Rape For Profit (2012)

Rape For Profit: Women and children are helpless victims and it's all men's fault.

At a glance:

Narrow and naive, to say the least.

Backed by executive producer Jada Pinkett Smith and her NGO Don't Sell Bodies, Eric Esau and Jason Pamer's Rape For Profit (2012) is a Mew Films documentary the Huffington Post apparently calls "disturbing and provocative", though of course the writer behind this randy movie review blog will dismiss as little more than a narrow and naive worldview of the world's oldest profession, based on a few prostitutes in downtown Seattle, or to use a more sympathetic term as advocated by the film's extremely one-sided take on the trade, "prostituted women". Culled from hundreds of hours of ridealong footage with Sea-Tac street crimes unit and the Seattle high-risk victims unit, this 86-minute film purports to take the audience undercover for an up-close look at the true nature of the sex trade. Hmm... surely a movie review on a documentary that is against the objectification of women does not belong on a blog that verily celebrates it such as mine?

Bad news on the doorstep:

Hmm... I wish I had a therapist who looks like this.

The only thing powerful about this documentary is how the supercharged cops shame and shout at pimps, not to mention how the filmmakers see fit to drive around ambushin customers in some sort of vigilante effort to administer guilt, to the extent of causin an accident. You see the pigs in made-for-camera Batman-type roles, brandishin their brand of law with healthy doses of morality lectures. Even more gung-ho are the filmmakers, who directly confront the johns and ask them how they could do it to their wives, why porn ain't enough and why they had to come out and act on it, with no intention of procurin a meaningful answer. Far from bein an insightful tell-all exposé, this is the moral catharsis of several well-intentioned individuals and their respective organisations whose hearts are no doubt in the right places, however the total demonisation of the johns and the total vindication of the girls reflect a painfully mainstream point of view. Footage of interviews with mayors, councillors, district attorneys and even industry experts who all endorse the same position seal this for me as a missed opportunity. If you truly believe people who say "very few women end up around the world in what we call prostitution without a history of prior sexual harm" and that porn is a dress rehearsal for men who look for hookers, then go ahead and watch it.

Kiddie porn?

Perennial wonderment:

Did you know that whores ask would-be customers to whip their dicks out so that they can filter out cops? Just about the only genuinely interestin thing I learned from this movie. Oh wait, I also learned that cops surf backpage.com and escort sites lookin for a lack of hip and waist development in under-aged girls that are advertised as barely legal. Haha!

Reminds me of:

All those we've lost along the way.

I can't remember if I cried:

Rape victim with a pretty sad general history of abuse.

Some of the horror stories shared by the victims are truly heartbreakin but the filmmakers' forceful handlin of the pimps and also the whores are so laughably didactic and deluded that I find the effort almost difficult to believe as an unstaged documentary. Among the include "Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her", "Do you think she wanted to grow up to be in some alley to suck dick?" "You are happier here now! This is much better for you!" and "You're precious, you're a princess and you have value and worth and I'm sorry you didn't grow up hearing that." Bah.

Johns can't seem to spell right, can they?

Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?

The mention of Green River killer Gary Ridgway (a necrophiliac with a penchant for whores) and various other unhelpful content serve only to cloud the issue further, though I'm glad that cop did manage to get the 24-hour drop-in help centre open after so many years of tryin. Check out the official website and Facebook fan page for more info. However, if I were you, check out American Courtesans (2013), Whores' Glory (2011) or even I Am A Sex Addict (2005) for a less naive viewpoint, if not a more entertainin and fascinatin one.★★
Bonus material:

"It has been said that prostitution and rape are two sides of the same coin."

I saw this witty review on IMDb written by an American user called timlin-4. My sentiments on this film seem closest to this fella, so I'll publish it below verbatim, since I cannot better it.

The Imposter (2012)

"For as long as I remember, I wanted to be someone else.
Someone who was acceptable."

At a glance:

French fraudster Frédéric Bourdin

What a treat this is! I was tempted to sneak into the next hall where Midnight's Children (2012) was premierin with Salman Rushdie in attendance, or even The Paperboy (2012) because this was the only cinema in Canada playin it at the moment. Thank goodness I didn't. Eone Entertainment mailed me a free pair of ROE tickets and this Bart Layton docu-drama turned out to be one of the best movies I've seen this year. The less you know about The Imposter (2012) prior to walkin in, the better. But I'll tell you it starts off as a first person account of a French-Algerian man, Frédéric Bourdin, who successfully passed himself off to the whole world as the long-missin, blue-eyed, blonde-haired, 13-year-old son of an American family in San Antonio, Texas. We get juicy footage from everyone involved, most importantly by Bourdin himself, but the coolest character here is no doubt the man who finally caught up with the charade - Charlie Parker the sweaty, suspendered old-school country PI with a vintage Cadillac.

Bad news on the doorstep:

Tattoos of the imposter

Deeper discussion would risk compromisin your entertainment value but I can't think of how this could possibly be improved. Due to a clever narrative that was cut in such a way so as to achieve the excitement of a conventional thriller, the emotional pay-off is very high and even its slow start was purposeful. Perhaps the DVD extras could fit in one or two more featurettes to tell the drier aspects of the hoodwink. Maybe it could even be a double-disc release with that earlier movie about the same man - The Chameleon (2010). Or even a triple-disc release with Paranoiac (1963)!

Perennial wonderment:

"I didn't give a damn about anyone or anyone's feelings.
I cared only about myself."

In interviews I have read that Bourdin doesn't like the term con man. He says he never liked to steal and his desire was never for material wealth, but for emotional rewards. It seems quite likely that all he did want was to be loved and accepted, given his criminal profile. As for the family, based on the footage, I'm quite convinced that at least at several points in this bizarre false identity saga, all they had was best intentions. Mind over matter - aren't we all starved of a real connection and want ever so badly to believe somethin good rather than bad would happen to us? Or is the worse crime always exacted by the cold, calculated sociopaths who exploit this frailty? The psychology of a lie is herein examined on both sides - the liar and the believer.
I can't remember if I cried:
When Bourdin stares straight into the camera and says that he wanted to give himself "every chance", you almost want to give him a hug. Call him a pathological liar, an exhaustive actor and a despicable character but he manages to be very, very human.

Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?

This Charlie Parker PI guy deserves his own spin-off!

It's a great piece of work about the human condition. My thoughts? I believe any one theory or motive doesn't need to negate another. Total Film's Matt Glasby has lauded it as "creepier than Catfish (2010) and as cinematic as Man On Wire (2008)... an unnerving story immaculately told and a strong contender for doc of the year". Variety's Peter Debruge has suggested that the compellin treatment even has a shot at theatrical play material. At any rate, consider this a very accomplished debut feature with an unforgettable story, boosted by the participation of the French fraudster himself, who has managed, in a strange twist of fate to arguably exonerate himself through a film that somewhat celebrates him. Check out the official website and Facebook page. For an interview with the chameleonic con man, check out the account of Mick Brown at The Telegraph.
Bonus material:

Thanks Eone Entertainment!

Whores' Glory (2011)

Santa Muerte is the most basic tattoo for every protection-seeking whore in Mexico.
(Photo credit: Maya Goded)

At a glance:

Just another day in the fish tank.
(Photo credit: Vinai Dithajohn)

The ugliest and most absorbin facets of world labour cinéma vérité comes full circle with Austrian filmmaker Michael Glawogger's clumsily titled Whores' Glory (2011), the third and final piece in a so-labelled globalisation trilogy. I've not seen Megacities (1998) nor Workingman’s Death (2005) but if this effort is anythin to go by, the three movies definitely deserve a combo release. The level of access in this documentary is fantastic and anecdotes on his exploits make good readin on their own, as evident in interviews with the director, who was even confident enough to discount lesser, similar works like Born Into Brothels: Calcutta's Red Light Kids (2004), somethin which I've seen and am ready to commend. The sellin point of Whores' Glory is indeed its privileged look-in, a laborious setup at three different fuck shops - a fishbowl in Thailand, a red light district in Bangladesh and a bordertown complex a little north of Mexico. You get to see all the infrastructural m.o. in great proximity, festered within each festive locale and drawin from them rich visuals. The narrative comes complete with punch clocks, street food and even the religious worship of different deities that underpin business superstitions.

Bad news on the doorstep:

Soliciting in City Of Joy, a massive brothel in Bangladesh's Faridpur district.
(Photo credit: GMB Akash)

The Indian leg in this triptych is easily the most borin and in fact, most annoyin, so it's a good thing they cleverly sandwiched it between the other two stories. Runnin 110 long minutes, it could've done with more editin, as some of the scenes can grow rather tedious with one too many naggy whores. Maybe it's just me bein a Southeast Asian native who ain't unfamiliar with the seedier aspects of urban life but Glawogger's sequences, impressive as they are, don't really offer anythin truly groundbreakin, as confirmed when the last story ends rather abruptly. Well, I guess that's the very point of cinéma vérité, some say.

Perennial wonderment:

O Death, save me from violent, diseased gangbangers.

"How on earth did he get permission?" will be your constant refrain throughout the picture. Many customers seem happy to be filmed (and paid) so don't be surprised with the last bit in La Zona where you even get a full sex scene, unless you count the pariah dog orgy that was opportunely filmed outside the Siamese bordello. I also liked findin out that the director has shown the end product to the girls who appeared on his film, save the ones from the Thai aquarium who already disappeared and reassembled elsewhere like all good organised crime do.

I can't remember if I cried:

I don't cry. I'm from the Third World.

Most memorable line:

Getting high on your own supply?

"I'm a virgin because they say after 90 days, the vagina closes up again if you don't have sex. The last time I had cock in me was three years ago. I'm retired from cocks but for 25 years, I was number one. I used to have 40 johns a day. I sucked and fucked. How? I showed my tits. Chocolate and vanilla. Come here, daddy. These, like this. I showed my tits and said: 'Come and get it!' Chocolate and vanilla for a titfuck. But blowjobs were my specialty. I have rim jobs and frozen blowjobs. What are those? A blowjob with an ice cube. You put a piece of ice in your mouth ,then you suck on the head of his cock with your tongue and the ice. You run your lips over his veins and balls with the ice cube still in your mouth. You manoeuvre the ice cube over his head and nibble on it. Then you jerk him off and rim him, sticking the ice cube up his ass. Riming is the best because it makes them moan. If his asshole is dirty, prepare a bowl of chlorine. Wipe it clean with a towel. If it's still not clean, bleach it! If it doesn't stink anymore, you can put ice in his hole. Once the ice is in there, they bleat like goats. They roll their eyes and bleat. Baa! Works on everyone. Like a vibrator. Job done! Generally, when a man comes here, he is only interested in coming. The woman doesn't matter. They come here like animals. They want you ready. 100 pesos for normal sex. Normal means they spread your legs, they climb on top and fuck. Many want to kiss but it's disgusting. Their breath can smell like they ate a lion. Or they take off their socks and it stinks like toe cheese. But you just bear it. 100 pesos is money. Now every time you change positions, it costs another 50 pesos. We did everything for 100 in my day, back when I was still working as a whore. When I worked, I wasn't just any whore. I was THE whore."

Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?

I won't go as far as to call it intimate braggadocio but the clarity of its lightin and the edgy soundtrack almost makes it romantic. The daily grind, pardon the pun, goes well beyond economic enslavement and this is certainly not the work of one of those glory-hungry Westerners who are out to exploit the White Man's Burden by shootin Third World toil. Check out its Facebook page and for more compellin Michael Glawogger fare, do visit his official website here.★★★

Michael Glawogger.

"I had to first convince them that I wasn't a journalist who would yet again put out a notion about them they wouldn't necessarily care for or who would victimize them. You know, journalists come and go. If they come twice, it's a lot. But I come 10 times and hang out with them and share stuff. If you connect with someone just once, that's something. But if you can connect twice, that's something else. As a filmmaker I cannot make anything beautiful. I'm Platonic in that sense. I think beauty is the splendor of truth, so if the people I portray think they're beautiful, they're beautiful. I don't make them that way. I don't aestheticize anything. I don't even use lights. The working girls do one thing all day: They make themselves pretty. That's their job and their money. In a way, I had the best makeup artists, hairdressers and art designers in the world." (Interview by Jeremy Lybarger on Mother Jones)
Bonus material:

DeAf Jam (2010)

In the hands of a talented poet, shapes in relation to one another

At a glance:

Here's what the literature says: "In DeAf Jam, Aneta Brodski seizes the day. She is a deaf teen introduced to American Sign Language (ASL) Poetry, who then boldly enters the spoken word slam scene. In a wondrous twist, Aneta, an Israeli immigrant living in the Queens section of New York City, eventually meets Tahani, a hearing Palestinian slam poet. The two young women embark on a hearing/deaf collaboration, a performance duet that is a metaphor for the complex realities they share."

Aneta Brodski, The Deaf Jew Poet

Bad news on the doorstep:

It was my first time at the historic Bloor Cinema where I viewed this, thanks to a chance invite from the friendly Jews. This 70min documentary (53min if you saw it on TV) doesn't particularly have an organised runup to the slam poetry climax, so helmer Judy Lieff benefits from havin the winsome tenacity that is Aneta Brodski as the main draw. Doesn't half hurt that she's quite attractive as well. My screenin had Lieff and Tahani in attendance - but they don't look entirely convincin when answerin the floor about whether the Israeli-Palestinian pairin was purely coincidental. While nothin is trivialised, one however does feel there's nothin immediately useful here to add to the political discussion other than a token "peace is possible."

Perennial wonderment:

Is it really true that some deaf people refuse cochlear implants because they are proud to be deaf?

Reminds me of:

The only deaf person I know - a colleague at the place I used to work.

I can't remember if I cried:
There was this bit when two deaf characters walk past a park with people playin music loudly and an exchange ensues about how wonderful it must be like to hear voices. As a hearie (one that hears), I've never spared a thought for anyone who could only dig vibrations. Clever use of muted mufflin at appropriate moments in the film help highlight what it must be like for someone who doesn't hear.

Watch out for:
A particularly lively and humourous performance where Brodski signs a strugglin sperm that goes all the way, beatin all others to penetratin the egg, symbolisin her victory in the world, to have been born.
Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?
Three and a half stars. Admirable work to put this out, especially since Lieff told the floor that it took 10 years to complete. For further readin, check out its official website and the trailer below.
Trailer for the curious:

Bonus material:

Judy Lieff (with mic) givin the audience the latest on Brodski's life.
Lousy pic, sorry.

China Heavyweight (2012) @ 千錘百煉

Float like a butterfly and sting like a PRC

At a glance:

Pugilism in the PRC gets some international attention in China Heavyweight @ 千錘百煉 (translated as "to be tried and tested a thousand times"). See, Chairman Mao banned boxin in China back in 1959 for bein "too violent" and "too American" as this film will tell you, only for the ban to be lifted some 30 years later, givin rise to people like coach Qi Mo Xiang (pic), the movie's star and apparently the Republic's first pro boxer. This technically accomplished Chinese-Canadian production by filmmaker Chang Yung is a mesmerisin sports doc that doubles as a social commentary, offerin a privileged glimpse into the lives of three people; the said coach and his two embattled protégés - Miao Yun Fei and He Zong Li.

Bad news on the doorstep:

Don't train hard and you'll be back home farming.
Then you'll be no one but your mum's kid.

While obviously a useful addition to the canon of cinéma vérité (as proudly expounded by the helmer), you'd have to pardon the pun when I say this lacks the finishin punch when it comes to dramatic urgency, though possibly intentionally so. Torontonian reviewer Justin Li calls it "the boxing equivalent of Steve James’ basketball documentary, Hoop Dreams (1994)" and that it is "rife with dialectical feelings of both desperation and aspiration... an essential social document on the hardships and lack of opportunity in the industrialised ‘New’ China" but one would've fancied seein more strife in the choices of the characters. Perhaps extra characters could've added more compellin viewpoints to further highlight the gravitas of their personal struggles. One odd omission from this otherwise wonderful film would be the existence of weight categories, somethin one would feel deserves to get some passin mention in a film about boxin.
Perennial wonderment:
Would you rather be a piss poor never-been boxer or a medium-income excavator operator?

Reminds me of:

Coach Xi is a doppelganger for a chunky street punk who used to run the local snooker joint in my old neighbourhood in Malaysia. He's a hard man and comes across likeable in the film, so we'll forgive him for bein decked in Manchester United gear all the time and also lionisin Mike Tyson. 

I can't remember if I cried:

When I heard the coach tell The Globe And Mail film critic Liam Lacey last night about the fate of one of the boys from the movie. I saw this at Cineplex Odeon Sheppard Cinemas as part of the annual Hot Docs Canadian International Documentary Festival, where the night's proceedings was simulcast across select cinemas across Canada. Coach Xi was flown in for the show.

The knockout facilities available in Huili, Liangshan, Sichuan.

Most memorable line:

"If you make the provincial team, you'll be China's official athletes. You'll be the country's people. Don't train hard and you'll be back home farming. Then you'll be no one but your mum's kid."

Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?

Expresses the anxieties of these people but doesn't seem to really answer the questions it raises. Still, it's a rare look-in. What I love about documentaries like these is that they usually have sad endings. As Torontonian sportswriter Alex Wong writes: "Maybe the most depressing thought is this: without ruining the outcome of his comeback fight, does it really matter whether he wins or not? How much can life change, and how many of these students can actually improve their lives through boxing." Chang's next project Eggplant, about a Chinese weddin photographer, will be his first feature. ★★★ 1/2


Trailer for the curious:

Troll Hunter (2010) @ Trolljegeren

At a glance:

Not quite your run-of-the-studio adaptation of Three Billy Goats Gruff, Troll Hunter (native: Trolljegeren) is filmmaker André Øvredal’s idea of punctuatin Norwegian folklore with Blair Witch Project box office sensibilities to deliver a winsome monster movie that doubles as a “found footage” moc-doc masterpiece deservin of all the distribution attention it gets.We follow three Volga college teens who are shooting an assignment - host Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), female sound recordist Johanna (Johanna Morck) and scaredy-cat cameraman Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen, mostly offscreen but given a memorable character arc) as they happen to land themselves the chance of a lifetime - filmin a supposed bear poacher (Otto Jespersen) who turns out to be a modern day Van Helsing-type reluctant hero who spends his days annihilatin trolls that are being kept secret by the government.
Bad news on the doorstep:
It's not very classically dramatic and you don't get silly romantic subplots or heroic climaxes, if that's your idea of a good monster movie.

Perennial wonderment:

Why can't they come up with somethin new in the monster movies genre like how this film has done? The great thing about Troll Hunter is what a delightfully technical horror movie it is. Adequately underpinned by a biological context on how these trolls can exist and subsist, its persuasive style is further helped by some useful dry Scandinavian horror (“Hey what about Muslims? Can they sniff out Muslim blood just like Christian blood? I don’t know, let’s find out") and keeps us glued in-universe throughout. The suspenseful narrative here never takes a backseat and the CGI decisions cleverly avoids overdoin things to the point of losin the audience. The monsters (they come in different subspecies even) are woolly creations that start getting iffy in scenes where they appear in their entirety – but fortunately the backstory and also the traditional FX work (boiled fur soup resin, used for applyin troll scent) is diligent and solid.

Reminds me of:

Cloverfield (2008), Blair Witch Project (1999), The Mist (2007) and [REC] (2007).

Most memorable line:

"Do you think Michael Moore gave up after the first try?"

Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?

The day this film opened in the U.S. a horror movie website announced that American director Chris Columbus and his company 1492, along with CJ Entertainment & Media, had acquired remake rights. Watch this now in its native Norwegian (or English-dubbed, in some territories) before Hollywood messes it up.

Michael Jackson's This Is It (2009)

At a glance:
Is this it? Seems like it is. Supported by his estate and a few technically accomplished industry players, The Concert That Never Was gets the big screen treatment in a rush job project that squeezes the dying dimes out of Michael Jackson's stutterin legend. Sincere or not, we're more interested in whether this was an entertainin experience. Michael Jackson's This Is It went through the careful process of sensitive marketin, to ensure fans will see it as a definitive must-watch. A press release which quoted movie and tour director Kenny Ortega as sayin "This film is Michael's gift to his fans" was recalled and replaced with "This film is a gift to Michael's fans." Sony will hit big returns for the US$ 60 million paid to concert promoter AEG Entertainment for the 100 hours of rehearsal footage and distribution rights.
Bad news on the doorstep:
We all know this movie was not meant to be a movie anyway. The title card reads that MJ passed on just eight days before heading out to the original concert location with his entourage. This assembled movie is almost two hours long but it feels like we haven't seen enough of Michael, like the many unanswered questions we are left with about the star. We leave the cinema hall thinking we were merely snatchin at Michael's shadow. Do you think he'd have wanted us to see this?
Perennial wonderment:
How the man really died. Some suggested readin here.
I can't remember if I cried:
When I saw the Earth Song sequence - thank goodness this will be the last time. Always hated that shyte. Bollocks.
Watch out for:
We've all seen concerts but This Is It contains some very interestin stuff that were meant only for MJ's reference library, such as an apparently unstaged exchange with keyboardist Michael Bearden over a timin aspect while rehearsin The Way You Make Me Feel, one that only musicians could probably appreciate. We also get to see Kenny Ortega teachin the backup dancers how to use the fancy moving stage apparatus and what's the difference between throwin them up in the air "toaster speed" or "elevator speed". See the demised star engage in some confrontational exchanges with his colleagues, but the cut leads us to believe it's a master genius at work, a sort of perfectionist ace showman tryin to get everyone on the same page as him, instead of diva-like tantrums thrown by MJ. For this, some measure of belief can be accorded to the notion that this movie is really for his fans.
Most memorable line:
Michael Jackson: "Play it like you're dragging yourself out of bed."
Amacam joker, berapa bintang lu mau kasi?
Variety has noted that "rather than a bittersweet farewell, the film will merely serve as the opening salvo to a flood of posthumous releases and merchandising that will make Tupac Shakur's estate seem a paragon of restraint." Michael Jackson is commonly referred to as the most recognised person in the world - yet this concert movie comes off as carefully executed but inescapably inadequate attempt to freeze-capture the star one last time for the watchin world. Yet, sometimes this is the best anyone could do. ★★ 1/2
The day the music died:

Michael Joseph Jackson
(29 August 1958 – 25 June 2009)