Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Week 3: Skins (2002)


Skins (2002)

Director: Chris Eyre
Producer: Chris Eyre
Writer: Adrian C. Louis, Jennifer D. Lyne
Rating: R (Language and violence)

By Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

"Native Americans have always had a healthy respect for aspects of themselves that they would rather avoid. As an antithesis to the brave and bold tales of warriors, they told trickster tales about playful figures who did unmentionable things, were unruly and sexual, and spit in the face of tradition.

Skins, the second feature from Native American director Chris Eyre (Smoke Signals, 1998), is about what happens when a trickster spirit takes hold of a serious and self-righteous Native American and propels him on a strange and spooky ride. This incredibly fresh and engrossing drama shot on location in South Dakota on the Pine Ridge Reservation is one of the best films of 2002. Jennifer Lyne has adapted the screenplay from a 1995 novel by poet Adrian C. Louis, who was a teacher on the Oglala Sioux reservation. It’s a depressing place, the poorest county in the United States, with 75 percent unemployment, substandard living conditions, and rampant alcoholism. Those who live there have a 50 percent shorter life expectancy than other Americans.

Mogie Yellow Lodge (Nathaniel Arcand) and his younger brother Rudy (Chaske Spencer) grow up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation with an alcoholic father who repeatedly beats up their mother. Mogie, a star football player, takes care of his brother and is a hero figure to him. But when he comes back from Vietnam with three Purple Hearts, Mogie (Graham Greene) isn't the same person. He descends into alcoholism, spending days drinking with his buddy Verdell Weasel Tail (Gary Farmer) and nights in the local jail for disturbing the peace of the community. Often the person who locks him up is Rudy (Eric Schweig), who has become a cop. Aunt Helen (Lois Red Elk), matriarch of the Yellow Lodge, doesn't know what to do about Mogie. She knows he desperately wants to connect with his eighteen-year old son Herbie (Noah Watts) but lacks the will-power to do so.

While pursuing a teenage vandal in an abandoned house where a young man lies dead, Rudy falls down and hits his head on a rock. The trickster spirit, which he had met as a spider when he was 10 years old, suddenly takes possession of this serious young man. The dark side of his psyche manifests as a vengeance-seeking vigilante. Wearing a mask to cover his face, Rudy finds the boys who murdered the kid in the house and cracks their knees with a baseball bat. The trickster also encourages Rudy to have sex with a married woman (Michelle Thrash) and then compels him to torch a liquor store in another town that has been selling beer to Mogie and other Indians not able to purchase alcohol on the "dry" reservation. What he doesn’t realize is that his brother is on the roof of the place trying to break in to steal some beer. Mogie is badly burned, and Rudy is beside himself with guilt. He sees a local medicine man who says: "Human beings don't control anything, spirits do." He later invites Rudy to participate in a sweat lodge ceremony in order to get the trickster off his back.

Skins graphically depicts how poverty and alcoholism serve as divisive forces within families and within the community. Nearly at the end of his rope, Rudy is called to the backyard of a reservation home where Mogie's drinking buddy has gotten caught in a bear trap. The family responsible for putting this dangerous contraption in their yard try to justify this extreme measure as their only security against thieves.

After Mogie recovers from his burns, a doctor tells Rudy that his brother as cirrhosis of the liver and only a short while to live. The two brothers reach out to each other across the divide that has kept them apart for so many years. In the end, the trickster spirit helps Rudy pay tribute to Mogie's anarchistic spirit through an act of vandalism. Although some may be shocked by this image, it is an act of love that unites the brothers beyond the grave.

Skins is the kind of small movie that usually has a hard time finding a large audience. But this bold and cathartic drama set in place of great suffering and loss deserves to be experienced by those who cherish intimate dramas about individuals struggling against all odds to practice love, compassion, and forgiveness."

As this review noted, Eyre's solo project Skins and Alexie's Business of Fancydancing (Week 4), though good aditions to Native American cinema, are not as pivotal as their combined efforts on Smoke Signals. Though it is important to note they work best in tandem, their individual projects are stepping stones along the way to the increase in Native film.

Week 2: Smoke Signals (1998)


Smoke Signals (1998)



Director: Chris Eyre
Producer: Chris Eyre, Sherman Alexie
Writer: Sherman Alexie
Rating: PG13 (intense images and language)


"When it comes to American Indians, Hollywood either trades in Injun stereotypes or dances with Disney. Forget that. Smoke Signals, written and directed by Indians, also casts Indians as Indians. "No Italians with long hair," says Sherman Alexie, 31, the Indian poet, novelist and short-story writer who brings a scrappy new voice to movies with his first screenplay. And what a comic, profane and poetic voice it is. Alexie risks pissing off the PC cavalry as he explores the humor and heartbreak of being young and Indian and living on a reservation ("the rez") at the end of the twentieth century.

The road-movie plot springs from several stories in Alexie's 1003 collection, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven Victor Joseph (Adam Beach) and Thomas Builds-the-Fire (Evan Adams), on-and-off friends since childhood and both now twenty-two, leave the Coeur d'Alenene rez in Idaho by bus and head for Phoenix to collect the ashes of Victor's father, Arnold, hauntingly played by Gary Farmer. Victor can't forgive the abusive, alcoholic Arnold for deserting him and his mother (Tantoo Cardinal) ten years before, Thomas can't forget how Arnold saved his life as an infant in a fire at home that killed Thomas' parents.

Cheyenne-Arapaho director Chris Eyre, a twenty-eight-year-old maker of short films in a striking feature debut, shows a keen eye for daily life on the rez. There are droll radio reports on weather ("It's a good day to be indigenous") and traffic ("Big truck just went by. Now it's gone"), Alexie knows the value of wit in deflecting an often stifling existence that eats away at self-esteem, family life and tribal traditions.
The contentious friendship of Victor and Thomas constitutes the core of the story. Well-placed flashbacks indicate how Thomas' knack for blurting out his thoughts has goaded Victor since childhood. "Hey, Victor," says the twelve-year-old Thomas after learning that Arnold has walked out on his family. "Your father left. What happened? Does he hate you?" Victor decks him for that one. He even tries verbal assaults. "I was wondering, Thomas," says Victor. "What color do you think your mother and father were when they burned up?" But Thomas, perpetually chirping, "Hey, Victor . . .," will not be dissuaded from questioning his friend on any subject that strikes him.

Everything about the smiling Thomas, with his geeky glasses, braids and nonstop storytelling, irritates Victor. On the bus to Phoenix, Victor tries to teach Thomas that being an Indian is not something you learn from watching Dances With Wolves. The point is to strike fear in the white man. "First, quit grinning like a idiot and get stoic," says Victor. "You've gotta look like you've just come back from killing a buffalo."

Thomas' transformation leads to a devastating encounter with two cowboys on the bus. "Find somewhere else to have a powwow," say the cowboys, who have stolen Victor and Thomas' seats. The Indians find new seats in order to avoid a fight, then try to retaliate by making up an insulting song about John Wayne's teeth. The scene shows just how foreign and hostile a country America can be to an Indian off the rez.

Beach and Adams give remarkable performances that grow in feeling and intensity. In Phoenix, Victor and Thomas meet Suzy Song (a tough and luminous Irene Bedard), the young woman who befriended Arnold and found his body. "We kept each other's secrets," Suzy tells Victor, though she does reveal one confidence that makes Victor see his father in a new light.
Smoke Signals doesn't pretend to solve the mystery between parents and children, or the clash between cultures that leaves Victor so angry and Thomas so eager to find stories that can heal wounds. No one listens to Thomas' stories. The same fate will not befall Alexie, who has crafted one of the best films of the year by finding himself in both Victor and Thomas and building something that will last."

Week 1: Pow Wow Highway (1989)


Pow Wow Highway (1989)

Director: Jonathan Wacks
Producer: Denis O'Brien, George Harrison, Jan Wieringa
Writer: David Seals, Janet Heaney
Rating: R (language)




by Roger Ebert

"Anyone who can name his 1964 Buick "Protector" and talk to it like a pony has a philosophy we can learn from. Philbert Bono is the name of the philosopher. He is a member of the Northern Cheyenne tribe, and near the beginning of "Powwow Highway" he and a friend, Buddy Red Bow, set out to ride Protector from Lame Deer, Mont., to Santa Fe, N. M. They go by way of the Dakotas, because to Bono the best way to get to a place is not always the straightest way.
"Powwow Highway" is the story of their journey, and in one sense it's a road movie and a buddy movie, but in another sense it's a meditation on the way American Indians can understand the land in terms of space, not of time. Philbert never states it in so many words, but it's clear he doesn't think of a trip to Santa Fe in terms of hours or miles, but in terms of the places he must visit between here and there to make it into a journey and not simply the physical relocation of his body.

The movie supplies a plot in order to explain why the two Indians need to take their journey, but the plot is the least interesting element of the film. It involves a scheme against Buddy, who is a tribal activist and opposes a phony land-rights grab that's being directed at some Indian territories. His sister is thrown into jail in Santa Fe, and he must go there to bail her out, and that will get him out of Montana at a crucial time. And so on.

The plot is not the point. What "Powwow Highway" does best is to create two unforgettable characters and give them some time together. It places them within a large network of their Indian friends so we get a sense of the way their community still shares and thrives. As Philbert points Protector east instead of south, as he visits friends and sacred Indian places along the road, he doesn't try to justify what he's doing. It comes from inside. And it comes, we sense, from a very old Indian way of looking at things. Buddy is much more modern and impatient - he's Type A - but as their journey unfolds, he can begin to see the sense of it.

The movie develops a certain magical intensity during the journey, and much of that comes from the chemistry between the two lead actors. Philbert is played by Gary Farmer, a tall, huge man with a long mane of black hair and a gentle disposition. He speaks softly and sees things with a blinding directness. Buddy (A Martinez) is more "modern," more political, angrier. Their friendship has survived their differences. The movie was shot entirely on location, and the set decoration, I suspect, consists of whatever the camera found in its way. (If this is not so, it is a great tribute to the filmmakers, who made it seem that way.) We visit trailer parks and dispossessed suburbs and pool halls and convenience stores. We watch the dawn in more than one state, and we get the sense of the life on the road in a way that is both modern (highways, traffic signals) and timeless (the oneness of the land and the journey). And although I have made this all sound important and mystical, "Powwow Highway" is at heart a comedy, and even a bit of a thriller, although the way they spring Buddy's sister from prison belongs to the comedy and not the thriller.

The movie is based on a novel by David Seals, which I have not read; the story resembles the tone in some of W. P. Kinsella's stories about North American Indians. In Buddy it shows the somewhat fading anger of a man who once was a firebrand in the American Indian Movement (he has a concise, bitter speech about the programs "for" the Indians that will be an education for some viewers). In Philbert it finds a supplement to that anger in a man whose sheer, unshakable serenity is a political statement of its own.

One of the reasons we go to movies is to meet people we have not met before. It will be a long time before I forget Farmer, who disappears into the Philbert role so completely we almost think he is this simple, openhearted man - until we learn he's an actor and teacher from near Toronto. It's one of the most wholly convincing performances I've seen.

Most of the people who go to see "Powwow Highway" will already have seen "Rainman," the box-office best seller. Will they notice how similar the movies are in structure? Philbert does not have any sort of mental handicap, as the man with autism does in "Rainman," but he has a similar, absolutely direct simplicity. Both characters state facts. They catalog the obvious. Deep beneath the simplicity of Philbert's statements is a serene profundity (we cannot be quite sure what lies at the bottom of the autistic's statements). In both movies the other man - younger, ambitious, impatient - learns from the older. Meanwhile, in both movies, the men become friends while they drive in ancient Buicks down the limitless highways of America.

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