By STEVE PERSALL and PHILIP BOOTH
Published September 2, 2004
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Festival Express (R) (88 min.) - In the summer of 1970, a gaggle of legendary musicians climbed aboard a train for a five-day trip across Canada, stopping occasionally for concerts. A film crew tagged along, hoping to document the shows a la Woodstock. Luckily, they kept the cameras rolling between shows.
The footage has been "lost" for years, tucked away in attics and garages of crew members and promoters who kept reels as mementos, or in lieu of paychecks when tour proceeds ran dry. They were later buried in the Canadian National Archives for 25 years until music aficionado Garth Douglas exhumed them, spruced up the prints and sound, and added interviews with surviving participants. The result isFestival Express, an immediately invaluable rock 'n' roll chronicle.
Even without the extra touches, the chance to witness Janis Joplin two months before her death, or Jerry Garcia 25 years before his, would be irresistible. This is lightning captured in a film can, not only from the stage but from club cars converted into perpetual jam sessions. Joplin sums it up onstage at the last show when she tells the organizer: "The next time you throw a train, let me know."
The musicians onstage include the Grateful Dead, the Band in top form, Buddy Guy and the Flying Burrito Brothers. Joplin's emotionally raw performance of Cry, Baby is a stunner, proving why Hollywood hasn't been able to tell her story yet: She was simply too much to imitate. Each song, wisely, is shown uninterrupted by commentary. Aboard the chartered train, the musicians provide practically any combination of music a fan could imagine, pooling their talents without ego, in delirious appreciation of each other.
A supple subtext arises as the Age of Aquarius turns dark. Nothing along the shocking lines of Altamont in Gimme Shelter, but depressing and dangerous nonetheless. Many fans, even a posturing mayor, decided that $16 was too much to pay for such a concert experience, rushing the gates in protest of police "pigs" (defended by Dead guitarist Bob Weir) and what they perceived as greedy promoters. In reality, the tour lost money from the start.
Concerned with Canada's drug laws, the musicians mostly left their favored marijuana and hallucinogens at home. The trip is soaked in booze, though, the first such buzzes for some musicians. At one point, the train makes an emergency stop near a Saskatoon liquor store. The resulting drunkenness - bolstered by a few smuggled mind-altering drugs - culminates in an indecipherable song, sung silly by Joplin and Rick Danko with Garcia masterfully fumbling on his guitar frets. It's the worst music, yet possibly the best scene, in the movie.
What a long, strange trip it was. What a pleasure finally to see it. A
- STEVE PERSALL, Times film critic
Right-wing conspiracy theory
The Hunting of the President (Not rated, probably R for profanity) (90 min.) - This year's roll call of politically charged films continues, although The Hunting of the President isn't likely to sway voters. President Bush is barely noted in a documentary that attempts to define the "vast right-wing conspiracy" former first lady and current senator Hilary Clinton famously maintained was out to get her husband.
While falling short of that goal, co-directors Harry Thomason (a lifelong pal of Bill Clinton's) and Nickolas Perry fashioned a slick dirty tricks theory. Perhaps too slick at times, with vintage movie clips inserted to make serious points amusing, in contrast to the somber combination of doomsday music cues and Morgan Freeman's narration. The movie takes it easier on Bill Clinton than he may deserve, while it draws devil horns and tails on anyone disagreeing.
Why would anyone wish to ruin Clinton's presidency? Jealousy and fear of losing power are the only reasons offered. Thomason and Perry trace it to an introductory dinner when the president-elect pledged to make government work for common people. The privileged didn't like hearing that. Not waiting for Clinton to slip up in office, they hired seedy private investigators who listened to disgruntled Arkansas state employees raise possibilities of sex and real estate scandals while Clinton was governor, bringing Gennifer Flowers, Paula Jones and Whitewater into the spotlight.
Keeping the spotlight on them, fanning smoke without much fire, was the purported plan. The media did its part, according to the filmmakers, searching for the next generation's Watergate to make careers. Pressure from political conservatives led to an independent investigation, which appeared to clear Clinton, so they hand-picked Kenneth Starr to do it all again and dig up the necessary dirt.
The most compelling testimony comes from Susan McDougal, a friend and former business partner of the Clintons. She recalls Starr's attempts to bully her into making false claims against the president concerning Whitewater. She refused and went to prison, where she endured abuse white-collar criminals rarely receive, such as being forced to wear the uniform typically reserved for child killers to incite other inmates.
Then came Monica Lewinsky, and viewers can almost sense the filmmakers shaking their heads in disappointment. Clinton's attackers, who couldn't find anything culpable in Arkansas, now had their ammunition in Oval Office indiscretions. But the film resolutely opposes the idea that impeachment proceedings were appropriate.
The Hunting of the President would have been more powerful if released four years ago when Clinton's sins were heaped upon Democratic presidential nominee Al Gore. Topicality might have made it hotter than Fahrenheit 9/11. Instead, it's a reason for liberal viewers to gnash their teeth over lost battles and for conservatives to dismiss the film as sour grapes. B+
- S.P.
Vintage vengeance
Zatoichi (R) (116 min.) The wandering masseur is old and blind, and he carries an object resembling a cane. He's a warm fellow, and quick with a laugh. But the guy is death on two legs when it comes to brandishing razor-sharp cold steel against villains, in the name of truth, justice and the samurai way, circa the 19th century.
Zatoichi, the third and most quirky of three recent Asian-warrior films to play local theaters (following Hero and Twilight Samurai) is a reimagining of the popular Japanese film and television series that gained a cult following in the 1960s. This version of the tale was directed by Takeshi Kitano, the esteemed Japanese filmmaker who last received critical kudos for the icy-cool gangster flick Brother, released four years ago.
Kitano, working under the name Beat Takeshi, stars as the titular character, a white-haired, apparently homeless stranger who first demonstrates his sword-swinging prowess when a group of thugs attempts to steal his favorite weapon. Later, he settles into the home of a kindly older woman and proceeds to learn as much as he can about the workings of the local crime lords.
The director has upped the ante on violence. Blood gushes, spouts and practically leaps from the flying severed limbs, slashed chests and pierced torsos on display in the film; fans of the stylized gore in Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill movies will be pleased.
Despite the graphic violence, the movie isn't at all grim. Offbeat touches - a cross-dressing geisha "girl," a neurotic gambler, a village idiot with a penchant for dressing like a warrior and running in circles - litter the screen. And how about that brightly decorated Broadway-influenced Kabuki spectacle of a grand finale, complete with chanting, clogging, tapping and the rhythmic clattering of percussion? A-
