{El Bulli: Cooking in Progress opens in Seattle on Friday, December 2nd, and is screening at the Landmark Varsity Theater}

El Bulli: Cooking in Progress is a documentary that follows the modern day equivalent of Willy Wonka through a year long cycle of their world famous restaurant. It's shot in a way that some people some people may dislike, possibly intensely. Absent are the talking heads viewers have been accustomed to, narrating what they're doing (or did) and why. Instead, El Bulli provides a fly on the wall perspective -- where no one speaks to or even acknowledges the camera. But for those patient enough to immerse themselves in it, what emerges is a beautiful meditation on food, art, and the creative process. The last in a way that I believe will be familiar to those schooled in any research like endeavor, scientific or artistic. Meaning - it's not just a film for foodies. 

Actually for many of them, the process of El Bulli may seem like a foreign discipline. When I started realizing it was about more than preparing unusual food is when I got seriously hooked. It's definitely not one of those simple "listen to folks talk about how great a chef/musician/actor/whatever is" creations. As such not everyone will love it, but for the right amount of patience it can be a very rewarding experience.

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{Paul Goodman Changed My Life shows December 2-8 at Siff Cinema at the Film Center. Get tix online here.}

Poet-protester-psychologist Paul Goodman's sociological memoir-manifesto Growing Up Absurd was one of those items you'd find in an early American punk's apartment, as you would a black leather motorcycle jacket, maybe a stack of vintage Marvel comics, perhaps on top of orange crates filled with imported punk and remaindered 60s garage rock LPs, a hash pipe laying next to a butterfly knife bought at a pawn store, silly-dangerous stuff like that. It was a whip-smart book for rebellious boys, a seeding of early 60s counter-cultural impulses that was still being passed down the pike, as Catcher In The Rye or Pink Floyd's The Wall or looking like James Dean never quite fell out of fashion with the perennial non-comfortists. And yet, recently, it kind of disappeared in such digs as they come and go in micro-generations.

Paul Goodman Changed My Life is an excellent introduction into the robust and rousing writing of a supreme cultural critic who was publicly taking on the 50s mind control of Pentagon America as confidently as possible. His public speeches from this time period still sting with descriptions and accusations of shadow forces trying to entrap the U.S. in bloody, absolutely useless global conflict. His anti-authoritarianism came first, then a friend told him he was an anarchist and it just seemed to fit. That a staunch pacifist and anti-capitalist crusader could be so popular and persuasive in the pre-Vietnam war era, translating the images of restless energy of juvenile delinquents on movie screens into forceful calls for national protest, is astonishing and liberating today. And every few minutes in Jonathan Lee's film you'll get to hear him recite his hypnotic poetry about the love for his family, his eros-driven visions, and his life on the brink of chaos contemplated both fiercely and delicately as well.

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{Kill All Redneck Pricks: A documentary about a band called Karp opens in Seattle on Friday, 11/25 at the Grand Illusion Cinema}

Once upon a time there was a band named KARP. Three boys with a gleam in their eyes and a shared love of the Olympia WA music scene. Forming a band and chasing the dream. Playing louder and darker than their peers as they toured the country in the back of a beat up old van. With fungible jobs at theaters and bars to scratch by. Kill All Redneck Pricks: A documentary about a band called Karp is a story of comitted friendships crossed with a classic story of demons, adulthood drugs and incredibly bad luck tearing a promising thing apart. It's also a snapshot of a local music scene and it's ups and downs. KARP is a film that probably rewards how much intensity for the subject matter the viewer arrives with. And their personal tolerance for footage that sometimes would make the Blair Witch Project feel like it was shot on rails.

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{Running 11/25 through 11/29, at the SIFF Film Center. Tickets $10, $5 for SIFF members. SIFF passes and vouchers are available at the Box Office.}

Clarence Reid was a hell of an R&B/pop rock music writer and performer, starting in 1959 and finding an apex crafting a calvalcade of passionate soul sides for Paul Kelly, KC & the Sunshine Band, Betty Wright, Ann Sexton, and Gwen McCrae in the pre-disco boom years of 1971 to 1975. Reid's own naturally powerful, from-the-gut bark-croon can be heard on many universally appealing love songs on his own records too, even after the point that he invented the "dirty rapper" supervillain persona Blowfly.

The tightly structured new biographical documentary The Weird World of Blowfly doesn't actually tell us how Reid became this nasty-ass, darkly humorous, always obscene, dressed-as-a-ghetto-wrestler, emerging (or hiding) from a promising and succesful soul-pop singer/songwriter. The expert pacing, editing, and shooting isn't about revealing much overt internal history or intentions, if any is to be gleaned. It doesn't even give us backstory on what this sort of character usually means in music either black or white (think controversial C&W iconoclast David Allan Coe wearing his mask too and singing dirty around the same time as Reid's morphing).

But it does catch us up with the 72 year-old mutant of punk and hip-hop and satirical smut, and touches many emotional bases on what may have been the psychological triggers that blew up into The Weird World of Blowfly. That's the 1971 depraved-sounding debut which viciously mocked politeness-driven soft rock and R&B with fart jokes and a whole lot of scat references, and is almost as recurrent in underground semi-pop music circles as Gil Scott-Heron, and surely as much as Tiny Tim.

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{London Boulevard opens in Seatte on Wednesday, 11/23 and is screening at SIFF Cinema at the Uptown through 12/1. Showtimes & tickets here.}

I'm not sure I ever would of thought of pairing Keira Knightly and Colin Farrell in a gritty British crime drama, but for whatever reason it totally works in London Boulevard.

Fresh out of prison, Mitchel (Farrell) gets recruited by friend Billy (an oily Ben Chaplin) to do some "jobs" with him around town - the only problem is that after doing time, Mitchel has lost the stomach for mob work. Offered a legitimate handyman/bodyguard job taking care of semi-crazy actress Charlotte (Knightley), Mitchel finds himself changing even more as he falls for her fragile gentleness.

But this isn't exactly a love story…kingpin Gant (a grizzled Ray Winstone) tries to recruit Mitchel as one of his soldiers, and becomes increasingly frustrated at his refusal to join in. Eventually the tension ramps up to a full-on war - one where it's hard to tell which of these badasses will win.

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{Everyday Sunshine: The Story of Fishbone opens at the Grand Illusion on Friday November 18th. The Filmakers will be attendance for Q&A this Saturday and Sunday.}

One of the films I most regretted missing at STIFF this year was the documentary Everyday Sunshine: The Story of Fishbone. So I was pretty happy to see it was going to be coming to the Grand Illusion theater for a week starting on Friday. The film embraces the fact that there are a subset of bands whose live show is so strong that it will forever diminish the feel of their recorded sessions.

Personally, the top of that list of bands will always be The Ramones. Much as I enjoy their albums, it always feels like a weak memory of their performances. More germane to this discussion is the manic but tightly orchestrated harmonic chaos of Fishbone playing live. We're taken on a ride through their origin story, the band's rise and fall, and into the present day as the diehard members deal with frayed but enduring friendships and compulsive need to keep playing for audiences.

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{The Other F Word opened in Seattle on Friday, 11/18, and is screening at the Landmark Varsity theatre}

What is the other F word you ask? Turns out it's "fatherhood." What happens when the ultimate spreaders of an anti-authority message are forced to be voice of that authority as a parent? That's the question posed by this documentary that dives into the parenting challenges faced by aging punk rock frontmen. Having been a big fan of punk (though not hugely of all the bands portrayed) and of a similar age as the subjects, I've been interested in seeing the film since it played at SXSW 2011.

Since I missed it there, I practically jumped at the opportunity to check it out ahead of it rolling into town at the Landmark Varsity theater. Overall it's an entertaining film to watch. Some funny moments, great access, and interesting subjects -- though mildly disappointing. Not because the film is bad, but because it left unexplored some the best parts of the premise.

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"Great people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and small people talk about wine." --Fran Lebowtiz

She is known for the bon mot given as a wicked mistress of wit. But it's really about: "A bomb just exploded!" This is how Fran Lebowitz wants New York Times articles to begin, when they're about, say, bombs exploding in the Middle East or someplace -- instead of three paragraphs of fluffy narrative, leading into human interest story pabulum. She wants urgency in getting to the facts, perhaps as much as she craves the truth. Which she herself, as she says during one of the many interviews that make up Martin Scorcese's documentary on her, may be the only one capable of delivering unbiased. Is she yanking our chain?

Maybe. But the dialogue Lebowtiz is having with us in Public Speaking actually goes pretty far in convincing me that she is a walking human bullshit detector; smoking her cigarettes, having a drink, driving her rare Checker car in of all places her beloved New York City (where few dare own an auto), yet fearing gasoline ("it can explode!"), and forever shaking her tiny fists at tourists (both physical and cultural). The cab is a subtle off-color, "that most heterosexual men simply call white."

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{The Skin I Live In opened in Seattle on Friday, November 4, and is screening at The Egyptian Theater and Lincoln Square Cinemas}

Horror overtones, debatable black comedy, and maybe a fair amount of yuck/ewwww mash together to create a memorable -- if not altogether compelling -- mix in the latest film by Pedro Almodóvar. Starring Antonio Banderas and Elena Anaya, the visuals are as luscious and darkly seductive as ever. To some, Almodovar's latest will be a fascinating character study, stuffed with multiple interpretations ranging from sexual identity to how grief can drive you crazy. To others, maybe more a technically-gifted piece of filmmaking that's less emotionally engaging than it could be.

Personally I'm in that latter group. Still worth a look for Almodóvar fans - unless you really want to avoid films about doctors conducting immoral experiments on gorgeous people of indeterminate origin. In which case, stick with Harold & Kumar this weekend. Not that those tastes are mutually exclusive.

There are some people you should not cross, even accidentally. How many are plastic surgeons I won't venture to guess. The Skin I Live In certainly makes a compelling case that the overlap between those populations is particularly scary. The picture is difficult to talk about without spoiling some of the ups and downs, so I will do my best to be especially vague.

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{Tower Heist opened in Seattle on Friday, November 4 and is playing at the Metro, The Meridian, The Majestic Bay, and Thornton Place Theaters}

There are a lot of reasons to suspect Tower Heist may be the latest overly engineered star-vehicle that seriously screws up a beloved beloved genre for a new generation of fans. There are occasional moments of excessive seriousness (all involving Ben Stiller). Plus a few spots where things threaten to stall. But in the end, it's an entertaining romp that's worth a look. I know - I couldn't believe it either. Almost makes me want to go double or nothing next week with the new Adam Sandler flick. Hey, I said almost....

Tower Heights certainly has some laughs, but overall I felt it owed more to the heist genre than that of slapstick comedy. An allegiance the film declares from the start with soothingly familiar "we're up to no good music". Trust me - you'll know it when you hear it. It's definitely a positive sign. You can think of it as one of the Ocean's 11 films - perhaps with less attractive people. With Casey Affleck in the mix to force the comparison.

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