Brief, belated impressions on three Festival films. By DARREN BEVAN, CALEB STARRENBURG and ANDY PALMER.

WHEN A film’s billed as 100 minutes of insanity, expectation is high. Hyperbole is one thing, Be Kind Rewind is another. From director Michel Gondry (The Science of Sleep, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), Jack Black and Mos Def star as Jerry and Mike respectively. The pair is a kind of goofy odd duo who are poles apart from each other. Jerry is a paranoid delusionist who lives in a campervan which is situated in the car park of a power station. He’s convinced this station is melting his mind. Mike, on the other hand, works in the titular video store (yes, they push a video store rather than a DVD equivalent) owned by Danny Glover, who brings him up on a diet of respect and the fact Fats Waller was born in the very store in which they work. One day Jerry tries to take out the power station with a grappling hook and some crafty camouflage. But as things tend to with any character Jack Black plays, it all goes awry and Jerry ends up magnetized. And when he ends up in the store, Mike’s stunned to find the entire stock is wiped because of his friend’s electronic eraser ways. Knowing full well that Glover’s character is relying on him to run things, Mike decides there’s only one way to revamp the entire video collection – by re-recording and recreating them.

This is where the humour really starts as Gondry collates his music video background and ransacks it to good effect, as the low budget remakes of Ghostbusters, Rush Hour 2, Driving Miss Daisy and King Kong kick in. The inventiveness he brings to the screen with these “sweded” films is nicely contrasted by the affectionate way he recreates black and white pictures, using a fan in front of the camera to simulate the old school effect of celluloid. Underneath all the affectionate whimsy, there’s a constant message about how nostalgia is king and VHS can’t be beaten by DVD; how modernization can’t force the video shop owners out of their building in the face of redevelopment, and it’s patently clear (if a little heavy handed) that grassroots filmmaking must win out against the big studios (as embodied by a cameo by Sigourney Weaver). Black is his usual goofball effect, Glover is a little wasted in his role, and Mia Farrow is criminally underused; but it’s Mos Def who is a revelation, turning in a dour, world-weary performance. Gondry’s inventive direction and eye for details during the scenes of pastiche show a childish glee for the nuances of 80s and 90s movies, but it’s his visuals to recreate the roots of Fats Waller which truly shine, even if there’s more than a hint of saccharine when the community comes together at the end.—Darren Bevan


By invoking the lo-fi aesthetic of the Hammer Horror, writer-director Nacho Vigalondo breathes fresh life into the time-travel genre. The Spaniard’s debut feature, Timecrimes blends elements of the slasher flick and science fiction films to fashion an engaging foray into the world of wormholes and warp-drives. Displaying a sly sense of humour, Vigalondo builds the crux of his film on that staple of b-grade horror: gratuitous toplessness. Soon after arriving at his isolated summer-home, binocular wielding Hector spots a young woman (Barbara Goenaga) removing her clothing in a nearby forest. He decides to investigate. Discovering the woman unconscious on a pile or rocks, Hector is suddenly attacked (with scissors) by a mysterious man wrapped in a pink bandage. Escaping to a hilltop laboratory, he is tricked into hiding in a time machine. From here on the plot starts to twist and turn back in on itself with a series of brain-rattling paradoxes. And while the film builds to a mostly predictable finale, it invites repeated ‘how did I miss that the first time?’ viewings.

Filmed on DigiBeta using only a handful of actors and locations, Timecrimes’ low budget is used advantageously to ratchet up the tension. The film is intelligently lensed by Flavio Labiano, while the small cast, which includes Hector’s wife (Candela Fernández) and a hapless science lab technician (played by the talented Vigalondo), perform admirably. Particularly notable is Karra Elejalde as the nonplussed Hector, who tackles his predicament with a stoic determination. Vigalondo’s minimalist dialogue avoids histrionics, and the director sensibly forgoes any attempts to explain the meta-physical absurdity of his plot. If narrative loops and time travel is your forte, then see this film before the already slated (and intellectually bankrupt) Hollywood remake.—Caleb Starrenburg


Anvil! The Story of Anvil has the ring of satire, or quiet pisstake, a la Bad News Boys and Spinal Tap. The first few minutes add weight to that impression. “In 1984 in Japan five heavy metal bands played. Four hit the big time, one did not.” Cue vox pops from Slash, Lemmy, Lars Urlich, and some guy from Slayer, who all agree: some bands make it and some don’t; Anvil were destined for bigger things; why they never made it is still a mystery. In Smalltown Suburbia, Canada, we meet Lips, the lead singer, on his way to work as a deliveryman for school caterers, rambling somewhat excitedly about the revolving lunch menu. Now in their 50s, these guys aren’t much to look at – overweight, thinning hair still grown long to hide it. So far, so Christopher Guest, especially when they run through their album covers and we get to hear the music. To my ears it’s rather uninspired hard rock riffs with exceptionally bad lyrics. Everything about these guys epitomises the stereotype.

But as the film progresses, we’re introduced to their families and fans; we see the passion these guys have; we hear about the sacrifices made. Learning that they’ve continued to try to make a success of it for 30 years for no gain, we begin to feel for them. Invited to tour Europe, they jump at the chance. There are highs and lows; their inept tour organiser responsible for unbooked transport, late arrival to gigs, shows not being advertised, band bust ups, etc. Anvil’s history turns out to be a comedy of errors of sorts. Taking the word of their peers that these guys are talented, their commercial failure seems to be largely due to a history of poor choices – crappy music labels, no manager, and a band with no idea of how the music industry operates. Reuniting with name producer Chris Tsangarides, of Black Sabbath et al fame, Anvil start recording their thirteenth album, providing a scene straight out of the Metallica doco Some Kind Of Monster. Interpersonal issues come to a head and the producer is left to play mediator. And like Monster, these guys are incredibly candid and emotionally honest.

The Story of Anvil is both sublime and ridiculous, and rather sad in so many ways. The fact that these 50-year-olds (and their wives) are still trying to live their teenage dream of rock stardom; the fact that they’re still plugging away when others would have long given in; the fact that they still think their time will come despite themselves. While it ends on an up, it’s hard to think that the future will be any kinder than the past. The film possibly offers more interest to those for whom the music holds little or no appeal, but it would also be nice to think that this will elevate the status of Anvil among the metal fraternity. We’re left with the feeling that these guys deserve it for being so dedicated to their cause.

Speaking of dedication, our self-imposed double billing of Anvil and the equally fantastic Pete Seegar: The Power of Song, was a sublime pairing. Pete Seegar was an inspiration musical force, who has been steadfast in his views, interests, and politics for his entire life. A fairly straightforward biography about an extraordinary man who has lead a life well deserving of a film as good as this one. Despite being one of the most influential musicians of the 20th Century, Seegar displays humbleness, honesty, and humour that is easy to warm to. While his career has had its ups and downs, he has rightly been recognised for the value of his work and what he has given us. The Power of Song is a wonderful celebration of the man and his legacy. A truly inspirational person.—Andy Palmer