JANUARY 2009: Extraordinary People, Unique Lives

Day Four at Park City, Utah: as I mentioned previously, the weather has been unseasonably warm, I walked into an anti-fur demonstration on Main Street, and I'm now determined to replace my wifi-impaired laptop. Internet hotspots in the Park City condos -- tell me where, I'd like to know.

Sitting down to a lunch at a Burger King just off the main drag, I recall the first time I walked into the joint two years ago and observed the steady stream of Latino day laborers, townies and festival-goers lining up for fast food. In a sense, this is the real Park City, with no inflated prices, no presenses, and no worries. I now find myself making at least one pit stop at the Burger King on Park Avenue -- I come here to decompress and think without having to stress over where I have to be like, five minutes ago. Definitely a welcome respite.

Many of the feature-length works I see as part of the Sundance slate foreground the stories of remarkable people, placed into extraordinary and at time hazardous situations. A pair of works I was able to screen while helping out with the preparations for the 8th annual APA Filmmakers Experience Reception also distinguish themselves for referencing world events both historical and modern, but as with just about everything I've been watching, their success depends on how one reacts and identifies with the situations depicted.

For instance, take the emotional roller-coaster that was the back-to-back bill I took in -- Ngawang Cheophel's TIBET IN SONG and Cherien Dabis' AMREEKA. Both foreground stories of external and internal exiles in markedly different ways, and with varying degrees of success. In TIBET IN SONG, director Cheophel, a musicologist by profession, embarks on a mission to record traditional Tibetan folk music, an art form that is rapidly dying due to the introduction of recorded music by the Chinese Communist Party in the early 1950s, and by the PRC's insistence that lyrics that stressed Tibetan traditions and stories be replaced with praises to the wisdom of Communism and, specifically, mao Zedong. Those who continued to uphold the tradition of Tibetan folk music and arts ran the risk of immediate and lengthy imprisonment, a fate that befell Cheophel upon his return to Tibet in 2001. Since released after an intense five-year battle to win his freedom, Cheophel narrates his story by intercutting scenes that depict the damages that outside culture has wrought on Tibetan folk music and its practitioners. Clips of Tibetan singers crooning lyrics singing praises to Mao and collecctive struggle encroach upon traditional stories and fables; while in the modern-day streets of Llasa, the capital city, mix tapes and even contemporary strains of hip hop music relegate the practice of composing and singing traditional Tibetan music to a refugee community in northern India, where persecuted Tibetan folk artists flee. Foregrounding the history of Tibet's 20th century history through both mesmerizing archival footage and director Cheophel's restrained narration (the Dalai Llama is referenced, though he thankfully doesn't hog up any more screen time than absolutely needed), TIBET IN SONG moved me deeply, something that 9 a.m. press screenings fail to do for me much these days.


A completely different turn is provided by Muna Farah, a Palestinian bank examiner and single parent who is presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to emigrate from her Ramallah, West Bank suburb to Chicago in AMREEKA. As played by actress Nisreen Faour, Muna is indeed the archetypical bank beaurocrat: a bit plump, stern-looking in the face of impatient customers and hapless co-workers, and unfailingly devoted to her teenage son Fadi. Things change when her family is granted a U.S. green card. Reluctant to leave her home country, she is determined to provide Fadi a future that would be impossible for a Palestinian man with little hope to attend college. The turning point comes soon after, when at yet another Israeli checkpoint that mother and son are forced to endure, Fadi is subjected, at rifle-point and in front of his mother, to a strip search for explosive devices on his person. That's it, they're outta there. When next we see them, Muna and Fadi land in Chicago, where her relatives live in relative luxury and where Muna can enroll Fadi in a college prep school and set about building a new life, complete with a new job.

Okay, hold everything: did I not mention that the story takes place circa 2003, at about the same time that the U.S. invades Iraq and overthrows Saddam Hussein? I think you know what happens next: Muna's cousin's husband, a successful doctor, sees an exodus of patients who suddenly feel uncomfortable with an Arab physician; without an income to finance their quality of life, the family falls behind on mortgage payments; and husband and wife have a falling out over her free-spending ways, not to mention the two new additions to the family. Muna's savings are confiscated at immigration control, placing immediate pressures on her landing a job, and fast. No one is hiring, except for the most unlikely of places -- a White Castle Burger, where Muna is hired to flip burgers. Conscious of the humiliation of accepting work far beneath her station, Muna hides the details of her new job from the family until a series of events forces her secret out in the open.

I dunno -- I went into the screening halfway expecting an insightful glimpse into the experiences of a contemporary Arab woman that vaguely sounded like a work reminiscent of masters as Shohei Imamura or even Wayne Wang. I certainly didn't expect to get bludgeoned over the head with yet another assimilationist melodrama. Once Muna and Fadi arrived into the U.S., all their travails, from the money hidden on cookie tins seized by immigration; to the white punks who taunt Fadi at school; to even the benevolent white high school principal and bank officer point to a conclusion I saw coming a mile away. The packed audience I screened the film with cheered their approval well enough, but it seemed clear to me that while certainly universal, AMREEKA was a film produced for the audience in the back seats, as it were. In this economic environment, it certainly seems poised to be a feel-good movie to be championed in the same manner of SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE, another work that casts an eye on a misunderstood minority community, albeit one not set in the United States. But then, the trick would be for the film to get sold to a distributor. As I haven't engaged with anyone with any knowledge of word-of-mouth "buzz" around this or any other film this week, it's hard to say what the commercial prospects of AMREEKA would be. We'll just have to wait and see.

JANUARY 2009: Battling Brothers and (Kinda) Sisters

It's day two of this Park City experiment to see if me, as an Asian Pacific American person, would find any sense of shared identification with films by and about anyone not of Asian Pacific origin -- three, if you count the day spent traveling here. Walking back home past midnight after a late-night press screening of director Emily Abt's wildly uneven Sundance Film Festival Dramatic Competition feature TOE TO TOE, I found myself looking up at the sky every now and again to marvel at how clear the night sky was, and how bright the stars lit up the Park City night.

In a way, I wish TOE TO TOE resonated to me with such clarity -- not that it didn't try hard. The story of two DC-area teenagers at an ultra-competitive prep school on the verge of earning lacrosse scholarships are as different as night and day. Tosha, a driven African American teen from the rough Anacostia district, is determined to overcome the obstacles that stand in the way of earning admission into Princeton and getting out of the neighborhood; while Jessie, a privileged white girl from Bethesda, is talented all right, but struggles with promiscuous tendencies that threaten to derail her already shaky prospects. Tosha and Jessie befriend each other on the lacrosse field, but off-campus their relationship mixes like oil and vinegar. Jessie, desperate to fit in, is pulled closer and closer to self-destruction: becoming sexually involved with a Muslim schoolmate and other wannabe homies, enduring a virtual non-relationship with her globetrotting mother, and is implicated in a racial incident at school involving Tosha that triggers Jessie's expulsion just weeks before graduation. Tosha herself must endure troubles at home, chief among them a gaggle of layabout teens who epitomizes the "crab in the barrel" mentality of most minorities, a family that regards her dreams with a mixture of tough love and indifference, and her own conflicted allegiances to her friend and teammate.

The measured tone of TOE TO TOE thankfully doesn't approach the over-the-top race politics bombast of directors such as a John Singleton and the like (director Abt, a white woman, has a background of community work with borderline individuals as well as social issues as AIDS awareness and prevention), but I found myself alternately enthralled by the at-times sharp and genuine dialog (a lesbian suitor to Jessie is blown off in favor of a potential fling - her off-camera retort from across the parking lot, "Fuck You, Jessie!" elicited laughter in the audience I sat in with), and impatient and fidgety with the sometimes clunky transitions between the two girls' stories -- at various points during the screening I asked myself how a 100-minute feature could feel an hour longer! The director's insistence of grounding the film by including scenes at a gogo [a uniquely DC-area form of deep house party funk] and by cross-cutting between Tosha and Jessie's homes could have been handled more deftly. Ultimately, I had a hard time determining which character I should focus on, as Tosha and Jessie both possessed arresting storylines that was missing that extra...something.

Far more palateable to my tastes and sensibilities is the Mexican comedy/drama RUDO Y CURSI, by Carlos Cuaron. The film reunites Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna of the well-regarded Y TU MAMA TAMBIÉN as two dim-witted brothers who toil on a banana plantation and play soccer on their local team. Beto (Luna) the hot-tempered one with a penchant for gambling, goes by the nickname Rudo and dreams of becoming a top-flight player. Tato (Bernal), a gifted forward with a burning desire to be a famous singer, earns the nickname Cursi and wins the adulation of his teammates. Both are recruited by a talent scout who secures positions for them, but on rival teams -- Cursi is chosen to be a starting player and is poised to rocket to superstardom. Not to be outdone, Rudo grows into a goalie without equal.

Their fame comes with steep prices depicted in comical, yet fatalistic ways. Cursi is awarded a new house and luxury SUV, as well as the long-coveted recording contract and opportunity for stardom -- I don't think, however, that Cursi was expecting to build a career crooning an ernest ranchero send-up of Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me." His stubborn insistence on a singing career jeopardizes his now-stagnated soccer skills, and Cursi finds himself riding the pine, without an opportunity to play, stood up by the gold-digging slut who accepted his marriage proposal and ran off with another stooge, and seemingly destined to be demoted to a second-tier league. Rudo fares less better. Flush with success at an impressive winning streak without allowing a goal, he parlays his earnings into increasingly rash gambling habit. Sinking deeper and deeper into debt, Rudo's own fame is put on the line: the luxury accoutrements of the house he shares with Cursi is repossesed, the gambling syndicate he owes money to gives him a deadline to pay back or else, and the worst possible insult: the talent scout offers to make all his debts go away if, on the verge of breaking the all-time scoreless record, he throw the game against the very team that his estranged brother Cursi languishes on. Filled with numerous witticisms and morals provided in voiceover by Batuta, the soccer scout, RUDO Y CURSI is a winning effort. Cuaron directes the film with energy befitting a sports film -- and a comedy at that. Both brothers meet a bittersweet end -- I can't tell you how it ends, it's a sports films after all, and you just gotta see it -- but don't despair. I have a healthy suspicion that the film will turn up at your local art-house theater sometime soon.

As for Asian Pacific American stuff: the two short animated pieces weren't by APA's, but should resonate with audiences at a film festival such as ours. WET SEASON, by Singaporean Michael Tay, is an ingenious and heartfelt ode to the director's father who passed away in 2001. The film's stop-motion animation evokes references as obvious as the legendary Canadian animator Norman McClaren to more dubious, modern-day markers as the JibJab Brothers. And in Yi Zhou's HEAR, EARTH, HEART, computer animation renders a uniquely inventive meditation on the relationship of nature and emotion.

Oh, yeah, here's a Sundance tidbit I thought I'd throw at you: Jack Song, a publicist for our Film Festival who is one of David's colleagues, calls to invite us to a party on Main Street at the Queen Lounge, the site of our APA Filmmakers' Experience Reception. It's billed as the "Glam Party." Sorry Jack, I've been to the Queen Lounge a whopping four times today before I filed this entry -- I'm not feeling so glam right now. With the high altitude and the realities of water retention, I feel like a f*$#in' whale right about now...

JANUARY 2009: Different? Or More of the Same Old?

It's a sunny and unusually warm day in Park City, Utah the Friday before Barack Obama is set to be sworn in as our country's next President, and somewhere in the lobby of the Park City Marriott, I'm having a brief conversation with Juli Kang, a friend and former member of our Film Festival's programming team who now works for the Sundance Film Festival. Currently a member of the team charged with overseeing the execution of the feature film competitions and showcases, Juli asks me what films by Asian American or Asian filmmakers I was planning to go see this week.

"Uh, I wasn't planning to see many Juli. I've already seen most of them, or we're already screened many of them for Film Fest consideration."

Feigning incredulity, Juli retorts in mock disgust, "Then why are you even here, Abe?"

"Juli...why, indeed?"

The two of us laughed in mutual recognition of the absurdity of my attending what is arguably the preeminent film festival for independent cinema with no plans or apparent intentions of watching anything by people of "our" communities. Walking back to the condo in the mid-morning sun, I still couldn't help but laugh to myself at my offhanded remark...as friends for many years, Juli saw my comments coming from a mile away and wasn't in the least bit fazed. I suspect, as a former programming colleague at Visual Communications, she was well aware of the subtext behind my diss: in a lot of cases, if you see a film at Sundance in January, chances are that you are already behind the curve. The task of tracking, vetting, and inviting potential programming selections for an event like The Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival begins long before the World, International, or even local premiere. For instance, veteran Chinese director Zhang Yuan's DADA'S DANCE was first espied by me at the Pusan International Film Festival back in October; while Tze Chun's CHILDREN OF INVENTION was already in the works for the better part of last year -- an expansion of his 2007 Sundance short film WINDOWBREAKER, Chun's film was no secret to Asian Pacific American cinema insiders, nor to the many webbies who've visited his Facebook page. So, the behind-the-scenes work of scouting out noteworthy programming selections has already been in-progress. And for quite a long time.

So, what the hell AM I doing here in Park City, Utah, anyway?

Well, for one thing, to support our communities' artists. As I've done every year since 2002, I'm here along with other VC staffers and media arts colleagues to organize and host the 8th edition of the Park City Asian Pacific American Film Experience, a pro-active effort to bring our artists to the attention of Sundance and Slamdance Film Festival goers. Besides Tze (whose WINDOWBREAKER played our Film Festival in 2007) past, present, and (perhaps) future Festival alumni with works at Sundance include Jessica Yu (THE KINDA SUTRA) and Kimi Takesue (SUSPENDED); longtime patrons to our Film Festival may remember that even director Zhang himself was represented by the much-lauded BEIJING BASTARDS in 1994 and SONS in 1995. And on the Slamdance side, JP Chan explains (somewhat) all those past shorts featuring meat cleavers with I DON'T SLEEP I DREAM; while VCers are especially proud of Jerry Chan, an alum of the organization's innovative Armed With a Camera Fellowship whose 2007 AWC project DJ:LA plays in Slamdance's Anarchy Online section.

The other, more slippery reason for being here has a lot to do with the Sundance selections themselves. As a film festival devoted to some measure of diversity and inclusion in its program line-up, I'm disappointed, but not so surprised, at the relatively small number of Asian Pacific works invited to screen at this year's event. By now, I've stopped bitching and moaning so much over it, instead preferring to promote our own Film Festival set for this Spring and to support our artists already here (and who already know I'm in town). Instead, I've determined to try something a bit different this time out: my plan for Sundance 2009 is to take in works by non-Asian filmmakers and guage whether I can find a sense of indentification, of universality, with the selections I screen. I wonder, are the themes and issues explored by Asian Pacific Americans through cinema a shared experience with African American, Latino, Arab, and other disenfranchised communities, much less those of privileged maistream audiences? And in turn, will a jaded Asian Pacific American film festival co-director and programmer like me find a shared communal identification with disparate stories from other ethnic communities and the dominant culture here in America? I'm only here for five days, and already there are roadblocks in my way: the APA Film Experience Reception, the stack of feature-length screeners of submissions to our Film Festival that I brought with me and absolutely need to get through before my return to L.A.; and my previously stated intention of watching the Inauguration of Barack, Da Hawai'i Kine, as our first truly 21st Century U.S. President next Tuesday. It's gonna be daunting, but we'll see how far I get. Juli, wish me luck...