FIFTEEN BOOKS

A few weeks ago on Facebook, I responded to a meme called "15 Books I've Read That Will Always Stick With Me", a list one was supposed to create in 15 minutes or less. Now that I've had a little more time, some thoughts on what I picked (roughly in the order I first read them).

1. Roald Dahl - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
I cited this particular book over all of the Beverly Cleary and Judy Blume I read as a kid simply because Dahl wrote adult books for kids (or kids books for adults, if you prefer). I never even saw the Gene Wilder film until I was a teenager. By then, it was a real letdown— perhaps Dahl’s sly, outlandish prose is best left to one’s own illusion, (although I still anticipate Wes Anderson’s version of The Fantastic Mr. Fox).

2. Harper Lee - To Kill a Mockingbird
The perennial classroom favorite, and deservedly so—this is the great 20th Century American novel, alternately droll and wrenching and always uncommonly humane without seeming preachy or self-important.

3. Jean Shepherd – In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash
In this collection of near-autobiographical short stories (which would provide the gist of the film A Christmas Story), brilliant, underrated monologist Shepherd presents a far more bent evocation of a 1930s childhood than Lee, and god bless him for it.

4. Leslie Marmon Silko – Almanac of the Dead
I’ve seen many a lengthy film where the journey, the duration of watching it and losing yourself in a particular world has a greater impact than the destination itself; Silko’s 800+ page tapestry of 20th century Native American/European American relations is a compelling literary equivalent.

5. David Sedaris – Naked
With his second book, Sedaris comes off like the Shepherd’s somewhat cranky gay son, relaying uproarious warts-and-all tales from his childhood with ingenuity and an ease that most humorists would kill to possess.

6. Dale Peck – Now It’s Time to Say Goodbye
Peck gleefully played around with genre and structure in his early books, and reached a dizzying peak in his third novel, a Kansas Gothic about a racially divided town with multiple narrators—nearly all of them worthy of their own books. Better known for his savage, snarky literary reviews, Peck hasn’t come up with anything so interesting since.

7. Tom Robbins – Skinny Legs and All
Like many of my generation, I went through a Robbins phase and I’ll be blunt—you either love or loathe his shtick. This is his most expansive tall tale, and it involves a giant van in the shape of a grocery store turkey, a restaurant co-owned by an Arab and a Jew (situated across the street from the United Nations, no less) and the most soulful can o’beans you’ll ever meet. And if that sounds overly precious, beneath it all is a beautiful, eloquent narrative about the necessity of art.

8. Michael Cunningham – The Hours
Since the author does not waste one single word in weaving together the stories of three women in different eras, I’ll only add that I’ve never read prose that captures the stark simplicity of haiku like this book does.

9. Lester Bangs – Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung
If blogging had been around when Bangs was alive, he would’ve probably posted more often than Perez Hilton. People now moan about all of the bad, self-indulgent writing inspired by Bangs’ confessional, conversational approach to rock criticism; this compilation confirms his influence and phenomenal talent.

10. John Irving – A Prayer For Owen Meany
I also went through an Irving phase, consuming many of his hilarious, overstuffed novels as if they were neverending comfort food buffets. This is his most unlikeliest, audacious effort, due mostly to the title character: a remarkably unsentimental midget of a child with (conceivably) a nails-on-chalkboard voice.

11. Marilynne Robinson – Housekeeping
Like Owen Meany, this is an unconventional tale of a 1950s childhood, but Robinson’s style is worlds away from Irving’s: simultaneously dense and plainspoken, her language meticulously guides the reader through unthinkable situations (like a flood) and intricately drawn characters like her spinster/proto-feminist heroine Sylvie.

12. Carson McCullers – The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
I read a considerable amount of McCullers before finally tackling this, her first and greatest work. It’s almost unbearably melancholic, but the compassion she lends her deaf-mute protagonist (and the young woman fascinated by him) is striking in how complete and engaging it feels.

13. David Mitchell – Cloud Atlas
It’s hard not to be impressed by the set-up: six stories, each in a different genre, structured like a Russian doll that folds back into itself, only together they make up one novel. In addition to Mitchell’s firm grasp of each genre, you have the reoccurring thrill of discovering each echo and revelation as the book gradually returns to where it began.

14. Tom Spanbauer – In the City of Shy Hunters
Spanbauer has only published four novels, but each one could be a candidate for this list, and his third is certainly his most ambitious. An epic about how AIDS ravaged Manhattan in the 1980s, it recalls a time and place so vividly and personally that in no time at all, you feel you know it by heart—and the character Rose may be the most imaginative drag queen ever devised.

15. Susanna Clarke – Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell
As lengthy as Almanac of The Dead but far more concise: Clarke’s fictional history of two dueling magicians in early 19th century England is compulsively readable, with a contemporary perspective that never jars with the parameters of the fantastic world she has conjured up.

HALFWAY HOME

We're midway through 2009, so here's a rundown of my ten favorite films and albums of the year so far, each in alphabetical order. If the film list looks a little shabby compared to past years, well, I'm looking forward to Toronto. On the other hand, I can't remember ever having such a robust album list at this point.

Films:

The Class
Coraline
Lake Tahoe
Moon
Of Time and the City
O'Horten
Revanche
Still Walking
Sugar
We Live in Public

Albums:

Bat For Lashes, Two Suns
The Bird and The Bee, Ray Guns Are Not Just the Future
Andrew Bird, Noble Beast
Camera Obscura, My Maudlin Career
Junior Boys, Begone Dull Care
Metric, Fantasies
Pet Shop Boys, Yes
St. Vincent, Actor
Jill Sobule, California Years
Super Furry Animals, Dark Days/Light Years

CARAVAGGIO

I’m willing to bet that CARAVAGGIO (1986) is Derek Jarman’s most widely seen film after EDWARD II on this side of the pond. It’s the only one to have screened theatrically in Boston in the past five years (as part of the CineMental series at the Brattle Theatre in May 2008). As a biopic of the Baroque Italian painter, the subject matter is also a tad more accessible than usual for him and easily more conventional than anything preceding it in his oeuvre—although most viewers probably wouldn’t apply the term “conventional” to a film that depicts the unveiling of the artist’s most renowned work (“Profane Love”) as a hip gallery opening, complete with appetizers, languid modern jazz and a snippy, bitchy art critic reporting on the proceedings.

Jarman’s usual idiosyncrasies aside, the film has a fairly conventional framing device: it opens with the titular painter (Nigel Terry) on his deathbed as he looks back at his life as a series of flashbacks. This gives viewers a needed in to Jarman’s highly personal depiction of this historical figure, whom he places in a sparse but not overly minimalist late 16th/early 17th century Italy (actually shot in a London studio) where a majority of its denizens speak in low-class English accents and freely make use of such anachronisms as a motorcycle or an electronic calculator.

The low-class accents are actually somewhat appropriate. A good chunk of the film explores how Caravaggio, when commissioned by the Catholic Church to create portraits of religious icons, often used thieves, prostitutes and other common folk as models. Expanding upon the homoerotic nature of a few of these portraits, Jarman constructs a love triangle between the painter and a young couple, Ranuccio (Sean Bean) and Lena (Tilda Swinton) to give the film its dramatic arc. In a key scene, as Caravaggio paints Ranuccio for the first time, the artist throws gold coins to his model, who stuffs them in his mouth as he holds his pose—the longer he does so, the more money he receives. All is silent except for the tinkling of the coins, the intensity heightened by back-and-forth cuts between the two men (and Lena, looking on in concern) until Caravaggio walks over with the coin between his teeth, which he offers to Ranuccio, whom accepts it in the form of a kiss.

Although Terry gives the most professional, multi-faceted lead performance in any of Jarman's works up to this point, Swinton (in her film debut) more than holds her own. When introduced, she’s presented as a fairly unremarkable peasant. However, she has her moment preceding the "Profane Love" unveiling: in an elaborate, aristocratic dress, she takes off the scarf covering her hair up to that point and lets those long, red locks come flowing out. She looks in the mirror, then directly at the camera and one feels this instant serendipity between director and actor—you can tell why Jarman wanted to employ her in every subsequent film he would make.

Conflict and betrayal within the love triangle eventually leads all three participants to tragic ends, but in its heart, CARAVAGGIO is less a film about politics both religious and class-related and sexual entanglement and more about painting. Jarman (and production designer Christopher Hobbs) pay great homage to their subject by incorporating his chiaroscuro technique into the look of the film. They meticulously, dramatically use light and shadow and a limited but rich color palette to conjure up live action approximations of Caravaggio’s greatest works. (Viewing both a recent film print and the 2008 DVD release were revelatory after years of knowing it only via an old, dubbed VHS copy.)

Even more interesting are moments that delve into the artistic process itself. With scene after scene of Caravaggio working with his models, it’s difficult not to think of Jarman’s early career as an artist (although he was into landscapes more than portraiture) and damn near impossible not to see them as reflexive statements of Jarman as a filmmaker. As Caravaggio used common men and women as models for religious icons, Jarman tended to employ his friends rather than professionals as actors in his films. When he did work with professionals (such as Terry or Swinton), they often came from other backgrounds such as the stage but proved unorthodox (and flexible) enough to fit into Jarman’s milieu.

Despite all of its reputable qualities, the film feels a little too hermetic for its own good, which is likely a result of its lengthy gestation: Jarman spent seven years trying to make it and, with the exception of a few scenes (like the aforementioned coin tossing), the finished product lacks spontaneity and enthusiasm. The numerous deathbed scenes sprinkled throughout also drag a bit and could use a smidgen of the vitality and purpose of the sequences of the artist at work. In the end, CARAVAGGIO is a perfectly respectable Derek Jarman film; the problem is, you sense throughout his career Jarman did not set out to make anything that was merely respectable. Thanks to Swinton’s influence and some life-changing news received months after this film’s completion, Jarman’s work would take a new, radical direction that made most of his past features seem comparatively quaint.

THE LIMITS OF CONTROL

Few films baffle me as much as this one initially did. Jim Jarmusch has always been a particularly austere auteur: his narratives tend to unfold at a zen-like pace and the films' structures possess as much weight as the stories themselves. Here, he takes that approach to an extremely uncomfortable level, perversely following the accessible, practically sentimental BROKEN FLOWERS with this, his most challenging, poker-faced effort.

A "Lone Man" (that's the character's only name according to the credits) played by Isaach De Bankolé is given instructions from two other men to check into a particular hotel, go to a cafe and wait for "the man with the violin". Having dutifully followed these instructions, Lone Man gives Violin Man a matchbook, receives another one in return, finds a small piece of paper with a cryptic code of numerals and letters on it, and proceeds to stick it in his mouth, chew it up and swallow. This interaction leads him to another figure, an affected, quirky (in a Jarmusch film, is there any other kind?) Blonde (Tilda Swinton). A similar exchange follows and repeats itself as Lone Man travels from one part of Spain to the next, meeting such figures as Guitar (John Hurt), Mexican (Gael Garcia Bernal) and finally, a Dick Cheney-like American (Bill Murray) where we finally learn this mission's purpose.

Or maybe not. Jarmusch reveals precious little more information than what I've given here. We never find out what that elusive code is, or why Lone Man always drinks his double espresso in two separate, identical cups, or why he's even been asked to perform this mission and what its repercussions are. In short, Jarmusch has cut out nearly all exposition and backstory: what we see is what we get. For anyone looking for a good story or a rich character study, this may not be enough, which is why I left the theater confused and more than a little annoyed.

And yet, there was so much about the film that I liked. The repetitions and rituals form a hypnotic rhythm that, as in the best experimental cinema, makes you occasionally forget about the lack of narrative momentum. The Christopher Doyle cinematography is typically captivating without calling too much attention to itself. And for all his minimalist demeanor, De Bankolé is a fascinating figure. He's in nearly every frame, but he moves through these landscapes as if he's a fully integrated component rather than someone who blinds us with his star presence.

Jarmusch always includes a fair amount of pretentious bullshit in his films. This one is just as pretentious, but, with perhaps the exception of the Bill Murray scene, it's bullshit-free. He's working toward a pure, instinctual cinema that's much closer to the work of Antonioni and Chantal Akerman than his American indie contemporaries. THE LIMITS OF CONTROL frustrates because it has that dangling carrot of a story that Jarmusch eventually snatches away. In his next film, I'd like to see him try excluding that carrot entirely.

WALK THROUGH BEACON HILL

Roughly once a year, I head over to Beacon Hill for a walk. Each time, I'm always surprised by its little quirks. The signature narrow, winding streets are a given, but many of its architectural details are enticingly hidden, just waiting to be discovered.

This tour begins with a colorful intrusion among the skyscrapers Northeast of Boston Common, then proceeds through the neighborhood:

PORTLAND SIGNS

That would be Portland, Maine, where I spent the past weekend. For being the largest city in the state, it's fairly small and all the more charming for it. These were taken Downtown near the waterfront--a neighborhood that is alternately old school and nouveau-trendy.

What me, lazy? Nonsense. Expect few updates here for another month or so. Blame work, various extracurriculars, and a big move looming ahead. Once I get settled in my new digs, perhaps you'll see a little more action from this blog.

Until then, wait in anticipation like Maggie.

THAT'S LAME, BOB!

Thanks to Youtube (and this page in particular), I’ve come across a lot of stuff I haven’t thought about in years. Much of it is junk—perhaps some proof that we are more apt to remember the good, significant, relevant things television subjected us to decades ago. Social historians (and pop culture geeks like me) must be having an orgasm because all of the, um, archival footage now available to us for free.

Of course, Youtube can’t take all the credit. Sometimes, a simple phrase can conjure up a flood of long-suppressed memories. While watching the AKC/Eukanuba National Championship dog show over the weekend, the words, “That’s right, Bob!” did this to me. They were spoken repeatedly to the show’s host, Bob Goen, by various dog handlers and trainers, and the phrase triggered something that had left my consciousness twenty years ago.

If you’ve ever watched Milwaukee television, you know Colder’s, a local furniture and appliance store. Much like Bernie and Phyl’s or Bob’s Discount Furniture in New England, they’ve advertised incessantly for as long as I can remember. In the ‘80s, they had a spokesperson named (surprise, surprise) Bob who was an unexceptionally dorky, bespectacled middle-aged Midwesterner. Their cheaply-made commercials were mostly bland and forgettable, irritating only because it seemed like they aired every five minutes.

Which brings us to “That’s right, Bob!”, a series of radio and TV ads. The premise: Bob does his usual spiel, hawking whatever living room set or refrigerator was on sale that week, only he phrases it in the form of a question, not as Alex Trebek but as if he was Pat Sajak shooting the shit with Vanna White.

Of course, Colder's couldn't hire the real Vanna at height of her Wheel of Fortune fame, so they improvised. A typical exchange would go something like this:

Bob: “Vanna White, isn’t it true that the 1988 Fridgidaire deluxe model with automatic icemaker and patented sta-kleen vinyl handle can be yours at Colder’s this week with no payments down and no interest until 1990?”

“Vanna”: “That’s right, Bob!”

Two or three more questions would follow and "Vanna" always gave the same three-word response. I first heard the radio version, where the voice of "Vanna" was mousy, rapid and obviously fake, as if a man was saying it. By itself, that would have been mildly amusing (and to most kids my age it was).

Unfortunately, they just had to make a TV version where "Vanna" is a life size cardboard cutout of Ms. White. The exchange played out like the radio ad, only Bob communicated with "Vanna" as a ventriloquist would with his dummy—and with little effort to not show his lips moving as he mouthed the ad's infamous catch phrase. He even chuckles at the end, as if to say, "Gosh darnit, can you believe how dorky I am?"

WILL SOMEBODY POST IT ON YOUTUBE, ALREADY?

Eventually, the radio ads were amended to make Vanna's voice sound a little less fake. "That's right, Bob!" became throatier, more feminine, and a little saucier. That did not keep my friends and I from saying it to each other in a chipmunk cadence, though.

Here's a few other old Milwaukee commercials I'd kill to see on Youtube again:

Gordon's Furniture: Not too strong of a competitor to Colder's, this smaller business had to make do with freeze frame stills of their merchandise and voiceover copy. But the ads always ended with eerie, disembodied voices saying "Gordon's" in triplicate before being topped off with an unnerving musical cue that sounded like it was straight out of an old science fiction flick without really meaning to.

Tadych: Another furniture store, even tinier than Gordon's, and only a few blocks away from my house. In addition to promoting fine Amish handiwork (again accompanied by still shots of "Amish" carpenters at work... I always yelled at the screen, "Oh, they're not really Amish—those beards are taped on!"), they had a chintzy felt toad with someone's hand up its back, belching out the store's name as if it was "Ribbit!", closing out with a big BOOI-NNNG! on the soundtrack as it pounced toward the camera for its close-up.

And bonus points for anything with the polka-like theme for Ernie von Schledorn's auto dealership (which always ended with Ernie croaking, "Who do you know vants to buy a car?" like a benevolent German priest) or the totally groovy circa-1970 jingle for Mike Crivello's Wonderful World of Cameras, whose original recording was still in use not too long ago!

GOLDEN

Wow... having seen every episode of this sitcom (at least twice!), I have to say... well, what else is there to say about this music video by the band Pistol Youth, except... wow? Genius and disturbing in equal dosages.

THE BEST FILMS OF 2008

This was not such a great year for film – I saw three of my top five in Toronto in 2007. However, I've never had so much difficulty choosing a number one film: I like the top two almost equally, but when it comes to ranking personal taste, I don’t believe in ties.

THE TOP TEN:



1. MAN ON WIRE
Philippe Petit’s 1974 tightrope walk across the World Trade Center could’ve easily made for a better-than-average cable TV documentary, but director James Marsh knew this extraordinary story was too good for that. With its unforgettable protagonist, quirky accomplices, marvelous archival footage and possibly the least cheesy reenactments ever, this is both an artful heist film and a celebratory document of a phenomenal stunt that was also a breathtaking work of art. But the film’s real power derives from it being just as much a requiem – although Marsh never directly references 9/11, the haunting presence of the Twin Towers themselves never lets you forget what was lost.



2. LET THE RIGHT ONE IN
From TWILIGHT to TRUE BLOOD, it seemed like vampires were everywhere in pop culture this year; this Swedish import offered a recognizable but fairly innovative take on the legend and managed the neat feat of a being a tender, coming-of-age love story and a bloody horror film. Set in an early-‘80s Stockholm suburb and centered on a shy, tormented 12-year-old boy and his new, oddly androgynous neighbor (who confesses to having been “12 for a long time”), Tomas Alfredson’s debut feature mixes genres with an uncommon assurance and does not hit one wrong note.



3. 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS, AND 2 DAYS
Two college-aged women trying to secure an illegal abortion in Communist Romania doesn’t exactly sound like a fun time at the cinema (it wouldn’t make an ideal date film), but for all its bleakness and utter discomfort, Cristian Mungiu’s Cannes winner is, in a strange way, kind of fun. It gains considerable momentum from its construction as a thriller as it examines the contours of a friendship against a social backdrop it neither entirely condemns nor commends; its generous helping of black humor is also far more evident once it’s over.



4. MY WINNIPEG
I should just automatically reserve a spot for Guy Maddin on my top ten every year he makes a new feature – he’s the most original filmmaker at work today. With this strange, charming documentary/fantasy/essay hybrid, he cements his reputation as one of the best. For all its wildly imaginative tales of frozen horses, man pageants and “psychic possibilities”, this is Maddin’s most accessible, personal work and if that wasn’t enough, you have the added attraction of the glorious, irascible 86-year-old Ann Savage in her final role as Maddin’s mother.



5. THE VISITOR
When I first saw it over a year ago, I feared that Thomas McCarthy’s intelligent little film would never find an audience. Its account of a gloomy widower (Richard Jenkins in one the year’s best performances) obtaining a new lease on life via the immigrant couple he befriends could have been rendered in broad, sentimental terms; instead, the story is told with nuance and restraint, even as it evolves from a bittersweet character study into an impassioned critique of American policy toward foreigners post-9/11. That it did find a sizable audience is enough to restore my faith in film distribution.



6. REPRISE
The Norwegian TRAINSPOTTING, only with mental illness and existential despair in place of the heroin and booze? Perhaps. Joachim Trier’s film is far from unique in how it revels in the ebullience of having an entire adulthood ahead of one's self, but it’s the rare one that considers all the anxieties and uncertainties that come with the territory; that it does so with detached wisdom and grace keeps it from feeling contrived.



7. FLIGHT OF THE RED BALLOON
Inspired by Albert Lamorisse's classic 1956 short THE RED BALLOON, Taiwanese master Hou Hsiao-Hsien seeks Paris as a thoughtful tourist would, freshly viewing the city’s day-to-day rhythms with the same sense of discovery found in his Asian films. Emphasizing textures and title-referencing motifs that subtly surface throughout, he’s created his most engaging, affable work to date without compromising his poetic approach.



8. SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK
In his directorial debut, screenwriter Charlie Kaufman burrows even further down his own rabbit hole, forging a universe nearly brought to the brink of collapse by its art/life collisions and mind-blowing meta-references. Fortunately, it’s never less than a fascinating place to inhabit, aided by a brave performance from Philip Seymour Hoffman and a stellar, mostly female supporting cast. An absolutely terrifying comedy, it also resonates more profoundly than any of Kaufman’s previous efforts – especially with repeated viewings.



9. HAPPY-GO-LUCKY
Only Mike Leigh could devise a heroine like Poppy (the magnificent Sally Hawkins), an eternally optimistic London schoolteacher whom, in a lesser director’s hands, would come off as infuriating and abrasive. But, for all her whimsy and light, she’s one of his most intricate creations, and much more than she appears on the surface. Although a little pokey, this comparatively lighthearted Leigh film is as full of substance as his best work, and Hawkins’ scenes with her hotheaded driving instructor (Eddie Marsan) are an unusual, beguiling cross between screwball comedy and kitchen sink realism.



10. STILL LIFE
For years I’ve tried to figure out what the fuss with critically-adored Chinese filmmaker Jia Zhangke was all about: whereas his past films, although full of great ideas, somehow always lost their grasp along the way, this one stays afloat from beginning to end. A beautiful meditation on the Three Gorges Dam, it examines a small village that was destroyed by the project through the eyes of two characters who return to seek out displaced family members. The gorgeous, languid camerawork is a huge part of the appeal, but STILL LIFE is more than just a pretty travelogue – it documents a historical moment, and via its two stories, the human cost of it.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

WALL-E
The first half is simply genius; if the more conventional remainder sustained its weird poetry, the whole thing might have been my favorite film of the year.

CHRIS AND DON: A LOVE STORY
A documentary about the writer Chris Isherwood and his lover Don Bachardy and an illuminating portrait of any long-term relationship, gay or otherwise.

ENCOUNTERS AT THE END OF THE WORLD
Werner Herzog goes to Antarctica (some filmmaker had to) and he finds pure shimmering beauty in its extreme icy terrain – not to mention a woman who can fold herself up inside a suitcase.

I’VE LOVED YOU SO LONG
Kristin Scott Thomas mesmerizes as a woman just released from a fifteen-year prison sentence in this unsentimental French drama that puts THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION to shame.

THE UNIVERSE OF KEITH HARING
With its one-of-a-kind subject having died so young, this is a vital document that aptly shows how Haring’s contributions to the art world continue to astound and inspire.

CHOP SHOP
BALLAST
Both Ramim Bahrani’s film about a young street orphan working in the vast junkyard next to Shea Stadium and Lance Hammer’s mournful character study in rural Mississippi are deeply indebted to Italian Neorealism; both also feel more honest and original than most of what screened at the indieplexes this year.

THE TRACEY FRAGMENTS
With a perfect meshing of story and style, this Canadian feature starring Ellen Page establishes a new creative standard for what one can accomplish with digital video.

MILK
Gus Van Sant makes an agreeable return to mainstream filmmaking with this biopic, but it’s an unexpectedly lithe, likable Sean Penn that really impresses in the titular role.

BILLY THE KID
Billy, a 15-year-old teenager in rural Maine, isn’t especially unique or exceptional, but after watching Jennifer Venditti’s perceptive, at times heartbreaking documentary, you’ll never forget him.

ALEXANDRA
Opera diva Galina Vishnevskaya anchors Aleksandr Sokurov’s anti-war film with a towering, tour de force display of tenacity and motherhood.

THE PRINCESS OF NEBRASKA
It will forever be known as the first feature film to have its premiere on Youtube, but this quite moving little experiment is not merely director Wayne Wang’s long-awaited return to form, but also an artistic breakthrough.

ALSO RECOMMENDED:

AT THE DEATH HOUSE DOOR
THE AXE IN THE ATTIC
THE BAND'S VISIT
BURN AFTER READING
A CHRISTMAS TALE
DOUBT
THE EDGE OF HEAVEN
FROZEN RIVER
JELLYFISH
LOVE SONGS
MISTER FOE
MISTER LONELY
PAGEANT
PARANOID PARK
RACHEL GETTING MARRIED
SONG SUNG BLUE
SURFWISE
TOWELHEAD
WATER LILIES
THE WITNESSES
XXY