There’s an abstract beauty beneath the equally appealing visual style of writer and director Mike Messier’s 2014 short film, “Nature of the Flame”.
It is established early with shots of a body of water and feet, in a suggestion of serenity, wading in the stream. Suddenly we cut to a woman (Lindsey Elisabeth Cork in a tremendously wrought performance) sleeping.
After being told she isn’t prepared for enlightenment by an elusive figure (Jocelyn Padilla in an appropriately transcendent acting turn) in a monastery Cork wakes up in a cave.
From here the rapt audience participant wonders: “Did she die in her sleep?”, “Is this a glimpse of what awaits for her in the afterlife?”, “Is this merely a dream?”
Messier wisely gives us the room to come to our own conclusions with these inquiries. This is welcome since if concrete answers were provided it might’ve taken away from the ethereal, haunting, meditative experience at hand.
Despite these lingering questions one thing we know for certain is that Messier and company have captured the confusion and potential sense of ascension that can be tied to the narrative elements terrifically well. Furthermore, Messier evokes an even, appropriate pace throughout the endeavor.
But, the smartest move is that Messier allows the audience to attach his or her own conclusion as to the proceedings. This is done by letting a succession of gentle, intimate, ardent, and attractively executed and shot, sequences speak for itself.
There is no dialogue in the last five and a half minutes. This decision adds layers of skillfulness, invention and sentiment upon an already gripping set-up.
The musical score, along with Chris Hunter’s editing, enhances the illusion of going to what could be perceived to be a higher plane.
Moreover, Messier’s writing and directing are intelligent and illuminating.
The cinematography captures the allure and enigma of the storyline with an equally striking veneer.
“Nature of the Flame” captures all of the sentiment and drama of a full-length feature in just under eight minutes. It is always stunning to look at, to be caught up in and to think about long after its serene conclusion.
This is more than a brief fling with cinema: it is an exhibition of craft.
Director James Russell DeMello (“Cemetery Stone”, “Captive”) and screenwriter Mike Messier (“The Nature of the Flame”, “The Actor”) have come together to showcase the aggressive and romantic extremes of a single relationship. Such is accomplished in the beautifully crafted short, “Hail! Hail!”
This is an intriguing concept. It is made all the more impressive when we realize it all takes place in a solitary basement setting.
“Hail! Hail” speaks its volumes in one beautifully execute sequence. Most astonishingly, it defines the sum of an intimate affiliation in several grand gestures. These, in turn, smartly disperse a lifetime of information about the leads quickly and believably.
What is equally fascinating, and another of many wise moves on behalf of the creative team, is that it all occurs in a breathlessly brisk four minute runtime. In this quick duration it never loses focuses of the unique connection between the pair on-screen. Moreover, it never forgets its initial concept.
When this visually crisp work (courtesy of DeMello’s rich cinematography) opens Robbie (Anna Rizzo in another terrific turn which further exhibits her great range as an actress) awaits the return of Roseanne (Jessica Rockwood in a role that captures her character’s essence terrifically).
Robbie passes this time while playing a bass guitar. Moreover, she finds herself talking to a recording camera in front of her.
This is done in an act which delivers character development in an entertaining, engaging fashion. It follows the sum of the piece by being fresh and vigorous. Also, it never feels forced.
When Roseanne arrives she brings with her an argument over fast food. This quickly escalates into a credible rollercoaster ride of realistic emotion. This is captured in an ending which signifies the cycle of the rapport either ending or beginning anew.
To compliment Messier’s well-honed screenplay there are also plenty of moments which exhibit DeMello’s directorial flare. In one case we follow Roseanne’s heels treading down the basement steps as Robbie waits. This is seen from beneath the stairway in a manner that is striking and impressive.
DeMello also ends the short with a shot that is a stunning, creative angle. It is also the perfect punctuation point to conclude on and summarize what came beforehand.
Further helping “Hail! Hail” achieve its charismatic effectiveness is the end credit sequence. It calls to mind the veneer of such segments by Italian master Pier Paolo Pasolini. This is incorporated with a wonderfully realized touch of modern music.
When “Mr. Suitcase” by Sun@ndmun (released through Hip Hop Star Inc.) arises in this final segment it give the proceedings an appropriately sensual allure. It is another act that reiterates the mood of the story remarkably.
This is all complimented further by Mark Hutchinson’s sound design. Lighting engineer Jill Poisson does a terrific job helping create the seamless tone of this piece. To its further credit, the make-up by Kaitlyn Ciampa is exemplary.
The entirety of this short was filmed in a single day. Given the impeccable professionalism radiating from every technical avenue on-screen this is especially incredible.
“Hail! Hail!” is a riveting experience. It proves how much a group of incredibly talented individuals can accomplish in a small time span.
I greatly anticipate the sight of what future marvels this gifted team has in store.
Most of the routes of dreams branch out maddeningly into avenues of failure so varied that we often lose sight of the sharply focused paths ahead. They are departures that can be falsely perceived as permanent. Yet, those who find themselves off-road, staring wide-eyed into the obvious sign posts of their addressed defects, especially if it is engraved in their ultimate ambition, often lose hope altogether.
Soon they find their feet sinking into the mire of abandoned hopes when such an incident transpires. With this they are wrought in disillusionment. This is rooted in what he or she believes to be the reality that they will never rise up. Furthermore, they feel as if they will never better these errors.
They become stuck, some momentarily and most others indefinitely, as the voices of those who pointed out their shortcomings ring forever in a cacophony of eternal humiliation. For many of us, artists especially, such small criticisms cause silent wounds. These forever inwardly scar. They make our once swift movement towards personal reveries immobile.
This is the focus of the 2012 short “Still Life”, a cinematic composition worthy of Ingmar Bergman, by writer and director Chris Esper. It concerns a student of photography, Martin (Timothy Bonavita in a part that perfectly conveys all the layers of vulnerability, intelligence and sentiment his character demands). He wants to be a photographer.
Yet, as we learn in a beautifully wrought early scene, the world around our wide-eyed and ambitious lead puts him in the line of fire for constant criticism. Still, he is devastated yet, optimistic.
The tale walks this fine line of emotion in a realistic, understated manner. It is done in a conscientiously ardent and understanding way. With this modus anyone who has felt defeated by negativity after it is cast at his or her aspirations will undoubtedly find liberating.
An early segment showcases him being criticized in front of his peers. This is done in a manner that suggests he just needs slight improvement to be where he needs to be to achieve the first steps of his intended success.
It is a sequence that is an analogy for how our main character is feeling. This also communicates his own contemplations about himself through emotion and action.
This draws us instantly into Martin’s existence. To further add to this intimacy the camera surrounds Martin like a close friend; one who should speak up in defense. Regardless, he never finds the strength to do so.
“Still Life”, made for only $500, finds the right note and atmosphere instantly and never departs from it. To its further credit, the pace is meditative and cerebral. Still, it is always fascinating.
This characteristic is, like the rest of the tale, appropriate. It also gives us the necessary time to learn and reflect on Martin’s situation. Such is done without the proceedings ever feeling as if it is ignoring the act of moving the story along rapidly.
Esper’s brief film never once steps away from following our starry-eyed persona as he continues on despite a succession of letdowns. The crisp and intimate largely black and white cinematography by Mark Phillips adds to the haunting, downtrodden yet inspiring poetry of this massive achievement. It also heightens the previously stated sense of luminosity amid darkness.
One especially poignant moment involving Young Martin (Charles Everett Tacker) and Martin’s Mother (Carlyne Fournier) are in color. This segment is highlighted by aching reminiscence. It is only amplified by the stupendous caliber of the aforementioned portrayals.
The gorgeously gentle drive of Ryan Campos’ beautiful score is perfectly in sync with the sentiment expressed on-screen. Jill Poisson’s editing is terrific.
This also issues exemplary acting turns from David Graziano, as Professor Lynch, and Mike Daniels, as Josh. The rest of the cast fares just as well.
All of these elements make “Still Life” a contemplative, deeply felt masterpiece. In but eleven scant, but quietly harrowing, minutes Esper and his filmmaking crew triumphantly executes introspection, drama and sorrow.
These elements all unify in a silent cry to love and understand those around us. Also, it assures us to that defeat is but a temporary obstacle meant to be overcome.
Martin states about a flower he photographed in the first few minutes of this heart-wrenching work that he wanted to “convey a solidarity of loneliness”. That is exactly what Esper and his crew have done.
They have framed the chief protagonist as the lone blossom. His seclusion is the focus of what lies enclosed in the picture. In turn, the work itself and the character radiate a melancholy splendor.
It illuminates the moving photograph it is contained in. From here it touches our core. In turn, we relate and feel unified with the central figure of the narrative.
The beauty of the silent film era lies primarily in the actuality that the actors had to use facial expressions to supplant the sentiment that would later be inserted into dialogue. This was usually accompanied by either recorded or live music being played in the theater the work was being projected in to punctuate the emotions glimmering through actions and countenances on-screen.
These, along with tale-telling through striking camera angles, shadows, mimes and title cards, were the sparse tools of the filmmaking trade in the years from 1894-1929. It gave the cinematic compositions of this period an underlying sense of poetry, even in comic endeavors, which have proven to be forever endearing.
This time frame, more often than not, elucidates a constant sense of admiration for these aforementioned attributes alone. Such is just one of the many reasons “Right There”, a masterful eleven minute short from director Nathan Suher (2015’s “Next/ Door” and “Scary Little F*ckers”), is so immediately enjoyable and charismatic.
Suher, who wrote the delightful, well-paced script (from a story by Gregory Capello, Suher and Ian Taylor), captures the essence of Charlie Chaplin and the spirit of European cinema, which he has stated was his intention with this glorious piece, immaculately.
This wonderful, breezy homage concerns a man, The Guy (Ryan Hanley in a performance that is as energetic, endearing and enjoyable and perfectly fitting for the era Suher tributes) who tries to garner the attention of a woman, The Girl (Lauren A. Kennedy who does as phenomenal a job as Hanley, as does the entirety of the secondary cast, in conveying story through gestures).
He is drawn to her immediately. This intrigue only grows as he finds her sitting everyday on the same bench. Over the course of several weeks he tries to get her to notice him.
All the while we find ourselves riveted and wondering: “Is it his own shyness holding him back? Could he have been hurt in prior relationships? Was this pain recent? Will he get the girl?”
Because of the profoundly artistic nature of the epoch “Right There” is sending up we are drawn in by the nuance. Moreover, our intrigue is piqued by the high-caliber technical facets, the joy and broken-heartedness (sometimes in the same scene) that Suher and his filmmaking team pull off so effortlessly. Yet, because of the well-woven dramatic touches that balance the humor and heart terrifically we are forced to look deeper.
This is a testament to the profundity of the style of cinema Suher emulates so masterfully here. It is also a demonstration of the terrifically executed brilliance, the obvious admiration for the truly golden age of cinema Suher is tackling radiating on-screen. This is a gem.
The merry, often tender, and beautiful result of “Right There” is also thanks to a wonderful bit of opening animation by Dave Lubelczyk. Make-up artist Morgan Duffy captures the appearance of stars from the early 1900’s spectacularly. Chris Esper’s film editing is tremendous.
Jill Poisson’s cinematography and Kevin Keough’s score is striking and beautifully rendered. These characteristics, combine to make it all the easier to envision that we are sitting in a theater, before the age of “talkies”, and enthralled by this new invention that they call “moving pictures”.
Suher continues to showcase further range and a willingness to risk differing genres, atmospheres and approaches. The work he makes is transcendent to, not only fellow admirers of filmmaking, but everyone.
“Right There” is a sweet, lively brief work that reminds us of the tenderness, merriment, relatability and undeniable artistry the craft of unspoken big-screen storytelling can evoke.
“Dead Hearts”, a sixteen minute short from director Ramzees Carvalho (2014’s “Night of the Damned”), opens with four young adults trapped in a cellar. Radio broadcasts are announcing that the reanimated are coming back to life. When a chilling chain of events transpire it is up to Dan (Carvalho himself in an impressive, spectacularly wrought performance) to take the reins of heroism. With this action he must face the ravenous hoards of the undead.
It’s a classic set-up that brings to mind visions of George A. Romero’s timeless 1968 gem, Night of the Living Dead. To further the sense of unabashed reminiscence this wonderful short (the second by Carvalho) induces is crisp, vivid and rich cinematography from Nelson Reis.
The special makeup effects by Manny Savini only heightens the appeal. The zombies, and their veneer, are stalwart, gritty and credible at every turn.
Such attributes resonate amid the numerous well-done decapitations and various other gory bits. This is because there is a palpable sense of camaraderie between all the leads.
This is most noticeable between Dan and Liz (in a performance by Alyssa Paige Moreno that is every bit as strong and understated as the role demands). Their relationship is the propelling force of most of the narrative. The work is all the more commanding because of the sheer strength of their portrayals.
Ramzees Carvalho and Moreno prove they are more than apt to take on what the taunt, intelligent script that has a Stephen King-like eye for characterizations, also by Carvalho, demands.
Cameron Perrault, as Luke, and Luke Eleuterio, as Alex, fare just as spectacularly. They further add to the sense of kinship and authenticity pulsating through every frame.
This isn’t the only factor which contributes to this triumphant success. The work constructed in all other technical arenas are phenomenal. They come together to formulate something truly special.
The smooth film editing by Ramzees and Luis Carvalho are further evidence of these high-quality characteristics solidifying to evoke brilliance.
In its quick-moving runtime it creates an atmospheric mood. In an exhibition of the artistry on display this is done before the story even begins to unfold.
It carries this impression out effortlessly. All the while it is constantly building upon this solid foundation. We are issued mounting trepidation throughout.
In turn, “Dead Hearts” is a persistent wall of ever-increasing suspense. It grips us with increasing intrigue until well after its elegiac, and cleverly wrought, finale.
We remain mesmerized, awe-struck by how well conceived the sum of this exertion remains. This is especially remarkable given its compact length.
The composition creates an illusion, brought forth by its genuine dialogue, performances, zombie make-up and effects, that we are with our leads.This is a credit to the incredible talent all around.
“Dead Hearts” has an obvious affection for the sub-genre it is rooted in. It showcases a knowledge of undead works of yore. Yet, there is also an abundance of originality here.
Carvalho’s brief film is distinctly its own entity. It is always fresh, vigorous and smart. Moreover, it is endlessly engaging, gripping and terrifying in ample doses.
“Dead Hearts” is riveting. It establishes Carvalho as a great new talent. Simultaneously it breathes fresh life and perspective into the much documented account of cannibalistic ghouls.
This is a must-see. It is a testament to how much can be done on a small budget. Furthermore, it proves the potency inherent when the components of affection and respect, as well as a phenomenal natural aptitude, for the craft and the composition being operated on unify among the respective contributions of all involved.
We live in a world where often we become so accustomed to a certain stroke of luck, whether it be good or bad fortune, that we almost expect it, feel it and await its presence. Some of us go about our daily routines in this state.
“Please Punish Me”, from director Chris Esper (2014’s “Always a Reason”, “Steak Knives”), is a meditation on such circumstances. It is balanced with splendid performances, beautifully humanized characters and ample doses of humor and heart.
The tale it tells in its quick-moving and smartly paced thirteen and a half minutes is that of a businessman named Scottie Lee (David Sackal in a tremendous and quietly moving performance). He is having a long streak of positive events transpiring in his life.
Among these incidents is climbing the corporate ladder, which he admits in a soul-bearing scene that he hasn’t even attempted to do, and he just can’t understand why. Our lead is a man who just wants to be an artist. But, for his success he feels the need to be disciplined for what he deems to be his “curse”.
This is when he turns to a place that dispenses such treatments at a price. Here he meets the woman meant to incorporate this specific brand of punishment, Michelle (Joanna Donofrio in a role which captures all the layers of her character incredibly well).
From this point on the two find an unexpected bond. With this wells an honesty flourishing where should be an exercise in momentary pleasure.
Rich Camp’s screenplay, from a story by Tom Paolino, is tremendously done. In its sparse runtime we leave this short feeling as if we sat down and conversed with them ourselves and know them intimately.
The first half is full of winning, well-timed, delivered and genuinely side-splitting gags. When we get to the second portion of the narrative we are drawn in by the poignant turn in the chronicle.
Camp has provided a delicate balance of opposite tones. It is one that he has done a phenomenal job of bringing forth on the page.
With Esper’s talented directorial hand bringing the story to life on-screen, with help from Mark Phillips’ sharp cinematography and Steven Lanning-Cafaro’s original score, “Please Punish Me” showcases talent in all technical arenas.
This is further aided by Felipe Jorge’s film editing, Jorge Mario Tobon’s sound work and Chad Kaplan’s delightful contribution to the striking animation in the opening sequence. Make-up artist Stefani Plante and hair stylist Nicole Bertoni do a phenomenal job as well.
This is a work that is emotionally searing, illuminating and beautiful all around. It is light and breezy when it needs to be. Still, it is also ultimately tear-jerking, poetic and heartfelt.
Esper has crafted a gargantuan accomplishment. He has established a triumphant victory juggling the story’s many moods evoked with effortless gusto.
Among its various accomplishments is ending on a note that is both thought-provoking, contemplative, genuine, brilliantly understated and real.
Most full-length films would not be able to establish their characters as well as “Please Punish Me” does in under fifteen minutes. Furthermore, it would not make us feel for them the way Esper and his cinematic crew does here.
This is lively, but potent, material. It is inspiring, gentle and cathartic. Moreover, it wisely finds the right fit to execute the narrative with a sense of natural love. It also incorporates an optimism that is delicate, stalwart and frank.
“Please Punish Me” received great acclaim from the 401 Film Festival. I can see why. It is intelligent, cinematic art.
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