There was no way we could make the start of Holes after the previous late night, so we skipped its showing. We can easily watch it some other time, on DVD or one of its frequent showings on the Disney Channel. Man of Flowers was the third Paul Cox film at Ebertfest, and it is the second I have seen and liked. The film is loaded with motifs and symbolism, just the way I like it. I am still trying to figure out the extended shots of the bulldog. After watching a show on dogs last night, I have come to the dubious conclusion that the bulldog is representative of the bastardized art of his owner. Today's bulldog is a folly of unconscionable breeding practiced by kennel clubs in the last hundred years. Instead of a work of art, the bulldog is an unhealthy travesty. Ok, maybe I am stretching. At least it is an explanation.
Herzog's Stroszek is a little film that reminded me a lot of Stranger Than Paradise. The acting is good because most of the actors are playing characters very much like themselves. In fact Herzog revealed that some of the movie originated with the actors themselves. This begs the question, why hire an actor to play a pimp when you can just hire a pimp to play himself? It is kinda scary how well Herzog taps into real life. The main character ends up at Cherokee, North Carolina, and having been there, I can say that I can't think of a better place for the movie to have concluded.
Even better was the after-film discussion with Herzog. Herzog is both informative and entertaining as he is literally oozing with personal anecdotes. The most memorable went something like this: Errol Morris (friend and greatest documentary filmmaker of the last 30 years) had been doing research on Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, and figured out that a circle was formed from the graves that Gein had robbed. In the middle of that circle was Gein's mother's grave. Herzog and Morris agreed it was a good idea to dig up the mother's grave to see if mom was still there. We will never know, as Morris chickened out.
The last movie, Searching for the Wrong-Eyed Jesus a documentary of sorts, was terrible. It claimed to be about the "real south." It was so real that at one point an unidentified David Johansen was shown playing the guitar. In case you are unfamiliar with Johansen, he is a native New Yorker. Huh? A visit to a trailer park revealed a woman who had several tattoos, which she identified. Wow, that the real south!Particularly illuminating is the almost complete absence of minorities. Last I checked...oh, forget it. Should I mention the sloppy continuity when the Jesus statue is/is not/is hanging out of the trunk? Nah, that'd be piling on.
