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Kim Voynar

By Kim Voynar Voynar@moviecitynews.com

Canary and Around the Bay

I’ve been meaning to write about Alejandro Adams’ films Around the Bay and Canary for a while now, but kept getting distracted. Canary played yesterday at Montreal’s Fantasia International Film Festival and has a screening coming up at Rooftop in NYC on August 7, so it seemed a good time to finally pull together my thoughts and write about both films. Canary is by far the harder of the two films, both to watch and write about, so I’ll start with Around the Bay, which Adams made first.
With Around the Bay, Adams made a quiet, affecting film about a small family: a father, so deeply wrapped up in his own inability to function that he almost completely ignores his young son, and the boy’s older half-sister, who’s been brought into the home after a long estrangement from her father to help care for him after their father’s girlfriend has enough and leaves. Around the Bay has a languid, deliberate pace and a certain emotional distance about it, and I pondered whether its coldness was, in part, intended to allow the audience to better empathize with the boy by immersing us in the emotional coldness he’s trying to survive.


The boy reacts to his father’s emotional inaccessibility by acting out, a lot, and his antics start to feel annoying in the extreme. As adults, we might be inclined to find his acting out merely bratty and to wish that someone in the film would give the kid some discipline. But it’s not just discipline the boy needs, it’s the attention of his emotionally absent father, and Adams uses the boy’s antics to draw us into the child’s sense of being utterly alone, unwanted and neglected. As to whether this is all metaphor as a part of some greater meditation on human condition in the modern world, given Adams’ penchant for the philosophical, I’d be inclined to say yes. But whether mere story or deeper metaphor, I liked Around the Bay.
And then we have Canary, which on an initial glance, is so different from Around the Bay that it’s hard to believe both films were made by the same filmmaker. Plot-wise, Canary is ostensibly about human organ harvesting and a suspiciously innocuous company that transacts in organ redistribution, but I’m not convinced that the plot itself is at all relevant. At times Canary feels deliberately obtuse, as if Adams is parading a film in which the metaphors are so deeply buried as to be challenging to unearth, while double-dog daring some contrarian smarty-pants critic to find the deeper meaning there. But a lot of folks will probably walk out of Canary saying, “what the hell?”
I find Canary as a film, and Adams as a filmmaker, oddly intriguing. There’s something there; I’m just not sure exactly what it is yet — and I’ve sat through Canary two full times, with another half or so in there going back to re-watch particular bits. Overall, while I found Canary an interesting exercise, I don’t think it particularly connects well with an audience. Adams has written on his blog about how he’s an isolationist, a subject he and I had some back-and-forth on; in interviews he seems to favor making statements that imply he doesn’t make his work for a particular audience and could care less whether anyone “gets” or understands his work at all.
I’m not sure I believe this; it seems to me that if you’re going to the trouble not just to make films, but to submit them to film festivals, get screeners to critics and write about them publicly on a blog, you’re seeking to have more people than just yourself and the occasional contrarian who likes anything everyone else hates see and appreciate your work, n’est-ce pas?
Around the Bay was smart and deliberate without talking down to the audience or being overly obtuse; with Canary, I think perhaps Adams went too far the other way in reaching for the brainily abstract and metaphorical; it’s going to get some festival play because it’s different and weird and getting some buzz, but I expect it will also see a fairly high proportion of walk-outs from your average fest attendee. If you watch Canary trying to understand the plot, you’ll be hopelessly lost (or just bored) and will probably want to give up on it early on; if you go into it expecting to see something different and you’re willing to grant Adams that time even if he doesn’t completely succeed in getting there, you’ll find Canary to be, at the least, an film that aspires to be more than just the mundane.

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It shows how out of it I was in trying to be in it, acknowledging that I was out of it to myself, and then thinking, “Okay, how do I stop being out of it? Well, I get some legitimate illogical narrative ideas” — some novel, you know?

So I decided on three writers that I might be able to option their material and get some producer, or myself as producer, and then get some writer to do a screenplay on it, and maybe make a movie.

And so the three projects were “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” “Naked Lunch” and a collection of Bukowski. Which, in 1975, forget it — I mean, that was nuts. Hollywood would not touch any of that, but I was looking for something commercial, and I thought that all of these things were coming.

There would be no Blade Runner if there was no Ray Bradbury. I couldn’t find Philip K. Dick. His agent didn’t even know where he was. And so I gave up.

I was walking down the street and I ran into Bradbury — he directed a play that I was going to do as an actor, so we know each other, but he yelled “hi” — and I’d forgot who he was.

So at my girlfriend Barbara Hershey’s urging — I was with her at that moment — she said, “Talk to him! That guy really wants to talk to you,” and I said “No, fuck him,” and keep walking.

But then I did, and then I realized who it was, and I thought, “Wait, he’s in that realm, maybe he knows Philip K. Dick.” I said, “You know a guy named—” “Yeah, sure — you want his phone number?”

My friend paid my rent for a year while I wrote, because it turned out we couldn’t get a writer. My friends kept on me about, well, if you can’t get a writer, then you write.”
~ Hampton Fancher

“That was the most disappointing thing to me in how this thing was played. Is that I’m on the phone with you now, after all that’s been said, and the fundamental distinction between what James is dealing with in these other cases is not actually brought to the fore. The fundamental difference is that James Franco didn’t seek to use his position to have sex with anyone. There’s not a case of that. He wasn’t using his position or status to try to solicit a sexual favor from anyone. If he had — if that were what the accusation involved — the show would not have gone on. We would have folded up shop and we would have not completed the show. Because then it would have been the same as Harvey Weinstein, or Les Moonves, or any of these cases that are fundamental to this new paradigm. Did you not notice that? Why did you not notice that? Is that not something notable to say, journalistically? Because nobody could find the voice to say it. I’m not just being rhetorical. Why is it that you and the other critics, none of you could find the voice to say, “You know, it’s not this, it’s that”? Because — let me go on and speak further to this. If you go back to the L.A. Times piece, that’s what it lacked. That’s what they were not able to deliver. The one example in the five that involved an issue of a sexual act was between James and a woman he was dating, who he was not working with. There was no professional dynamic in any capacity.

~ David Simon