As We Speak

This one flick at Sundance

(I killed to get in),

As We Speak it was called,

about rap as a sin.

About rap as a tool

to impeach and imprison;

and not as reflection,

creation, or vision.

It showed us the law,

prosecutors precise,

who twist up a lyric

just thinkin’ they nice.

That man who was shot?

At that store down the block?

Well Kemba once said:

All my competition’s dead…

So isn’t it clear?

He looks like he did it…

But that’s not PC so

let’s look at his lyrics.

Follow pattern, you see,

which is way way way old,

contra human responses

like blues jazz and soul.

So with Kemba we travel

to the poetry cradles:

libraries, floors,

of course diner tables;

to those jesters performing,

to those jokers locked up,

asking what happened?

and who gave a fuck?

And we see it’s just people,

calmness and eyes.

Jokes, explanations,

just done to survive.

So long story short,

this doc is a fluid:

factfiction blurring like

ain’t nothin’ to it.

One moment we’re student,

one moment on trial.

One moment we crumble,

another we smile.

So rap is on trial.

As we speak

yes right now.

Speech is on trial.

As We Speak

shows us how.

Max Richter's Sleep

Please take a moment. Try and remember how it was to be rocked to sleep. How it felt when your parent sang you a lullaby, or read you a story as you dozed off.

Did you feel safe? Comfortable? Or were you not really there, moving between worlds? Max Richter’s Sleep explores all of this and more.

And that’s impressive considering Sleep is just a song. Well, a song eight hours long, whose overnight performances transform event spaces into giant public bedrooms . . . But perhaps even more affecting is that the thinkers behind this experience—and the many attendees—were willing to do this kind of thing. A stubbornly long lullaby shared with strangers while you are at your most vulnerable? It flies in the face of an always-on, self-protective culture.

And yet it’s not a new idea, Max explains. Long songs and performances have been found throughout cultures and history. The difference here, though, is the focus: This meticulously planned event means to speak to your mind precisely as it moves in and out of consciousness. It sounds trippy, but it’s a largely comforting experience, and one that calls back to the simple (and powerful) act of letting go which humankind seems to forget as it ages.

Watching the performance and hearing the music is therefore refreshingly calming. So too is its origin story beautiful.

Interviews tell us that Max and his wife Yulia often went to bed with empty stomachs; the starving artists always fed their children first. But their desire to create and connect with a broad audience kept them firmly at the low-paying fringes of society. Even if Max performed somewhere afar, Yulia would tune in at the end of a long day—and inevitably fall asleep. A thoughtful and perceptive person herself, she found that listening while dozing was an experience unlike any other. And when Max responded to this observation with a secret composition years in the making, their lightbulbs burned in unison. We need to do something with this.

The two make an adorable couple, and their dedication and creativity are on full display in this movie. So, too, are the stories of certain spectators and performance planners. We learn a bit about what drew people to this unintuitive experience. It all makes for an interesting watch, and thanks to remarkably consistent camerawork and lighting, an experience you can safely doze off to.

This is typically not the highest praise for a movie. But here, it is. It’s a testament to the respect and understanding the moviemakers have for these creators, their hard work and goals.

So take a moment. Get comfy, turn those lights down and that volume up. You’ll be glad you did.

The Night is Short, Walk On Girl

Remember that best night ever? When somehow, everyone out was tapped into the same line of electricity in the air?

This movie is that night, thanks to The Girl with the Black Hair. She knows life is short, so she’s going to take a hit of that new drink; to chat up that stranger. Though her positivity is irresistible, so is her appetite.

Her quest for more lights up the entire city. Each place she visits, each character she meets, brings its own charming quirks.

The movie is a drunken delight. A poem to serendipity, with exaggerated animation that’ll change the way you take in the world, if just for one night.

The Prom

Prom is cancelled! Thanks PTA. Now the cool kids won’t be able to flaunt it, and Emma won’t be able to finally enjoy a night in public with her girlfriend.

Outrage at this small-town injustice is trending. So Dee Dee and Barry, fresh off their Broadway flop, try to score publicity points by saving the day. Think sequin-bomb exploding in an Indiana Applebee’s.

What follows is relentlessly upbeat, filled with loud colors, broad smiles, and impromptu (but perfect) performances. It can be a bit much, especially with such a long movie, but it’s all there to create a mood of positivity in the face of pain. Snarky and self-referential jokes make it clear that the moviemakers knew exactly what they were doing here: just having fun with it.

Tripping with Nils Frahm

Nils Frahm puts on a show.

And we have the best seat in the house, thanks to pro camerawork. Balanced zooms show us all the highlights: sweat beads of concentration here, happy feet there, an evolving crowd always. The experience is intimate, but collective too.

Editing distracts us in the best way. How is he making these sounds—but look at that technique—wow the crowd is feeling this song—except for that person in the third row? Go with it. Sit and watch or stand and dance, you can’t go wrong.