The Paper Tigers

"Don't you people know how to park?" This racist attack towards an Asian-American man named Danny, played in The Paper Tigers by Alain Uy, represents a painfully common act of racism against Asians and Asian-Americans, especially since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. Audience members, when seeing something like that in a film, might be primed to anticipate Danny fighting back (especially since he used to be a very talented martial artist) or at least say something aggressive back. This is, after all, a movie about kung fu. 

Danny doesn't fight back. He has his kid (played by Joziah Lagonoy) with him. Not fighting back is a teachable moment for his son. It's better to walk away than fight, he tells him. But Danny's messaging is inconsistent. Later in the film, he'll tell his son Ed that he should fight to defend his friends. His ex-wife disagrees. It's difficult to put much stock into anything Danny tells Ed because in addition to his inconsistency, he's often not there for him. He's late picking him up, and he has to cancel trips to amusement parks due to emergency deadlines, all the while Ed's mother inevitably comes across looking like the mean parent. 

The failed-father dynamic in The Paper Tigers isn't particularly interesting, but it's not like the film, written and directed by Tran Quoc Bao, is trying very hard to make it work. Instead, the film puts most of its efforts into two elements: comedy and action. The Paper Tigers is a martial arts comedy; its martial arts scenes are the film's finest moments, but its comedy is flat. Nothing is funny in this movie, not the jokes about "breakfast pasta," not the flatulence, not the funeral selfies, not even the awkward white guy in the movie. The white guy (a very muscular Matthew Page as Carter) is a former high school rival of the Three Tigers (more on them in a moment), constantly losing to them and feeling bitter about it as an adult yet emboldened, for he clearly kept in shape over the years and now is a kung fu teacher, while the others (or at least two-thirds of them) got a little flabbier. 

Carter, though, takes things a little too seriously, learning to speak Chinese while passionately delivering honorable kung fu beliefs (which are dismissed as fortune cookie sayings by Danny). Carter blurts out his trust of the "old ways" and says other things that certainly come across as appropriation, and yet the film can't even get that right. The character of Carter should be low-hanging fruit for the film, but even though middle-aged white guys can say some pretty cringe-worthy things, none of them (we should hope) would never go so far as to say something like "we Chinese have a saying." 

The Paper Tigers centers on three middle-aged men who excelled at martial arts under the tutelage of Sifu Cheung (Roger Yuan) when they were teenagers but who've grown apart in their older years. Aside from Danny, Hing (Ron Yuan, Roger Yuan's real-life brother) has suffered from a leg injury and has gained weight, while Jim (Mykel Shannon Jenkins) has continued to keep his body in pristine order as a boxing coach but has forgotten kung fu. The three of them, formerly known as the Three Tigers, reunite when their sifu has mysteriously died from a heart attack. Suspecting foul play, they try to discover the true cause of his death and who might have had a hand in it. 

Some of the actors (like Page and Ron Yuan) certainly try to make this bizarre humor work (to no avail), but most of this silliness isn't their fault, but that of Bao's script. The script sometimes tries to instill some weight and emotion (like Danny's problems being a reliable father and his past issues living up to Sifu Cheung's expectations), often with some kind of "but the truth is" sappy speech, but it doesn't succeed, instead trying too hard to go for laughs. True, kids might laugh at it, but they'll likely be the only ones chuckling at these antics. 

If there is anything to be praised in the film, however, it's the unpredictable fight choreography of Ken Quitugua, who also appears as Zhen Fan, the film's villain. Adding to the delight of watching this masterful choreography is Daniel L.K. Caldwell's score; the two fit perfectly together. Music and fighting, though, can't save a movie like this, making this a very disappointing film. Unfortunately, it might pain you to try and remember whether or not you saw The Paper Tigers one week after viewing it. 

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The 39 Steps

The films Alfred Hitchcock directed can probably be split up into five (more or less) distinct stages: The first is his films that only the most die-hard Hitchcock enthusiasts and film historians are aware of. The period is from 1923 (with the first film he directed, the silent short Always Tell Your Wife) until 1934; it includes all of the silent films he directed and Blackmail, the first talkie film he directed. 

Later stages of Hitchcock's illustrious career include a third stage (his longest, the time when he reigned as a king in Hollywood, starting with the Best Picture-winning gothic drama Rebecca in 1940 until some of his best films, such as Vertigo, North by Northwest, and Psycho) and the final stage: the last thirteen years of his career that include some memorable films (like Marnie) and some that few have seen (like the critically reviled Torn Curtain).  

The 39 Steps from 1935 exists in a second stage of Hitchcock's filmography. It's during this period that amateur film historians (including me) start to recognize some of the titles he's been associated with: The Man Who Knew Too Much from 1934 (which he remade in 1956), Sabotage from 1936, and The Lady Vanishes from 1937. While I'm not an authority on Hitchcock by any stretch of the imagination, it seems that during this period, he really started to establish himself as a master of the cinema, and many elements he would be forever known for (trains, blonds, a wronged man, and that sort of thing) start to become common fixtures in his thrillers. 

In the film, Richard Hannay (played by Robert Donat, whose sophisticated demeanor and elocution make him seem like the lovechild of David Tomlinson and Colin Firth) is an Englishman who's returned from Canada. Hannay goes to a music hall for some fun, and the main attraction of the night is a man dubbed Mr. Memory (Wylie Watson), whose cool trick is that he can call out the answer to any question any audience member has, regardless of how trivial it is. The audience is enjoying it all until shots are fired, causing obvious panic.

Hannay discovers that the person who fired the shots is a woman named Annabelle Smith (Lucie Mannheim, the Jewish actor who fled Germany and started participating in anti-Hitler propaganda broadcasts). Flirting with Smith, the two go back to his place where they start to have a late-night snack, and at this point she explains to him that she was the one who fired the shots in order to help her escape from spies who were pursuing her belonging to an organization called the 39 Steps. This may sound preposterous to a guy like Hannay, but he will soon discover how such a story isn't always easy for the listener to accept, and he soon finds himself (like many characters in Hitchcock movies) in way over his head. Why? Soon the agents who are after Smith start to go after Hannay. He escapes on a train to Scotland, heading there because there is a small town circled on Smith's map. However, Hannay finds himself framed for murder, so he must avoid both the law and these foreign agents chasing after him. 

Why is the sinister organization named the 39 Steps? We're never told, but it doesn't matter. The twist—in which Hannay and the audience learn exactly what they are and exactly what they want (and exactly how they plan on getting it)—these days must seem a bit hard to buy, but it's clever nevertheless. The film's pacing sometimes feels dated, but for the most part it breezily moves about its eighty-six minutes in ways that are totally agreeable, even to modern-day audiences. The actors all look like they must have been having a good time as well, particularly Donat, Madeleine Carroll (who plays a woman caught up in Hannay's mess), and Godfrey Tearle, who despite only appearing in a few scenes as the film's main antagonist, seems to have relished every moment of it.  

The film is a thriller, but it's a humorous one, as well. The banter between Donat and Carroll's characters, despite being a bit creepy at times, is mostly spot-on and charming. Donat's ability to convincingly portray Hannay as a man who can so confidently and quickly speak out of his rear end effortlessly despite all these problems he steps in shows just how much of a natural he was. A few years after The 39 Steps was released, Donat won Best Actor for Goodbye, Mr. Chips, beating Mickey Rooney for Babes in Arms, James Stewart for Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Clark Gable for Gone With the Wind, and Laurence Olivier for Wuthering Heights.  

Critics praised The 39 Steps when it was released. Proving a box office hit and a critical success, The 39 Steps certainly has maintained enthusiasts over the years, like Orson Welles, who called the film a masterpiece, and Robert Townsend, who once said that "contemporary escapist entertainment begins with The 39 Steps." That's not hyperbole. The cleverness has remained, as have the effectiveness of smaller things (like the way tension can be sustained with each ring of the phone), even if nearly a hundred years have passed. 

Those who love Hitchcock-directed films surely should seek this one out if they haven't already. You'll get a Hitchcock cameo (towards the beginning) and other neat tricks that seem quite ahead of its time, like a woman's scream being replaced by a train whistle as it races by. Whether it's on a train or in a kitchen, Hitchcock knew how to do suspense, even back in the mid-30s when he directed The 39 Steps, his twenty-first film. True, at times it seems quite similar to later films (especially North by Northwest), but that shouldn't count too much against it. In essence, The 39 Steps is just as suspenseful and unpredictable as many of the later films he directed. 

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Some Kind of Heaven

If I am about thirty-four and a half years old, that means that I have roughly been on this Earth for 413 months. Of those 413 months, twelve of them have been spent visiting and even at times living in The Villages. The Villages is the largest retirement community in the country, with well over a hundred thousand retirees living in this retirement fairyland in the middle of Florida. A person in his thirties certainly stands out, especially if he's driving a golf cart. But drive one I did during periods of house sitting, visiting, and even staying for several months in between contracts. As a U.S. citizen living abroad, I still use my parents' address in The Villages as my permanent residence, and I often catch myself whispering to whoever needs my address (the bank teller or the pharmacist, for example) that "I really don't live here."

You also might have heard of The Villages. Perhaps you've heard the dirty rumor that The Villages has the highest STD rate in the country, which was basically debunked a few years ago by villages-news.com but might forever be in the public's imagination thanks to a 2009 article in the New York Post that included gossip about a couple getting caught having sex in their golf cart, rumors of a black market for Viagra, and cops talking about breaking up men jousting with their canes to fight over women. You most certainly heard of The Villages if you were following last year's presidential election, thanks to constant media coverage of the community's supposed disappointment in Donald Trump's handling of the COVID-19 pandemic, with articles from Business Insider, New York magazine, the Associated Press, NBC, USA Today, and many others. (At any rate, Trump won Florida 51 to 48, winning almost seventy percent—practically identical to his 2016 result—of Sumpter County, where most of The Villages is.) Or maybe you just have an older relative who escaped the cold of northern states and has found their own slice of heaven in Florida. With all this awareness of The Villages, it was inevitable that some kind of film would be made about it. It's very fortunate for moviegoers that the unavoidable film was in capable hands. 

With all that you have likely heard of this unique part of the country, there is almost nothing I can tell you about The Villages that you won't learn in the new documentary titled Some Kind of Heaven. Directed by Lance Oppenheim (a Floridian making his directorial debut here) and produced by Darren Aronofsky, this film will show you all the good, bad, and ugly of a community self-described as "Florida's friendliest hometown." "You come here to live," one resident says. "You don't come here to pass away." Within the first sequences of the documentary, you'll see how The Villages offers something for everyone—synchronized swimming, rowing, pickleball, and golf courses aplenty are just some of the activities available for residents. There's even a club for people named Elaine. The documentary, however, is not as concerned with the almost idiosyncratic vibe there but instead four residents: a married couple named Anne and Reggie, a widow named Barbara, and a bachelor named Dennis. 

Barbara is the most normal of the four. She's from Boston, a place she desperately wants to return to. Her husband passed away, and she's working full time at a job she doesn't particularly like. She tells the interviewer that her time in The Villages "hasn't been the fantasyland" she hoped it would be, right before she bursts into face-saving laughter as her dog starts humping the cat. Audience members will certainly feel for a person like Barbara and others who have not found the happiness they thought they would find there, like Dennis, who lives in a van and illegally parks for the night on Villages property. He fully states that his intention is to find a wealthy woman whom he can move in with. Much of Anne's story focuses on her crumbling marriage to Reggie, a very peculiar individual struggling with addiction to THC. Some of these characters' paths take some unexpected turns, especially when the law gets involved.   

During the times I housesat for my parents in The Villages, I usually would go outside only for things like going to see a movie or getting groceries. I avoided everything else at all cost, and other than doctor appointments, there was little else I found in common with the permanent residents (or semi-permanent ones coined "snow birds," those who retreat to northern states during the miserably hot and humid summers). I've seen enough of The Villages—with its humidity, omnipresent golf courses, and deep-red conservatism—to know that it's not for me, and it never will be (even forty years from now). Knowing The Villages so well might have impacted how I responded to Some Kind of Heaven, and I'm not sure if it helped or hurt my enjoyment of the film. The target audience therefore is people who have never been there or even heard of it. Actual Villagers will probably be wondering why they've bothered to watch a movie that shows them their daily experiences, although the film's occasional melancholy likely preaches to the choir that is those who have moved there and haven't found the paradise they were hoping for.

Other residents of The Villages—the people who've truly fallen in love with this wonderland in a country they don't recognize anymore—might be insulted. True, some of the film's perspective is predictably smug, with an attitude that shouts "look at all these old geezers running around here!" Yet much of Some Kind of Heaven is equal parts inquisitive and informative, as many great documentaries are. And viewers will likely find themselves rooting for the four Villagers we follow (especially Barbara), even when they do foolish things. Much acclaim should be given to Oppenheim for channeling a style that embraces surrealism while being humanist at the same time. There isn't much of a thesis in this documentary, but it really shines when focusing on the four characters. Perhaps it was easy for Oppenheim to get these folks to spill the beans so easily; older people, after all, are more trusting than younger people. Hopefully their children and grandchildren won't be too upset at him. 

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Slalom

I admit to having no idea what the word "slalom" meant before a simple online search took me to a basic definition: to zigzag between obstacles. It is a fitting title for the debut feature film of writer and director Charlène Favier, a drama about a 15-year-old ski prodigy and her strict, predatory instructor. The girl, named Lyz and played by Noée Abita, has a variety of expected obstacles: navigating obnoxious boys and jealous friends on top of schoolwork that bores her, separated parents, and the enormous pressures of her competitive sport. Her wolfish coach, played by Jérémie Renier, makes things considerably worse.

Not long after the Me Too movement started in the United States, toppling about 200 men in various different fields, it found its way to France with #BalanceTonPorc (OutYourPig). However, in France, few men were held accountable initially. What made things worse was the infamous letter signed by 100 women calling the movement "puritanism." "To these women and the many who agreed with them," Monique El-Faizy wrote earlier this year, "#MeToo was a puritanical overreaction and an affront to French values and the country's cherished culture of seduction." 

Things started to change last year with the publication of Vanessa Springora's memoir titled Consent, which detailed her relationship that started when she was fourteen with writer Gabriel Matzneff (who for a long time has openly written about his child rape activities but never faced prosecution). Then, Camille Kouchner published La Familia Grande, in which she accused her stepfather, the political scientist Olivier Duhamel, of sexually abusing her brother when he was fourteen. Adèle Haenel walked out of the César Awards after Roman Polanski won Best Director. More allegations came, and #BalanceTonPorc spawned #MeTooIncest and #MeTooGay to more broadly tackle the problem. France was catching up and changing.   

As France and the world continue to challenge sexual abuse and the protection of the abusers, films like Slalom are vital. Several U.S. films have been themed around Me Too (like The Assistant and Athlete A, both from last year), but to my knowledge Slalom is the first OutYourPig movie from France. Given what we know about Matzneff, Duhamel, and others, it is fitting that the protagonist in this drama is underage, and even though Abita was in her early twenties during filming, she convincingly looks and can act like a teenager. (It's the same reason why Léa Mysius cast her in Ava as a teenager.) The coach character Renier plays (named Fred) is overly cruel to Lyz in front of the others on the team, but at least some of them feel there is a method to his madness. "He crushes, you listen," one of the other teenage girls tells her, "and you get better." There is a cycle to Fred's behavior—he's harsh, then soft, then "cool," then loving.

Lyz undoubtedly is passionate about skiing, so she doesn't let his authoritarian methods hinder her ambition, instead excelling at skiing and becoming Fred's favorite. But in addition to the favoritism, there is lots of inappropriate touching from Fred. Lyz possibly has a crush on him, and her lack of a father figure and largely absent mother probably make her especially vulnerable to Fred's attention and seduction, but even when his touching becomes explicitly sexual, she tells Fred of her love for him. He might have fallen in love with her, too, if he didn't soon realize the suspicions of those around him, including his wife (played by Marie Denarnaud). 

Favier and Marie Talon's script is a potent one, and it's important to remember that decades ago, the angle of the (likely male) filmmakers would have been to make this story as an innocent coming-of-age tale of innocent yet deep romance. Yet here, Favier and Talon are on the side of Me Too, not Catherine Devenue (one of the co-signers of the anti-#MeToo letter). In addition to the sharp script and the phenomenal acting (especially from the film's two leads), cinematographer Yann Maritaud's camera actively pursues the skiers as they race downhill in a way that is thrilling.       

At times, Slalom is predictably not an easy film to watch, especially when Lyz and Fred are alone together. That's the point, though. Nothing about the Me Too movement has been easy. It has required a great deal of bravery from victims, and it has required that society change its behavior and hold perpetrators accountable. This has not always happened, as we have seen. In addition to the initial pushback in France, there are signs that things may be heading in the wrong direction, especially this past week, which saw the release of Bill Cosby after only three years behind bars after being found guilty of three counts of aggravated indecent assault; sixty women have accused Cosby of rape and other sexual misconduct. This fight to change society is far from over, and many more movies like Slalom are needed.

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