Movie review by Greg Carlson

As tantalizing subject matter goes, the topic of Marilyn Agrelo’s “Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street” is as much a slam dunk as Morgan Neville’s “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” Even though the 107-minute documentary sticks mainly to the contents of Michael Davis’s excellent 2008 book, which was published in anticipation of the show’s 40th anniversary in 2009, fans will not fault Agrelo’s tough editorial choices. The director has so much material from which to select, nothing in “Street Gang” feels wasted, out of place, or inessential. Viewers who grew up on the series will enjoy both a heady wave of childhood memories and a fresh, behind-the-scenes perspective on American television’s most influential children’s educational program.

The most devoted will have opinions on the right way to divide up the credit for the show’s success, and one of the most satisfying aspects of Agrelo’s film is the manner in which she thoughtfully considers so many of the players central to the development of “Sesame Street.” People will likely come for Jim Henson and Frank Oz and the Muppets, but stay for Joan Ganz Cooney and Jon Stone and Christopher Cerf and Joe Raposo and several original cast members whose anecdotes point to the scope and scale and ambition of the endeavor. Agrelo has a terrific feel for the various layers that define “Sesame Street,” and articulates the value of the iconoclastic, subversive, and progressive elements baked into the enterprise.

You won’t find any sustained critiques of well-meaning white liberalism in Agrelo’s film, but the director handles the socio-political dimensions of “Sesame Street” with clarity. Obviously, the diversity of the cast, the urban setting, the recognition and inclusion of the Spanish language, and the basic respect for multiculturalism were inspired by and adjacent to Joan Ganz Cooney’s feelings about the civil rights movement. Agrelo includes a reminder that “Sesame Street” was briefly dropped from Mississippi airwaves (see Jake Rossen’s “Mental Floss” article for a deeper dive). Not everyone shared the love.

And to underscore the adage that you can’t please all of the people all of the time, Agrelo lights up the story of Matt Robinson. Spanning only a few pages in the Davis book, Robinson’s importance to early “Sesame Street” could have been easily overlooked in the film. For seasons one through three, Robinson portrayed Gordon — the very first person introduced in the initial scene in the inaugural episode — with what Davis describes as “a near-perfect blend of urban cool and downtown sophistication.” Robinson would also create the controversial Roosevelt Franklin, the proud and soulful Muppet that, according to his critics, reinforced negative stereotypes.

Agrelo instinctively settles into a rhythm that ties together such a massive undertaking. Legendary milestones, like the handling of Mr. Hooper-portrayer Will Lee’s death, have been thoroughly covered elsewhere, but receive the proper and necessary respect one would expect. In 2014, Caroll Spinney was the subject of his own feature documentary, “I Am Big Bird,” but it’s impossible to imagine a wide-ranging history without addressing the one-two punch of the giant yellow avian and the irritable green trash-lover. Don’t be surprised if “Street Gang” leaves you wanting more — that’s often the mark of something special. I’m ready for full-length cinematic treatments of Henson’s infinitely creative experimental short films, the performances of the celebrated musicians and guest stars who stopped by to say hello, and a biography of Count von Count performer Jerry Nelson.

For the record, the Count is my favorite Muppet. I’d like to hear about yours.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Talented hyphenate Ben Hozie breaks through with “PVT Chat,” an audacious and exciting low-budget, NYC indie sure to generate equal measures of interest and controversy for its onscreen depictions of graphic masturbation. Hozie, the guitarist and vocalist of Bodega, serves as the movie’s director, writer, cinematographer, and editor. Sparking with “going-nowhere-fast” energy that parallels the urgency and big risks of “Uncut Gems,” Hozie’s film is something of a companion piece to the Josh and Benny Safdie showcase. Along with the familiar face of Buddy Duress, the presence of Julia Fox — who made her feature film debut playing Howard Ratner’s inamorata Julia in “Uncut Gems” —  links the two movies.

The onscreen title “PVT Chat: A Romance About Freedom Fantasy Death Friendship” promises something more substantive than a strictly prurient piece of exploitation. And although it aims for a different vibe and tone than the Isa Mazzei-written, Daniel Goldhaber-directed “Cam,” the film joins a short but expanding list of titles examining the constantly-evolving world of computer-mediated sex work. Peter Vack’s Jack represents many young men telling tall tales and constructing identity in real time inside the virtual realm of the internet. Jack mainly switches between online poker and cam girls. He develops feelings for domme Scarlet (Fox), who expertly indulges Jack’s submissive yearnings.

Unlike so many mainstream cinematic depictions of BDSM and kink that treat the subjects as an easy joke, near-criminal aberrance/deviance, a source of embarrassment and shame, or a combination of all of the above, Hozie presents the lusty releases with matter-of-fact directness. Vack’s uninhibited performance is matched by Fox’s own fearlessness, and deep into the story Hozie surprises with a major shift in point-of-view that asks the viewer to reorient previously established attitudes about the transactional nature of Jack and Scarlet’s relationship. By opening the door to a consideration of Scarlet’s desires, Hozie both humanizes her and explores how online space is complicated by IRL actions.

In an excellent consideration of “PVT Chat” for “Paste,” Mary Beth McAndrews writes, “Self-pleasure has become prioritized over real life connections — illustrating intimacy’s shift from physical contact to an ethereal, individual experience built upon fantasies.” In one sense, this statement alludes to the way in which Hozie’s movie belongs to a tradition of self-reflexive cinema. In another, it makes a strong case for the film’s credulity-stretching coincidences and connections that have raised the eyebrows and ire of less charitable critics. Like the movie or lump it, Hozie nails the greener-grass metaphor with a clarity that reminded me of the last lines of James Joyce’s “Araby.”

The “unsimulated” (a loaded word, to be sure) capture of certain acts places “PVT Chat” in a fraternity of provocative movies that includes Michael Winterbottom’s “9 Songs” and several works by Catherine Breillat and Gaspar Noe. Hozie, however, expresses love and sympathy for art-makers of all kinds. He understands the grind required to pay the bills and the way the hustle spills from one kind of survival to another. The biographies of both Fox and Vack boast bona fides that sharpen the verisimilitude. Both performers can point to artistic projects that extend beyond screen performance. Add to that Fox’s once-upon-a-time experience working as a dominatrix and “PVT Chat” feels like an inside job.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Validated and legitimized by a kind of inflated imprimatur as an episode in “The New York Times Presents” series, filmmaker Samantha Stark’s “Framing Britney Spears” is a frustrating piece of lopsided speculation that never quite does enough to investigate and interrogate the horrifying treatment experienced by its subject as a young woman in the spotlight. In other words, the nonfiction celebrity exposé risks becoming the thing it may set out to critique: a sensationalized provocation long on gossip and short on complexity. It doesn’t help that Spears did not participate in the production, but did anyone expect her to do so?

To Stark’s credit, the film’s straightforward chronology presents an overview of the pop star’s classic American success story that capably explains the appeal of the determined kid from small-town Louisiana as she rockets to fame and fortune. The film might have focused on the ways in which Spears was chewed up and spit out by an industrial machine that exacts incalculable costs from children treated too quickly as adults. Accelerated sexualization and the brutal demands of generating wealth and income for both corporate master and a small army of employees and family members are grim conditions that go back to the beginning of modern Hollywood.

In a landscape in which the recent past is being scrutinized for misogyny, double standards, and interactions that have aged like milk, Spears earns sympathy and respect she never received during the time she was constantly assailed with questions about her body, her sexuality, her authenticity, her morals, her character, and her motivations. Stark has no trouble pointing to multiple examples of how Spears was bullied on camera by the likes of Diane Sawyer and Matt Lauer, not to mention the non-famous “journalists,” mostly much older and male, who asked all kinds of nonsense.

After Spears and Justin Timberlake ended their romantic relationship, an anti-Britney narrative quickly cast her as the villain, the cheater, the heartbreaker. But once the story arrives at the low points in the saga (the so-called “downfall”), exemplified by the hellish omnipresence of the paparazzi following the birth of Spears’s children, Stark turns her attention to two ideas that deserve more thoughtful and thorough treatment than the movie can adequately address: the permanent legal conservatorship allowing Britney’s father James “Jamie” Spears control over her healthcare and finances and the so-called “Free Britney” movement that trips over unsourced and unverified conspiracies as much as it provides genuine support for the singer’s autonomy and independence.

The best aspects of “Framing Britney Spears” are implicit while the least effective parts are explicit. And in the absence of direct comment from Spears, Stark surely could have used more evenhanded and considerate interview subjects. The episode’s most reasoned commentator is former MTV personality Dave Holmes, who demonstrates an understanding of the ways in which superfans project all kinds of desires through close identification with a celebrity. Watching “Framing Britney Spears,” I thought about Margo Jefferson’s “On Michael Jackson” and imagined what the film might have been like had Stark taken Jefferson’s approach.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Joining the group of nonfiction portraits that includes “Stanley Kubrick: A Life in Pictures,” “Stanley Kubrick’s Boxes,” “Room 237,” “S Is for Stanley,” and “Filmworker,” Gregory Monro’s “Kubrick by Kubrick” is a worthy addition to the growing collection of documentary films exploring various aspects of the life and career of the legendary auteur. The most devoted fans might complain that Monro doesn’t offer much in the way of revelation or surprise, but the movie’s primary allure is the voice of the master filmmaker. Drawing from a quartet of recorded interviews conducted by the great author, critic, and “Positif” editor Michel Ciment, Monro’s movie has the effect of placing the notoriously particular and media-shy Kubrick in the room with the eager listener/viewer.

“Kubrick by Kubrick” was initially broadcast on French television in 2020 via the Arte network. A planned American screening as part of the Tribeca Film Festival was scratched as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. While it has so far popped up online in a few legal-to-view venues, the film remains elusive in the United States at the time of this writing. Interest in Kubrick will undoubtedly increase the odds of eventual digital/streaming availability, even if physical media enthusiasts may not want to hold their breath.

Along with the novelty of hearing directly from Kubrick, whose sound clips are paired with appropriate visuals frequently selected from his movies, Monro pays tribute to the Kubrickverse via a reconstruction of the iconic, otherworldly, Tony Masters-suggested, Harry Lange-designed bedchamber from “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Just as the monolith appeared before David Bowman in the room with the illuminated floor and the Louis XVI-inspired furnishings, Monro adorns the environment with one-sheets and replicas of key props, like Jack Torrance’s typewriter and axe, Dr. Strangelove’s wheelchair, Dolores Haze’s heart-shaped sunglasses, and the Carnival of Venice mask familiar to Dr. William Harford.

Along with Kubrick’s own words, Monro fleshes out the individual segments on select SK films with a top-notch series of cuts from news stories, television clips, and a lineup of archival interviews. Performers Sterling Hayden (wearing a wonderfully bushy beard), R. Lee Ermey, Malcolm McDowell, Marisa Berenson, and other familiar faces convey individual insights and perspectives. Kubrick’s thoughts on larger-than-life characters like Torrance and Alex DeLarge are even more delectable and tantalizing, especially when they do not exactly align with popular readings.

Not every movie in the filmography gets the same royal treatment, but Monro’s approach works well as a kind of thematic primer on Kubrick’s storytelling interests as well as an insightful behind-the-curtain peek at some of the director’s attitudes. One especially tantalizing quotation suggests a yearning for advanced cinematic devices that could one day transcend the limits of conventional film grammar and language, when Kubrick says, “I do think the real explosion will come when someone finally liberates the narrative structure.”

Kubrick also says, “I think that one of the things that characterizes some of the failures of 20th century art and all art forms is an obsession with total originality.” Upon hearing both of these statements, one simultaneously longs for follow-up questions to further explore such incredible ideas and envies Ciment’s intimate audiences with Kubrick throughout the years.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

One of several powerful films included in the upcoming 2021 North Dakota Environmental Rights Film Festival — screening virtually from April 11 through April 25 — director Shannon Kring’s “End of the Line: The Women of Standing Rock” looks at recent history through the eyes of several committed and passionate indigenous water protectors. Following its recent world premiere as part of the 2021 DocPoint showcase of nonfiction in Helsinki (members of the production team and a share of the movie’s financing came from Finland) and a domestic debut at Slamdance, Kring’s feature has already booked more than half a dozen additional festival engagements.

While Kring traces the events surrounding the grassroots movements that began in early 2016 to stop the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline (frequently identified on social media as #NoDAPL), the filmmaker’s decision to tell the story through the words and perspectives of a number of women transforms the viewing experience. Standing Rock Historic Preservation Officer LaDonna Brave Bull Allard, who initiated the Sacred Stone Camp, provides unwavering leadership in the face of overwhelming odds and a history of systemic marginalization, mistreatment and genocide by the government of the United States.

Alongside LaDonna Brave Bull Allard, Kring listens to the voices of others who have deeply personal stories to share. Particularly persuasive are Wašté Win Young, Phyllis Young, Frances “Punchy” Hart, Frances Zephier, and Linda Black Elk — although a number of others offer perspectives that are every bit as important and compelling. Not everyone will be comfortable with Kring’s storytelling approach, which frequently and deliberately interrupts unfolding events related to DAPL to address stark class and race-based disparities exacerbated by unconscionable violations of sovereignty — even when written into law.

But Kring’s approach is sound: one cannot separate the unfolding Dakota Access Pipeline saga from the decades-long pattern of injustice perpetrated by the greedy and the politically well-connected. Kring draws briefly on archival footage to illustrate the atrocious policies that forced families apart in the name of assimilation during the era of Indian Residential Schools. Neither Kring nor her subjects identify which outrage is worse. They do not need to do so. The environmental nightmare that includes running oil underneath the Missouri River lacks wisdom and humanity. So too did the deliberate dismantling of Native American culture.

And yet, these women remind us, the cycles continue and the call to involvement does not abate. “End of the Line” belongs to a tradition of activist filmmaking that draws from investigative journalism as well as from artistic principles and techniques. With an assist from director of photography Marc Gerke, Kring speaks truth to power as a witness to history. The sight of enforcers wielding pepper spray, swinging batons, spraying firehoses and unleashing attack dogs is as appalling as the audio of Jack Dalrymple’s creative rhetoric: “We cannot allow our state highways and our county highways to be taken over by agitators from other areas of the country.”

Those “agitators” included representatives from more than three hundred tribes as well as supporters from around the world.

More than 40 films will screen online leading up to and through Earth Day 2021, April 11-25. Tickets and passes for the festival are on sale now at www.nderff.org.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Memories of 1980s and 1990s video store culture will draw viewers of a certain age to “The Last Blockbuster,” Taylor Morden’s breezy, goofy documentary on the king of the corporate movie renting business. Long since destroyed by on-demand ease and streaming subscriptions, there was a time when millions “made it a Blockbuster night” before the harsh reality check of technology and a handful of bad decisions relegated the brand to punchline status. Accordingly, the film’s home on Netflix provides a level of irony partially addressed in the movie’s overview of Blockbuster’s spectacular decline.

Alongside the historical bullet points, Morden relies heavily on talking head interviews with an odd assortment of industry professionals including Kevin Smith, Ione Skye, Jamie Kennedy, Brian Posehn, and several others. Many of the comments are the kind of earnest and heartfelt personal observations that will remind viewers of their own trips to pick out movies. Too often, however, the tongue-in-cheek tone veers into the empty calorie territory of VH1’s cable television time-filler “I Love the ‘80s,” as subjects like Doug Benson and Ron Funches can’t resist using their screen time to test what feels like standup material.

Morden has much better luck with central subject Sandi Harding, the manager of the world’s only surviving Blockbuster store, located in Bend, Oregon. Affable, smart, practical and positive, Harding is as dynamic as any of the on-camera “celebrities” rounded up by Morden and writer Zeke Kamm. In the hands of a different filmmaking team, one imagines that Harding’s story alone would have been enough to carry a feature-length story. It’s fascinating to follow Harding as she fills her Target shopping basket with new DVD and Blu-ray releases that will soon be made available on her rental shelves.

Blockbuster’s business plan, which used database software that helped streamline store-franchising replicability, buried thousands of unique mom-and-pop video rental shops during the peak of the company’s mid-2000s brick-and-mortar dominance. Morden doesn’t entirely ignore this foul stain, but he fails in any meaningful or sustained way to fully explore and engage the dark side of Blockbuster’s monopoly. A brief but welcome appearance by salty Troma Entertainment curmudgeon Lloyd Kaufman at least calls out the chilling effect of Blockbuster’s sanitized and family-friendly product policy on independents and boutique labels.

As the latest addition to the growing subgenre of documentaries about home video’s tumultuous and exciting journey, “The Last Blockbuster” fleshes out one more chapter in the saga that includes recent takes like “The Last Video Store” and “At the Video Store,” as well as “Rewind This!” and “Adjust Your Tracking.” Despite frequent and persistent predictions that physical media will eventually disappear — an idea reiterated at least once in “The Last Blockbuster” — the strength and popularity of collecting and the will to find and see movies that would never have been carried by a Blockbuster in the first place is reflected in the ongoing work of the Criterion Collection, Vinegar Syndrome, Arrow Video, Shout! Factory, Kino Lorber, Olive Films, the American Genre Film Archive, Anchor Bay, Blue Underground, Severin Films, and many other keepers of the flame.

Will we ever see a widespread return to video rental spaces where people interact face-to-face as they discover new cinematic adventures, make connections, and invite chance recommendations that cannot be replicated by algorithms? Time will tell.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

An engrossing portrait that takes viewers deep into the world of marijuana farming in Northern California’s Humboldt County, “Freeland” rumbles along on the strength of a lovely central performance by Krisha Fairchild as Devi, a one-time hippie and last-woman-standing from the idealistic commune of the title. Fairchild, who played the fictionalized character who shares her name in nephew Trey Edward Shults’s debut feature “Krisha,” has been lauded for her efforts. Most recently, she received the award for Best Actress at the 2021 Fargo Film Festival.

“Freeland” filmmakers and longtime collaborators Kate McLean and Mario Furloni made the short documentary “Pot Country” in 2011, and that piece influences and informs the content of their feature. The writing and directing team (Furloni also serves as the cinematographer of “Freeland”) harnesses both techniques and storytelling sensibilities from their nonfiction experience. The exposition, confidently handled, invites the spectator into a fully-realized world. Devi takes seriously the cultivation of her plants. She employs a small team of young but like-minded workers to harvest the crop. Her relationship with Josh (Frank Mosley) appears at first glance to be rooted in trust.

McLean and Furloni will take the Krisha-Josh connection to fresh and unexpected places. Other pairings may be less pronounced and explosively dramatic, but are equally important. The directors lean heavily on the thematic mileage introduced by Krisha’s ex Ray (John Craven), dialing up the sense of regret and the longing for a different era. “Freeland” builds much of its tension around Krisha’s struggles to adapt to the major legal changes and regulations transforming her industry.

In addition to Mosley and Craven, the other supporting cast members add much depth to “Freeland.” Among those performers, Lily Gladstone deserves special mention. Unforgettable and brilliant in Kelly Reichardt’s “Certain Women,” Gladstone makes an impression here as Mara, another member of Krisha’s small crew. The actor capitalizes on every moment of her time on the screen, leaving one to wonder why she has not been cast more frequently in higher profile projects.

The movie, of course, is a tour de force showcase for Fairchild — an overnight sensation several decades in the making. Her first theatrical film credit listed in the Internet Movie Database is “Truckstop Cook” in Nancy Savoca’s excellent 1991 “Dogfight,” and she has more than two dozen additional television and movie appearances to her name. Devi is a meaty opportunity. “Freeland” is structured to constantly escalate the problems and increase the tension, and Fairchild takes the audience with her every step of the way. Even when the choices of McLean and Furloni strain credulity, Fairchild never plays a wrong note.

Like so many titles affected by the response to the global pandemic, “Freeland” had to cut a new path to find its viewers. Last year, the movie was scheduled in the Visions section of the canceled 2020 South by Southwest Film Festival — and its eventual distribution might have looked a bit different. From March 18 to 28, however, audiences can access “Freeland” as part of the virtual 2021 Fargo Film Festival. Tickets are on sale now.