'Derek DelGaudio's In & Of Itself' Review: Understanding Our Illusions
What better way to convey that the beliefs we hold around the perceptions that we construct–whether of the outside world or our very identities–are nothing more than illusions, than by combining emotional storytelling with sleight of hand trickery? That's the winning combination that makes up the equal parts inventive and compelling new film from Derek DelGaudio, in Derek DelGaudio's In & Of Itself, an enlightening existential experience that uses showmanship to sell self-help. It's an experience that I will remember today, tomorrow, and likely for the rest of my life.
Performed over 552 times in a small NYC black box theater, the film (now available to watch on Hulu) is an assembly of multiple shows in which Derek DelGaudio dazzles audiences in broad and intimate fashion through mythology, personal storytelling, and sleight of hand.
By interspersing magic through parables and personal stories, it's kind of like if your therapist were to quite literally pull a rabbit out of their hat to show you that what you think you know, you really don't.
The main idea that Derek DelGaudio brings forth is that our identities, and the roles we play in life, are constructions often limiting to who we really are. He presents chaptered mythological stories – that of "The Rulatista" entering into Russian roulette, the story of the dog and the wolf, and the elephant that we never perceive in whole, but only in its parts – that add a sense of timeless lore and weight to the event.
But he also gets deeper, talking about the personal stories that made him the way he was – a tough upbringing as a single child with a single parent.
DelGaudio the performer plays his emotions and scripting close to his three-piece suit's vest, limiting his emotional range to carefully constructed in which he retains full control. He is an unassuming performer, which he uses to be more "human" than "showman".
Executive produced by Stephen Colbert and directed by Frank Oz (Yoda!), In & Of Itself is carefully balanced between a one-man show that ebbs and flows with measured laughs, solemn listening, and then bursts of amazement which makes for an intimate experience.
As someone with an interest in theater, self-help, and magic, I unapologetically loved Derek DelGaudio's In & Of Itself and would recommend this to anyone I know. Once we better understand illusions, who knows what the future has in store for whoever we choose to become.
'Derek DelGaudio's In & Of Itself' is now available to watch on Hulu.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_62BeXxd_jo&ab_channel=Hulu
'Some Kind of Heaven' Review: Fantasy in a Retirement Community
Fulfillment, satisfaction, completion, contentment, peace. It's what we're all striving to achieve in our lives. Yet life is hard, and we don't always stay on this track. Our flaws and insecurities, measured against our boundless imaginations, can make for a hard reality to adjust to if we're not content with where we're at in life. Especially living in present-day America, where reality has been proven to be whatever personal construction we make it to be, as Some Kind of Heaven shows.
And as we make it into the twilight of our lives, our shortcomings become even more magnified. So, wouldn't a place that offered aging seniors the opportunities to pursue those fantasies be a good thing?
A new documentary, directed by Lance Oppenheim and executive produced by Darren Aronofsky and The New York Times, shows retired living at The Villages, America's largest retirement community. This magical oasis offers its local community an unlimited number of recreational activities to do and, with that, an infinite amount of people you can be.
Home to 130,000 residents, the Florida-set retirement community is shown as a place where the aged have escaped to live out their final years, experiencing the fountain of youth (which is what The Villages founder Harold S. Schwartz advertised to baby boomers).
Oppenheim crafts Some Kind of Heaven into a wonderfully off-kilter experience, in which the dreamy surrealism of The Villages is seen as being in a magical trance.
Some of the gray-haired are clearly okay with having a good time, living out their hedonistic pleasures of "nightclubbing" and meeting new singles. But others, who Oppenheim centers the film around, see the falsehood in the proscenium and grapple with the darkness that lingers at bay.
The characters who Oppenheim follows are strong and distinct: there's married couple Reggi & Ann, who are trying to maintain a marriage under Reggi's cratering mental state (tai chi and drugs assisting). There's Dennis Dean, a van-living man seeking to get close enough into The Villages to find stability (and a sugar mama); and Barbara Lochiatto, a widowed woman looking to step back into romantic life.
Oppenheim crafts Some Kind of Heaven into a wonderfully off-kilter experience, in which the dreamy surrealism of The Villages is seen as being in a magical trance. Captured in 4:3 aspect ratio, the cinematography by David Bloen captures the oddity in the manufactured synchronicity. And it very much captures the illusion of fantasy making our darkness.
Some Kind of Heaven is a must-watch. Its sharp observations make for a documentary that plays like a comedy and a dark drama. And underneath it all is a film about identity.
I'm reminded by a quote from Shantideva: "All the suffering there is in this world arises from wishing our self to be happy." There may be something to that, here. But if all that's too much for you, I know a place where you can go to make all your life's troubles disappear.
Distributed by Magnolia Pictures, available on-demand this Friday, January 15, 2021.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmRnGHrjl1w&ab_channel=MagnoliaPictures%26MagnetReleasing
'Sound of Metal' Reflection: Could I Accept A "New Me" After Tragedy?
I'm lucky to be able to say that I haven't experienced a debilitating event that has changed my current way of living. And to be able to say that during a raging international pandemic, is a truly humbling thing.
This isn't to say that a tragedy of that type won't befall me in my lifetime. In fact, knowing what I have now makes me consider the opposite: what a loss would make me feel, and how hard the blow would be.
If I ever do lose a part of myself–which I've lived with and known my entire life–how would I respond?
I wonder about these thoughts now, as the new film Sound of Metal (available to stream on Amazon Prime this Friday) explores this in an explosive and visceral way.
In Sound of Metal, Riz Ahmed plays Ruben, a heavy metal drummer who loses his hearing while on tour. And with that, he's threatened to lose himself. At first, Ruben reacts how anyone would if they had to make sense of this new nightmare: confused, scared, and dismissive until ultimately realizing that he must either confront his new life's reality or live in denial.
Read our 'Sound of Metal' review here.
To complicate things further, Ruben's girlfriend (Olivia Cooke) is the guitarist and vocalist of their two-piece band.
So then, we now see the full scope of Ruben's actual, and perceived loss: if he loses his hearing, he believes, he'll lose his band; and in effect, lose her.
Under such saddening circumstances, how would I react?
Would I be able to accept the circumstances of my new life and the loss that comes with it?
As someone who loves music and plays guitar and piano, I'm sure I'd react in similar shock and heartbreak, as Ruben does.
But this also gets me thinking of the teachings that I've learned and picked up along the way from studying Buddhism, and what its practices could offer to me–or anyone undergoing traumatic change–at that time.
Don't worry.
I'm first reminded of this quote from the Dalai Lama (A Policy of Kindness):
If you have fear of some pain or suffering, you should examine whether there is anything you can do about it. If you can, there is no need to worry about it; if you cannot do anything, then there is also no need to worry.
I certainly don't want to trivialize anyone's intense and real loss by merely reducing a solution down to offering a simple platitude, along the lines of "Don't worry, be happy."
Devastation and loss is something that should be mourned–it allows us to recognize and celebrate the importance it had on our lives.
But remembering that whether we can, or can't, control something in our lives, means that to spend our time passively worrying about anything, is unhelpful.
Suffering, and non-attachment.
I also think of what it means to suffer.
And I'm reminded of this adage:
"Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional."
Suffering, then, is an ongoing, sustained action that we do, after a moment in which the pain has occurred.
Buddhism teaches that all forms of suffering come from the attachments we develop– we hold on to suffering.
So then, why do we sustain and prolong our suffering?
If pain is experienced in the immediate, why do we ruminate over suffering long after it's occurred?
Perhaps because replaying that suffering, paradoxically, feels good. Because even though it makes us grieve, it orients us in safety, stability, and victimization.
I know that I can best prepare for change–even just the inevitable change of growing older–by trying to practice non-attachment every day, starting today.
Impermanence, and gratitude.
It's a scary thing, though, to think about not having any attachments in your life.
I like being attached to my family, my friends, and myself. Understandably, we do these things to keep us safe, and psychologically sane.
But once we accept that nothing is ever really permanent–that we are "new" in every moment–this allows us to also appreciate everything we have, while we have it.
And when we lose it, we're able to adjust to our new "now," without longing for the past of what we once knew.
Like an Etch A Sketch wiped anew, we must begin again, as-is.
However, if I were truly living in the present, without attachments, then who would I even be?
What would constitute my "self"?
The illusion of a "self."
If the identities that we create are just the summations of our past histories, made into this moment, what does that say about who we really are, versus who we perceive ourselves to be?
Would it be possible to be open to new experiences, and to grow, and evolve, if we choose to remain stuck in the past?
When he loses his hearing, Ruben's identity is shaken, too. Beyond losing the ability to play the drums, he doesn't accept that he is now a part of the deaf community, which he still sees as "other" than him.
I'd probably hurt more too, because of how drastically my conception of "me" would be shaken.
Not having attachments may make me think I had nothing. But maybe if I took the leap, and detached myself emotionally from everything, I would allow myself to live more authentically, and respond more honestly to my immediate moments without past judgments.
Kintsugi.
In these final thoughts, I'm also reminded of Kintsugi.
Kintsugi, the Japanese art of breaking (traditionally) vases and fusing them back together so as to show the beauty in a re-fortified piece, shows the strength and possibility of healing.
Nerdwriter's video essay on Kintsugi: The Art of Embracing Damage encapsulates this perfectly, and is well worth a watch.
In Sound of Metal, Ruben, after an attempted surgical operation, struggles with embracing his deafness, failing to see that he would in fact be stronger, not weaker, if he did.
Acceptance.
Ultimately, Sound of Metal does set out to show that we can seek salvation and rebuild rather than wallow in self-pity and destruction.
Instead of just a downward spiral into self-imploding defeat, Ruben's journey in accepting himself as someone who loses something dear to him is incredibly brave and incredibly realized cinematically.
In this way, Sound of Metal isn't so much the insatiable Whiplash as it is closer to the meditative, painterly The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.
Sound of Metal shows acceptance perfectly when Ruben's deaf teacher Joe (Paul Raci) says to him that he wishes that he could see him live peacefully, sitting alone, quiet, on a park bench.
Notice how the film opens–with the thrashing of drums–and how it ends–with Ruben ultimately sitting on a park bench in silence, at peace.
Ruben didn't realize it, but what he thought was his outlet and release–noise–was really just chaos in his life. His deafness, and beyond that, acceptance, is now a gift that makes him stronger.
I think of the Zen story of the farmer, whose cryptic adage of "maybe so, maybe not" to perceived tragedies and gifts in his life could never really be seen as either.
For we always see the short game, and not the long game.
So Sound of Metal makes me think that the next time I am confronted with a personal struggle, I'll try to think of it as either a gift or an opportunity to embrace change.
And in those moments while I wait, I'll sit and listen to the ever-present silence.
'My Octopus Teacher' Review: Chasing Our Lost Connection To Nature
For some of us, the dizziness of these times has us feeling disconnected from our natural world. Perhaps that's why, in a need to escape from life on land, audiences are diving into the new documentary My Octopus Teacher (now streaming on Netflix).
My Octopus Teacher follows South African documentarian Craig Foster. After spending a career photographing wildlife and seemingly losing touch with the modern world, he leaves it all behind and takes up a new hobby: diving off of the South African coast. In the process, he discovers the presence of a female octopus–who he pursues and documents each day. Over time, she encourages him to think of life's bigger questions and lessons.
Comprised of just one character (well, two, if you count a certain tentacled co-star), we follow Craig singularly, which makes for an incredibly personal, diary-like experience. His solemnly spoken interviews are intercut with footage of him swimming alongside an ever-growing octopus (footage that he shot himself). All things combined, it's a very soothing watch: his peaceful and easily meditative speech makes for a calming narration of his underwater adventures.
Through Craig's journey, I was certainly able to feel a reconnection to nature (and I work on computers all day long). Even though the experience is a second-hand one, seeing Craig's footage is really quite transporting. Although he dives with a snorkel (meaning he's without an air tank, and therefore is unable to explore the ocean's deepest depths), his coastal dives capture a brilliantly colorful aquatic world that is amazing to behold. You won't need a scuba suit or diving license in order to be taken away to a whole other world.
I find it quite funny that during the most technologically-advanced time in history, we're turning for answers from silent ocean-dwellers (although its intelligence may rival our own–octopi have a brain in each of its eight tentacles!). My Octopus Teacher rings so powerfully at a time when some of our highest elected officials reveal a remorseless hypocrisy in the human spirit, that we re-direct our efforts to find answers to life's questions with one of life's most prehistoric creatures. But, be warned: like any nature documentary, you should prepare to see nature showing its less heartwarming side, in which the circle of life should be experienced without attachment.
I'm actually not sure what My Octopus Teacher left behind, in terms of the greatest lesson that Craig–or I–learned. But perhaps that's something that can only be answered by each one of us that watches it, as long as we look to take the plunge for the chance at finding peace with an eight-legged friend.
85 min. 'My Octopus Teacher' is now streaming on Netflix.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3s0LTDhqe5A&ab_channel=Netflix
This Delightfully Absurd Take on the Buddy Comedy is a Must-See
I didn't know what type of film I was getting myself into when queueing up The Climb, the newest release from Sony Pictures Classics. Judging by the key art, I thought it was going to be a buddy-comedy about cyclist friends who exchange witty, occasionally profound musings about life captured along lovely vistas.
In the best way possible, The Climb is not that film. It's arguably the funniest, and one of my very favorite, films of the year.
The title of the film doesn't exactly relay what this movie is about, although it is accurate in what happens: two buddies move through adult life in a Sisyphean manner. It's a deadpan buddy comedy that dips into the surreal and absurd, with real filmmaking finesse.
The Climb tells the story of these two friends–Kyle (Kyle Marvin) and Michael (Michael Angelo Covino)–whose relationship can at best be described as toxic. They undermine each other's lives in fully conscious ways. As the film opens, Kyle gets engaged and Michael confesses to having slept with his fianceé. Some time and another engagement later, the friends find themselves in similar territory.
More so than 'The Climb' being a hilarious film, and one of my favorite new releases of the year, it's also the arrival of a new comedic duo that I can't wait to see what they do next.
And yet what The Climb shows is that they have a bond so unquestioned, like toddlers, that their terrible behavior is seen as earnest and sorrowful. And it's exacted with meta-awareness, adding to their deadpan, dopey charisma, which makes their low-wattage reaction and reconciling of life events hilarious. To make matters funnier, this pares with moments where the film glides into the absurd, where impromptu musical sequences surprised me with such delight. As the film went on (it's broken up into chapters), I continued to enjoy this movie, and couldn't wait to recommend it to my friends.
And while The Climb stars two dim-witted dudes, it's also a movie made with real cinematic skills, pulled off behind the camera by the very dudes in front of it. Michael Angelo Covino and Kyle Marvin also wrote and produced the film, with the former getting director credit.
While The Climb is my exact type of comedy–deadpan and dipping into the surreal–it's also a comedy that has real cinematic skills: most of the film is comprised of incredibly directed single-take sequences of slowly unfolding scenes (that give off a measured pace and sense of calm that runs counter to the unexpected comedy that arises).
More so than The Climb being just a hilarious film and one of my favorite releases of the year, it's also the arrival of a new comedic duo that I can't wait to see what they do next.
98 min. 'The Climb' is rated R for language, sexual content, some nudity, and brief drug use. Now playing in theaters.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mr4MKhV5QVw&ab_channel=SonyPicturesClassics
If Nothing Else, Bill Murray is Still Magical, in 'On the Rocks'
Laura (Rashida Jones) is a mother of two, struggling to keep a busy home together while balancing a stagnating writing career in bustling New York City. When Laura begins to suspect her husband (Marlon Wayans) of straying from their marriage, her playboy father (Bill Murray) whisks her away from her monotonous life to pursue her husband's whereabouts amidst the city, making for quirky bonding moments and chances to reconcile their own troubled past.
Directed by Sofia Coppola, On the Rocks (available to stream on Apple TV+ now) is familiar filmic ground: a dry, understated comedy about someone's woes that are presumably not so different from the writer-director's own (and yes, very much entrenched within upper/middle-class living). It's a lovely, lighthearted buddy-comedy of sorts, and hanging out with the ever-endearing Rashida Jones and Bill Murray–whose chemistry together is natural, fun, and intoxicating–makes for an effortlessly entertaining time.
The film deals with significant and adult themes, such as faithfulness in marriage, the questioning of monogamy, and self-acceptance, which Laura and her father ping-pong back and forth over in witty conversation. The back-and-forth here is dialed in by an incredibly charismatic Bill Murray as Felix, who makes the film the sophisticated and dry comedy that it chooses to be (it's the third time Murray and Coppola have worked together on a feature project after 2003's Lost in Translation and 2015's A Very Murray Christmas).
Sofia Coppola's previous work shows what a skilled eye she has for capturing beautiful images, making each of her movies a treat for the eyes. In On the Rocks, it's pleasurable to be swept up in every lush part of New York City's socialite scene. But luscious locations and cinematography are one thing, and meeting that with real character developments is another: since Coppola resigns Laura as a weak and submissive character from the very start, giving very little along the way to make for a full character realization, unfortunately, the characters end up being more like props in this beautiful-looking postcard of a film.
In further Coppola signature, On the Rocks (perhaps) also not so subtly mirrors the writer-director's personal life experiences, in which a daughter must reconcile with her ever-charismatic, towering legend of a father (whose own infamous infidelities have been well documented). Casting Rashida Jones as Laura (the Sofia-surrogate of sorts) is an earnest desire for Coppola to explore issues of her familial relationship. But it's also a film that keeps things at a sophisticated surface-level, making me wonder if a more stirring, substantial, and significant work was just one more shot away from experiencing.
If On the Rocks were a drink, it'd be served neat, and straight up. And while it's pleasantly fine, I'd like to see the version that allows itself to be a little more shaken. And ya know what? Make it a double.
Distributed by A24, On the Rocks is now streaming on Apple TV+.
'Robin’s Wish' Review: The Unknown Illness That Plagued the Actor
Robin’s Wish is certainly not another broad assemblage of Robin’s greatest hits (and there are many), but an intimate and sympathetic look at the late actor at the most painful moments of his life.
On August 11, 2014, news reports broke the tragic news that the beloved comedian and actor, Robin Williams, had died. Major media outlets had globbed on to the news that he had taken his own life, leading to an incredible amount of press that stunned the world.
It was unthinkable to feel why Robin Williams would have taken his life, and people soon started to ask questions. People wondered if a years-long battle with drug abuse contributed if deep depression played a part (and the media spun up endless more stories). But a new documentary, Robin’s Wish, looks to clarify the reason for Robin’s death.
Although Robin Williams had unmatchable performance energy–a tornado of improvisational comedy–offstage, and offscreen, he was incredibly private. His secrecy extended through the end of his life when the actor (as the documentary shows) began to suffer from debilitating bodily ailments, such as forgetfulness, paranoia, and emotional instability, which would be known as Lewy Body Dementia, but not by the actor.
It’s sad when we learn anyone experiences conditions of this kind; it’s collectively worse when that person was one of the most celebrated performers of all time. In Robin’s Wish, the harrowing, saddening experience is recounted firsthand by his widow, Susan Schneider, who illuminates and shares this all.
Robin’s Wish is certainly not another broad assemblage of Robin’s greatest hits (and there are many), but an intimate and sympathetic look at the late actor at the most painful moments of his life. With unseen footage of Robin from Marin County, including his home, as well as interviews with neighbors and friends. An additional moment includes Shawn Levy, who recounts for the first time the struggles that Robin endured on the final Night at the Museum movie, with great reverence and respect.
Robin’s Wish is a very rewarding watch, if only to learn about the disease that would overtake his body and see the pain that he had hidden away from the public. It’s tough to hear some of these moments, but it makes what he was able to accomplish all the more incredible.
Distributed by Vertical Entertainment, Robin’s Wish is now available On Demand and Digital.
Boys State
When Tom Hanks' Greyhound released on AppleTV+ a few weeks ago, I didn't feel the need to sign up for the streaming service in order to watch it. Yet after watching a screening link of the new documentary Boys State (available to stream this Friday on Apple TV+), I feel compelled to tell everyone I know that they should absolutely sign up for the streaming service, which is the film's exclusive distribution platform (and which I might have to do just to watch it again, and maybe check out Greyhound finally after).
The new release from AppleTV+ and A24, Boys State first premiered at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, where it was awarded the Grand Jury Prize for Best Documentary. An annual event put on by the prestigious American Legion (a national institution that's included members such as Dick Cheney and Rush Limbaugh), Boys State shows a week-long camp of 1,200 teenage boys–all politically aspiring in their own ways– whose primary objective is to "run for office" of their respective Federalist and Nationalist parties and win the votes needed to secure desired positions. What ends up being captured is an incredible simulation of our very own American democracy, if it were run by children (I won't put too fine a point if I feel this is how politics are currently being run).
There are a few characters that Boys State follows–including Ben, the political junkie; Robert, the political "bro"; and the quiet, yet inspiring Steven–each of whom brings different ideologies and politics to their part of the camp. All bright and scholarly, the fun in the movie is watching them all jockey and campaign to win the votes of their respective campers, making for suspenseful, funny, and by the end, moving moments.
While it might be disheartening to assume that some of these young men will inevitably become corrupted on their road to politics, Boys State also brings the hope that we are truly witnessing new voices in the next generation that will lead us to a brighter future and better state.
Distributed by AppleTV+ and A24, 'Boys State' is available to stream on Apple TV+ this Friday.