this month
At Chicago International
Film Festival, Day 2: ‘12
Days’ & ‘Last Flag Flying’
Daniel Hensel continues his daily updates this week from Chicago
“12 Days,” a documentary by
French filmmaker Raymond
Depardon
(“Journal
de
France”), is a bore. Even at
under 90 minutes, the film
feels like a painful marathon.
In “12 Days,” Depardon trains
his eye on an odd quirk of the
French legal system: When
an individual is brought into
a
psychiatric
ward,
likely
against his or her will, after 12
days the individual is brought
before a judge, who determines
whether the inmate will stay or
will be released. “12 Days” is
largely restricted to capturing
the proceedings of these semi-
trials.
In these interviews, the
patients
remain
closed,
or
more rarely open up. They
may
be
confessional,
they
may lie. Each patient is given
an
anonymity
that
cloaks
his or her true feelings. But
this is a psychiatric ward,
after all. After we hear one
patient ramble about being
a part of the holy trinity,
the judge mentions that he
had
murdered
his
father.
Depardon’s
documentary
invites viewers to question the
desirability, let alone legality,
of a system that ostensibly lets
its captives determine their
fate, while allowing a largely
removed judge to ultimately
make the call. Some cases are
open and shut, one or two in
particular are heartbreaking.
A few have rather grisly and
painful details.
But while the film’s subject
matter
and
the
questions
about civil liberties it raises
are vital, Depardon can’t rely
on topicality alone to create
a
compelling
film.
Each
interview
session,
through
editing, lasts around seven
minutes, but many feel like an
eternity. We hear a modestly
made plea, a great deal of
incoherence, a summary from
a lawyer and a reliably sober
judge’s decision. Monotonous
and languorous, “12 Days”
lays the foundation for critical
non-fiction work but forgets
to make it interesting. Other
direct cinema documentaries
of the sort, such as Frederick
Wiseman’s latest masterwork,
“Ex Libris,” mine a large
collection
of
footage
for
the best material. It seems
Depardon only shot 87 minutes
of film and cut nothing.
Though it doesn’t justify
sitting
down
for
the
full
87
minutes,
three
almost
otherwise
silent
interludes,
scored
by
Oscar-winner
Alexandre
Desplat
(“The
Grand Budapest Hotel”) are
splendid and almost poetic in
their minimalism. Depardon,
after a number of interviews,
looks to the facility’s grounds
outdoors to see a man, not quite
lost but certainly confused,
walking in circles; toward the
end he examines the entryway
to a store and the rolling grass
of the facility’s main square;
after the last interview, he
captures
a
gorgeous
mist-
laden twilight. Desplat’s score,
which unfortunately only plays
in these scenes, is haunting,
composed mostly of despair but
with a tinge of hope and uplift,
like the facility’s inmates.
The first American film
I saw at the Festival, aside
from “The Florida Project,”
which wasn’t playing at the
Festival but was playing at
the same theater, was “Last
Flag Flying,” a follow-up to
“The Last Detail,” a 1973 film
directed by Hal Ashby. In
“The Last Detail,” two men
in the Navy (played by Jack
Nicholson and Otis Young)
are tasked with escorting a
much younger third (played
by Randy Quaid) to a Navy
prison to serve an eight-year
sentence for petty theft. Given
a per diem and seven days to
make a four-day trip, the two
sailors plan on spending much
of their money and time on
the way back. But when they
start to develop a liking for the
young shipman, they decide to,
in their parlance, show him a
good time.
A follow-up, based on a
2005 novel written by Darryl
Ponicsan, the same author
as
the
first
film’s
source
material, makes perfect sense
for director Richard Linklater.
“The Last Detail” is a sort of
proto-Linklater hang movie,
akin to “Dazed and Confused”
and last year’s “Everybody
Wants Some!!,” and who better
than Linklater, whose “Before”
trilogy and “Boyhood” capture
aging and passing time better
than any other director, to pick
up the trio’s story.
Unfortunately,
Linklater’s
latest lacks much of the charm
of his other movies and the
original 1973 film. Granted,
“Last Flag Flying” is much
more mournful because of its
general plot, but its attempts at
comedy aren’t nearly as potent.
Sure some laughs land, but this
a largely sterile film, focused
on artificially creating a plot
where one perhaps shouldn’t
exist.
“Last Flag Flying” takes
place in the Northeast U.S., just
like its predecessor, this time
with the backdrop of another
conflict that has since come
to be understood as a foolish
quagmire. The names have
changed, as has their backstory,
but a trio reunites. Early in
the Iraq War, Larry “Doc”
Shepherd (Steve Carell, “Battle
of the Sexes”), who continues
Quaid’s character, drops in
on bartender Sal Nealon (a
Jack Nicholson-impersonating
Bryan Cranston, “Trumbo”)
and
Reverend
Richard
Mueller (Otis Young incarnate
Laurence
Fishburne,
“John
Wick Vol. 2”). Doc’s son, Larry,
was killed in Iraq and he wants
Nealon and Mueller, all of
whom haven’t seen each other
since their days in Vietnam, to
accompany him to the funeral.
The Marines plan on burying
Larry at Arlington, but Doc has
other plans, eyeing to bury his
son in Portsmouth, NH, where
he lived and where Doc’s
recently deceased wife is also
buried. The trio conspires to
outwit the Marines and, in the
process, bump up against each
other, reminiscing and arguing
as old friends might do.
Where the film stumbles,
besides
some
of
its
uncharacteristically
stale
dialogue, is its odd attempt
to distance itself from the
original
film
while
still
holding tightly to its premise.
In my recollection, Vietnam
is not even mentioned in “The
Last Detail,” but the Iraqi
undercurrent in “Last Flag
Flying”
almost
necessitates
the comparison, but it feels
artificial. The name changes
and
the
variation
in
the
backstory
are
somewhat
perplexing
and
definitely
jarring. A crucial emotional
moment in the film involving
Cicely Tyson (“The Help”)
feels very forced.
Cranston
and
Fishburne
appear uncomfortable in their
roles and play exaggerated
archetypes, but Carell is simply
incredible. He’s a defeated
man, between his time in the
brig and the two deaths in the
past year, so when he’s finally
able to laugh, it’s an outburst of
melancholic catharsis.
DANIEL HENSEL
Daily Film Editor
FILM FESTIVAL COVERAGE
COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW
Edgefest to bring vibrant
musical talent to campus
Ann Arbor’s annual jazz festival returns this week to Kerrytown
The soul of the saxophone,
the
pounding
of
percussion,
the mellow of the cello — these
sounds blend into a traveling
tune, dancing through the air to
the ears of the crowd. Edgefest,
the four day festival of avant-
garde music, features a plethora
of world-renowned artists, each a
master of their own form of music.
Ground-breaking
musicians,
influenced by jazz, rock and
classical, are bringing innovative
and
improvised
melodies
to
the Kerrytown Concert House
this
weekend.
With
several
performances
throughout
the
evening each day, there are plenty
opportunities to make time for
musical talents that radiate with
passion and expertise.
Founded in 1997, Edgefest
started as a one-day festival that
quickly grew into its present four-
day celebration. It began when two
exceptional groups of musicians
happened to come through town
at the same time. Dave Lynch had
the thought to simply add another
group and turn it into a festival;
thus, Edgefest was born.
It’s the year of percussion. Every
year, the festival rallies around a
theme to tie it all together, such
as bass or saxophone in years
past. This year, the musicians
are connected by their mastery
in percussion. The festival will
illuminate the ingenious role of
drummers within the avant world
of music. The badum tish, the
gada gada, the groans and moans,
the jars, even the rataplan: all the
beats to shake your senses and lull
you into the rhythm of the drum.
The community of Ann Arbor
clamors with anticipation over
this
valued
attraction
each
year. In an interview with the
Daily, Deanna Relyea, founder
of Kerrytown Concert House in
1984, said Edgefest is “really one of
the most important festivals of its
kind in the world.” Nowhere else
can you hear the same exceptional
gathering of music.
“You don’t get thousands of
people stampeding the stage,”
Relyea said. “It’s a
very specific music,
yet it’s a mixture:
some improvised,
some composed.”
This isn’t the
music
you
hear
on the radio. This
music
is
real,
requires
talent
and
actually
means something.
The typical jazz
instruments
will be featured
as well as some
atypical
cultural
instruments
and
some cutting-edge
electric appliances
— it is wholly unusual. Instead of
the songs being rehearsed ahead
of time, you will be faced with
on-the-spot melodies, tunes that
come right from the heat of the
moment.
That’s what makes this music
special — what you hear in that
moment will not be heard in the
same way again. A night spent
at Edgefest is a night unique and
truly your own.
“I feel that young minds grasp
the roots of this music,” Relyea
said.
With a student population
from all over the world, the bright
minds of Michigan’s community
are perfectly suited to Edgefest.
Many of this year’s artists are
from New York, San Francisco and
Europe; students from those areas
will probably recognize some of
the names of the artists.
“We are happy when the house
is full — at 120 people,” Relyea
said about KCH’s attendance.
“That’s the way it is in New York
too. People playing
in
downtown
Manhattan,
with
rave reviews by the
New York Times,
are happy to get
40 people.” During
Edgefest, however,
the
house
often
finds itself sold out
with the popularity
of the festival. Each
act is different; it’s
original. There is
no headliner act.
Instead, all groups
are well known in
their musical field,
and
it
becomes
a
collaborative
environment among musicians.
Too often does this genre get
over looked by the millennial’s
obsession with pop culture and
what’s “cool.” Jazz is not an old
form of music, but a genre that is
continually developing, reshaping
and adapting with the times. If you
think jazz can’t create a charged,
electric feel, you are wrong. If
you think jazz can’t rock the
house down, you are wrong. If you
think jazz is dead, you are most
definitely wrong.
FALLON GATES
Daily Arts Writer
Edgefest
October 19th-
21st
Kerrytown
Concert Hall
General: $45 for
the day, $15 per
concert
Student: $5 per
concert
“12 Days”
Palmeraie et
Desert
Set for release
Nov. 29
“Last Flag
Flying”
Amazon Studios
Set for release
Nov. 3
WARNER BROS
How do you say “dvsn”?
dvsn’s sophomore album
is Very Good, if not Great
For most of the 2000s, Mark
Buehrle was a well above-average
baseball
player.
Known
for
excellent pitch location, killer off-
speed stuff and refreshingly fast
pace on the mound, the White
Sox left-hander earned five All
Star nods in addition to a World
Series championship in 2005. He
was good — very good — but not
quite legendary, and although
he’ll always be a fan favorite in
Chicago, he’ll forever be cemented
in baseball purgatory, an area one
notch down from Fame: the Hall of
Very Good.
On Oct. 13, dvsn released
Morning
After,
a
sophomore
follow-up to 2016’s Sept. 5th, and if
that debut was Buehrle’s no-hitter,
this is his perfect game — better
refined, likely more memorable,
a more successful push beyond
minimalistic stricture and another
accolade to tack onto — at best — a
very above-average career.
On that debut we got gems
(e.g. “With Me,” “Too Deep”) that
oozed, simply and unapologetically,
of sex, and the theme is also in
effect here. This time, the duo —
one half Daniel Daley (vocals) and
other half Nineteen85 (production)
— feels more comfortable toying
with this sexual foundation. While
standard alternative R&B elements
are noticeable, “Don’t Choose,” for
example, adds something extra
with its muffled, pitchy hook. We
hear a plea, of sorts, and it leads
up to an especially gospel-y outro
that’s equal parts unexpected and
fun (and maybe the highlight).
This moment smoothly transitions
to “Mood,” an airy piano carrying
into Daley’s boldest falsettos on
the entire album, which sets the
scene for a lush ballad. Consider
this stretch equivalent to Buehrle’s
time
with
the
Toronto Blue Jays,
the city from where
dvsn
themselves
hail;
the
pitcher
saw success with a
new level of finesse
in the twilight of
his career as he
played with speeds and spots.
Similarly, dvsn mixes in refreshing
instrumentation to stabilize each
ballad.
The album as a whole is
a
ballad,
after
all.
Certain
straightforwardness
is
to
be
expected; Morning After contains
13
tracks,
each
grounded
thematically in love and the
frustrations that stem from it.
The songs that stand out are those
where
the
production
falters
for one reason or another: “Nuh
Time / Tek Time” relies on an
underwhelming beat switch, while
“Claim” utilizes too much mid-
2000s sounding synth. Both tracks
quickly become forgettable.
dvsn finds itself tiptoeing a
tight line because it still excels
in a certain comfortable alt-R&B
space. It’s natural to look for more
a second time around, but the duo
realistically can only function as its
most organic self, an inextricably
OVO-inked,
Toronto-linked,
Drake-child of crooning output.
Accepting this makes a track like
“Think About Me” that much
better, even if it feels conservative
in light of other recent Nineteen85
beauties
like
PartyNextDoor’s
“Not
Nice”
or
Drake’s
“Madiba
Riddim.”
Morning
After
is
simultaneously
a
high
quality
release that also
falls victim to the
inescapability
of
its own cadre of love-oriented
artists and fellow collaborators
—
PartyNextDoor
and
Majid
Jordan come to mind — and it
ultimately defines the release.
“Conversations in a Diner” might
be the best example of this, a
back-end
choral
reinforcement
providing an extra punch on a
track that still somehow ends up
sounding familiar. There’s a very
real ceiling here, and it becomes
increasingly curious if / when it
can grow. Buehrle never really had
that moment — he was really good,
an incredibly satisfying form of
entertainment, and yet, due to the
nature of his own game, maybe
not the realest thing. The analogy
resonates here, especially in light
of its latest release. Welcome, dvsn,
to the Hall of Very Good.
JOEY SCHUMAN
Daily Arts Writer
ALBUM REVIEW
Morning After
dvsn
OVO Sound/
Warner Bros.