It’s a crazy, mixed up world and we are thankful for movies, excluding Valentine’s Day starring every safe, boring white actor ever, that offer proof. /Film’s Weekend Weirdness examines such flicks, whether in the form of a new trailer for a provocative indie, a mini review or an interview.

The first half-hour of Police, Adjective features several long takes following an expressionless young detective as he walks and walks Romanian streets in silence, occasionally bending to pick up and examine a roach of hashish recently discarded by high schoolers. Watching the scenes, I began to think about the resilience of the never-ending yet naive affair between indie films and patience, or boredom, that plays out in front of modern audiences. Weeks before seeing this much-praised import, I had estimated, however cynically, that the mere inclusion of Adjective in its title had daisy-cut its potential audience stateside; add in all of this walking and creeping—and we’re talking more than in Ti West’s The House of the Devil—and my imagined demographic for the film outside of the indie faithful became commercially bleak.

But I also sensed in these long takes that writer/director Corneliu Porumboiu was consciously going against-the-grain, staging mundanity in real-time with jestful purpose. I decided to trust the instincts and stay with it. It turned out to be one of the best and more profound films I’ve seen in 2010 thus far.

After the film’s conclusion—which features a similarly long take of three cops in a nondescript office verbally sparring over definitions read aloud from a dictionary—Adjective flirted with the air of a mini-cinematic revolution. The press release attributes the film’s heady importance to its inclusion under the Romanian New Wave umbrella, but for viewers unfamiliar with that cinematic movement, resonance will be found in its philosophically deep and troubling themes, and because its suspenseful dictionary scene would feel inexplicably alien and taboo in any remake, retread, cop thriller, or sequel in Hollywood’s pipeline during any given month. When, say, Mark Wahlberg or Denzel Washington star as cops in a film, their characters tend to operate in a world where dictionaries might as well not exist—and where paperwork is as a part of the booking process as dry cleaning. That’s not a strange diss, but Porumboiu’s dark comedy, and how it revels in drawn out routine, feels like a refreshing splash of cold water on American cop movie cliches, just as much as the film sheds artistic light on authority and generational and historical divide in Porumboiu’s native Romania.

(Above is a screenshot I took of the film’s young detective,  played by Dragos Bucur, in an aforementioned bout of walking. At first, I found the crude Chicago Bulls and John Cena graffiti to be awesomely random, but after the film was over I considered how the universality of these symbols and brands contrasts with the exhaustive complexity of drug laws across countries and continents.)

Bucur’s detective is named Cristi, and his current assignment is surface- simple: Gather a fair but not aggressive amount of physical and observational evidence from casual stake-outs to confirm that a high school teen is “supplying” weed by way of joints to two other high school students, and apprehend him. But in Cristi’s district—the director’s native city of Vaslui—this common misdemeanor for hashish/marijuana could land the kid in question behind bars for seven plus years. As we watch Cristi file antiquated, handwritten reports, eat meals alone, and banter in sport with elder colleagues, reservedly but clearly dwelling on the punishment, the penalty and the case’s minutiae hang over him. It’s a subtle display of youth-burning frustration and confusion at reality’s Kafka-esque absurdity.

But Porumboiu doesn’t desire to have us side with a handsome, rebellious idealist, a heroic cavalier, or a trendy anti-hero. Cristi’s dissonance with the case and with the law is belied by a seemingly unremarkable education and disinterest in cultural discourse and local news. Recently married to a cute and intelligent wife, much of his attitude seems informed by their recent vacation to the more liberated Prague, mirroring the questionable arrogance of so many American 20somethings after returning from overseas for the first time. As Cristi, Bucur has droopy but amused eyes that seem immersed in dark triangles of self-absorption, and his face is not dissimilar in this way to James Franco’s. One of the best scenes is not directly related to the case. Cristi returns home tipsy to a lonely kitchen dinner, his wife blasting a drippy ballad on YouTube from another room that equates love’s permanency with the sea. Framed in the kitchen’s door way with sympathetic privacy, Cristi doesn’t say a word as the sappiness seems to push him gently to the brink. Any guy can forced to listen to terrible, empty pop music can relate.

I expected Cristi to break down or act out, but instead he joins his wife and drunkly objects to her because the singer’s meaning is not direct or precise—amusing foreshadowing—leaving her to admit she never examined the lyrics. The lyrics mean well and comfort her, and that’s enough. Mildly romantic and surprisingly funny, the scene darkly hints at the years when self-centered ambiguity and ignorant bliss either steps away from, or steps directly on, the toes of precision- and time-obsessed adulthood. When the latter happens, it’s rarely pretty, and Cristi’s exchanges at police headquarters are no different…

Cristi:  That’s why I brought up the Czech Republic. They smoke weed in the street and it’s no big deal. I’m sure that soon the law will change here too. Nowhere in Europe are you arrested for smoking a joint…

Superior: Christi, listen to this old guy: Maybe attitudes will change a bit but the law won’t. [The alleged pot supplier and smoker] is out in three-and-a-half, or less. His father’s an accountant, he’s well off…

After continuing to delay the arrest, Cristi is forced to explain to his supervisor why his “conscience” is allowed to supersede “the law”—and then he’s urged to explain why his definitions for “law” and “conscience” fail to align with the definition and well-defined duties of a police officer. As the no-nonsense head of the department, actor Vlad Ivanov (best known for his performance in the Romanian abortion drama 4 Months, 3 weeks, and 2 Days) corners Cristi left-and-right with “dialetic” prowess like a disgruntled boxer. With just a few minutes of screentime, Ivanov’s character symbolizes the stubborn, familiar refusal of an elder generations to entertain a better system, no matter the precedent elsewhere. For one man, two joints do not justify ruining a young man’s life, for another, they do not undermine the letters of law. Cristi, not realizing the book is being figuratively thrown at him before its too late, must decide to get in single file and roll with the punches or file for unemployment and roll a joint. Porumboiu succeeds with memorable gusto at putting the viewer right on the spot alongside him, one city’s law representing much of society’s madness.

/Film Rating: 8.5/10

For info on Police, Adjective, here. For previous installments of Weekend Weirdness, here.

Hunter Stephenson can be reached on Twitter. If you’d like to send him a screener, or an NYC screening invitation, email him at h.attila/gmail.

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It’s a crazy, mixed up world and we are thankful for movies, excluding The Tooth Fairy starring The Rock, that offer proof. /Film’s Weekend Weirdness examines such flicks, whether in the form of a new trailer for a provocative indie, a mini review or…”what do you mean Merlin wasn’t real?!“ Attention hosers: it’s the return of FUBAR! And much more after the jump in this double-deep installment…

FUBAR 2 sees the most famous hosers of the aughts aim high!

Several days ago in NYC a tatted beer delivery man alerted me that a long-rumored sequel to the 2002 cult faux-doc on hosers, FUBAR, had completed production and was due for release end of ‘10. If you are not familiar with this slang—”hosers”—it’s a beloved term for Canadians who shotgun beers daily, making their goofy accents downright hilarious. (Further enlightenment on the term can be found at UD and by renting the definitive if overrated SCTV hoser comedy Strange Brew.) The original FUBAR followed two remarkably unremarkable, diehard members of this accidental plebe subculture named Terry (mullet, crop top, leather cap) and Dean (mullet, cancer immune ’stache) as they philosophized on sports, rock music, wizards, and sluts. Here’s a highlight clip…

This week, publicists at Alliance Films contacted me and confirmed that the sequel has completed production after a December start, and the full title is FUBAR II: Terry and Dean Head North—a new subtitle in place of the previous one, The Wrath of Tron. The official synopsis as follows…

Headbanger relics Dean (Paul Spence) and Terry (Dave Lawrence) are back in the ’86 Cutlass Supreme, flat of beer in the trunk, heading to Fort McMurray, Alberta in search of sweet cash from working on the pipelines. The story starts in Calgary where the boys are tired of trying to give’r while barely scraping by, when their old buddy and party leader, Tron (Andrew Sparacino) hooks them up with jobs in Fort McMurray. Before long they are rolling in dough and good times. Flush with money and confidence, Terry starts dating Trish (Terra Hazelton), a local waitress, and things get serious in a hurry. Meanwhile, Dean is playing up the part of the cancer survivor, and upon hearing about the glories of workers’ compensation, purposely bungs up his leg in an attempt to qualify. When Terry moves in with Trish, Dean does his best to save his buddy from swapping the banger life for domestic captivity.

Returning Canadian director Michael Dowse (2004’s It’s All Gone Pete Tong) told the Canuck press last year that it’s “a Christmas film.” In addition, the sequel now has a production blog up and “the Deaner” has barfed and stumbled his way onto Twitter. The publicists also sent along three pics…

Like the zeitgeist trajectory of ironic mullet humor, the first film experienced a huge spike in stateside popularity, followed by inevitable backlash that it wasn’t as funny as many claimed or fit to lick Christopher Guest’s bottom. But the timing again seems right, and I doubt Dowse—who is directing Jay Baruchel in the Slap Shot-aspiring hockey comedy Goon—and crew would arrange another improv-heavy session simply for a payday.

The second season of Party Down: Fun yet months away

The second season of Party Down, which gets my vote for best 2009 comedy series after Eastbound & Down, doesn’t air until April on Starz. So, try to imagine my surprise when it arrived at my door outfitted in a crisp white dress shirt and a please-strangle-me pink bow-tie—just like those worn by the down-and-out caterer characters brought to depressing life by Adam Scott and Martin Starr. I’m not allowed to say anything about the season just yet, but Scott did in his recent /Film interview. Alright, I’ll say this: the fifth episode is the best one ever and deserves an award for a guest star from a certain Academy.

Daddy Longlegs: Irresponsible dads everywhere may have a new leader (Trailer and Mini-Review)

My interest in Daddy Longlegs was initially sparked when I first read about the NYC-based divorced dad character study in The Fader and went into indie-gem-anticipation mode when several trusted peers attending last month’s Sundance gave it an endorsement, including Michael Tully at Hammer to Nail.

Written and directed by Ben and Joshua Safdie, the film is said to be based on the brothers’ autobiographical experiences spending limited visits with their father while growing up in NYC; knowing this aspect before I saw the film bolstered an early personal appreciation for their many acute, moppy-haired memories of childhood on screen. A few scenes set in middle school in particular, involving fart spray on the playground and low-fives in the hallway, blew the dust off my own days around that age. The Safdies’ honest, low budget sneakers-on-the-street style and spare but stark use of adult nudity could be indebted to  ’90s-era Larry Clark and ’70s-era James Toback; the pace and tone of the film could also be seen as an urban compliment to Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy from last year. Nice company, all.

But it’s the performance of actor Ronald Bronstein, an upcoming indie director in his own right, as the divorced dad that has stayed with viewers most so far. An underground comics enthusiast who thinks outside the figurative box while scoring with the female variety, Bronstein’s character charmingly and sympathetically struggles to find stable work as a movie projectionist. But when this leads to his depressing and telling struggles to supervise his sons during a brief annual visit to his city apartment, I not only lost respect for the character—intentional, no doubt—I lost a chunk of interest in the film. If you like challenging indies, peep the trailer above and then give it a shot. More importantly, keep an eye out for the Safdie bros. and Bronstein in the future.

Weekend Weirdness: Links on the Brink

• I’ve known up-and-coming filmmaker Shawn Wines since university at Miami, and was both elated and frightened to see that his hatred of Jimmy Fallon has not cooled since—as exemplified by the above video he directed and starred in on Funny or Die.
• The conspiracy theory that Stanley Kubrick helped fake the Apollo moon landing and moon walk is well known in geek circles; the conspiracy theory that includes The Shining in this historic web and posits that the horror masterpiece is filled with metaphorical evidence and saddened overshares is…schizo slash awesome?
• More than a week ago, I decided that the latest winner of the Weed-Induced-Tumblr-Award goes to Selleck Waterfall Sandwich, a gallery of JPEGs and GIFs that combines my Instant Netflix obsession with Magnum P.I., the munchies and misty screensaver flora. A sample below.

Hunter Stephenson can be reached on Twitter. If you’d like to send him a screener, or an NYC screening invitation, email him at h.attila/gmail. For previous installments of Weekend Weirdness, here.

• VOTD: The Making of The Shining
• Cool Stuff: The Shining - Posters and Tribute Artwork
• The Shining at Timberline Lodge
• Movie Playlist: Brad Anderson
• VOTD: Channel 4 Recreates The Shining
• Cool Stuff: Jamie Bolton’s Minimalistic Movie Posters

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