Kalia Love Jones
These days, survival seems to be drawn down to basic actions—you’re either cordoning yourself off from a dangerous virus, taking care of those who have caught the virus, or deciding you’re not going to let something as annoying as a global pandemic get in the way of your summer thrills. Still, there are some who survive through their creative spirit, and choose to inspire through their art.
In any era, the arrival of a 12-year-old filmmaker is quite a feat; in the time of Covid-19, it’s a reminder of why we power through uncertainty and obstacles. It is, as Kalia Love Jones intends her film to be, empowering. So “The Power of Hope” arrives in time to inject a little motivation into our toughest days, and it comes from a preteen talent who is as inspiring as her tale.
In the animated short, we met a young black girl, not unlike the film’s director, with wide-eyed dreams. The girl wants to become an architect, but those dreams are jeopardized when her mother becomes very sick. The girl’s world spirals into uncertainly—about her mother’s health and about her own dreams. In this fearful time, the girl finds support from the words of Michelle Obama. Through the former first lady’s powerful speech, the girl is empowered to make her dreams reality.
The film, like most memorable animation, like the best of Pixar’s work, relies on strong visuals, sound and music to carry its story. The only dialogue we hear is Mrs. Obama’s stirring words
The Power of Hope
Kalia, who hails from Los Angeles and has an older brother and younger sister, undertook the project with the wind at her back—her talent to spare and the support of her parents. She saw “The Power of Hope” as an opportunity to combine two of her many passions, music and animation.
“I want to be an animator when I’m older,” says the girl who’s been drawing for as long as she can remember. “Animation is the best way to get people my age to pay attention.”
Kalia spends hours drawing and studying films. She says, “Live action is interesting, but animation is my calling.”
Filmmaking, even short films, is a marathon not a sprint. It’s not work for impatient folks. The motion picture was produced in laps. It took Kalia a month to write. Then the animation, which she supervised, took another six to eight months. She spent a month more working on the music.
Events in the film were fictional, even though the character was influenced by Kalia herself.
“I drew the story boards and made the character look like me,” she says.
Her father’s support for the project was particularly useful when it came to the film’s soundtrack. He put her in touch with Grammy-nominated producer Ben Franklin.
“He’s friends with my dad. He wanted to be a part of the film,” Kalia says. She and Franklin co-wrote the movie’s theme song, which is now available on all major music platforms.
“It was fun,” she recalls. Of course it was. Music is another of her passions. “I love music. Music is its own language.”
Kalia finds filmmaking and music production complementary art forms.
“They work well with each other.”
As for her first time in the director’s chair, it was challenging. “It was difficult at first,” she says of having to give order to adults. “Once we realized the whole team shared the vision, things got easier.”
If the rigors of filmmaking weren’t challenging enough, Kalia’s project came about during a pandemic. Doing promotional work for the film has been hampered by the outbreak. It’s prevented her from taking opportunities push the film, and limited meetings with people in the industry. And like many of us, quarantine has kept her isolated from many of her friends.
“I haven’t been able to talk with my friends,” she says. “I don’t really know how they feel about the film.”
Above all, like her film, Kalia is all about empowerment. “I want people to feel empowered, to feel the confident to overcome their obstacles.”
Her influences are rich with women of note: director Ava DuVernay (“Selma”, “A Wrinkle in Time,” “When They See Us,”), animator Rebecca Sugar (creator of “Steven Universe”), Michelle Obama and her mother.
“My mom influence is on more than the film,” Kalia interjects. “She influences my life. She’s a strong woman in my life who is very inspiring to me.” A little bit of her mother is drawn into the mother in the film.
Kalia had already been an admirer of Michelle Obama when she came across one of the first lady’s speeches while doing research for her film. “She’s always been an inspiration to me.” Mrs. Obama’s spoken words provide voiceover that punctuates the emotional visuals.
Even amidst concerns of the outbreak, it would be hard to miss the surge of protests and activism against racial inequality, particularly the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement. The shocking death of George Floyd under the knee of a police officer has lead to a hot summer of marches and clashes. Kalia support the protests. “One of the reasons I made the film was to give more representation to our stories,” she says. “Our stories are valuable and black lives are valuable.”
She is a girl full of passion. Some of her other passions include piano, honors band, where she is first chair flute, and gymnastics. She’s an eight-year gymnast who trained with former U.S. Olympian Chris Waller at his gym in Los Angeles.
Meanwhile, Kalia plans to continue perfecting her crafts while she deliberates on her next project. As the dust settles on a year of illness, death and protest, it’s comforting to know the creative spirit is alive and well, and particularly that it resides in our youngest, a soon-to-be 13-year-old brimming with passion and not willing to wait or settle in presenting ideas that inspire.
Learn more of Kalia Love Jones’ “The Power of Hope” at the film’s website: www.thepowerofhopefilm.com
| Marvin Brown’s Director Interviews
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
The Person I am When No One is Looking (2019)
Unrated
An exploration into the aching desire for fame in the age of social media, The Person I am When No One is Looking gets a boost from its lead actor (and director Kailee McGee) and its meta-humor.
The short film is narrated in voiceover by the person we’re watching as she directly addresses the audience watching her. Kailee’s eager for stardom and boasts of her social media following—which isn’t really that large, but larger enough to give her hope. The back of her car is filled with empty cans of Lacroix, of course, and parking violations, but she looks and plays the part of a star.
We sense that looking and playing that part is an essential component. Kailee tells us how she fakes injuries for attention and regales us of her arbitrary tattoos and keepsakes. It’s funny stuff because it’s played straight and delivered precisely in continuous voiceover. We began to wonder why the voiceover is necessary when the actor can just talk directly into the camera, but then she tells us she want her story narrated like a movie. I don’t know if that makes sense, but it’s funny.
We’re swept along on this journey as we meet her equally vapid half-siblings and best friend. There are glamorous photo shoots and dueling bloggers and selfies overlooking L.A. at sundown. And let’s pause to admire an abrupt dance interlude that’s ridiculous for the character, but an impressive feat by the actor. Our star just can’t get enough traction on social media. Maybe a short film shown at a film festival (the one she’s living and we’re watching) can do the trick.
The film is a marvel of editing from Rich Costales: slyly making us believe it’s as capricious as most mishmash social media editing, but there’s real skill behind what we’re watching. Note the jilted girl montage. Even as she’s bummed by rejection from her crush, Kailee can’t help but to goose her followers stats by adding adroit posing and music to the proceedings. It’s real-deal filmmaking posing as slapdash social media shenanigans.
Kailee McGee is superb at blurring the line between documentary and fiction in a town where it doesn’t matter. Her quick wit and excellent delivery turn The Person I am When No One is Looking from a creative exercises into an insightful critique of our lust for fame. There is no person when no one is looking, McGee’s performance suggests. In this day and age, she may have a point.
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
Two new stories in the pipeline:
“Wondrous and Monstrous Ways,” a tale of grief and revenge involving a woman on the edge of the abyss, arrives in late April. The story appears in Ghost, Spirits and Specters, Vol. 2 from HellBound Books Publishing. The anthology is edited by Xtina Marie.
“Remnants of Worship” follows a film critic on the hunt to screen the most terrifying movie ever created. The story will appear in The Blood Tomes, Vol. 3: Nabu Carnevale, a festival-themed anthology from Tell-Tale Press. Slated for a June publication, the book is edited by Andrea Dawn.
And be warned: a chilling new novel is in the works.
In a New York Minute (2019)
Unrated
A separate but interlocking tripartite exploration of loves and losses of Chinese and Chinese-American women in the big city, In a New York Minute works best when it draws us into the lives of it desperate characters. The plots themselves are warmed-over bowls of American rom-com soup. Thankfully, each tale, roughly 25 minutes each, lends most of its time to the development of the women, not the plot. And the three main actresses are more than up to the challenges of engaging the audience and carrying their stories.
Amy (Amy Chang) is an admired city food editor unable to eat in the wake of a devastating breakup. She skulks about her small apartment, goes through the motions of her job, which is admittedly more difficult now that she pukes anytime she tries to eat. She gets an unexpected opportunity to act on food-related television series and an unexpected suitor in a charming but relentless coworker. Despite his overbearing nature, Peter actually helps nurse Amy back to her appetite. He soon proposes, and poor Amy is so adrift she neglects to reject the offer. Chang’s performance is palpable. Her hangdog Amy is crushed on the inside and Chang effectively plays her as a woman barely keeping herself together.
In the second story we met Angel (Yi Liu). Actually, we’ve already met her as she crossed paths with Amy in the first story—we just didn’t realize it at the time. Angel is an actress and wife of a much older American, Howard (Erik Lochtefeld), who seems to regard his Chinese wife and her culture as fascinating diversions, but doesn’t implore much effort to actually understand her or it. He nods through conversations while hardly looking up from his books. Note a key scene when Howard’s children from his previous marriage visit for dinner. Angel all but disappears amid their discussions about Japanese culture and cuisine. Liu is masterful at presenting Angel’s quiet devastation. In China, Angel had built a reputation as an actress. In New York, acting is a humiliating slog that Howard encourages mainly as a means to give his wife something to do with her time. It’s not hard to image why Angel turned to an affair with the young, handsome David (Ludi Lin), a writer. The lovers have afternoon and evening trysts at his apartment. Theirs are joyous couplings of sex and interesting dialogues and the unending possibilities of young love. Her time with David buoys her in her listless marriage, but Angel struggles to decide if she wants a future filled with love or security. Just as her acting opportunities pick up with a film that somewhat parallels her own life (and brings her in proximity of Amy), the results of a home pregnancy test threatens to derail all opportunities—marriage, affair and career.
Lastly, we meet Nina (Celia Au), an escort of sorts, whose services are bought by mostly older, moneyed men. She has eyes for Ian (Roger Yeh), a kind food-truck operator who dreams of opening his own restaurant, but can’t see a viable way forward in their relationship. Her father and stepmother run a small Pho restaurant (which also appears in Amy and Angel’s stories) and have paid a fortune to bring Nina to the U.S. She is indebted to the family that cares little about her life’s desires or opportunities. Au plays Nina as hard-edged, a survivor, who at first scoffs at the probability of real love, and later fights to embrace her chance at a life with Ian. In continuing the unnecessary crossover gimmick, two of Nina’s clients are Peter and David, from Amy and Angel’s stories respectively; worse is the home pregnancy test, which works its way into each tale, but is truly only important in Angel’s story.
Director Ximan Li, though, slyly allows moments of crossover—Amy lives in the same apartment building as David, Angel’s lover; while filming the TV series, Amy is surreptitiously replaced by Angel—then pulls the threads together in a final act that allows plotlines to converge. Amy’s story is the strongest, with her quietly flailing under the weight of grief; Angel’s, which navigates a marriage, an affair, an acting career and a pregnancy is the most complicated; Nina’s is the most heartbreaking, with her dogged efforts for a life of independence and love crumbling before her eyes.
While the plot approach of In a New York Minute is nothing new, Li’s film nevertheless, transcends its soapy America episodic structure and allows the Asian cast, crew and writers to provide a refreshing cultural take on the material. Mego Lin’s camera gloriously captures New York cityscapes and charming neighborhoods. Like chapters in a book, each story is given lengthy first acts to allow us to imbibe the rhythms of the lives of these Asian characters. There are minutes worth savoring.
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
Cleveland International Film Festival
Princess of the Row (2019)
Unrated
Big Boss Creative
A homeless war veteran with brain trauma spends most of his days lost within his mind and cared for by his 12-year-old daughter. But during a key scene in Princess of the Row, he finds a moment of lucidity and tells his daughter, who’s so full of potential, that one day she will have to choose a life that means letting him go and he’s okay with that. He assures her that making good choices for herself will likely mean they will be apart, but it will never keep him from being her father.
It’s crucial advice, even though daughter Alicia isn’t yet in a place to accept it; in the moment “Bo,” the shattered veteran in dirty clothes, ratty hair and mismatched shoes, rises to his responsibility as a father. It is, for me, the heart of this remarkable film: a broken man, who seems incapable of taking care of himself, finds a way to guide and protect his preteen daughter, who spends much of the film behaving as the adult.
Beautifully shot mostly on the tough streets of Los Angeles, Princess of the Row charts the courses of two people who disparately need and love each other, but are on paths separated by health issues, poverty, bureaucracy and opportunities. Undoubtedly, the film offers abundant ways to impact its viewers—through its gritty, evocative photography; its punishing plunge into the dirty, pitilessness of homelessness; the ever-present dangers lurking among the population of L.A.’s skid row; the powerful shield forged from the love of a father and daughter; the tiny seeds of hope sprouting up in unexpected places, like flowers through cracks in the asphalt.
Director Max Carlson doesn’t hesitate to use the many the tools at his disposal to immerse viewers into this world. He gets the biggest assist from the raw, pitch-perfect performances of his lead actors. Tayler Buck, in a star-making performance, constantly underplays Alicia. We hear Alicia’s thoughts and writings through voiceover, but she’s more a girl of action and not words. As Buck plays her, Alicia hardly has time to express emotion because she’s busy reacting to and controlling her situations or her environment. The weight upon her—taking care of her erratic father, moving from one foster home to the next, sleeping on the streets, skirting the dangers of the sex trade industry—is daunting, and makes us instantly protective of the character. Yet, Buck portrays Alicia as quietly confident and optimistic. Perhaps it’s because the skinny little girl with the natural hair is assured of her purpose—to get a job and take care of her father. We see her internal conflict on her face, but she doggedly handles each conflict as they come.
Edi Gathegi (the Twilight series) vanishes into the role of Bo. The man, ravaged by PTSD, injury and poverty, with one cataract-clouded eye, drifts through life muttering to himself. Gathegi allows Bo fleeting moments of lucidity which are often impressive and depressing – impressive, because they allows us a peak at the man he was and could have been; depressing, because they remind us of what has been lost to mental illness and circumstance. But it’s a restrained role, and Gathegi refuses to soften the character. (He brings quiet dignity in a couple of prewar flashbacks where we see him as a loving fable-spinning father.) But he remains detached for most of the film, and can be lethal in anger. It’s a heartbreaking performance in a film filled with heartbreaking performances.
Alicia’s in the foster care system, but her connection to her father keeps her escaping back to the streets. She’s remarkable and resourceful, but it doesn’t shield us from her somber situation. How brutally sad her circumstances that spending a night in a junkyard for her father’s birthday is considered respite from skid row.
Carlson manages to work in themes of homelessness, the state of veterans’ affairs (with a touch of needed humor) and the foster care system, as well as reveal hope that often resides in the margins.
One representation of hope are the Austins (Martin Sheen and Jenny Gago), the latest in a string of foster parents to come into Alicia’s life. He’s a successful author, which could open doors for Alicia, who has a knack and passion for writing and story-telling. But the Austins live 10 hours from the row. The couple live in a beautiful villa up in the hills, its quiet beauty is intentionally isolated from the loud intensity of the city. Alicia’s tight-lipped and cautious with the Austins; of course she is, she’s been down this road before. But her introduction to Ruby, their horse, taps into emotions borne of her fantasy life which involves a unicorn.
There’s also hope from a tireless councilor, Magdalene (a convincing Ana Ortiz), who pushes Alicia to give the new family a chance. Magdalene, time and again, fights for Alicia even when the girl is too stubborn or distracted to fight for herself. In a brief, remarkable scene she encourages Alicia’s creativity and individuality at the crucial moment of decision-making.
A harrowing scene at midpoint underscores the real-world dangers of a little girl in a land of sexual predators. Another reminds us of Bo’s quick-trigger as he explodes in anger in a small hotel room, endangering his daughter.
The camerawork in Princess of the Row is superb. It sometimes glides safety above the trash-strewn streets, other times, plunges into the grit and grime. It solidifies the film’s texture. We see dirty tents line city sidewalks as makeshift homes on the row, and vast maze-like junkyards that can provide a haven or become a deathtrap. We visit hotels rented by the hour and shelled-out buildings perfect for squatting. It all feels real. Carlson keeps the camera everywhere—weaving through and soaring above the wreckage and beauty of manmade structures, sometimes separated by mere city blocks. Julian Scherle score is elegant and ever-present. It lingers subtly over scenes of heartbreak and terror.
Raw, powerful, tender and hard as steel, Princess of the Row transports and transforms those willing to take the journey.
Check out the film now at the Cleveland International Film Festival.
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
Impossible Monsters (2019)
Rated R
In the first scenes of Impossible Monsters, an attractive woman passes through a narrow alleyway, making her way to mysterious lounge and into a hidden room. The way the tracking-shot scene is lit and tightly framed, backed by a crescendoing soundtrack, evokes a creepy dreamlike quality. The scene that immediately follows is the opposite: clean and clear and shot close up. Now, the woman’s grooming herself before the bathroom mirror … until she gets the urge to start pulling out her teeth in a bloody mess. It’s soon revealed as a nightmare. So, we’ve gone from a dreamlike scene that was actually reality (we later learn), to a reality-like scene that’s actually the dream. This blurring of waking and dreaming moments will pervade this cerebral thriller. Characters often occupy scenes walking a knife’s edge between what’s real and imagined.
Director Nathan Catucci has seeded his film in those opening sequences. Now, we are introduced to other main characters.
Otis (Dónall Ó Héalai) is a brooding, laconic painter whose artwork seems borne from a landscape of nightmares. For me his work evokes body horror. He sits alone in a small diner that’s obviously influenced by Edward Hopper’s iconic “Nighthawks” painting, but this might be a dream. Otis is suffering from insomnia, you see, which is affecting his work. He’s referred to a second character, Rich Freeman (Santino Fontana), a college psychology professor specializing in sleep paralysis. Into Rich’s class walks Jo (Devika Bhise), the woman from the opening. Soon, Rich has secured grant money for a group study on the sleep disorder, which ultimately includes Jo and Otis.
Two important minor characters include, Charlie (Chris Henry Coffey) and Leigh (Natalie Knepp). He is a professional rival to Rich, who is revealed to have deeper, darker motivations as the film unspools. She is social worker, a quiet cutie who falls for Rich, and seems to harbor secrets.
With the characters in place, the plot begins to spin them in and out of each other’s orbits, even as reality and dreams began to overlap. We are certainly primed for a lover’s triangle, as each of the males are drawn to Jo; she too is attracted to Otis’ dark, reckless persona and Rich’s comforting intellect. Did I mention that Jo is a student by day and an escort by night? Or that there’s a possible serial killer on the loose in the city? Rich is repeatedly courted by another university through a former colleague. There’s a sense that this represents a road not taken by Rich, and in hindsight might have been his best bet.
Catucci’s film is mainly a psychological drama, but eventually its thriller aspects kick in when one of the characters is murdered and another is framed for the death. Indeed, all along there have been sinister character motivations beneath the proceedings, but only Charlie’s are made manifest. The other characters—often facing themselves in the mirror—remain ambivalent throughout, struggling with regrets or secrets that strike out at them from their dream states. A dogged detective on the case (Geoffrey Owens, The Cosby Show) may have bitten off more than he can chew.
The cast is very good, with each actor finding the right notes at portraying the duality of their characters’ beleaguered realities while toying with their darkest natures in the dream worlds. Fontana is particularly good as a seemingly stable, straight-laced man whose darker nature makes us bristle precisely because we buy into his fundamental goodness. Bhise’s Jo could have a movie of her own. Her character is smart, but reckless, icy, but vulnerable.
The sound and camera work are superb. The look of the film is exquisite. Whether it’s beautiful college campus architecture or slick art gallery fetes or ominous sex lounges, the cinematography shines. The beauty of reality is repeatedly contrasted with off-kilter atmosphere (desaturated tones, snakes, slow motion) of dream worlds.
You might not get all the answers you’re looking for, or even those the characters are seeking, but like a dream, Impossible Monsters has an intangible texture that lingers even after it has ended.
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
My Southern Gothic short story “The Wet Knot” will appear in the upcoming literary anthology Dark Lane, Vol. 8, from Dark Lane Books. More information coming soon.
The Magical Mystery of Musigny (2018)
Unrated
Here we have a beautiful, simple black and white animated short film codirected by John Meyer and Emmett Goodman. Meyer, whose voice was made for audiobooks, also narrates. Every word is annunciated with the precision of an orator.
An award-winner on the film festival circuit, Magical Mystery is cleverly inked on cocktail napkins. Every now and again we get a pull-back that reveals the napkins among an arrangement of plates and utensils on a table.
The wonderfully descriptive language is sure to please oenophiles: “the angle of the vineyard hill (of limestone soil) provides excellent drainage.”
A turning point for John arrives at a wine-tasting event, when he imbibes the perfect vintage 1969 Musigny Burgundy. The sip transports him to a shimmering riverbank in Russia as colorful “onion spires of a Russian church” pop up around him. The transcendent serenity of the experience is lost on John’s wife, Suzie. Of course it would. She finds John’s musings on wine pretentious—and the wine itself a nonstarter for his attempts at lovemaking.
A turning point for Suzie comes during dinner at a bistro. She tries the special, a Auxey-Duress, and has an epiphany of her own—scored by the “1812 Overture,” and conducted by Serge Koussevitzky! Ah, finally, a meeting of minds. John gets the last laugh and, it seems, some overdue loving.
The film is wonderful in its construction, execution, scoring and narration. It leaves you with a smile on your face and an urge to reach for the vino.
| Marvin Brown’s Movie Review Archive
Bloghouse
