Oscar History
Film Bitch History
Welcome

The Film Experience™ was created by Nathaniel R. All material herein is written by our team. (This site is not for profit but for an expression of love for cinema & adjacent artforms.)

Follow TFE on Substackd

Powered by Squarespace
Keep TFE Strong

We're looking for 500... no 390 SubscribersIf you read us daily, please be one.  

I ♥ The Film Experience

THANKS IN ADVANCE

What'cha Looking For?
Subscribe

Entries in Puerto Rico (2)

Tuesday
Apr222014

Tribeca: Holla for 'Mala Mala'

Our Tribeca Film Festival coverage continues with Glenn on Mala Mala

Christine Vachon is a national treasure. That is a fact. Without her then it’s highly questionable whether queer cinema would even exist in the somewhat minor capacity that it does. Seeing her name appear in the credits of Dan Sickles and Antonio Santini’s Mala Mala was a refreshing surprise because it’s rare to find documentaries with subject matter like this coming from such a major name, and yet also not at all surprising because the film has a beautiful polish to it that comes from having the resources that a name such as Vachon’s allows. It was also the film’s exceptional good fortune to get a connection to RuPaul’s Drag Race, too, giving the film a pop culture connection that can only help its important subject matter reach a wider audience.

Mala Mala is a documentary that looks at the trans and drag communities of Puerto Rico. Focusing on several key members of the island nation’s community, it proves to be a funny, sad, poignant, and ultimately refreshing experience. I certainly wasn’t aware of Puerto Rico’s sizable community and their struggles and for that the film provides a valuable service. Even better, however, was that the filmmakers didn’t shy away from their subjects’ bad sides with some working as sex workers and others having very strong, unflinching thoughts about what it means to be trans. As a film that chronicles the efforts to get government equality for transgender men and women it proves to be a rousing one, but it is these darker corners that give it the power necessary to possibly become something akin to Paris is Burning for a new generation.

That groundbreaking 1990 documentary by Jennie Livingston lingers over the proceedings of Mala Mala like a vogueing ghost. Featuring former Drag Race contestant April Carrion (the reveal of what would have been her “Snatch Game” persona is a hoot) as she jets off to compete, it’s hard not to think of the Houses of Paris is Burning and the massive steps made in pop culture acceptance of not only gay and drag culture, but LGBTIQ people in general. Mala Mala doesn’t reach the stunning, soaring heights of that earlier film, but the two would make an outdragous double feature.

Even when the film falls into standard doc practices like talking heads, Mala Mala stands out from the documentary crowd. Exceptionally lensed with a vibrant use of color and framing as well as frequently hypnotic imagery, this is one of the most gorgeous docs in some time. The sound work, too, is wonderfully done, full of pulsating music that recreates the evocative sounds and beats of Puerto Rican drag life. This is most certainly not another drably assembled work of non-fiction (like, say, other Tribeca doc titles such as The Newburgh Sting and Regarding Susan Sontag), but an exciting fusion that suggests its debut directors have the smarts to potentially go far. Christine Vachon would be wise to take Sickles and Santini up on their shimmering, almost sensual promise as exhibited in Mala Mala, a vital new film in the constantly evolving landscape of queer cinema.

April Carrion (RuPaul's Drag Race) at the Tribeca premiere


Thursday
Oct252012

It's Hitchcock's World...

Yesterday I received my invitation to Hitchcock and I nearly let out a scream of delight. Not that the trailer convinced me a masterpiece awaited me or that I've rushed to read "Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho" in preparation but I do tend to get excited for most things Hitchcock. The power of branding! I still remember the day I received the Hitchcock Masterpiece Collection box set (a gift from a generous reader some years ago) which felt like 15 Christmases at once.

Wouldn't it be neat if more Golden Age era directors had the sort of modern profile that The Master of Suspense still enjoys? Wouldn't it be neat if baby cineastes pored over every page of "William Wyler and the Making of Jezebel" (not a real book) or if the film version of "Billy Wilder and the Making of Some Like It Hot" (not a real book)  retitled simply Wilder (not a real film) was a sudden hot Oscar buzz prospect for 2013 or if you could say "George Cukor" to anyone and they wouldn't think you were referring to a coworker or neighbor they didn't know. Wouldn't it be great if "King Vidor" didn't sound more fictional to people than Princess Mia Thermopolis of Genova?

But I digress.

My mind suddenly jolted to Hitchcock and his immense fame a record six times already this week: when Manuel Muñoz's (author of the Psycho-adjacent novel "What You See in the Dark") wrote up Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte for the blog; when I read Interiors Film Journal's look at the motel room in Psycho (What an interesting choice as I've never much considered it as a space before... just as a violent eruption of glass shard like images if you will, and again when I was ); when Vanity Fair posted those photos of young prankster Mitt Romney and the one of him with the etch-a-sketch totally had me shivering from its Norman Bates like quality only scarier because I can escape Bates' knife if I don't stay in his motel but how to escape Mitt's destructive capabality if he becomes President?; when Beau sent me a text saying "The Girl" (that other Hitchcock making-of bio) sucked; when the invite arrive and; first and foremost when I my friends covered me in seed and pidgeons landed all over me in Puerto Rico's Old San Juan (I'm just back from a week in the sun!) which made me want to watch THE BIRDS again immediately...

me in Old San Juan earlier this week. Amor a Puerto Rico

Well... immediately after a shower. They're so dirty!

P.S. This image doesn't even hint at how many of those birds land on you when you're holding bags of seed. They peck so furiously that your arms have polka dot imprints afterwards but the sound of their begging cooing right in your ears is remarkably endearing/freaky/surreal.

TALK TO ME... Which classic movie director outside of Hitchcock do you most wish had a higher profile these days? How high would you rate your anticipation of "Hitchcock" on the coming soon meter? Have you seen The Girl?

On an off-cinema note, have you ever been to Puerto Rico?