And the King Said, What a Fantastic Machine

Wow, Fantastic Machine is PURE DANG FUN! Think of it as a clip show—of the most wonderful and goofy and disquieting moments that humans have ever recorded with a camera.

I mean, do you know how many thousands of generations couldn’t re-live their baby’s first steps? Couldn’t see the Earth for the pale blue dot it is? We have context and comfort now, thanks to this fantastic machine.

Does a horse at gallop always have one leg on the ground? Only with the camera could we settle the (rich man’s) bet.

And just as beautifully, it’s helped us laugh. If you don’t believe me, here, take this teaspoon of cinnamon powder. Look at how silly this woman is, hanging off the world’s tallest building with one arm to take the perfect pic. And when you’re done we can watch bloopers from a terrorist recruitment video—you know, the one that models its explosions on Hollywood movie trailers(?!).

Of course, we’ve done terrible, awful things with the camera, too, and the moviemakers force us to reckon with that fact. Like when that movienerd talks, completely enthralled, about her art—and not about how she was the pawn of a murderous dictator. Like when we see a deceased young girl swarmed by paparazzi. Yes, the camera can commodify even death.

What becomes clear is that as much as we’ve evolved this fantastic machine, it has evolved us. In reminding us of this, and in having us think about whether it’s OK, Fantastic Machine is a treasure.

Mamacruz

Grandma’s feelin’ frisky!

Hey, if that makes you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. Cruz herself is ashamed and confused about feeling sexual urges after all these years.

Don’t ask her to ask what Jesus would do; she tried that and it brought her face to face with a life-size, tall young thing. His beard was so thick . . . his torso, so toned . . .

Agh! Cruz’s church-going friends are no help either. Almost as bad as her husband’s snoring. Anyways, we begin to wonder whether abuela is destined to suffer in silence.

And yet, God always gives us a sign, doesn’t God? I mean, the flyer was right outside church!

Soon we see Cruz attending a new kind of service. It’s called sex therapy, and though its devoted are also trying to live better lives, there is no judgment here for confessing fears and desires. Until this point the movie had been delicate, funny, and interesting, but from now on the goodness compounds. Smart moviewriting dissolves witty jokes with touching tales; balances heavy stuff perfectly with light.

Without a doubt Mamacruz would upset a few of Cruz’s old friends. They’d be overreacting, though. Even if ever-so-mildly explicit, it’s a wholesome movie about a person trying her best. Whether by edits or imagery, breathing or focus, it knows just how to build. And release!

Cruz somehow turning a bland moment into a peep show.

All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt

Hands, I think. This one is about hands.

I’m joking mostly, which means I’m serious a little bit. All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt looked like it’d be a folksy and powerful tale about connection in rural Mississippi, but its extreme focus on details (like hands) hurts the experience.

I think it’s supposed to be about Mack’s life, of which we can see only moments. Of which she can live only moments. So for now we watch her learning fishing from dad or party manners from mom. And we care about all this because how Mack learns is pretty interesting.

When trapping fish, for example, she’ll take time to look at the water. She’ll caress it with her fingertips before squeezing the mud at its base and staring into the depths of her catch’s eyes. Stuff like that—sights and sounds that are beautiful and beautifully caught on camera for us.

Got it. Mack is a watcher more than a doer, sensitive and tactile. Problem is, the moviemakers not only fuel the story with these scenes (which can be emotive and thought-provoking), they make the whole movie about them. Any charm or meaning they carry gets bogged down by repetitive and lengthy close-ups. How long do we need to watch a person hugging to feel the feelings? How long do we need a close-up of hands touching other hands to think about what might be happening between them?

The movie’s structure tugs us out of the story, too. Mack is a young girl in one scene, riding bikes with her friends; then in the next, she’s a grown woman, hugging someone. In the one after that she’s young again, we’re looking at hands again. And so on. This jumping around might show us the different interactions that have made Mack who she is, but it doesn’t make for much of a story until the very end of the movie, when things finally begin to get comprehensible.

Heck, maybe that’s the point, that life is nothing but moments, and that these moments can’t truly be described or weaved together in a coherent way. I think we all feel that way sometimes. But do we need an hour and a half of repetition to remind us?

Mack at peace with Momma and Mississippi.

Mami Wata

The screen drowns in it, a squid-ink dark so dark it almost hurts my eyes. It’s making me think danger.

It’s also a good way to spotlight something. And so we can see a woman standing alone where the waves crash—decorated, like them, with flourishes of white. Ah! Light can live in this darkness, can pierce it.

Artsy, right?! So begins Mami Wata. Its masterplays of light, positioning, sound- and costume-design never end, guaranteeing gorgeousness throughout. But the movie isn’t just pretty. It’s also a gripping small-town drama and allegory, filled with twists.

At its center sits Mama Efe. She’s the intermediary, the one who can (supposedly) channel the power of Mami Wata, the spirit of the water. Kid sick? Take ‘em to Efe. Crop good? Sacrifice it by giving it to Efe. Some of the villagers are fine with this, but a few are not. They ask loudly and often: How come Mama Efe lives in luxury while we still have no hospitals, schools, or roads? Why do we allow her to lie to us? Even Efe’s two daughters struggle with believing.

Eventually, tensions break like waves. Again and again the spiritual folk can’t answer questions about the practical. Will Mami Wata let them down after all these years? And are the alternatives any better? If the movie draws us in with its visual/aural beauty, then it keeps us interested with a cycle of tension and surprises. Think spirits, daughters, warlords.

Moviemakers, I am impressed. For a while I even believed.

Mama Efe, concerned.