A hypersensitivity to the Velvet Underground and one of it’s early backers, Andy Warhol

This week’s trio skipped town before I could get around to covering them. Coming soon to a blu-ray or streaming service near you.

Drive My Car (2021)

In the shadows of their bedroom, a Japanese power couple — actor-director Yûsuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima) and screenwriter Oto Kafuku (Reika Kirishima) — take advantage of their post-coital glow to hatch an idea for a T.V. pilot. She is always with him; while driving, he runs lines off a tape of Uncle Vanya that she recorded for him. One day, he furtively happens upon Oto making love to her young protege Kôji (Masaki Okada) and says nothing. Two years after a cerebral hemorrhage takes Oto’s life, Yûsuke accepts an Artist-in-Residence position to direct Chekhov’s tragedy-tinged comedy. There are scars in life that refuse to heal. He still listens to Oto’s tape, and would prefer to drive himself. But a fatal accident involving another visiting dignitary adds a contractual provision for the services of driver Misaki Watari (Tôko Miura) that is non-negotiable. (If they go to the expense of hiring a driver, why not supply a car as well?) A master at mounting multilingual productions, Yûsuke can’t find the words needed to make sense of his own life. Add to that the appearance of Kôji’s headshot in the stack of audition forms, and an unexpected bonding with Misaki... all that’s missing is a will to survive. Ryûsuke Hamaguchi (Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy) takes us on an unnecessarily long ride that is ultimately a journey worth taking. 2021. ★★★

Cloudy Mountain (2021)

The potential of crumbling limestone landscapes poses a geological threat to the mountainous region of an age-old Chinese town — and the high speed railroad that runs through it. What separates Cloudy Mountain from Hollywood disaster films of yore? Not much. Cliffhangers, rock climbers, stowaways, pointless time-stamps designed to add a hint of docudrama. Gritted teeth, stoic exchanges, and one dopier action scene after another combine to provide a regular stream of adventitious chortles. Dad’s rescue attempt results in a packed tour bus crashing to the bottom of the earth — with him in it. It’s at this point that the hubbub subsides long enough for the formation of a subterranean soap opera. Writer-director Jun Li sparks an unfortunate “love me daddy” dynamic between father (Huang Zhi-zhong) and son (Zhu Yilong) spelunkers. A running flashback details an accidental drowning that leaves the son with a mile-wide guilt streak (and audiences praying for someone to toss them a lifeline). The CG effects may be more convincing than Tidal Wave — no paper clips were used to sustain the miniature town — and the scope more localized than the threat of world-wide calamity often associated with the genre, but when it comes to plotting and character development, this is strictly Irwin Allen. 2021. ★

The Velvet Underground (2021)

Considering the amount of nonconforming nihilism and punk prophecy inextricably linked to the band, the last place one expected Todd Haynes’ (Velvet Goldmine, Far From Heaven) account to begin was with a clip from the unquestionably aboveground game show, I’ve Got a Secret. (Bandmate John Cales’ secret was his participation in an 18 hour 40 minute piano performance of Erik Satie’s “Vexations.”) Even before the lights dimmed, a conflict of interest loomed: I have a hypersensitivity to the band and one of it’s early backers, Andy Warhol. (As a filmmaker, the man knew his soup.) Thankfully, my job is to review artistic execution, not subject matter. Growing up, I was all about peace and love, man, not beating a piano to death with a hammer in the name of performance art. Hippies like me put down stakes at Grateful Dead concerts, the mere mention of which evokes a hilarious, if not terribly hurtful rebuke from former Factory Girl Mary Woronov. What I lack in musical awareness is offset by an ability to appreciate both standout documentary storytelling and a ravishing work of imagination. Full frame clips inserted in widescreen films are usually locked center-scan and bordered by black. Like the band that inspired him, Haynes’ jockeying of the footage is at first tasteless and unnerving, but it soon grows on you. His multi-image split-screen system shifts the mosaic imagery around the frame with the same delight a child takes in rearranging tiles in a plastic slide puzzle. Hayne’s first foray into documentary filmmaking ends up being his most daring effort since Safe. 2021. ★★★★