Times are changing in the movie business, and the Cannes Film Festival, running May 17 to 28, has put this reality on brilliant display. Controversy simmered over the inclusion of two films in the official competition from Netflix, a company that often sidesteps traditionally fixed theatrical release schedules. At least one of its Cannes films – South Korean director Bong Joon-Ho’s “Okja” – will be available to stream next month.​ Audiences booed the company’s logo on screen, French exhibitors protested and Cannes changed rules to require theatrical release in France for future competition films.​​ Some Cannes purists also weren’t thrilled with the premiere of two TV series, including the first two hours of David Lynch’s “Twin Peaks” reboot, already airing on Showtime. “Right now, cable television is the new arthouse,” Lynch told deadline.com. This resonates out here in small-town America, where international festival hits rarely – if ever – make it to the theater and online streaming and the small screen experience reign supreme. We’re not so concerned with the timing of releases, but rather the access online platforms afford us to world cinema. In that spirit, here’s a look at three other international film festival favorites currently streaming on Netflix. “Sand Storm” (Sundance 2016 World Cinema Grand Jury Prize) Israeli director Elite Zexer’s “Sand Storm” was the first film shot entirely in Arabic to win a best film Ophir (Israel’s Oscars). Turning on a family with four daughters in a Bedouin village, the setting feels remote in more ways than one. This is a world where first wives host their husbands’ subsequent weddings, girls sneak out windows to talk to boys, daughters are married off by their fathers and wives can be banished from their homes. Yet the emotions at the core of this story of one young woman’s attempt to defy her destiny, and her mother’s improbable role in supporting her, are achingly universal: the urgency of young love, the pride and responsibility of parenthood, the pain of a broken marriage, the irreversible moment when a child loses faith in a parent, the suffocating weight of a life with no hope or future. “Sand Storm” offers a much subtler rendering of stifled rebellion than the equally lauded 2015 film Mustang, also on Netflix, about five oppressed sisters in Turkey. It might take you a bit to get into this initially slow-paced movie, which lingers documentary-style on seemingly disconnected sequences, often without much dialogue or explanation. But stick with it – the story, acting and unique setting are all worth it. “Fire at Sea” (Berlin 2016 Golden Bear) This Oscar-nominated documentary also requires patience as it leisurely patches together a portrait of modern life on Lampedusa, an Italian island closer to the African coast than the European, and a landing point for hundreds of thousands of migrants and refugees over the last two decades. As director Gianfranco Rosi told Film Comment in October, “Lampedusa somehow became a metaphor of what Europe is right now: these two worlds that collide but cannot interact with each other.”​​ His camera shows this by following locals as they go about their daily lives, then riding aboard coast guard boats sent to help migrants lost at sea. Rosi juxtaposes the languid days of childhood and the traditions of Mediterranean life with distressing scenes of dehydrated and dazed evacuees being searched and catalogued, or the cavern of a refugee ship layered with dead bodies. In one particularly memorable scene, a room full of Nigerian men chant their impossible journey across the Sahara, through Libyan prisons and over the sea. In another, the local doctor, who cares for refugees, talks about the patients he’s treated, the cadavers he’s examined and the anger and emptiness he feels in the face of so much suffering. “It is the duty of every human being to help these people,” the doctor says behind barely concealed tears, providing an eloquent caption to Rosi’s portrait. “Dheepan” (Cannes 2015 Palme d’Or) “Dheepan” shows the other side of the emigrant experience: three Tamil refugees escaping violence in Sri Lanka get resettled in France, but wind up in a crime-ridden subsidized housing project. The trio have fled under false pretenses, posing as a married couple with a 9-year-old daughter, when in reality all three have lost their own families in the war and came together entirely out of convenience. Their new life in France means creating their own bonds, a storyline that allows the Sri Lankan-born actors to shine. The camera follows them closely for the duration of the film. As a character study, “Dheepan” provides a credible depiction of how bewildering it must be to start over in a new country where you know neither the language nor the culture. It also offers a fascinating portrayal of complete lawlessness in the French housing blocks. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

Iranian director Asghar Farhadi is on a roll. Two of his last three films won foreign-language Oscars, and he routinely earns top awards at major international film festivals – including Cannes, where his newest feature was just announced as the opening night premiere in competition next month. Regular people go to see Farhadi’s movies too. True breakouts, his 2011 family tale, “A Separation,” remains one of the 50 top-grossing foreign-language films of all time in the US, and his last drama, “The Salesman,” broke records on release in Iran. Farhadi’s flesh-and-blood characters elicit an enormous amount of empathy, beyond potential cultural barriers and despite a decidedly non-Hollywood realist style. In an acceptance speech read for him at last year’s Oscar ceremony, which he boycotted in protest of Trump’s proposed travel ban that included Iran, Farhadi highlighted an urgent need for cross-cultural understanding. “Filmmakers can turn their cameras to capture shared human qualities and break stereotypes of various nationalities and religions,” he wrote. “They create empathy between us and others. An empathy which we need today more than ever.” His films do this by artfully revealing quite a lot about Iranian society, making them fascinating to watch. His subtle touch is born of necessity: “I believe art in the face of censorship is like water in the face of stone,” he told Slant Magazine last year about making movies in Iran. “When you place an obstacle like a stone in the way of water, the water finds its way around it.” ​Moments in Time Farhadi has said he is often inspired by a single image that transforms into a feature-length film. The idea for “A Separation” arose from a single scene: a man bathing his father, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s. It’s one of many memorable scenes in the film about a couple facing divorce when the wife wants to emigrate but the husband refuses to leave his senile father behind. Their 11-year-old daughter, skillfully played by Farhadi’s own daughter, is the tie that binds them. Though much of the film was shot on handheld camera, Farhadi continually frames his characters in a way that simultaneously conveys their state of mind: the melancholy son-father washing scene of great tenderness set against the cold, hard tile of a bathroom; a couple quarreling in a descending elevator; a daughter’s silent tears and imploring stare. The film opens with the couple talking straight to camera, representing a judge, arguing their sides to the divorce and custody issue. It’s a captivating way to situate the viewer and place us directly into the story. Their separation is exacerbated by the need to care for the father. When the man hires a female caretaker, an acquaintance whose husband is in dire financial straits, the story takes a darker turn: her negligence leads to a fight that ends in tragedy and mutual accusations. These characters and entwined storylines uncover so many layers of contemporary life in Tehran: the choice of whether to stay or leave Iran; the struggles of different social classes; the superstitions that can accompany deep religious belief; the place and frequent impotence of women. Turning Points “Everybody Knows,” Farhadi’s newest film premiering next month in Cannes, is a Spanish-language psychological thriller set in Spain and starring Penélope Cruz, Javier Bardem and Ricardo Darín. Though his earlier films aren’t exactly thrillers, they have elements of mystery and suspense brought on by unexpected events that change the lives of his characters. In “The Salesman,” the turning point in the peaceful lives of a pair of young artists comes when the wife suffers a violent attack in their apartment. But in fact, and like “A Separation,” their lives had already been upturned in scene one, when they were forced to move out of their home because of damage to the building’s foundation. With cracks running down walls and across windows, the home’s rupture foreshadows the fissures to come in their married life. Meanwhile, the two are also starring in a theatrical rendition of “Death of a Salesman,” scenes from which parallel the unraveling of the couple’s placid life and happy marriage. The intertextuality adds depth to the primary tale, both given vitality by the powerful performances of veteran actors (and Farhadi regulars) Taraneh Alidoosti and Shahab Hosseini. “A Separation” and “The Salesman,” Farhadi’s two Oscar winners, are both available to stream on Amazon or on DVD at the public library.

They call him the “Trump of the Tropics.” But according to people inside Brazil, their newly elected president Jair Bolsonaro has more in common with the vicious Philippine strongman Rodrigo Duterte than with Trump. A former army captain, Bolsonaro has threatened political opponents, restricted press coverage, vowed he believes in torture, said he’d rather his own son die than be gay and claimed women don’t deserve equal pay. He’s also pledged to crack down on widespread crime and corruption, which likely helped fuel his 55 percent victory. I had a chance to interview journalists, filmmakers and politicians in Brazil recently about their reactions to Bolsonaro. Most expressed serious concerns. Before the election, hundreds of artists signed a manifesto decrying the threat they feel he represents to democracy, and promising to “join forces” to defend freedom and tolerance. Some people I spoke to had faith that Bolsonaro would tone down his campaign rhetoric once in office, or that economic reforms, done right, could help Brazil. These are the best hopes in this diverse yet unequal society and among film professionals in an industry reliant on government funding. Though the majority of Brazilian films don’t play widely in US theaters, many can be found on streaming services. Here are some films and series that offer a glimpse into pre-Bolsonaro Brazil, and may help illustrate the context that spawned his far-right political movement. Race, Poverty & Violence Among the filmmakers to sign the pre-election manifesto was Fernando Meirelles, acclaimed director of “City of God,” one of Brazil’s most successful films of all time with four Oscar nominations in 2004 and critics’ groups rankings as one of the decade’s best movies. Despite this success, “City of God” is hard to watch. A dizzying rhythm explodes in the opening collage, prefacing a gang of armed boys chasing a chicken through Rio’s favelas, and lasts the full two hours. Welcome to the vast and lawless shantytown known as the “City of God” and referred to in the movie as Vietnam, an apt analogy considering the film’s 70s-era portrayal of war-like carnage. Boys form the tale’s nucleus – from adolescent runners who grow up to become drug bosses and roving bands of armed pre-pubescents known as the “Runts,” to the protagonist Rocket, whose talent as a photographer provides his ticket out of the slums. The movie is split into interwoven vignettes based on true stories, with a voiceover by Rocket recounting decades of criminal activity and vicious bloodshed. What makes the unbearable watchable is the hope inherent in Rocket’s character, and the film’s gripping style, which one critic called a Scorsese-esque display of sun-soaked lighting, handheld cameras and hyperkinetic editing. Scandals & Corruption “City of God” is streaming on Amazon, while Netflix has a one-hour documentary revisiting the stars and settings of the original film ten years later. Several of the hundreds of actual favela residents who were hired to act in the film describe how the movie and its international success changed their lives. In some cases, the experience led to work in Hollywood or local careers. Others spent the couple of thousand Reals they earned then returned to a life of hardship. Through their voices, the documentary offers a critical take on the persistent correlation between race and poverty in Brazil. Netflix has also recently produced several original TV series that reflect other complexities of Brazilian society. The cinematographer for “City of God” directed several episodes of “3%,” a dystopian thriller set on an island paradise whose elite inhabitants let in just a handful of people from the impoverished mainland each year. “The Mechanism” is based on real events concerning a scandal involving government corruption and elicited angry reactions from political leaders in Brazil. And “Blood Pact” turns on a journalist who uses ethically questionable means to report on gang wars and corruption. Fashion, Technology & Wealth Then there’s the other side of Brazilian society, portrayed in Netflix’s “Love.com,” a frothy romantic comedy set against the fashionable upper echelons of Sao Paulo. Katrina is a successful fashion vlogger with high-end sponsors and tons of followers. She’s young, gorgeous and always in character to fit her virtual image. When she meets Fernando, an IT nerd who vlogs about video games and attends Cosplay parties with his childhood buddies (oh, and lives with his mom), an unlikely romance arises. It’s obvious to everyone their relationship is lopsided. Sure enough, his inertia eventually clashes with her dedication. Or, maybe, her image consciousness conflicts with his authenticity. The script strikes an affable balance between emotion and humor, and the two lead actors are charismatic and believable enough to draw you in almost enough to ignore the predictable storyline. “Love.com” also offers some healthy reminders for this image-driven age about maintaining sight of who you are, even when no one’s watching. The film feels like it could take place anywhere – and that’s the point.

Last week marked the one-year anniversary of the Al Qaeda terrorist attacks on the offices of French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, which left 17 people dead at the magazine and elsewhere in Paris over the course of three days. To commemorate, Netflix released the documentary “Je Suis Charlie” by French father-son filmmakers Daniel and Emmanuel Leconte. The film has taken on tragically heightened relevance following the November terrorist attacks in Paris that killed 130. Meanwhile, Jan. 25 will mark the five-year anniversary of the start of mass protests in Egypt, a turning point in the dubbed “Arab Spring” uprisings that led to the toppling of dictators across the Arab world. Egyptian-American filmmaker Jehane Noujaim’s award-winning chronicle of the 2011 protests, “The Square” (“Al Midan”), is also available on Netflix, which is positioning itself as a major player in documentary distribution. Netflix co-production “Winter on Fire: Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom,” about the mass anti-government protests that broke out in Kiev two years ago, is one of this year’s finalists for the best documentary Oscar and is also available to stream. These films captured key global events as they were unfolding. In doing so, they illustrate the interconnectedness of events around the world, and they offer vital reflections on the values and principles that make democracy something worth fighting for.​ Liberty, Equality, Fraternity​​ Charlie Hebdo was no stranger to controversy. In 2007, the magazine was sued by organizations representing Islam in France for publishing caricatures of the Prophet Muhammad in solidarity with a Danish newspaper that had suffered international backlash for doing the same.​​ Interviews from Daniel Leconte’s 2008 documentary about that legal battle (“It’s Hard Being Loved by Jerks,” available on Amazon Prime) are included in “Je Suis Charlie,” and it’s haunting now to watch victims of the 2015 massacre talk about their motivations and the reactions to their work.​​ Equally riveting are the newer testimonies from survivors, particularly the cartoonist “Coco,” who tearfully recounts how she was forced at gunpoint to punch in the security code that let the terrorists into Charlie’s offices. The brutal attacks had broad implications: If society accepts that its journalists may be murdered for challenging taboos or tackling contentious topics, have we essentially agreed to abandon public debate on any potentially conflictive issues? Are we tacitly endorsing self-censorship in the name of political correctness or self-preservation? An estimated 4 million people took to streets across France after the attacks last year, chanting “Charlie, you are France,” a country that prides itself on its universal values of “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.” Signs declared “Je Suis Charlie” (“I am Charlie”), a refrain that went viral on social media. Footage of the protests is interwoven with the interviews and images of Charlie cartoons. The directors’ friendships with the Charlie staff infuse the film and narration with emotional depth. That closeness only weighs the movie down in one latter section dedicated to the friends lost that feels perhaps too personal for a general audience. This is a philosophical film, heavy on moral questions and short on easy answers. Viewers might not agree with every idea put forth here, and that is entirely the point. “You can disagree without threatening or killing your detractors,” says the cartoonist “Charb,” just a few years before he was killed in the Charlie Hebdo newsroom. Fighting for Freedom from Cairo to Kiev In a country where for 30 years few dared speak out for fear of repercussion under Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak’s clinched-fist rule, the celebration in “The Square” of the young revolutionaries who brought down his regime is at once romantic and honest, tragic yet hopeful. It’s not hard to make parallels with the pro-European protestors in Kiev in Russian-born Evgeny Afineevsky’s “Winter on Fire.” Circumstances differ, but the fights are related and in many ways look eerily similar on film, right down to the heavily armored police.​​ Afineevsky’s documentary details the specifics of how events unfolded, while Noujaim tells a more intimate story, showing us what the revolution meant in the personal lives of a small group of protagonists we feel we get to know. Neither documentary goes into much detail on the widely reported role of social media and mobile apps in coordinating and communicating the revolutions. “The battle isn’t just the rocks and stones,” declares British-Egyptian protestor Khalid Abdalla (an actor in “The Kite Runner”). “The battle is in the images. The battle is in the stories.” The images, often grisly, and the stories, sometimes heartbreaking, are in these movies. Both convey a palpable sense of urgency through hand-held camerawork, chaotic street scenes, a raw rollercoaster of emotions, and the chronological stitching together of months of dramas that, sadly, are still playing out in both countries today. The Arab Spring hasn’t produced the hoped-for democratic overhaul of the region, while Ukraine is still suffering the pressures of Russian power. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

There's been a lot of nationalistic, if not xenophobic, talk from presidential candidates lately, and it's gotten me thinking (maybe to improve my own mood) about nationality in movies. Much like in the real world, where global affairs and mass migrations are muddling national borders, the artificial lines of "countries" are fast disappearing in the global film industry. It's easy to talk about "American" movies or "Italian" cinema, but the reality of the industry is something different. Scratch the surface of any Hollywood blockbuster and you're likely to find British or Australian actors or directors. The trend is even more observable in smaller industries, where stories as well as casts, crews and financing are pieced together from multiple countries, out of economic need, creative inspiration or both. The 81 submissions for this year's foreign-language Oscar, arguably the best platform for international cinema in the US, offer some interesting cases. "Mustang," considered an Oscar frontrunner (pun intended), is a Turkish-language film set in Turkey by a Turkish-born director... and representing France. Ireland's submission "Viva" is filmed in Spanish and set in Cuba. I'd venture a guess that the majority of submissions from around the world are co-productions between two countries or more. "Each year we have more movies where it's kind of hard to assign a home or a nationality," the Chairman of the Academy's Foreign Language Film Award Committee, Mark Johnson, admitted to The Wrap. "There's virtually no movie out there now that isn't made internationally," he told Screen International. "Ida" Last year, winning director Pawel Pawlikowski took the foreign-language Oscar home to Poland, though his film "Ida" (available on Netflix) was a four-country co-production between Poland, Denmark, France and the UK. Set in 1962, the minimalist black and white film opens on a young nun raised in an austere convent who is told she must go out and meet her only living relative before she can take her vows. ​​Ida's journey quickly becomes one of self-discovery, if not innocence lost, when her aunt takes her to the village where her parents, who it turns out were Jewish, were murdered. While Ida's story is just starting to unfold, her aunt's seems to be slowly staggering to its end. Seeking solace from the past in alcohol and random liaisons, her aunt refers to the pair as the "saint" and the "slut." But each clearly has lessons to learn from the other, and the two neatly embody the generations on either side of the war. In what evolves into a kind of road movie, Ida finds herself at a crossroads, forced to choose between the life of a nun and a world of possibilities outside the convent. When they pick up a handsome saxophonist on the road, those choices become even more pressing. How will she know what she's sacrificing if she has no experiences, her aunt prods? This movie is constructed of moments, details, weighty glances, where the patience of the camera and the depth of the acting are crucial. Ryszard Lenczewski and Lukasz Zal's stunning black and white imagery finds artistic, off-center compositions for most every shot, and even on the small screen this film festival favorite is a beauty. A Pigeon Sat on a Branch...​​ No, it's not another joke about Trump's hair. It's the enigmatic title of Sweden's contender for this year's foreign-language Oscar short-list. Case in point, "A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence" is a four-country co-production between Sweden, Germany, Norway and France. But the movie, already available on Netflix in the US, is undeniably Swedish, which may ultimately limit its appeal for Academy voters. Its absurdist humor and existential angst are neither laugh-out-loud nor cry-in-your-popcorn material, and it's not for every audience (hence one user comment on IMDb: "Christ, this bored me to tears"). Sure, there's plenty to turn away the casual weekend viewer: an intentionally languid pace, a gloomy yellow-grey palette, abstruse (for non-Swedes) historical references, oddball staging and the occasional breaking of the 'fourth wall.' But for hardier cinephiles, there's also much to chuckle about and plenty to ponder over in this third installment of veteran director Roy Andersson's trilogy on "being a human being."​​ I propose that you, dear viewer, are the proverbial pigeon sitting on the branch, watching a series of seemingly unrelated vignettes, peering into moments of random lives and reflecting on the intrinsic flaws of humankind, the way we (mis)treat each other, the brutish speed with which our time together passes. Two drab, bickering salesmen hocking novelty items -- "We want to help people have fun," they pitch, poker-faced -- tie the vignettes together, sort of. So do repeated platitudes on lifeless long-distance phone calls, sort of. And pigeons cooing off-screen, sort of. It's not hard to find meaning everywhere in this funny-yet-bleak picture. Like in life. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

Read daily headlines about troop deployments, mass shootings or the effects of climate change, and you'd be excused for thinking dark forces are putting America, if not all of humanity, at risk. This anxiety has inspired blockbuster films and series for decades, sending Americans out to save the planet from [insert threat here: zombies, aliens, robots, Nazis, radical terrorists, natural disasters, etc…]. Which came first: our catastrophe-driven, apocalyptic cultural dreamscape or our fear-driven, us-versus-them political environment? Or maybe the two feed off each other, as film historian Peter Biskind suggests in his new book, "The Sky is Falling: How Vampires, Zombies, Androids, and Superheroes Made America Great for Extremism." Fear sells, especially since the terrorist attacks of 9/11 and subsequent "forever wars" cracked America's post-WWII confidence about its role in the world. "It's no secret that as the number, magnitude, and gravity of the threats to life as we know it have multiplied, apocalypse porn has become the coin of today's pulp culture," Biskind writes. Extremism is the new black. We root for Hollywood heroes, no matter how excessive their actions, because they will save humanity from predictable doom. Their ends always justify their means. In “apocalypse culture,” the non-extreme – the average and everyday, grey areas, agreed-upon facts, mutual trust – lacks a mass audience. While there are plenty of international films and shows echoing this outlook, others offer glimpses of alternative worldviews. The difference isn't just in the prescription for rediscovering our greatness. It's in the alarming diagnosis itself. The world's gonna be okay. Let these international films and series, now streaming, show you how. Expedition Happiness A German cinematographer and his director-musician girlfriend made this documentary about their wanderlust-fueled adventure from Berlin to the US, where they bought and outfitted a school bus to travel aimlessly around the continent. If you love the great outdoors or have ever had a hankering to just give it all up and travel, this sweet and uplifting film is for you. The couple's openness, positivity and consistent can-do attitude could teach Americans a thing or two about the pioneering spirit. The appalling treatment they report at the US border and some shady experiences in Mexico are also memorable. In a nod to the editing, considering how long the pair were on the road, "Happiness" maintains a quick pace and momentum. But you can also watch it in segments thanks to short, staged clips and social media-inspired travel updates which, combined with the couple's own soulful soundtrack and flawless drone shots, infuse the film with a deliberate music video aesthetic. The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind Chiwetel Ejiofor wrote, directed and stars in this family-friendly British production based on the inspiring true story of a 13-year-old who built a windmill to power electricity and bring water to his drought-ridden, famine-threatened African village. The windmill makes the village great again, but only in the last 20 minutes of screen time. Meanwhile, Ejiofor constructs a tale brimming with it-takes-a-village messages about the value of individual sacrifice for the collective good, the importance of family, the privilege of schooling and the ways tradition and modernity can work together. The film's classical narrative and filming style are a bit predictable, but the Malawi locations offer some gorgeous landscapes that make this movie worth watching on as big a screen as you can. Norsemen In the first episode of this Viking comedy series, a chieftan punches a newly captured slave in the nose, then frets about the ethics of it. "It's not really me, that fear-based leadership stuff. Doesn't feel right." It's one of countless irony-laden jabs at modern-day society in an 8th century setting where slave sacrifice, gender-reversed raping and pillaging, and ancient traditions and superstitions are all lampooned. "Norsemen" doesn't shy away from vulgar sexual scenarios, potty pranks and crude genital references. It won't be for everyone, but its fearless humor has garnered a large enough following that the series was renewed for a third season on Netflix this fall, suggesting "Norsemen" satisfies an existing, unfulfilled desire for self-parody. Flavors of Youth The trio of short films rolled into "Flavors of Youth" were made for fans of anime and/or Chinese culture. Spoiler alert: you may be put off by watching a China-set film dubbed into colloquial English, no matter how impressive the animation. Also, the narration here is anything but subtle. But the three tales of nostalgia – a boyhood evoked through rice noodles, sisters facing an uncertain future, and a man remembering his first love – all offer a positive reminder to take time to enjoy life as it's happening. Not because the world is ending, but just because it's a nicer way to live. This article originally ran in The Daily Record.

I’m a sucker for a flawed hero. I’ll take an overweight, chain-smoking, morally conflicted leading man over an infallible, Hollywood-chiseled crusader any day. That must explain why I’m so attracted to Mario Conde, the down-and-out detective dreamed up by Cuban novelist Leonardo Padura. He’s all that’s wrong and all that’s good about Cuban society wrapped into one tormented, much-loved soul. A frustrated writer turned cop, Conde stumbles through case after case, always on the verge of getting fired, slouching from one ill-fated affair to another, smoking and caffeinating his way from morning hangover to late-night drinking sessions with his equally deflated boyhood pals. Four feature-length episodes of Conde tales, “Cuatro Estaciones en La Habana,” are now streaming on Netflix, though this noir gem hasn’t received the same publicity as the bigger Netflix-backed series “Narcos.” The Colombia-set mega-production, which also explores moral ambiguities through its broad cast of characters, premiered its third season on Sept. 1. Four Seasons in Havana Brought to the screen by Spanish director Félix Viscarret with a script by Padura and Lucía López Coll, the cinematic miniseries offers more evidence for why television and online series are giving feature films a run for their money. The first episode was released in theaters in Spain. On the tired side of 50 but boyishly insolent, Conde’s languid investigations of local crimes send him into assorted underworlds of Havana society, providing the pretext for what is at heart a character study about a middle-aged man refusing to face his demons. Veteran actor Jorge Perugorría embodies him to perfection. In each episode, Conde falls in love with the wrong woman, engages in drunken arguments with his friends about their own – and their country’s – unfulfilled promises, and elicits the weary yet tender resignation of his colleagues. And Conde also always solves the case, invariably uncovering corruption along the way. Set to a sensual jazzy soundtrack with some classic rock and Cuban sounds thrown in, “Four Seasons” puts Havana on sultry display in all its dilapidated glory. The storylines convey the sense that the island capital is like a small village, where everyone knows each other or knows of each other through friends, acquaintances or a shared past. In a wink to Cuban film fans, “Four Seasons” also reunites Perugorría with his “Strawberry and Chocolate” co-star Vladimir Cruz, who here plays his lieutenant nemesis, always watching out for ways to get Conde sacked. It’s a fate Conde might not mind if he knew what else to do. Narcos It’s hard to know who to root for in “Narcos.” The supposed good guys, the American DEA agents and the Colombian authorities, are often in bed with the bad guys, drug lords like Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel or vigilante groups like ‘Los Pepes.’ Meanwhile, Escobar acts like a latter day Robin Hood by investing drug profits back into poor neighborhoods of Medellín, and the businessmen behind the Cali Cartel want to negotiate surrender and shift their livelihood to legitimate enterprises. The pace of “Narcos” couldn’t be more different from “Four Seasons,” but the characters’ internal conflicts keep you interested beyond the dizzying action. If you find yourself tiring of the sad-eyed narcissist Escobar (played by Brazil’s Wagner Moura), the protagonist prey of the first two seasons, hang tight: by season three he’s gone. In his place are the fleshed-out characters of the Cali Cartel, known as the “Gentlemen of Cali” despite their masochist streak, the compromised DEA agent Javier Peña (Chilean-American actor Pedro Pascal) who provides the season’s narration, and cartel security chief Jorge Salcedo (Swedish-born Matias Varela), an honest family man trying desperately to get out of the business. “Narcos” is filmed mostly in Colombia and shot in Spanish and English with casts switching seamlessly between languages. The mash-up of accents by actors hailing from across Latin America, Spain and the US isn’t too noticeable, especially for English-speaking audiences, and the voiceover is always in English. This multinational essence, seen both on screen and behind camera in the production’s crew, may be the series’ biggest innovation. Documentary footage and news images of the real-life protagonists of the ‘80s and ‘90s-era drug war also underscore the effort that’s gone into matching the production design with actual history, even if some facts have been changed (one oft-heard critique of the show). While you may be tempted to plan a trip to Cuba after watching “Four Seasons,” the ferociously violent “Narcos” isn’t likely to do much for the Colombian tourist sector. Or Mexico’s, where – in a scary display of life seemingly imitating life – a location scout for the fourth season of “Narcos” was reportedly shot dead in September. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

The German film "Toni Erdmann," about a retired father trying to reconnect with and potentially save his estranged workaholic daughter, was a critical hit following its premiere at the Cannes Film Festival in 2016. It was crowned the best film of the year by various organizations, won a slew of European Film Awards and was short-listed for a foreign-language Oscar. The film is well-acted and painfully honest. The father, posing as a clueless life coach, barges in on his daughter’s high-stakes work life and plays witness to her lackluster personal relations. It’s also excruciatingly awkward at moments, especially when the father dons his costume of a wig and fake teeth. The cosmopolitan daughter seemingly has it all but she’s at loose ends, and her dad, in his own clunky way, isn’t going to leave until he helps reground her. Or, as at least one critic has suggested, she may only be imagining her father there hounding her to abandon her joyless lifestyle – a telling reading in itself. You may find this film uncomfortable to watch and, at nearly three hours, too long, but its success must say something about our collective need for a loving father figure to guide, support and protect us. So, in honor of Father's Day this Sunday, here's a list of other international movies, all available to stream online, about dads. Fathers & Daughters In the 2006 Danish film “After the Wedding,” a young bride finds herself with two fathers – the man who raised her (Jorgen) and her birth father (Jacob), whom she believed dead. The ailing Jorgen has arranged for Jacob to enter his family’s life to replace him when he dies. Jorgen is an exemplary father and a wealthy patriarch accustomed to controlling everything in his ambit. In his own way, Jacob is father figure to many, running an orphanage for impoverished children in India. Jorgen’s scheming forces Jacob to return home and choose between his adopted family in India and the Danish one he never knew he had. Director Susanne Bier reflects the men’s emotional states by pitting a colorful, chaotic India against an affluent but cold and grey Copenhagen. Shot in a minimalist style, with handheld cameras, natural light and extreme close-ups, she forces viewers to empathize with these intensely human characters, especially Jorgen as he faces the one thing out of his control – his own death. “Father Knows Best” is the name Taiwanese director Ang Lee gave his 1990s-era trilogy of local films about tensions between generations: “Pushing Hands,” “The Wedding Banquet” and the award-winning sleeper hit “Eat Drink Man Woman,” which helped launch Lee’s career in Hollywood. The latter title refers, as the film’s father puts it, to the “basic human desires” of food and sex. These dual needs fuel the film’s storylines, but the deeper tale of how an aging chef and his three grown daughters must all find their own paths in life, without renouncing their dedication to each other, offers plenty of insightful connections between generations as well as genders. There’s also lots of sumptuous looking food. “Life isn’t like cooking,” the father announces in the film’s climactic scene. There’s no recipe and you can’t always depend on having all the right ingredients ready in advance. What matters, he wisely counsels, is the taste. Fathers & Sons Giuseppe Tornatore’s beloved 1988 classic “Cinema Paradiso” follows the life of a young boy in post-war Sicily. It’s an homage to a simpler time as well as to the heyday of classic Hollywood, all set to a sweeping score by Ennio Morricone.​​ Little Toto’s father went missing in the war, but he finds a substitute in Alfredo, the projectionist of the local movie house where Toto spends all his free time. The sweet but uneducated Alfredo offers the growing Toto wise counsel, usually in the form of lines pilfered from movies. But Alfredo wants more for the boy once he’s grown and convinces Toto to leave their small town and never look back, thereby setting him on the path towards his future as a successful film director in Rome but also forcing a bittersweet estrangement from his adopted father and roots. It’s the ultimate parental sacrifice. A decade later, Roberto Benigni directed and starred in the award-winning “Life is Beautiful” about a father trying to shield his young son from the horrific realities of the Nazi concentration camp where they’ve been imprisoned. He convinces his son the Nazis and the camp are all a part of a big game that they have a chance of winning if they just follow the rules. Though some critics debated whether it was appropriate to depict the Holocaust through the lens of comedy, and Benigni’s clownish antics can chafe, at its heart “Beautiful” is the story of a father doing everything in his power to protect his son’s life as well as his innocence. Bring your Kleenex, and have a wonderful Father’s Day. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

Here's some global movie trivia for you: What's the world's largest film producer outside of Hollywood and India's Bollywood? Ever heard of Nollywood? That's "Nolly" for Nigeria, the African country with the continent's largest population. And if you're looking at the sheer number of films made, Nollywood and Bollywood both regularly out-produce Hollywood. But, as an actress in the captivating 52-minute documentary "Jimmy Goes to Nollywood," available on Netflix, chuckles, "Just because you attach 'wood' doesn't make it Hollywood!" You can't really compare it to Bollywood either, film director Leila Djansi insists in "Jimmy," because in Nollywood, "there's no industry and there's no structure." It's fair to say that Nollywood to date has been characterized as generating more quantity than quality. (Then again, some critique modern-day Hollywood for the same...) That may all change as Nollywood comes of age and its filmmakers strive to create more professional movies for international audiences. Against the Odds The launch of the boom known as Nollywood is widely attributed to the success of a businessman who in 1992 discovered he could turn a fast profit by filming and then selling cheap videos, starting with the title "Living in Bondage," about a down-and-out businessman using witchcraft to get ahead. Over the next couple of decades, Nigerians followed his lead, to the tune of 1,000 to 2,000 or more movies per year. That's 20 to 40 movies a week! Compare this to Hollywood's average 600 per year, and 200 or less in major European territories. The bulk of these movies have been low-budget, straight-to-video affairs shot on the fly, edited and then sold on streets, often in a matter of days. And all despite obstacles of almost laughable proportions, from minuscule budgets to unmanageable piracy, a general lack of on-set infrastructure and some seriously crazy traffic. We're introduced to this seat-of-your-pants style in the first three minutes of the documentary "Jimmy Goes to Nollywood" when narrator-star, Jimmy Jean-Louis (the Haitian actor of "Heroes" fame), is invited to Lagos to host the Africa Movie Academy Awards, but can't seem to pin down the organizers on exactly which flight he's supposed to catch the next morning. As he later muses, zipping across a busy Lagos street on foot to demonstrate how a chase scene might be filmed on a production that can't afford to shut down traffic: "This is how a strong will and initiative have written the history of Nigerian cinema." Uniting Africa? Nollywood movies are massively popular, with single titles reportedly selling tens of thousands of copies before going on to long lives on satellite TV and video, including pirated DVDs. They're characterized by soap opera-esque melodramas of crossed lovers and feuding families set to a backdrop laden with religious rituals and latent social commentary on everyday life in Nigeria. The stories clearly resonate with audiences across Africa and the African diaspora. "Ivorian rebels in the bush stop fighting when a shipment of DVDs arrives from Lagos," explains the 2010 article "Lights, Camera, Africa" in The Economist. "Zambian mothers say their children talk with accents learnt from Nigerian television." Jimmy interviews people who swear their African American and Caribbean friends stockpile Nigerian movies too. It helps that they're largely shot in English, Nigeria's official language, a sticking point for other countries trying to promote their "foreign-language" films. The website NollywoodReinvented.com offers a Texas-based "Nolly Swap" for fans to exchange previously watched DVDs. There's no shortage of Nollywood films to stream online, including around 20 titles on Netflix (where "Nollywood Movies" has its own subgenre tag). Nollywood has become both a mecca and a launching pad for aspiring actors and filmmakers from across the continent, and inspired other African industries, like Ghana's "Gollywood." But popularity can have its downsides, as The Economist article illustrated, citing African "elites" outwardly hostile to histrionic Nollywood fare ("They are veritably poisoning our culture”) and governments in other countries anxious to stem the "'Nigerianisation' of Africa." "New Nollywood" - Broadening Horizons In recent years, some Nigerian filmmakers have tried to reverse the quantity-over-quality equation, making more expensive, more professional films hoping for theatrical release and international audiences. The movement has been called the "New Nollywood," or the "New Wave" of Nigerian cinema. "Half of a Yellow Sun," the $9m movie said to be the most expensive Nigerian film ever made, was a defining moment in 2013. Starring Chiwetel Ejiofor and Thandie Newton, the film had the backing of the British Film Institute and played the Toronto International Film Festival. This professionalization may well be a response to the times. A 2014 Al Jazeera story, "Hooray for Nollywood," described how filmmakers have "watched shrinking investments and rampant piracy hobble their industry." Now, they're "gambling that big-budget, big-screen blockbusters will breathe fresh life into Nollywood." So long as they continue to bring African stories to the world. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

"My belief is that when a human being dances with another human being, something happens," vows the star of the 2013 documentary, "Dancing in Jaffa." Replace “dances” with “engages” or even “befriends,” and you get a sense of the hope, however tenuous, running through a handful of films now available online about friendships and romances between Israelis and Palestinians. With violence erupting again in the region in recent weeks, the trope is a welcome symbol of the human capacity to love, to find commonalities and forge bonds even across the most deep-rooted of hostilities. What follows are reviews of four such films available on Netflix. Dancing in Jaffa (USA, 2013) This documentary follows world-renowned ballroom dancer Pierre Dulaine on a return to his birth city of Jaffa to teach Israeli and Palestinian children to dance. His desire is that nationalities, ethnicities and religions will fade away in the proximity with the other, and dance will become a “common language.” Dulaine recognizes he’s asking the children (and, by extension, their families) to “dance with the enemy,” even if such words aren’t vocalized, but his hope is to plant a seed of mutual trust and respect in the children. It won’t be easy, given the long history of violence that has seemingly left no family in the region unaffected. Dulaine is an exacting artist, which serves him well in this undertaking, and he exudes charm. Director Hilla Medalia had a movie with his presence alone (two have been made before), but she wisely opts to tell the stories of several of the children as well, gifting viewers multiple perspectives on the program, the lives touched and the friendships forged.​ ​ The Other Son (France, 2012) Other directors have bridged the same chasm through fiction. The sibling-like rivalry takes human form in “Le Fils de l’Autre” (more faithfully, “The Other’s Son”). Seventeen years after the fact, an Israeli and a Palestinian family must face the discovery that their sons were swapped at birth. Joseph was raised in Tel Aviv but is now told by his Rabbi that he’s not actually Jewish, and Yacine, from the West Bank, claims of his newfound Jewish heritage, “I’m my own worst enemy, but I have to love myself anyway.” ​​When the two stand in front of a mirror, Yacine sees Isaac and Ishmael, Abraham’s estranged sons, forefathers of the Israelites and the Arabs. The allusion gives the ending, when they come together as brothers, added significance. Still, you can’t help but feel one of the boys got the raw end of the deal, and director/co-scripter Lorraine Levy makes clear which, in overtly contrasted settings and, more subtly, in the fear and limitations of the Palestinian characters’ existence versus the Israelis’ relatively comfortable, carefree and cosmopolitan lifestyle. Out in the Dark (Israel/USA, 2012)​​ “Out in the Dark” continues this theme. Of the two gay men in the central couple, one Palestinian and one Israeli, the former is the movie’s emotional and narrative catalyst. Psychology student Nimr has had to work tirelessly within limited means to secure a study permit for a Tel Aviv university. Israeli Roy comes from a wealthy family, works at his father’s well-connected law firm, drives a fancy car and eats sushi like a chopstick pro. Despite their tender bond, Roy and Nimr are reminded by everyone around them that “you can’t forget where you live,” and it’s not long before reality shatters their dreams. Nimr’s tense border crossings and hidden sexuality, both alluded to in the film’s title, are exacerbated by his brother’s stockpiling of weapons and the Israeli secret service’s inevitable involvement. The film’s glossy, mostly after-dark filming imbues it with a modernity and edginess absent in some of the other films reviewed here. A Bottle in the Gaza Sea (France/Israel/Canada, 2011) French-Israeli teen Tal moons over her ponytailed boyfriend and pouts through a new chin piercing in her comfortable Jerusalem bedroom decorated with a lava lamp and a lip-shaped telephone. Meanwhile, less than 50 miles away in Gaza, the fatherless Naim dodges bombs on the streets and shares a sparse one-bedroom apartment with his mother and occasional refugees. But nothing is so clear cut, and when Naim finds a note Tal put in a bottle and threw in the Gaza Sea, the two start an email correspondence comparing experiences and questioning the politics shaping their lives. This film can feel like a beginner’s guide to the conflict, but the lead actors carry the story with honest portrayals of two young people dreaming of a “normal life.” Naim gets a step closer when he receives a scholarship to study in France. So the two will always have Paris, if not a clear relationship. “Nothing is easy between us, but everything is possible,” they tell each other, a message all of these films seem intent on sending out to the world as well. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

Iran, Syria, Libya, Yemen, Chad, Somalia, North Korea and Venezuela – they're all on the American government’s latest travel ban, greenlit by the Supreme Court last week pending appeal. They’re also all countries undergoing severe hardships – civil war, financial collapse, authoritarian rule, humanitarian disaster, massive migration, militant groups, you name it. But from strife can come artistic inspiration, and filmmakers from these countries or simply interested in them are finding ways to share their stories with the rest of the world – once even smuggling a film out on a thumb drive hidden in a cake. In honor of those directors and their stories, and to celebrate Saudi Arabia’s lift this week on a 35-year movie theater ban, here is Part I of a two-part series on movies from or about “banned countries.” A Banned Director’s Taxi Ride In the first 15 minutes of Jafar Panahi’s dash cam filmed “Taxi,” we meet Iranians debating capital punishment, dealing in pirated DVDs of banned movies and shows, and skirting rigid inheritance laws. It’s a lot of social scrutiny in a short amount of time. The Iranian authorities apparently thought so too, refusing to allow it to screen in Iran despite a top prize at the Berlin Film Festival, claiming it spread “misunderstandings” of their country.​​ Panahi was banned in 2010 from making movies. He also isn’t allowed to leave Iran, but he keeps managing to sneak work out. His ironically-titled “This is Not a Film” was on the USB sent to Cannes in a cake in 2011, an event that plays a role in “Taxi.” The fact that he’s out filming on the streets of Tehran seems daring. The view outside his windshield is that of a modern metropolis. But the view inside shows a people grasping at freedom under tyranny. The highlight is when Panahi’s smart-talking niece hops in and starts filming him for a class project. She’s constrained by absurd censorship guidelines – most of which “Taxi” has already broken. The whole affair feels like an inside joke. Only there’s nothing funny about it. An Iranian Journalist’s Arrest Directed by Jon Stewart (yes, that Jon Stewart) and starring Gael García Bernal, “Rosewater” is based on the hair-raising book by Iranian journalist Maziar Bahari, who was imprisoned and tortured for his 2009 coverage of the disputed Iranian presidential elections and subsequent protests. Stewart smartly squeezes some of this gripping historical context into the movie through voiceovers, documentary footage and superimposed images and words, including trending hashtags and headlines from the period. Bahari’s story has other intrinsic appeal as well in its principled hero’s fight for his life in a country on the brink of revolution. But Stewart’s “Rosewater” almost blows it by pandering too clearly to a Western audience. It wasn’t filmed in Iran, for obvious reasons, though there is footage of Tehran. More irksome, it was shot in English with mostly non-Iranian actors. García Bernal justifies his casting in the second half of the film when Bahari triumphs over the hopelessness of prison. But in the first half, his Bahari seems more wide-eyed witness than worldly reporter. In real life, Bahari today helps fight for freedom of expression in Iran – no small job. A Syrian Father’s Desperate Search “Inescapable” is set in Damascus months before civil war broke out in 2011, but it was filmed in Johannesburg. Shooting outside the Middle East was one of several concessions the Canadian-born director of Syrian descent, Ruba Nadda, had to make to get her film produced. As she told Filmmaker Magazine, other concessions included the hiring of a well-known American actor (a reasonably believable Marisa Tomei playing a Syrian woman) and a genre shift from character drama to a more marketable thriller. The story follows a former Syrian military officer (Alexander Siddig, reunited with Nadda after 2009’s seductive “Cairo Time”) who was forced to flee to Canada as a young man under suspicious circumstances and now must face his past when his daughter disappears in Damascus. The use of English here is explained by the main character’s new life in Toronto – his Arabic has supposedly gone stale. It’s one of several inconsistencies in the script that undercut the talented Siddig’s performance. Where Nadda’s film feels most genuine is on the margins of the spy tale, in the portrayal of everyday people forced to live under a palpable oppression, and in the careful set design that has recreated a dated, ominous Damascus. These are tantalizing glimpses of the film she might have made with full creative freedom. Nadda told IndieWire she wants to “shine a spotlight on my culture and heritage and show we’re no different than you.” Movies have that special power to create proximity with people far removed from our own lives. It’s up to us to watch them. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.

A reported 36.6 million people watched the Oscars last weekend, less than previous years but still more than the entire population of many countries. Even so, I can count on one hand the number of my students who say they bother to watch the ceremony. Have the Oscars lost their relevance? That seems to be the takeaway of many commentators after last weekend's awards. Even beyond the much-publicized controversy concerning the overwhelming "whiteness" of this year's nominees, and despite the time-honored politics-tinged acceptance speeches, pundits have spent a surprising amount of energy post-gala wringing their hands over another curiosity of this year's awards. To many it seemed odd, and symptomatic of much larger problems, that "American Sniper," which alone accounted for more than half the total ticket sales at US theaters of all eight of the best picture nominees combined, was not the night's biggest winner. The Clint Eastwood film in fact went home with just one technical award for sound editing, while Mexico-born director Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu's "Birdman" walked away with four coveted top prizes for best film, director, original script and cinematography -- all despite the fact that it hadn't grossed even $40 million at the domestic box office.​ The New York Times suggested the discrepancy between the tastes of the Academy and those of American moviegoers was an indication "that both the Academy and the echo chamber of Hollywood’s awards-system machinery have nearly broken their connection with the movies that many millions of people buy tickets to watch." The Times article called "Birdman" a "brainy" movie and quoted a film scholar accusing the Oscars of being "elitist." Are these meant to be insults? Regardless of which Oscar nominated film you or I or anyone else might personally prefer, and irrespective of the relevance we give the Oscars themselves, the idea that ticket sales determines quality in cinema willfully ignores the realities of the modern-day film industry and stakes the dubious claim that "popular" means the same as "award-worthy" in an art form like filmmaking. Backers of indie and foreign films -- those who generally can't afford a Hollywood-sized marketing campaign and don't have the corporate muscle to command hundreds of screens across the country -- will tell you that conquering the US marketplace has precious little to do with just making a good movie. If only it were that simple! Don't take my word for it. Look at the numbers, courtesy of Box Office Mojo: at its widest release, "American Sniper" was playing in 3,885 theaters across the country, while "Birdman" peaked at 976 and generally has been available in fewer than 500 theaters a week. "Whiplash," the dark horse in the best film Oscar category this year and last year's top Sundance prize-winner, never made it over the 600-theater barrier. And that must look like a luxury to even smaller players. Consider this year's foreign-language Academy Award-winner, the Polish film "Ida," which averaged 50 theaters during its short run at the US box office. That's one movie theater per state! I personally think the pundits have it backwards. Wouldn't it be a more worthy goal to get people into theaters to see the movies that win the prizes rather than vice versa? On Fox News, commentators took the argument further, calling Hollywood a "lefty town" and accusing the Academy of snubbing Eastwood for his Republican Party connections (they must have forgotten his previous wins?). A talking head on PBS suggested the contradiction between ticket sales and Oscar awards illustrated how, "even in our films, we're polarized" as a country. According to her thesis, red states preferred "American Sniper" and blue states "Birdman." All this pining for an era in the movies when there was consensus across the country and a more direct relationship between popularity and Oscarization may actually be a longing for a bygone era of a single, shared culture. A time when we all loved the same movies because we all saw the same movies because the options were so few. It's a time beautifully personified by Julie Andrews, of "The Sound of Music" fame, who also made an appearance at last weekend's Oscar show and who, as Anthony Lane alluded in his satirical review of the gala in the New Yorker magazine, forms part of our collective memory. This must be why we can all love that nun named Maria equally, without feeling elitist or brainy, red or blue. This column originally ran in The Daily Record.