Every month, Establishing Shot brings you a selection of films from our group of regular bloggers. Even though these films aren’t currently being screened at the IU Cinema, this series reflects the varied programming that can be found at the Cinema and demonstrates the eclectic tastes of the bloggers. Each contributor has picked one film that they saw this month that they couldn’t wait to share with others. Keep reading to find out what discoveries these cinephiles have made, as well as some of the old friends they’ve revisited.
Laura Ivins, contributor | So Cold the River (2022)
The great thing about horror movies is that even when they fall flat in some areas (like script or acting), there’s enough creativity in others to make the film enjoyable. Indiana-made So Cold the River, written and directed by IU alum Paul Shoulberg, falls into this category. While some of the character beats feel puzzling and the ending could’ve used more punch, there’s a real creep factor to many of the scenes.
In one early scene, our protagonist, documentarist Erica Shaw (Bethany Joy Lenz), sets up her camera to film an interview with a dying man in a hospital bed. The perspective of the audience is behind the camera, and we can see both the man and his image in the camera’s LCD viewer, though one or the other is usually blurred. The man remains unresponsive as Erica attempts to coax him awake until, finally, through the viewfinder, he comes to life. Erica looks up; the man in the bed is asleep. Back to the viewfinder, he begins speaking; focus back on the bed, seeming to sleep. At first Erica thinks the man is pulling a trick on her, but the audience is aware we’re in a horror film, so we know better. It’s a simple effect that sets up the spooky vibe of the rest of the film.
The filmmakers also use the West Baden location to maximum effect. The hotel feels like another world, believably haunted but charming in its golden illumination. One thinks of Overlook Hotel, but the allusion is not slavish or kitschy.
Michaela Owens, Editor | Girl Crazy (1943)
Because this month marked the centennial of Judy Garland, I spent much of June basking in her delightful filmography, which is shockingly only comprised of 30-some films. There are so many films I could recommend here, but there was one I ended up watching twice just because I love it so much: Girl Crazy with Mickey Rooney.
Judy found her cinematic soulmate in Rooney, a fellow child star whose irrepressibility became his hallmark. Behind the scenes, Mickey and Judy were incredibly close friends. She credited him with teaching her how to be natural in front of the camera and said all of their collaborations ranked among her favorite films, while he called her the love of his life. To borrow a phrase from Rooney’s character in their third film together, Babes in Arms, he and Judy had greasepaint in their veins — show business wasn’t a career, it was a way of life. This attitude was reflected in their films, which often focused on their indefatigable efforts to put on a show. Rooney and Garland were arguably Hollywood’s first teen idols, their presence as wholesomely American as milkshakes and apple pie. (After all, the final shot of Strike Up the Band is the American flag waving with their faces superimposed over it. MGM was… not subtle.)
To me, their best film is without a doubt Girl Crazy, a musical directed by Norman Taurog with additional direction from madman Busby Berkeley. The plot, which might be the least important thing here, concerns a rich kid (Rooney) who is sent away to a small college where he falls for the dean’s granddaughter (Garland). She is thoroughly unimpressed with him at first, but after some hiccups they come together and put on a rodeo-themed show to help save the college.
As with all the Garland/Rooney teamings, what really makes this film shine is the musical numbers. With a score of top-notch Gershwin tunes, Girl Crazy has some of my absolute favorite routines. “But Not for Me” is Judy at her aching best; “Could You Use Me?” is an absurdly fun duet; “Bidin’ My Time” will catch you off-guard with how sublimely odd it is; and “I Got Rhythm” is a true Buzz Berkeley finale. The most dazzling, however, is “Embraceable You.” Sung by Judy and backed by a male chorus, the song soars and is matched by swirling camerawork and a divine dance by Judy and future director Charles Walters.
Jack Miller, contributor | Le Tempestaire (1947)
The French filmmaker Jean Epstein (1897-1953) is probably best remembered today for his surrealist adaptation of Poe’s short story The Fall of the House of Usher (1928), though he had a quite varied and interesting career overall. Initially associated with the Impressionist movement in French silent cinema (along with Abel Gance), he directed films in both experimental and more naturalistic strains, with material ranging from multi-part crime serials (The Adventures of Robert Macaire, 1925) to documentary-fiction hybrids about workers in Brittany (Finis Terræ, 1929). I’m only beginning to discover the breadth of Epstein’s illustrious and adventurous career. His short film Le Tempestaire (1947), the second-to-last film he directed before his death at age 56, belongs decidedly to the more unconventional group of his films.
Only 23 minutes long, Le Tempestaire (which roughly translates into English as “the Wind-Tamer”) is a cosmic poem about nature, specifically the power of the sea and the wind, and it is surely one of the creepiest little films I have ever seen. The bare-bones plot concerns a young French girl, living on a remote, craggy island off the coast of Brittany, whose boyfriend goes out to sea with some other men one foreboding evening. After he sets off, a storm begins to rage in the air, setting off fierce, roaring winds and crashing waves at sea. Worried for the safety of her beloved, she implores a drunk old man (the “Wind-Tamer” of the title) to supernaturally calm the storm and bring her man home to safety.
Epstein’s shots of the turbulent sea and his dense, highly stylized use of sound create a hypnotic effect on the viewer’s perception of this environment. The film seems to emphasize the inhuman and impenetrable aspects of nature, rendering it as an unknowable and terrifying force that can both terminate and generate human life. I’d recommend watching this one alone on a dark night for optimal effect.
Jesse Pasternack, contributor | Disclosure (2020)
One of the more enraging phenomena in 2022 has been a rise in discrimination against transgender people, particularly at a state level. This is apparent when you look at the new laws in Texas which target gender-affirming services for young transgender people as well as their parents if they support them, or laws nationwide which force transgender people to play on sports teams that match the gender they were assigned at birth. I thought about those laws and the state of our current national climate as I watched Disclosure (2020), a fascinating and nuanced documentary which shows how far the entertainment industry has come and how far it has to go in regards to depicting representation of transgender people.
Disclosure is a documentary which covers the history of how the entertainment industry has represented transgender or gender-nonconforming people from the silent era to the present day. It tackles everything from how D.W. Griffith misrepresented gender-nonconforming people in some of his groundbreaking films, why movies such as Yentl (1983) and Victor/Victoria (1982) can appeal to certain transgender individuals, and how a growing number of transgender actors and filmmakers are helping to result in films and TV shows which better reflect the humanity of transgender people. This expansive view of the history of film and television — as well as historical events as the Stonewall Riots — can be overwhelming. But it is also a great corrective to the near-total absence of instruction about transgender people and their history in schools, especially at a time when it is illegal for teachers in Florida schools to discuss the topics of sexual orientation or gender identity until the fourth grade.
Part of what makes Disclosure so compelling is its emphasis on transgender peoples’ voices and experiences. Every person interviewed in the film (many of whom were also creative consultants) is transgender. This wide range of differing experiences is a great reflection of the richness of the subjects’ community, and leads to a more nuanced depiction of media related to the film’s subject. For example, the filmmakers make space for some interviewees to describe how Paris is Burning (1990) was a touchstone for them but it also allows others (as well as people who were in that film who appear in archival footage) to criticize it. As actor and executive producer Laverne Cox (who went to Indiana University for two years) notes, it is possible to be critical of something and love it. This film’s approach to discussing art — valuing the emotional pleasure it once brought or continues to bring while acknowledging and/or deploring its faults — is fantastic and should be considered a standard for analyzing culture.
The increasingly dire state governmental attacks on transgender individuals (to say nothing of the high rate of personal violence against transgender people, most of whom are Black or Latine) is depressing. They can make the ending of this documentary (made at a time of rising positive transgender representation in media) feel poignant, especially when filmmaker and academic Susan Stryker notes that “things can spin on a dime.” But you cannot also can’t help but be impressed by the resiliency and vibrancy of the film’s subjects, several of whom have had to work hard for decades to get the respect they deserve. They are the main reason why Disclosure is essential viewing for anyone who wants to work in entertainment.