Monday, March 31, 2014


So easy to describe this movie: Hitchcock's Fire Island adventure. A film blanc with cumshots. Surface analysis of a movie that, in many ways, is all about surfaces. But this story of a young gay man drawn into murder and obsession during a jaunt to a lakeside cruising spot is all about the depths beneath those surfaces. Dive in.

The whole thing takes place by the titular lake; we infer from conversations that there are restaurants, bedrooms, and a police station nearby, but we only ever see our characters in various states of undress frolicking, chatting, and hooking up in and around the lake, swimming naked, fucking in the forest. The idyllic, dreamy atmosphere is only enhanced by early chat of a silurus, maybe as long as fifteen feet, that lurks beneath the lake's surface.

We follow young Franck as he sunbathes, swims, hangs out, and hooks up, and follow his growing relationships with two men. Henri is a shlubby logger, shy but good-natured, who only ever sits by the lake and chats with anyone who engages him, without any serious interest in sex. And Michel is a gorgeous, experienced swimmer whose clingy boyfriend one night disappears.

Stranger by the Lake moves at a languorous but steady pace, rendering its landscapes and characters beautifully. Writer-director Alain Guiraudie is remarkably direct in depicting the sex lives of his characters. But the sex that many filmmakers build to is where Guiraduie begins. His characters' hidden depths and personalities, their darknesses, courage, obsessions are ultimately what truly fascinate Guiraudie; I don't remember being so artfully absorbed into characters in quite the way Guiraudie pulls off. Such depths does it plumb in its characters that we wind up looking into ourselves.

It is very much a film blanc, its menace lurking not in the shadows but naked in front of our very eyes, illuminated and obscured in the bare sunlight. But when the night finally falls, it falls hard.

Monday, March 24, 2014


Though I'd long had an aversion to concerts that were simply a guy or two on machines, with light show/video accompaniment, I saw Kraftwerk's concert tonight without any real trepidation. My girlfriend summed it up beautifully afterward, saying that yes, it was four guys standing behind keyboards with video playing behind them, but it was likely one of the greatest concerts you would ever have the good fortune to see. Indeed, I'm pretty sure it was the greatest thing I'd seen since Einstein on the Beach.

Performing a set composed mainly of The Mix and (perhaps perversely) two-thirds of Electric Cafe, the quartet powered through an entirely electronic set synced to an impressive 3-D video playing behind them. The shadows of the band members became an integral part of the visuals behind them, and loaned a surprising warmth to the entire concert, with the members seemingly dwarfed by the world created on stage, their work rendered oddly, beautifully tangible.

My familiarity with Kraftwerk's music isn't encyclopedic; indeed, quite a few tracks I knew by name I encountered for the first time. Well-known staples like The Robots and Computer World benefited from a 21st century digital sheen, while other new-to-me tracks became new friends (Neon Lights sounds like Gary Numan's entire career contained in a single, achingly beautiful song; similarly, the update of "Radioactivity" to include references to Fukushima gave it immediate poignancy, a sad portrait of how somethings never change).

There's a feeling that accompanies the technopop of yesterday, a strange nostalgia for a future predicted in its metallic rhythms and analog soundscapes, a future that never happened. Watching Kraftwerk now is to step backwards and forwards; though these are all 20th century songs remade with 21st century digital tech (a neat tension paralleled in the projected video, using state of the art technology to meticulously capture the feel of analog imagery), there's nothing retro about a Kraftwerk show. High-tech spectacle was never less static. And for all of the technology on display, the overall impression--from hearing these simple, gorgeous melodies played huge to the graceful solos executed as the band left one by one during the climactic "Music Non-Stop"--is a palpable, unifying, glorious humanity.