The history of Passing Strange is one of those rare, life-affirming theatrical blends of artistry, humor, and rock music rising to the top, winning awards (including an Obie), then closing its run rather early before fading from consciousness to live as a cult phenomenon. But wait—Spike Lee happened to see the musical and rightly so, decided it was a keeper. He also filmed it as it was—a play, and so captured its outstanding cast and energy. Spike Lee knew just what to do, and now we have this film to enjoy forever. Thank you, Spike Lee.
Passing Strange was workshopped twice at the Sundance Institute by Stew, a first-time playwright and leader of the rock band Stew & the Negro Problem. It was first performed in Berkeley (kicking myself for missing it), and then, eventually on Broadway. No one is more baffled by this trajectory than Stew. When asked by Lee in one of the film's DVD extras, what was the most surprising aspect of the process, Stew points to the stage and replies, "That we're here." He and collaborator/bass player Heidi Rodewald and director/collaborator Annie Dorsen are pioneers in a field that doesn't exactly overflow with African-American artist coming-of-age stories. The whole thing is improbable, and yet, here it is.
And it is such a joy. Stew narrates this musical biography about a young man's search for his artistic self while emigrating to Europe. This is mined for every comic moment imaginable, including the cringe-inducing teenage horror of growing up in Los Angeles among the middle-class and church-going when you're a Buddhist rock musician at heart; the shock and awe that is 80s-era Amsterdam cafe life; and the dark, noise-infused world of a Berlin performance-art co-op. Yes, all these situations are comic goldmines and all are infused with spirit and expert timing by the wry Stew and his six multiple role playing cast members.
Stew as narrator and storyteller
Heidi Rodewald, musical collaborator, cool bass player, lady in white
Like many who have watched a lot of PBS over the years, I am not a fan of filmed plays. I approached Passing Strange, the movie, with trepidation. But it's Spike Lee directing, so don't worry. He's a film veteran and he knows we probably feel this way going in. With just a few wide shots, he establishes the lovely Belasco Theatre, the live-band situation, and the cast. Then he uses his 14 cameras (14!) to zero in on the dramatic action. He even had his DP instruct actress De'Adre Aziza, playing a ridiculous avant-garde filmmaker, to shoot with her onstage Bolex prop camera as part of a performance-art piece monologue. So you get some retro-looking grainy 16mm cut in with the sharp digital footage.
On second viewing, I actually started craving more wide shots, so I could see the full choreography, but I trust that Lee had his reasons, most likely technical and aesthetic, for his multitudes of two- and three-shots and close-ups. Then, putting his ego on a shelf, he edited by getting out of the way and letting the play do its thing. This play got the film director it deserves.
One of the few, well-timed overhead shots that take Passing Strange beyond just being a "filmed play"
Daniel Breaker as the Youth, having a revelation ("Music is the Freight Train in which God Travels") in church with Mother (Eisa Davis)
Stew looks back at his younger self, played by Daniel Breaker, soaking up life, as he struggles to "pass" among South-central Los Angeles conformity. Expected to go to church with his single Mom (Eisa Davis), and eventually meet a nice girl and settle down, Youth can't help but rebel. Franklin Jones (exquisitely played by Colman Domingo), choir-master and closeted gay son of the Reverend, prompts our callow hero to find his true self in Europe, like Josephine Baker and "Jimmy" Baldwin. This scene, set in a VW Bug to the tune, "Arlington Hill," about getting high and briefly connecting with people who end up changing your life, is like a master class in dramatic form. And Colman Domingo as a closeted choir-master, is so funny and tragic within moments. Just see it for his body language alone.
Colman Domingo as Franklin (foreground), being masterful
This staid California world is set in deft strokes, with straight-back chairs, and the cast playing multiple roles. This is my favorite kind of theater because it reminds me of childhood play. It takes so much imagination to create an entire existence on a stage, and to make us believe in that world. Stew's story has many universal themes, and he pokes at them throughout, as only the middle-aged humorist can do when looking back on youth.
The cast is full of multiple surprise talents. There's Chad Goodridge, playing a middle-aged reverend, praising God one moment, then switching to a disgruntled suburban teen, having a bad acid trip. Then he'll suddenly make some fluid movement and you realize he's a professional dancer too. Everyone sings beautifully. Everyone moves in fluid, vibrant ways. Everyone has exquisite comic timing. It's quite a cast, I tell you.
The Youth forms his first punk rock band, and I completely relate—I did that too. I had to get my anger out and music was the way for me. But I didn't have the added difficulty of racism to contend with. This play doesn't tell you what to think about racism, yet it's infused with what life is about when everything's subject to racism. It's cosmic goofiness by painful way of the worldly wise. It's so rich, and so funny too.
Rebecca Naomi Jones, teen bass player in The Scariotypes, has the best punk-rock eyes
Youth's conflicted relationship with Mother sends him fleeing to Amsterdam, and sets a pattern of flight, in search of the "real." But as anyone who was once 19 knows, that road has many twists and turns.
Welcome to Amsterdam!
Neo-hippies!
Naturists! Philosophy professors! Sex workers!
Abstract artists! The Dutch!
Relationships blossom and burn out. People get left behind. Art will not be denied, but there is fallout and weirdness. Especially upon arrival in West Berlin.
Berlin is intense
An ongoing musical riot against "the system"—just another house full of performance artists
Stew is tough on his Youth, who is trying on a persona in order to find his true artistic self. But that's how it goes for young artists. They're natural bumblers, attempting to find their voice. For musicians, music is the voice. And everything else can be a struggle.
As in many immigration stories, the heart of the matter lies in what and who got left behind. You'll laugh with Passing Strange, but you'll be moved. The music, lilting and melodic, uplifting and soulful, has elements of gospel, blues, jazz, punk, and rock. The band plays on lifts that dip them half-way below the stage, so they're always present. The vibrancy of a rock show is right there the entire time. Show tunes are attempted and quickly dropped with a shrug, swapped for gospel-soul-rock sing-alongs. You are being winked at and uplifted at the same time. I'm just so glad this is a movie.
Born in the 60s, I got a big dose of LSD entertainment over the years. The lysergic acid diethylamide muse gave film and television production companies endless encouragement to go all out with the visual effects that only an imagined drug trip can induce. Plus young actors (and middle-aged, if you count Lana Turner in The Big Cube) got to test their chops, while supposedly under the influence. Eye rolling, arm flailing and mindless gibberish bellowed at top volume, made for some inspirational moments on the sets of 60s production studios. It was a heady time. Let us explore the outer realms of the inner chemically induced psyche.
Dragnet - "The LSD Story (Blueboy)," 1967. Anyone found in the park, head buried in a dirt pit, claiming, "I am the chair! I am the chair!" is probably looking for trouble. And boy, does he find it and how. The hardcore tripping (beginning at 18:15) includes finger-snapping, wall climbing, paint eating, bobble-headed music listening, and as Sergeant Friday succinctly notes, "Marijuana."
Easy Rider - Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Toni Basil and Karen Black dropping acid in a New Orleans cemetery during Mardi Gras in 1969—that sounds like a lot of fun! NO. IT IS NOT. Statue nuzzling, fish-eye lensing, annoying percussion, nudity and incoherent babbling leads to not one iota of fun.
The Trip - Passion is a Rainbow of Ecstasy! Maybe so, but you'd never know from Peter Fonda's stilted performance in this 1967 snore-along. This movie could be summed up in one scene (not shown in the trailer) of Fonda woodenly staring at his spinning clothes at the laundromat. Or staring at an orange. Same thing. But don't get me wrong. I like Peter Fonda—he's a good-looking guy. He just doesn't move his face very often.
The Big Cube, 1969 - Lana Turner getting gaslighted with bad acid by George Chakiris, and introducing Karin Mossberg—what's not to like? I've covered The Big Cube extensively. I'll let the trailer speak for itself.
Case Study: LSD - It's 1969 and you're sitting in class on a warm spring day, waiting for 2:45 so you can get the hell out of middle school and hang out with your pals. Suddenly, Stan, the AV-club nerd shows up, pushing a 16mm projector into the room.
"Class, today we're going to see an educational film about an important topic," drones your teacher, Mr. DeMercurio. You sigh and settle in for a half-nap as he clicks off the overhead lights. The film begins. You are riveted by the drama of Case Study: LSD. Your life will never be the same again. And soon, you're craving a hot dog.
So intense is Case Study: LSD, that I made my own version of it. I just really want to get the message out there: don't ever order a hot dog on Market Street—have you lost your mind?
Update, May 8th, 2013: The fuckfaces at SyWest Development tore down the Dome Theater this morning. Had we a few days more, we could have raised enough to take them to court. As it is, I'll make sure to never shop at their incoming Dick's Sporting Goods in Pleasant Hill ever. I'll add it to my list of businesses who move in and make the world a crappier place (Chick-fil-A in Walnut Creek—you're on that list too).
That's right: Pleasant Hill's gateway cinema, the one you see when driving on 680 that tells you, "Hey, guess what? You're in Pleasant Hill!" will now be a two-story, lit-up DICK'S sign. Just so you know where you're at.
Update, May 7th, 2013: Well, we didn't think we would win.
After three hours of public comment that ended at 2 a.m., the appeal
lost by a vote of 3-2. Mayor Michael G. Harris and Councilmember
Ken Carlson sided with our appeal. The Mayor in particular cited the
development plan as disappointing and not what the city originally
signed off on ten years ago before the recession put it under a blanket
stuffed with apathy, greed, and short-sightedness. What next? We'll see.
I just want to commend everyone who came to speak
or submitted letters and speeches for others to read. The outpouring of
encouragement and help has been a heartening experience. I've met some
amazing people who have saved historic theaters across the land. They
lost a few too. It's this whole thing: saving old movie theaters. It's a
calling. It's, dare I say, almost spiritual. That's the power of film
and architecture, my friends. Don't ever forget it, next time you find
yourself sitting in an ancient film cathedral, feeling wonderfully
overwhelmed by the experience.
Any little donations help at this point. You can do so at Save The Dome and we'll put the money to excellent use. People have been so generous. I'll never forget these thoughtful, giving people.
***
Oh my goodness. I've been so busy lately. I haven't had time for regular life at all. Our beloved Dome Theater, the one that was built in 1967, the one that I grew up, watching many a movie on its curved 70mm-capable screen, the one with the giant domed ceiling, like a wood-beamed spider-web: that one. It's going to be demolished to make way for a two-story 70,000 square-foot Dick's Sporting Goods store. It's a NIGHTMARE come true!
I'm working with an excellent group of movie crusaders: Save the Pleasant Hill Dome. We are working so hard on this crazy, crazy-making process. Our appeal goes before the city council on Monday, May 6th. If you're in town, be sure to STOP BY Pleasant Hill City Hall at 7 pm. Why would you be strolling down Pleasant Hill's outdoor-mall downtown area on a warm, Monday night, thinking about 60s-era sci-fi architecture? Why wouldn't you be?! You got something better to do?
What made the Dome even more special is that for the past six years or so, it's been showing independent and foreign films—you know—art films. And it wasn't suffering either. People love their art films around here. And they love their dome.
photo by Nick Bever
Don't be left out! Visit our functional Web site: savethedome.org. You can donate, you can marvel, you can be informed. This is one of the last functioning dome theaters. There's some in San Jose but it looks like they're about to become a shopping center as well. That leaves the Hollywood Cinerama Dome—that was a battle to save as well.
WHY DO WE HAVE TO WORK SO HARD TO HANG ON TO OUR CULTURAL TREASURES?! WHY?!
This is a no-brainer. How many cities have dome theaters? Almost zero now. This Dome was showing movies for 46 years, all the way up until April 21st when its owner, SyWest Development, shut it down. It has a big, beautiful screen, an excellent sound-system and acoustics and seating for 900 of your closest friends in a tiered roundabout that lets you know: movies are big and beautiful. I'm working on it. This is my cathedral.
In his Oxford American article, "The DeZurik Sisters - Two Farm Girls Who Yodeled Their Way to the Grand Ole Opry," John Biguenet describes American yodeling during the period when the U.S. became an industrial nation, as "the perfect music to serve as threshold between a world that had already begun to disappear and the one that would replace it." He aptly describes the quavering yodel as "between" music—between word and sound, voice and instrument, man and woman, despair and exultation, adult and child, human and animal, civilization and nature. It's a perfect description of the almost indescribable.
Whatever your opinions on yodeling, you must admit that when expertly done, it's a form of vocal gymnastics that boggles the mind. And it's strangely soothing. Perhaps its origins, rooted in animal calls among farmers and herding folk, lie close to something deep inside that ties us to nature, as well as to the nature of language itself. I am in the mood for some yodeling now!
The DeZurik Sisters - Old Dan Tucker. The DeZuriks were sometimes billed as The Cackle Sisters, because they would integrate hen-clucking, among other animal sounds, in their music. That's how they did it down on the farm. According to Biguenet, they learned to sing at the family homestead in Minnesota by imitating the animals and birds therein.
Now that you've a taste of the DeZurik Sisters, you'll definitely want to hear The First Whippoorwill Song, featuring some fine imitation bird song.
Arizona Yodeler - whoo hoo!
Wanda Jackson - Cowboy Yodel. The cowboy in question has an annoying habit of yodeling while making love. By the 50s, yodeling is definitely not agrarian in scope anymore. And is there anything Wanda Jackson can't do?
Everyone flocking to The Great and Powerful Oz this year may have caught some serious Oz fever. If that's the case, check out Return to Oz, the darkest children's film of all time. No, it doesn't star a questionable heartthrob like James Franco, but it does feature the more compelling acting chops of 9-year-old Fairuza Balk, as an innocent but game-for-anything Dorothy.
Marketed as a sequel to MGM's classic Wizard of Oz (46 years in the making!), this film tanked at the box office, but picked up followers when it was released on video. I myself avoided it for nearly three decades, thinking it looked creepy and morose. Also, I was not young enough when it was released to see it in theaters. Lucky me! An overly imaginative child, I would have been thoroughly scarred by the experience. Especially after having watched Judy Garland's Dorothy every year since I was conscious of doing so. I would have found this film too spooky to count as a true Oz experience.
But I have come to the conclusion that although I'll always love Garland's lovely performance and voice, Balk is the more credible Dorothy. Only an actual child, and not a teen made up as a child, could truly believe in the fantastic creatures and situations in this strange, twisted alternative universe. It's a fantasy world that continues to reflect fearful adult doings as well as mundane existence down on the farm. First and last-time director, Walter Murch, digs deep, creating a horror-fairytale hybrid that audiences weren't able to cope with in 1984. But like its obvious influence, The Night of the Hunter (from another one-shot director, Richard Laughton), it's going where no other children's film has gone.
Based on two Oz books ("The Marvelous Land of Oz, "Ozma of Oz"), there's enough rich visual Oz lore here for multiple viewings. I never read the series—as a library-addicted child, I was caught up in Middle Earth, Earthsea and Prydain. And in a way, MGM made Oz uncool, with all the singing, dancing, and pink-clad munchkins. But you don't need to read the books to watch this film—just know that it features multiple new characters and that the holy trio of Scarecrow, Tinman and Cowardly Lion are bumped down to cameos. It's for the best. The puppets of these former Oz stars are not very compelling, and in the case of the Scarecrow—nearly terrifying. This was due to budget constraints and it probably alienated a lot of fans who were looking for continuing characters. This includes Toto, who's replaced by Billina, a no-nonsense talking chicken with practical Midwestern values. I like Billina. She adds balance to the bad trip going on all around her.
Murch, an accomplished editor (Apocalypse Now, Godfather Part II, The English Patient), knows how to wow with scenery and tension. Much of Return to Oz is meant to be suspenseful. And much of it hinges on Balk's performance. Although this version makes Oz an actual place and not a dream, with its own reality, it's still very much an escape from Dorothy's lonely life of toil on the farm with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. Characters repeat themselves from her conscious life to her fantasy world, as in the MGM film, in frightening, genuinely threatening ways. She meets adversity with the wide-eyed openness of childhood, simply thinking of solutions in dream-logic fashion while comforting her flailing companions with a maternal, "It can't be helped!" philosophy. Pretty complex.
What follows will spoil the movie for you if you've never seen it. So if you plan on it, turn away now! Otherwise, let's revisit the genuine freakishness that is Return to Oz.
Nothing opens a children's film like a visit to the insane asylum! After her bout with the tornado, Dorothy suffers from acute insomnia and she keeps going on about this Oz place. So Aunt Em, who's already dealing with PTSD-suffering Uncle Henry, and who could really use more help around the farm, brings Dorothy to a questionable hospital for a cure. Dr. Worley uses newfangled electricity to rid his patients of their delusions. He soothes Dorothy in a fatherly tone, assuring her that his magical machine won't hurt. Not at all.
Aunt Em is not entirely convinced.
Still, she leaves Dorothy for the night with the very cold Nurse Wilson, who advices Dorothy to "take a nap" in her cell-like room. Look at those bat-like sleeves.
Dorothy has found a key marked OZ and she's receiving visits, through reflective surfaces, from a sad girl with a British accent who wants to help her. But she is at the moment, abandoned by her family. Haunting.
"Would you like to go for a walk, Dorothy?" Yikes.
The dank hallways and fitzing overhead lights of a gurney-trip to the laboratory while strapped down aren't scary enough, so Murch makes sure we see Dorothy about to receive electroshock treatment. All kinds of wrong here.
I like Jean March's body language. Dorothy will travel by flash flood this time around.
A reference to Night of the Hunter, another horror-fairytale hybrid, now considered a favorite classic film among many.
Something is very wrong with Oz infrastructure. Just look at this yellow brick road. It gets worse.
Welcome to the Emerald City!
It's been pointed out by fans that Fairuza Balk's line readings are quite lyrical in nature, referencing Judy Garland's mellifluous tones. I like how she asks questions and wonders aloud throughout the film. She was and is a very sharp actress with a lot of presence who I wish worked more in the mainstream. What is a wheeler anyway?
Sorry I asked.
With the Emerald City seemingly overrun by crystal-meth addicts, Dorothy turns to Princess Mombi for answers. The wardrobe wing of Mombi's new-money cokehead palace may surprise you.
Jesus Christ!
Thank God for my favorite new friend of Dorothy, Tik-Tok, voiced in a militaristic Belgium-like accent by Sean Barrett, and made mobile by a gymnast who was placed upside-down and backwards in the costume, walking on his hands with his feet curled overhead. I told you this was part horror film. Tik-Tok is very funny and endearing though, as the "army of Oz" who experiences paralysis and dementia without a proper winding-up.
Jack Pumpkinhead on the other hand, is terrifying to behold and keeps telling Dorothy he's not even supposed to be alive. Tall and skeletal, he doesn't look like anything that should be alive, so that's in keeping with the laws of physics. He's voiced very gently by Brian Henson. Otherwise, he would be too scary to be a friend. I admit that one of the reasons I stayed away from this film were the posters featuring Jack Pumpkinhead.
Nicol Williamson, last seen as Dr. Worley, returns to the scene as the Nome King. He's fatherly and threatening all at once. A great performance.
The Nome King is every insane, power-mad authority figure you've ever been up against. Dorothy quickly finds out there's no reasoning with him and no hope of fair treatment. Children will understand this situation very well.
All you can do is try not to make him mad, but ultimately, he always gets mad.
If your kid has managed to make it this far into the movie without a nervous breakdown, they're home free. Things quickly start coming together, due to the Nome King's insatiable covetous nature. A lesson for hoarders, with great animation too.
Balk passed out during the big ceremony scene, which was filmed on a soundstage with hundreds of extras in 100+-degree heat. She does look a little sweaty and peaked here. But check out the Scarecrow with his immobile expression—Mary, Mother of God. He moves like a floppy creature as well, just to make him even creepier. A missed opportunity, since Dorothy's entire quest is based on saving him.
Jean Marsh as Mombi, ladies and gentlemen...
Partings are once again sweet sorrow, even for Ozma, Queen of Oz. A melancholy and intensely dark adventure, but childhood can be like that sometimes.
We just lost two good souls of filmmaking, Roger Ebert and Les Blank. One, famous, one, not as much. Both were influential to film fans and filmmakers alike. Roger Ebert accomplished much in his 70 years. Critic, journalist, author, screenwriter, TV personality, and recently, after he lost his voice to the cancer that ravaged him, twitter-user extraordinaire.
Throughout the 70s, I watched him banter with and discuss movies with the late Gene Siskel on their popular TV show, Sneak Previews. Their passion for films, along with my Mom's old-movie-watching habit, most likely steered me toward filmmaking. Siskel and Ebert made it look easy—talking about film merits and flaws. But anyone who's discussed movies with friends knows it can get boring fast. They always kept it lively, engaging, and thoughtful. It was a show dedicated to their viewers. They wanted you to see good films. They wanted you to avoid the bad ones. That was thoughtful of them.
I didn't know much about Ebert personally from his TV career. His movie reviews were syndicated in our local newspaper on occasion, but his wacky past (he infamously wrote the screenplay for Russ Meyer's Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, a seriously bad but cultish exploitation film) should have clued me in. Not until I read Charles Bukowski's novel, Hollywood—about the making of the movie, Barfly—did I get a window into the kind of person Ebert was.
Here's Bukowski, not known for his effusive praise when it came to characterizing humanity, describing his stand-in for Ebert, Rick Talbot, in Hollywood (Ebert's account of this meeting is well worth the read):
"I don't think I've ever had such a good time on a set," said Rick Talbot. ..."It's a feel in the air. Sometimes with low budget films you get that feel, that carnival feel. It's here. But I feel it more here than I ever have..."
He meant it. His eyes sparkled, he smiled with real joy.
...I loved Rick's lack of sophistication. That took guts, when you were on top, to say that you enjoyed what you did, that you were having fun while you did it....He was a wonderful and innocent man.
These simple, straightforward words stayed with me over the years. That a film critic could be a wonderful and innocent man—I didn't know such a thing was possible. When I started following Ebert on Twitter, I was so impressed with his passion for information, for human rights, for art and for writing, of course. Above all, for his kindness, which is impossible to fake over time. It bubbles out of a person again and again when it's real. He loved life, appreciated what he had, even through his terrible illness, which he faced with grace and spirit. I knew him through his generous writing and I'll miss him.
Les Blank is someone you should know about, if you don't already. He lived in Berkeley, so I got to see a lot of his documentaries over the years. He visited my film department at SFSU on a regular basis, especially to screen new work, and he always stayed afterwards for discussions. He was another generous, big-hearted person who was shy around strangers and dedicated to the joy of creation.
He's most famous for his collaborations with film maverick Werner Herzog, but you should check out his prolific documentary career covering his numerous obsessions, including American roots music, food, and gap-teethed women—the stuff that makes life great.
The Maestro: King of the Cowboy Artists, 1995 - Blank's tribute to Gerald Gaxiola, who lives to create art.
Innocents Abroad, 1991 - Travel to ten European countries with 40 American tourists in ten days. Blank is the ultimate tour guide.
Gap-Toothed Women, 1987 - Apparently Blank once had a crush on a gap-toothed neighbor. Then he made this delightful film.
Burden of Dreams, 1982 - The documentary on the making of Werner Herzog's Fitzcarraldo. Here are some Herzog quotes to put in your memory hopper.
God Respects Us When We Work, But Loves Us When We Dance - Hippies, dancing at the Love-in in 1967!
Whilst traveling through the Northwest, I'm on a wee computer vacation as well. But I'm attempting to write a poem a day for National Poetry Month and something called NaPoWriMo, which is basically writing a poem a day, the Internet way.
If you're partial to poetry, and who isn't, link on over to my other blog, Your Daily Tree, and celebrate the beauty of words, images and whatever else comes along through my brain. Currently, I'm focusing on my Northwest trip, so Crater Lake, waterfalls, and Dorris, California have gotten mentions. AS IT SHOULD BE.
