In anticipation of the release next week of Miracle at St. Anna, Spike Lee's first movie since his biggest hit, the atypically good Inside Man, John Colapinto profiles the director in The New Yorker. [Not available online] Colapinto notes that Lee has made eighteen feature films, "three of which (Do the Right Thing, Jungle Fever, and Malcolm X) have earned him a reputation as a filmmaker obsessed with race." That count seems a little soft: for instance, it's hard to think of any reason besides an obsession with race for making Bamboozled, and even the movie that Lee clearly intended as a showcase for his warmer, fuzzier side, Crooklyn, included a subplot about the foul odor emitted by the film's token white man, played by David Patrick Kelly in outrageous honky drag. After scoring a great success with an ingenious genre picture that required him to mostly give it a rest, Lee's new movie, "the first by a major American director to treat the experience of black soldiers" in World War II, gives him a chance to climb back on his hobbyhorse and also to issue the public proclamations that have sometimes seemed to be his real art, which his movies are only intended to promote. As Colapinto writes, the film is meant "as redress not only for [Clint] Eastwood's Iwo Jima pictures but for an all-white Hollywood vision of the Second World War which dates to the 1962 John Wayne movie The Longest Day--and before."

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We've featured a lot of different types of movies here at the Screengrab during our excting Summerfest '08 feature, in which we endeavour to review a movie a week with the word "summer" in the title that you can watch while you're putting off trying on your new bikini.  We've featured Summer School, a movie that has made people inappropriately nostalgic for the 1980s; we've featured Summer of Sam, a movie in which it is revealed that Satan speaks through us in the voice of dogs, and sounds an amazing amount like John Tuturro; and we've featured Suddenly Last Summer, a movie in which a homosexual predator and his pimp sister wreak havoc on a small European town before he is eaten by the townsfolk.  No, really.  We've featured not one, but two movies starring Freddie Prinze, Jr., which, believe me, was just as painful for me as it was for you.  But while many of these films have inspired us to do a wide variety of things -- become nostalgic for the sight of Kirstie Alley in a bathing suit; go back in time and put Tennessee Williams on anti-depressants; avoid watching any future films starring Freddie Prinze, Jr. -- none of them have actually inspired us to get up off our duffs, get out of the house, and do something other than watch movies all summer.  But that changes today as we take a look at the greatest surfing documentary ever made.  

 

So grab your board, hop in your woodie, and join us on a search for the perfect wave as we enjoy The Endless Summer!

THE ACTION: Mike Hynson and Robert August are surfers.  That's what they do:  surf.  Bruce Brown, who wrote and directed the movie, is a filmmaker, but he's a surfer too.  Surfers are an uncomplicated lot, and they really want nothing more than to bum around all day waiting for the best wave they can possibly get, and then they want to get out there and shoot that son of a bitch for all it's worth.  That's essentially all that happens in this movie:  Hynson and August trek from one end of Africa to another, then to Australia, the South Pacific, and anywhere else they can possibly get to, just looking for a really good curl.  Brown follows them, training his 16mm camera at them for some blurry nature shots and some absolutely gorgeous filmwork out on the water.  The two engage in wacky hijinks, doing very little to dispel the notion that surfers are overgrown, doofy man-children, and Brown provides amiable frat-boy narration, often meandering and nonsensical, to cover the silence of the action scenes (most of the shots had no soundman and hence, no sound).  Then they trudge off in search of another wave, and when they find one, they ride it until they just can't ride it no more.  That's it, in its entirety:  90 minute of three goofy guys bumming around the globe looking for waves to ride.  It's exactly that bad -- and that great.

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School may be out of the summer, but we’ve still done plenty of learning this week at the Screengrab, on a variety of subjects:

Gender Studies: Heterosexual Males Survive “Sex and the City”

Current Events: When Movies Are Too Timely

Political Science: Harvey Milk and Great Black Presidents

English Literature: No Shit, Sherlock

Seventies Studies: Summer of Sam, The Way We Were and Damien: Omen II

Music Appreciation: OST “Drowning by Numbers”

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Summerfest '08, as you know, is our feature here at the Screengrab wherein we suggest a way for you to kill two hours while waiting for your grill to heat up.  Every movie we profile on Wednesdays from now until Labor Day comes with our personal guarantee:  these movies may not be essential hot-weather viewing.  They may not even be good.  But we can assure you with complete confidence that they will have the word 'summer' in the title.  This week, we'll be taking a break from our previous diet of decades-old footage of people wearing skimpy beachwear and turning to a more recent effort by the director whose name is virtually synonymous with good-time party movies:  Spike Lee.  Responding to the demands of filmgoers, critics, and studio executives who wanted to know when he was going to produce a summer blockbuster, Lee, over the 4th of July weekend in 1999, brought us a bright, cheery feel-good movie about a fat psychotic whose neighbor's demonically possessed dog ordered him to murder couples in cars. 

Strap it down and get ready for some hot fun in the summertime with Spike Lee's Summer of Sam!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ACTION:  Boyhood chums Vinnie (John Leguizamo, in a stunning 1970s-style performance that recalls the glory days when all our favorite actors were zapped out of their craniums on cocaine) and Richie (Adrien Brody, wearing the world's least-convincing liberty spikes) are reunited after a long separation.  But things are no longer the same between them; Vinnie has picked up the habit of sodomizing his wife (the much-abused Mira Sorvino) in the kind of discotheques Kurt Anderson once described as "fun that isn't", and Richie has become some kind of crazy bisexual punk rocker or something, of the sort once seen on an episode of Quincy.  The suspicious behavior of Richie -- dressing all funny, listening to the Who, dancing with his shirt off, and expressing sympathy for the Boston Red Sox -- immediately triggers in his goombah-heavy neighbors the urge to reenact a pasta dinner theater version of the Salem Witch Trials to determine if he is the infamous Son of Sam murderer. 

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Because I have lost my mind, I am launching yet another new Screengrab feature today, this one called – as you may have gathered – “Summer of ’78.” The premise is simple: each week this summer we will jump back in time 30 years to check out a flick that was new and exciting in theaters that week in 1978. This isn’t necessarily about the biggest hits or biggest bombs, or the best or worst movies; it’s more about examining what was considered suitable summer entertainment then and how it compares to today’s blockbuster fare. I’m sure we’ll all learn something, right? Hello? Is this thing on?

What better way to kick off the series than with the most beloved disco comedy ever made, with the possible exceptions of Can’t Stop the Music and Summer of Sam?

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