Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets: NZIFF Review

Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets is an exercise in freewheeling filmmaking that will, in all honesty, test the boundaries of your patience.

Give in to its rhythms, and this tale of the final night of the Roaring 20s, a Las Vegas divebar may fully be your jam. 

But in truth, the ramshackle nature of the documentary finds no truck with this reviewer, making most of what "happens" in Turner Ross and Bill Ross IV's piece an exercise in endurance, akin to 2011's Whores Glory.

As the camera captures the bar's patrons at the very start of the day after a heavy night before, leading to its closure, the doors open and close, people come and go, and booze-soaked arguments and opinions are espoused in perpetuity thanks to the close capture of the camera.

While the Ross' camera work does much to capture the triviality of life in a bar, it also does a great deal to showcase the burgeoning camaraderie and the reasons why hangouts still are so vitally important.

The banal conversations largely pepper proceedings, and as the bittersweet end approaches, there's something akin to poignancy as the clientele ponder what's next. But it's such a hard road to even get to that stage, that Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets feels like its loose approach is its own worst enemy.

There's little in the backgrounds of the patrons to make them fully stand out - with the exception of the old timer who's always there and the bartender - and it cripples proceedings greatly. It's not that background exposition is necessary in this, but some framework would have lent a greater emotional heft to proceedings, and granted the film a degree of emotion it desperately needs.

As it stands, Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets feels like the dregs of a drink - sure, what gets consumed before is delicious, but the closer you get to the bottom of the glass, the more you realise just how shallow and pointless it all is.

Rūrangi: NZIFF Review

Director Max Currie's webseries Rūrangi is a sharply-lensed story that in many ways is a very familiar one.

A breakout performance from Elz Carrad as trans-activist Caz anchors the story that in fairness hints at times in what may come in a sequel. 

Caz starts the film/ webseries happy, helping the gender community post activism, and try and take on the walls of bigotry within Auckland. However, Caz is living a lie, dating a sportsman and apparently slightly conflicted over identity.

When tragedy strikes, Caz is forced home to a rural community once left behind and has to deal again with old prejudices anew - as well as trying to reconcile with a father who doesn't want to know.

Rūrangi starts with a blast of energy, and joie de vivre, that it feels obvious to know what's coming - such happiness can't last. However, Carrad carries Caz with such charisma that the central performance lifts the script from beyond its trope trappings, and its all-too-familiar reconciliation narrative.

Scenes with Arlo Green feel real, personal and hint at pasts gone but not forgotten - the characters here are fully drawn and fleshed out within minutes of appearing on screen, and draw audiences in right away. 

Born of a need to tell a story of a community not be about one, Rūrangi has lofty ambitions over its 5 part series. And it rightly deserves plaudits for its use of diversity in front and behind the camera.

Director Max Currie has an eye for the intimate, and the script from Cole Meyers has a penchant for character moments that ring with veracity. And some of the bucolic backgrounds look wondrous, taking in both the beauty and stifling nature of rural lifestyles.

However, in the wider writing, the film/ webseries feels a little light on the heft, shoving in topics that are current concerns but are narratively left wanting, hinting frustratingly at future dalliances on the screen yet to come.

An early suicide is treated heavily in the beginning, but disappears into the background, a catalyst of the return home, but also burdened with hints of what's gone unexplored threatening to bubble up later on; a Māori woman struggles to connect with the language once forgotten, and talk of phosphates within the land simmer in the background.

A final sequence feels more cliched than celebratory, riddled as it is with stereotyped prejudice and awkward exposition (though, while granted this may be the reality of rural life and acceptances, a little more subtlety would have left the end feeling less rushed and ultimately more transcendent.)

There's much to love in Rūrangi, however, one can't help but feel the second series will make a more effective companion piece, picking up some loose ends and tightening the focus more. 

When the film's centred around Caz, thanks to an Aaron Paul-like Elz Carrad, it soars; when it tries to bring in other issues, it flounders and flails.

Rūrangi is a film of a personal nature, and it's this connection that lasts - coupled with the launch of Elz Carrad as a bona fide star, it remains watchable and a welcome sign that New Zealand stories are widening their sights.

King of the Cruise: NZIFF Review

Sophie Dros' short-running documentary about a character on a cruise ship appears to many as a paean to a world we can no longer currently experience thanks to Covid-19.

But set aside the fact this captures the mundanity of life on a cruise vessel thanks to shots that take in cleaning and drone racing for the masses, and King of The Cruise is at its heart, a tragic look at a man trying desperately to achieve a connection.

That man is Scottish baron, Ronald Busch Reisinger, one of the richest men in the world.

However, as the old adage goes money can't buy you happiness, and Dros' documentary sees him cut a lonely figure on a ship filled with couples or with people looking for a good time.

The morbidly obese Reisinger is a tragic figure, a man who will consume vast quantities of food purely because he likes it - but will never seem to share a meal with anyone due to people giving him a wide berth.

Dros' film never mocks Reisinger, nor does it put him in the position of being a target for others, but with grandiose statements falling from his mouth, there gradually becomes a feeling of wanting to know how much is true. Dros never really gets to the nub of the man, nor does she follow up some of his claims - she's more interested in seeing how others react around him.

And it's a sad indictment of human life, and the growing lack of connection human beings have.

Some take selfies with Ronnie on the dance floor, but feign interest in him; others appear to turn the other way in corridors; Dros' eye for the tragedy of humanity is sharp, and weirdly never confrontational or judgemental. Detached she may be initially, but toward the end, the camera's peering eye into Reisinger's life is uncomfortably sad and bittersweet.

That leaves an unpleasant feeling at times - a bittersweet sadness for Reisinger but also an insight into our own failings. From the fripperies of the excesses of the cruise to the banality of some of the conversations, King of the Cruise proffers some poignancies at times (it's hard to not be moved by Reisinger's comments of how people have changed dealing with him over the years) as well as a great deal of empathy for a character you'd be auto-tuned to not want to sympathise with.

It's hard not to feel for Reisinger but it's even harder to feel like cruising is a soulless shallow enterprise - and that this one man is looking for life and even love in the worst possible places.

Some Kind of Heaven: NZIFF Review

Director Lance Oppenheim's peek behind the curtains of The Villages in Florida in the US is a crafty little doco that finds a way of inveigling itself under your skin.

Some Kind of Heaven starts with a series of golf carts being organised in a synchronised pattern as someone barks orders from a loud hailer and from then on, Oppenheim leads you through the lives of some of the residents.

Taking in a widowed woman, a long-married couple and a non-resident who believes he's still got the right to be a player, the doco somehow proffers up the feeling that The Villages is some kind of cult, with quick cut shots showing residents involved in activities, expounding the joys of it all, but never once looking like the emotion is there.

But scratch beneath the surface and Some Kind of Heaven unveils a kind of nagging sadness within its subjects. 

The long-married couple appeal to be unravelling; the widower worries she's never going to find anyone else, and the non-resident believes his way of life is best until it comes crashing down around his ears.

There are bittersweet touches here in Oppenheim's doco, but none of them are manipulated for the viewing pleasure of the audience. Each story plays out with poignancy and disturbing flair.

Part of the joy of Some Kind of Heaven is seeing it unfurl and its poignant surprises - but its look beneath the polished veneer of OAP happiness is as disturbing and as tragic as they come, without ever feeling exploitative.

If anything, Oppenheim's managed to scratch below the surface of the Stepford Wives-esque perfection, and what's laid out is slickly delivered, cut for an eye with the humanity as well as the humour and tragedy, and is really a damning indictment of this Florida utopia.

Win a double pass to see UNHINGED in the cinema

To celebrate the release of UNHINGED in cinemas July 30, thanks to Studio Canal NZ, you can win a double pass.

About UNHINGED

Oscar-winning actor Russell Crowe catches a deadly case of road rage in this psychological thriller, choosing to relentlessly pursue a mother who overtook him at a corner (Caren Pistorius, Slow West). 

From the writer of Disturbia and Red Eye. 

UNHINGED is in cinemas July 30

Kubrick by Kubrick: NZIFF Review

The reclusive Stanley Kubrick is laid a little more bare in Gregory Monro's doco - but the words of the man ultimately give way to the usual discussions and praise of his films.

Kubrick authority Michel Clement reveals hitherto unknown conversations with the man about his art and the reasons why he rarely engaged with media over his films.

Beginning with the BBC announcement of the death of Stanley Kubrick in 1999, Monro's doco sets out its MO early on - how do you capture the details of a man who was not anything the papers said and who rarely gave insight into his personality.

Via fascinating snippets early on, Ciment reveals how Kubrick never found it meaningful to talk about the aesthetics of film and how rare interviews made him feel under obligation to be insightful about his films.

But for fans of Kubrick, there's a haunting feeling there's nothing new here, and even Ciment's recordings gradually give way to clips from the films and others discussing Kubrick and his way of filming. From discussion over how continual takes would dull the actor until the words and performance came alive again to the interjections of the brilliant BBC film critic Barry Norman, a lot of the last portion of this film gives voices to others than Kubrick.

It's not that these insights have less to offer, more that they take away from what the doco set out initially to achieve.

Ultimately, you're maybe left with the feeling that Kubrick rarely saw the value in going deeper under the skin of his films and that may have been a wise move from him.

In Kubrick by Kubrick, despite an initial flurry of heady excitement, it ends up feeling much like other insights into the man - others put words into his work, and breathe unnecessary life in where there was already plenty. 

Steelers: The World's First Gay Rugby Club: NZIFF Review

Perhaps the biggest disappointment of the 2020 New Zealand International Film Festival, doco Steelers: The World's First Gay Rugby Club falls squarely into the formulaic category as it spools out its story.

Eammon Ashton-Atkinson's doco delivers the story of the inception of the London based club, the ripple effect it had on the scene and the journey of the team at the Bingham Cup, the event where the gay rugby teams come together to fight it out.

It may be earnest and crowd-pleasing at times, but coupled with an overly bombastic piano score everytime there's a hard story to be told or a flashback to be conveyed and a voiceover of a script that's ripped from cliche, Steelers: The World's First Gay Rugby Club emerges as more of a damp squib than a firing-on-all-cylinders story.

It's not helped by the usual slow-mo shots from the game - there's little that feels original in here for even casual viewers of sports docos or coming of age stories.

Fortunately some of the earnestness and energy comes from the human subjects Ashton-Atkinson chooses to dwell on - Simon the never before out player, Drew the flamboyant also drag artist and Nicky the head coach who's mothered the team but is in her last season at the top job.

It's probably not wise that Ashton-Atkinson is a paid up member of the team, and perhaps he wasn't quite distant enough from his subjects to be more objective when it counts.