#frameline39

Image: Summer of Sangaile promotional materials

Summer of Sangaile: Dir. Alanté Kavaïté, 2015

by Lisa Krawczyk & Cori Tosch

Summer of Sangaile is a raw and emotionally-stirring film set in Lithuania. The main character is a seventeen year-old  woman, and the namesake of the film, Sangaile. The film opens on a large airfield, where the camera follows a small aircraft that spirals through the sky. The speedy transitions between the flagrant camera angles and positions are purposefully disorienting. When Sangaile gets the chance to fly, the camera joins her in the cockpit, focusing on her reactions to the twists and turns. This enables the viewer to physically feel the symptoms of Sangaile’s condition, and allows them to place themselves within her shoes.

The train of the film is driven by Sangaile’s love for flying. The excessively long introduction is a clear indication of the importance that stunt flying will partake in this film. Stunt flying is a somehwat reckless activity, which parallels well with Sangaile’s devil-may-care personality. Auste’s introduction is crucial to pushing the train forward in the same way that her participation in Sangaile’s arc was. When Sangaile hits the peak of her character arc, that is when the train may also be pushed forth, and the story finally reaches a point that demands the interest of the viewers.

The audience is almost immediately aware of the juxtaposition between Sangaile and Auste from the beginning scene. Sangaile seems to be more plain, which is seen in her appearance and her room. Sangaile’s room isn’t adorned with many things, while Auste’s room is vibrant and full of character. Their appearance also has a striking difference, paralleling their rooms; this is apparent to the audience from the first scene when the characters are introduced and although the audience doesn’t really know what’s going on we can see the juxtaposition in character and appearance.

The camera angles are chosen specifically to forward the themes of nature and strength (or lack there of). Sangaile’s name means strength according to the film; this also furthers the juxtaposition of Sanguile and Auste. This film also uses good camera angles of smoke coming from the stunt planes. This music this film uses is fitting; although, the music--almost jarringly--comes to a stop without any fade or transition. This seems to further the artistic nature of the film.

Auste, Sangaile’s lover, seems to allow the audience to see Sangaile in a more raw light; Sangaile’s character is not transparent at first glance. Sangaile is raw and emotional but we see Sangaile’s motives from Auste’s interactions with Sangaile and that allows the audience to become invested in this film. Sangaile’s interactions with her mother also shows the tumultuous relationship of her family life.

Within this film, there are many sexual innuendos and symbols. Seashells, flour, sand, a stuffed beaver–all these objects are used in this film for sexual imagery between Sangaile and Auste. Additionally, this movie plays well into new queer cinema because their relationship is unapologetic and the focus of the film. It’s matter-of-factly and the audience is engrossed by the relationship. The intimate moments on screen are well-established and well-executed.

Image: From This Day Forward promotional materials

From This Day Forward: Dir. Sharon Shattuck, 2015

by Emily Monka & Nancy Vang

In Sharon Shattuck’s feature length documentary From This Day Forward, the audience experiences a whirlwind of different emotions. We watch as the family grows and dynamics change when their father comes out as transgender and begins to transition. The cinematography makes the viewer feel as though they experiencing the trials and tribulations of the Shattuck experience alongside them via the use of handheld camera and intimate, tell-all interviews.

Seeing as my (Emily) film is on trans folks and their experiences I was immediately drawn to this film knowing that it involved a family and how their dynamics changed once Trisha came out as transgender. Going in, I was a bit skeptical, I was not really sure what to expect from this documentary, but once Trisha came on the screen I was entranced. Trisha and her family’s dynamics and love for each other was something worth aspiring toward, and the way the Shattucks charmed the audience was magical. What attracted me (Nancy) to this film was the fact that is was a documentary. I expected this film to be like other films with actors and having a direct storyline with an ending; however, this one captured the true moments of Trisha and her family that probably couldn’t have been recreated by actors. This film exceeded our expectations and was especially significant for us considering it was made in the midwest. 

In this feature-length documentary there are multiple trains that could be seen within the length of the film, such as, family dynamic, art/spiritually, identity, overall self expression. We can see the family dynamic from the start with the use of the old clips from family videos to pictures of them all together. Art and spirituality was obviously very important to Trisha with the amount of work we were shown throughout the film. These powerful images drove the story forward and tugged at the heartstrings of those watching it. Identity and self-expression were especially important for this film given that it was telling the story of a transwoman. Despite what the media might tells us about trans folks, Trisha did not act traditionally feminine or masculine; gender expression is fluid for some folks, and this film did an excellent job of showing this truth.

For having a somewhat limited budget, the production values were notable. The film also inter-spliced actual clips back when they were younger, along with scenes with Trisha filming with the hand held camera, although the camera was a slightly shaky while Trisha was filming with the hand held camera, and then the camera for filming the rest of the documentary. For lighting they seemed to have used natural lighting versus studio lighting, which I feel added to the family video feel of the entire film. The sequencing went quite well; it moved in a fast-paced manner that kept the audience intrigued. The director kept the film going in order as events went on–as well as mixing in bits of their modern life within these old clips.

So far, this film has been my (Emily) favorite film of the ten films I have seen; the emotional vulnerability was what really drew me in and made me connect with those that were on the screen. Compared to other films that I have seen so far, I (Nancy) would have to say that this film has been just as good, maybe a little better. I really enjoyed how this film was able to capture a snippet of Trisha’s life and her personality. 

Image: Warner Bros Entertainment

Tab Hunter Confidential: Dir. Jeffrey Schwarz, 2015

by Helen White and Mike Rea

We had very few preconceived notions about this film, as we did not know much about the person for whom it is titled. However, we were very excited to learn about him and his legacy, and how being a closeted person in the public eye may have changed in recent decades. This film allowed us to learn about this 1950s teen heartthrob through a queer lens.

The train of this film followed Tab Hunter’s experiences in Hollywood as a closeted gay man. The opening scene established the time period as one that was not welcoming to queer folks and then detailed the events of Tab Hunter’s acting career, as well as personal life. The arc of this film was debatably either the death of his brother or the beginning of his relationship with Allan. With the death of his brother, Tab left the acting business and focused on caring for his mother, which altered his career path significantly. However, his relationship with Allan created a resurgence in his acting career. Ultimately, he settled down to live with Allan and began to enjoy “being forgotten.”

It can be difficult in documentaries to discuss cinematography, as much of this film in particular was talking heads and floating stills of Tab Hunter in his prime days as an actor and universal object of desire of teenage girls everywhere. The editors of this film made an attempt at making the photographs and graphics more interesting by layering them and giving them a 3D effect. However, much of the film was b-roll, close-up head shots of interviewees, and archival footage of Tab Hunter’s early career.

The documentary discussed New Queer Cinema in that it talked about briefly the first queer character in the film industry, the implied gay character, whose sexuality is never referred to or discussed. Tab Hunter’s career also led him very briefly into the New Queer Cinema movement in his interactions with Divine and the movie Lust in the Dust.

The film’s production quality was good. The close-up head shots were a good balance of sharp in the foreground and blurred in the background with good lighting. Otherwise, the footage of old photos and videos were presented well. Pictures of Tab Hunter and other persons were often presented as actual pictures in the shot as opposed to being the entire shot, and were often slightly animated to give a more original, interesting feel to them. For example, there were multiple times that the main person in the picture was placed into the ‘foreground’ of the shot and highlighted while the rest of the photo was placed in the ‘background’ of the shot and slightly off-colored. While this was technique fairly unique, it wasn’t enough to classify the production quality as excellent or innovational.

Image: Those People promotional materials

Those People, Dir. Joey Kuhn, 2015

by James Ebben & Hunter Mattison

Director Joey Kuhn’s feature length film Those People told the story a young gay man in New York that struggles to decide between his childhood love and his more mature, new romantic interest. Kuhn aimed to show that the film focused on the main character, Charlie, finding himself in the world around him rather than telling another coming out story. Kuhn drew inspiration from his own love life, the Bernie Madoff embezzlement scandal, and the novel Brideshead Revisited. The title “Those People” was chosen as a means of bringing attention to members of our population that we don’t often speak of, however, the rich are discussed pretty regularly within our culture.

As a coming of age story, it’s particularly interesting that this love takes place only over the course of a three-month period. Charlie’s art throughout the film grows with each love interest as he defines himself through them. The first example of this is his painting of Sebastian, the depiction of a manic pixie dream boy with whom Charlie fell in love at the age of 11. As the story continues, another love interest enters the picture, and Charlie is forced to choose between the two–a common idea in any story with romantic elements, whether it be heterosexual or not.

Notable cinematography includes the lighting being saturated indoors while significantly less so outdoors. Indoor lighting was reserved for sentimental feelings, and the pivotal parts of the plot occurred inside with warm lighting. Lack of contrast removed the potential for emotional moments outdoors and keeps the mood hidden. Some scenes that occurred outdoors had the potential to have heavy impact on the characters emotions but the lighting distracted from that sense and made it seem closed off. The use of music was executed with much tact, giving the film its own unique sound and becoming an integral part of the story through which Charlie was able to find love and grow as a human being. Charlie’s growth was seen throughout the film through his interaction with others, but his dress began to mirror that as the more he began to open up, he began to loosen the buttons of his shirts more and more.

The train aims to tell a story of both love and loss and how the two are often closely related in helping to bring to people closer. Throughout Those People, we’re able to identify an arc as everyone’s right to deserve to find love. Throughout our lives we face many obstacles and lose love, but that doesn’t mean that anyone is undeserving.

The two love interests represent two very different socioeconomic backgrounds. Sebastian is filthy rich and his emotions always seem rather misleading or hidden away while Tim has a hard time finding a stable job as a piano man, but he is ultimately the most transparent character of the film. The director may be making a statement about the luxuries that someone with Sebastian’s background has by possessing the option to not be straight-forward with his family and friends. His privilege comes across strong, almost in a campy way.

Top Image: Liz in September promotional materials; Bottom image: ©Rose Mish 2015

Liz in September: Dir. Fina Torres, 2015

by Lisa Krawczyk & Cori Tosch

Liz in September is a Spanish language film focusing on a dynamic cast of lesbian characters who live on a beach in Venezuela. This is the first lesbian film coming out of Venezuela, gaining interest of the audience off of that fact alone. Despite having subtitles and having a medium pace, the film is engaging throughout. The beautiful Venezuelan scenery is used to establish the romantic tone of the film. Additionally, mindful choices of music and the flashback in the beginning in which Liz says“when you remember me, you will remember me floating,” and using a consistent theme of numbers and counting (especially of days). This movie allows the audience to think about mortality in a subtle way with the use of poetic internal thoughts of Liz while Eva is being introduced.

Directed by Fina Torres, the film has an airy, dreamy feel that entices the viewer. It is an ethereal romance and deserves a spot in this year’s Eau Queer Film Festival–especially considering its landmark status as a queer Venezuelan film.

The lighting in this film evokes the beauty of the setting. For instance, in the opening scene when Liz is floating in the water and the camera is aimed upwards at her, the sun shines brightly behind her silhouette, which shows that she is relaxed and comfortable being in the water. Another lighting technique that had been used was when Liz and Eva were speaking about Liz’s inevitable death. The light shines brightly on Eva, but a shadow overcomes Liz’s profile.

A detail that changes throughout the movie is Eva’s tank top; when Eva is introduced she is wearing all white and surrounded by white. Then, red juice is spilled on her tank top, using foreshadowing. Throughout the movie, her tank top gets more off-white eventually getting to a grey-blue color; this is paralleling Liz’s comment about how things are rarely black and white and usually situations are somewhere in the middle. This shows Eva’s spectrum of sexuality and how she leaves her husband in the end.

The music also is used thoughtfully during the film, nearly to a fault; meaning, it gets too intense, to the point it takes the audience out of the movie. Though most of the instrumentals are great with piano emphasis and strings, there are times when it gets to be too much.

While Liz is ostensibly the main character of this film, both she and Eva have important arcs. Even though they are adults, they still have a lot of growing to do. Eva is first portrayed as heterosexual. However, there is one small indication that she may be something more than that- that is, when she and Liz are on the dock, the camera focuses on Eva’s face as she casts a downward eye and checks Liz out from behind. The rest of the film is essentially a romantic build between the two main characters. In Liz’s case, it is clear that she keeps to herself and does not reveal too much about her past. She remains somewhat narcissistic in the film, and maintains a sense of humor that draws away from the seriousness of her tragic situation.

The train of this film is really pushed on by the fact that Liz and Eva have a chemistry that leads the audience to want to know what happens to these characters. The bet between Liz and her friend about getting Eva into bed initiates the film’s train. By doing this, the audience knows that it will be noted upon later in the film. The film also involves the audience's emotion by acknowledging Liz and Eva’s history. That is, the death of Eva’s son, Tommy, and the indication of Liz’s illness from the beginning.

This movie uses a lot of flashbacks and flash forwards; nearly to the point where the audience gets confused as to what happens when. This makes time very confusing to follow for the audience. However problematic, this movie lends multiple watches as a result.

Top Image: I Am Michael promotional materials; bottom image ©Ellen Mahaffy 2015

I Am Michael: Dir. Justin Kelly, 2015

by Rose Mish & Ryan Spaight

Justin Kelly’s debut feature, I Am Michael, examines the intersection of religious fundamentalism and queer identity in a cinematographically-innovative style that captured the attention of queer film giant Gus Van Sant (Milk, 2008)—who held a producer credit in the film. Based on a true story, the film’s namesake, Michael Glatze (James Franco), starts the film as a gay activist/writer for XY Magazine.

There is no disputing that I Am Michael is a captivating, thoughtfully-produced film, but the Frameline programming committee’s selection of the film as the opening night feature left us feeling cheated. Coming to the world’s largest queer film festival and seeing a film that could even conceivably validate gay conversion contradicts the mission of Frameline. Ultimately, this is a film about a white, cisgender man, who used his influence as an activist and writer to hurt the queer community—hardly the sort of cutting-edge, new queer cinema we might expect from Frameline when there are so many other queer stories that go untold.

The exposition of the film flashes forward to a scene that would be repeated near the conclusion—bookending the film with a medium shot of a gay teen being “counseled” by Michael to subvert his homosexuality. Shallow depth of field, focusing on the teen and obscuring Michael from view, as well as low-key lighting set a dark and unnerving tone for the scene. This creates an inextricable conflict between Michael’s backstory of gay advocacy and his eventual renunciation of his own gay identity, and leaves the audience wondering how these apparent contradictions will be reconciled through the ensuing plot of the film.

A juxtaposition is created as we flash back ten years earlier to Michael living in the heart of the Castro. The low-key lighting is replaced by high-key, outdoor shots of the Castro—met with cheers from the San Franciscan audience. Likewise, the aforementioned religious Michael is replaced by a fiery activist who believes “Christian fundamentalists should burn in hell.”  

Enraged by the 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard in Wyoming, Michael and his partners Bennett (Zachary Quinto) and Tyler (Charlie Carver) set out to make a film about gay youth. Kelly utilizes avant garde film techniques—blending three layers of narrative: grainy footage from Michael Glatze’s real-life documentary Jim In Bold; handheld camerawork of characters Michael, Bennett, and Tyler working on the project; and studio-produced, omniscient camera—focusing on Michael’s reaction to key events. Toward the end of this montage, Michael interviews a student at a conservative school; the interview is interrupted by a distraught girl whose mother had just died. As the students counsel and pray for her, there is a pensive reactionary shot that visually marks the beginning of Michael’s internal struggle with death and spirituality.  

Worried that he might be afflicted by the same fatal heart condition his father had, Michael develops panic attacks and becomes obsessed with the idea that he could die at any moment—a clear reference to the feelings of paranoia and uncertainty rampant in queer communities during the AIDS crisis. Panic attacks were depicted musically with an insistent jabbing pulse in the style of electronic musique concrete—increasing in texture and volume as the panic attack worsened. At the culmination of these panic attacks, we find Michael naked in the shower, crying under low-key lighting in the fetal position, hands clasped together in prayer—an evocative symbol for his baptism and the arc of the film.

Ironically, Michael diverges from the queer world and heads to Wyoming of all places; he is quoted reading from the Book of Matthew—a subtle and poignant nod to the murder of Matthew Shepard in Laramie, Wyoming, a murder that Michael cared deeply about as a gay activist. Justin Kelly is trying to draw attention to this disconnect and ask how someone can forget about—or worse, stop caring about—hate crimes fueled by religious intolerance.