DVD Review: Know Your Mushrooms (2009 Sphynx Productions)

Those expecting this documentary to be about the mind-expanding, space-travel inducing, true sacred portal to the gods types of mushrooms, you have to wait until the latter half of the film. The first part is about plain old yummy wild mushrooms, and the people who love them, hunt for them, and hold festivals in honor of them.

Written, produced and directed in whimsical fashion by Ron Mann (who includes several animated ‘shroom trivia questions, hosted by a small, bug-eyed pink mushroom), the film primarily is a documentary of the annual Telluride Mushroom Festival in Colorado. Our guides for this, er, trip, are Gary Lincoff and Larry Evans, edible fungus hunters, former (?) hippies, and general inner travelers. We follow them as they take festival goers on hunting ventures into the woods, cook their finds, and muse on the goodness of the fungi for everything from health to being the fuel for interstellar travel. Lincoff’s story of his first trip on the psilocybin variety is hilarious.

Other attendees are just as eccentric in their past and present mindsets, though there were more than a fair share of SUV-driving wannabes, who most likely cleared out when there was no expensive wine or celebrities hanging around.

Disembodied clips of John Cage and everyone’s favorite late ethnobotanist, Terrence McKenna, extol the possible origins of and primitive uses for the fungi: did speech develop from a really heavy dose? Did consciousness itself develop from a trip? Where mushrooms come from outer space, a sacred gift from the gods? How about this: John Allegro (who also appears in a bizarre clip), noted Dead Sea Scrolls scholar, write a book in the early 70s where he claimed that Jesus Christ WAS a mushroom, and that his followers tried to hide the secret of their holy stash by creating the story of Christ!

The Flaming Lips contribute some songs to the soundtrack, and are of course appropriate to the action. Other psych tunes as well keep things grooving, though this is mostly a talking head picture (no pun intended). In all the film is funny and kind, and is full of people you want to spend time with—well, maybe not the high 18 year old on the street talking slow and groovy like he was at Woodstock and not waiting for dad’s Lexus to swing by and get him after the trip to Whole Foods, but…

Know Your Mushrooms is a feel good movie, whether you are a daring foodie, a cosmic seeker, or one who wants to see aging hippies who didn’t either die, make bland corporate rock music, or sell out their hopeful, whimsical vision of how good the world can be.

The Wrestler: A Predictable Plot, Impressive Punch

In Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, the time-honored sports genre is reimagined, yielding a uniquely touching story about loneliness and second chances. The story is familiar, as are the friendly giants that represent the arguably outdated world of professional wrestling. It follows Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke), a washed-up wrestler who peaked in the late ‘80s, but who keeps his passion for the sport alive by reviving “The Ram” at weekend matches. After suffering a heart attack, Randy is forced to give up the ring and decides to focus his attention on repairing his fractured personal life. The structure is predictable, but allows space for an unexpectedly careful, restrained depiction of life after fame.

Recreating the world of blue-collar middle America with highly-regarded Hollywood talent is no easy task, but the simplicity of Aronofsky’s dialogue and its rather dreary aesthetic make Randy’s world surprisingly believable. The first sequence borders on documentary as Randy is filmed making his way toward the exit of a neighborhood wrestling venue. His bleach-blonde locks pull the camera away from Randy’s face and give the distinct impression that the heroic athlete has more life behind him than he has ahead.

The great irony of this film is that it exploits the most artificial sport performed by the most physically artificial actor in Hollywood to achieve a rare level of sincerity. Fortunately, the effect is endearing. The sympathy with which Aronofsky traces his protagonist’s transformation doesn’t disguise Randy’s flaws, but celebrates his bond to the everyman.

One of the few ways in which the film falls short is in the unconvincing, yet admittedly moving relationship between Randy and his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood). Randy’s attempt to repair their troubled relationship proves as predictable as it is sentimental in a film that prides itself on authenticity.

At its best, The Wrestler is a film about the desperate effort any great artist makes to escape the profound loneliness that accompanies a) his professional fall from grace, and b) the tediousness of an unfulfilling day job that leaves personalities as restless and robust as Randy’s wanting. The film reminds me in some ways of John Cassavettes’s intimate portrait of a mediocre strip club proprietor in The Killing of a Chinese Bookie. While The Wrestler is much cleaner and more conventional than most of Cassavettes’s work, both films are about the lengths to which men will go to defend their (rather unhealthy) dreams. They both portray extraordinarily passionate individuals and demonstrate the casual mercilessness with which artistic infatuation is fettered by practicality.

The film closes by capturing Randy at his most transcendent—bruised, bleeding, gasping for air as the evidence of his debilitating surgery glitters with perspiration. With his arms spread and his feet pressed together, Randy’s glorious final frame cannot help but recall Jesus. He’s kind, he’s misunderstood, and he makes the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of his loyal followers—the fans.

Mickey Rourke as a battler buying his time.

Book Review: The American International Pictures Video Guide by Gary A. Smith

Shame on any film fan who doesn’t have a warm spot in their soul for AIP. American International Pictures was, if not consistently good, at least consistently inventive. From 1954 through the late 70s, the studio cranked out eccentric and sometimes brilliant B-movies, employing the likes of Roger Corman, Vincent Price, and Michael Landon, as well as then- youngsters Jack Nicholson, Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd. This motley crew, under the vision of producers James Nicholson and Samuel Arkoff, were responsible for some of AIP’s most famous genre movies, notably Edgar Allan Poe-related horror flicks, biker movies, and beach party extravaganzas. Its mix of camp and outrage has given us classics like I Was A Teenage Werewolf, The House on Haunted Hill, Satan’s Sadists, The Trip, The Pit & The Pendulum, The Amazing Colossal Man, The Brain That Wouldn’t Die, among other well known titles. No idea was ever really thrown out, especially if it could make a few bucks before the public actually saw the product. AIP was the first studio to tap into the growing teen market and to realize that pandering to the baser instincts of the public was always a sure thing.

Gary A. Smith’s breezy overview (from McFarland Press) is perfect for the topic. His entries on the films are a mix of loving care and snarky honesty. Smith’s love for these films is palpable, but he gives each a fair examination. When a film is so bad it’s bad, he is not afraid to say so. (The god-awful Screaming Skull, for instance). Though this guide does feature ancillary information like lists of the Double Feature campaigns AIP ran to a section of lobby cards and advertising, other books have explored the chronology of the studio in more detail. This frees up Smith to focus solely on the films themselves, though he does go into detail often on the promotion for the films, which many times was as important as the feature itself. Cataloged alphabetically and by decade, the selected films are not comprehensive, though representative and covering most of the goodies. The reader gets more than enough of the flavor of the studio’s output.

Also included are a brief discussion of the AIP’s disastrous attempt at television, and a list of unfilmed projects that is fun and leaves you hoping someone swipes these nutty but irresistible ideas. A lot of AIP films are available on DVD, and you can still find some VHS copies in bargain bins.

Oddly enough, the biggest moneymaker the studio had was 1980’s The Amityville Horror, a humorless, obvious bore-fest that in many ways can serve as the anti-AIP film. Shortly thereafter, what was left of AIP was sold to Filmways. The legend and influence of AIP is present still, though, in the hearts of every underground filmmaker and Madison Avenue huckster. The American International Pictures Video Guide is a great treat for B-movie and trash film fans, and should kindle a spark in lesser versed readers.

The American International Pictures Video Guide is available from McFarland Press.