REVIEW: Nasty Baby

25 07 2015

QFest Houston

Sebastian Silva’s “Nasty Baby” departs from a fairly simple premise: a gay couple Freddy and Mo (Silva himself and Tunde Adebimpe) tries to conceive a child with their best friend Polly (Kristen Wiig) but faces difficulty with the sperm.  This well-trod territory might feel rather boring or rote were it not for Silva’s knack in capturing the banter between the tight-knit group.  The wit flows effortlessly and ceaselessly, establishing an amusing crew as entirely believable.

Alongside the trio’s baby-making struggles, which arise mostly from Adebimpe’s Mo as he somewhat inextricably bristles to take on the responsibility of providing the necessary fluids, runs a very different kind of story.  It starts off as a subplot with the residents of their gentrifying neighborhood finding themselves annoyed by a lingering loony from the old days, The Bishop (Reg E. Cathey, best known as Freddy from Netflix’s “House Of Cards”).  Bishop’s prevalence in the film grows and grows as the movie continues on its merry way, threatening to subsume the narrative altogether.

Nasty Baby

And then he does.

Oddly enough, Silva pulls off a fairly complete reversal within “Nasty Baby,” making us think the film is about one thing and then pulling out the rug from under us.  The conception storyline provides an enjoyable diversion while he sets up a vicious dramatic ending that knows how to draw blood.  Impressively, Silva finds a way to make the shift into an entirely different genre feel natural and earned, as if one should just flow naturally from the other.  If nothing else, “Nasty Baby” provides one hell of a full night out at the movies.  B+ / 3stars


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REVIEW: Unexpected

24 07 2015

UnexpectedIn Kris Swanberg’s “Unexpected,” pregnancy functions as something more than just a nine month-long sentence that brings agony and joy in unequal measure.  Here, it serves as a springboard into the future that simultaneously forces a reckoning with the present.

As the film’s title might imply, Cobie Smulder’s protagonist Samantha Abbott finds herself in the family way at a very inopportune moment.  The school where she currently teaches must close its doors due to budget cuts, and she still feels a strong enough urge to impact the lives of students that she cannot simply hang up the cleats to become a stay-at-home mom.

Swanberg’s script, co-written with Megan Mercier, gives her little to do other than endure pregnancy with one of her students, the promisingly bright Jasmine (Gail Bean).  Whether they are working through Jasmine’s college application, preparing with a session of prenatal yoga, or just plain gorging on a milkshake, “Unexpected” always delights even when largely void of dramatic tension.

The film does deliver (excuse the pun) on a subtle interrogation of the “great white savior”/”nice white lady” trope that often makes its way to the forefront in films involving two characters from different backgrounds.  Swanberg and Mercier put Samantha and Jasmine in the same situation, which itself levels the playing field between them somewhat.  But in spite of her best intentions, Samantha discovers that even – and perhaps especially – when it comes to maternity clothes, one size does not fit all.  Vast socioeconomic divides still exist between them, and “Unexpected” probes these macro-level prejudices and disparities brilliantly through the use of micro-aggressions.

This commentary makes for a nice addition to the film, but what really makes the price of admission worth it is Cobie Smulders.  For heaven’s sake, can she just tear up her contract with Marvel and keep doing small, heartfelt indies like this (and “Results,” for that matter)?  Smulders possesses an uncanny ability to convey a devastating sense of fragility in her characters, a particularly remarkable feat considering that she also erects an iron-clad facade of normalcy for them to hide behind.

She turns in touching work in “Unexpected,” so natural-feeling that it cannot help but evoke a suspicion that Smulders has yet to reach the apex of her dramatic talents.  What a sight that will be.  B+ / 3stars


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F.I.L.M. of the Week (July 23, 2015)

23 07 2015

WhiteyIn light of the recent spate of thinkpieces written without having seen the movie in discussion, I do not wish to continue this shameful trend by discussing the (at the time of publishing) unseen “Black Mass.” But, based on information released to the public, I think I can safely make two assumptions.

1. The film’s protagonist is notorious Boston criminal Whitey Bulger. Whether Scott Cooper decides to portray him as a hero, a villain, or an antihero, Johnny Depp’s character will be front and center, which will likely have the effect of encouraging the audience to see the events through his eyes.

2. The film presumes as fact the assertion that Whitey Bulger was an FBI informant.  It’s even listed in the one sentence logline on IMDb.

This constitutes a basis for great cinema, and I do look forward to reading the reviews out of Venice for Scott Cooper’s film (and then likely seeing it myself).  But great cinema does not always align with reality.  For that, thank goodness we have documentarians like Joe Berlinger willing to interrogate the established narrative.

He calls into question a key assumption about Whitey Bulger – namely, that he served as an informant for the FBI.  Sure, he was likely in leagues with federal agents like John Connolly.  But was his involvement officially sanctioned by the government, or merely part of a larger cover-up within the government to hide their implicit sanctioning of Whitey’s rampant murders?

That’s the key question in “Whitey: United States of America v. James J. Bulger.”  Though it might sound like the basis of a conspiracy theory documentary found in the dark corners of YouTube, Berlinger’s thought-provoking piece is my pick for the “F.I.L.M. of the Week.”  At the very least, he urges a look at the case with a critical eye that takes nothing for granted.  The film lays out the facts about a ruthless mob boss who knew how to play his cards right with every major party at the table, so we should discount no explanation.

Plus, Berlinger’s documentary focuses its attention on the people we should think about when we think about gangster stories.  “Whitey” scarcely ever shows its titular crime lord and never reenacts his horrible deeds.  Berlinger instead places a great deal of emphasis on the collateral damage taken by Whitey – the victims he claimed and the loved ones left behind.  These people deserve an explanation because they deserve justice.  Maybe “Whitey” cannot provide that definitive answer, but it’s at least a good start.


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REVIEW: ’71

22 07 2015

'71As someone relatively unfamiliar with the conflicts that ripped Ireland apart, I always find it a little confusing trying to keep track of all the various factions, rivalries, and competitions in any cinematic representation of the fracas.  (Surely any nuanced portrayal of the wedges that led to the American Civil War might baffle foreigners as well.)  “’71,” as exciting as it might be, proved no exception.

Writer Gregory Burke does not much give much of a learning curve or vast simplification of history – plus, it’s not like you can easily discern a Protestant or a Catholic from any physical characteristics.  Like the film’s lead character, Jack O’Connell’s British peacekeeper Gary Hook, we are just plunged directly into the bitterly divided Belfast streets.  Amidst a botched operation, Hook gets separated from the rest of his unit and must navigate his way back through some rather hostile territory.

The adventure involves a complex array of people and parties trying to help and harm Hook.  While keeping track of the minutiae are a little challenging, director Yann Demange ensures the macro level tension is always exciting and intelligible.  Chief among his smart moves, he employs a pulse-pounding heartbeat of a score that keeps “’71” relentlessly tense.  The film makes for a quite thrilling and entertaining watch, though if it aimed for any kind of deeper commentary … well, it was probably lost on me.  B / 2halfstars


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REVIEW: Penguins of Madagascar

21 07 2015

As far as I can tell, 2016’s “Sausage Party” (written by the people who gave us “Superbad” and “This Is The End“) can lay claim to the title of the first computer animated movie for adults.  While that could stand up to truth in advertising claims, I would like to humbly float the suggestion that DreamWorks Animation designed their “Penguins of Madagascar” film to appeal primarily to older audiences, even as it targeted younger crowds with its marketing.

These kinds of movies often get slapped with the moniker of “kids’ movies,” which is partially a misnomer.  They are really “family movies,” at least when released theatrically, because children lack the physical or financial means to attend on their own.  They must drag along their parents or some other generous benefactor who holds the keys to the car and the strings to the wallet.

Many family films, particularly ones made by DreamWorks, acknowledge that oft-forgotten half of the audience with clever jokes designed to fly way over the heads of kids in the crowd.  They started in the “Shrek” series, started to push the boundaries with “Puss in Boots,” and have now reached a glorious zenith in “Penguins of Madagascar.”  The kids have the TV series on Nickelodeon and Netflix; the grown-ups have this movie.

Had I been seven years old and sitting in the crowd with my parents, I would probably feel a slight resentment towards “Penguins of Madagascar.”  After all, why should they get to laugh more than me?  Sure, the film has a fair share of child-appealing antics like slapstick comedy and general silliness.

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REVIEW: The Cobbler

20 07 2015

The CobblerTom McCarthy may soon bear an ignominious distinction in the history of my sight, going from making my #1 film in 2011, “Win Win,” to likely one of the worst in 2015 with “The Cobbler.”  This adult fairytale, co-written with Paul Sado, makes “Click” feel like it possesses the profundity of an Aesop’s Fable.  It’s all of the magic with none of the heart.

Adam Sandler stars as Max Simkin, a pickle-munching mensch on the Lower East Side, who reluctantly becomes the “guardian of souls.”  It’s a title not only better deployed within the context of a Marvel movie but also a pretty terrible pun since Max is a cobbler who works with soles.  In a strange turn of events, Max discovers that he can literally walk around as his clients if he walks arounds in their shoes … because magic.

Shockingly, Sandler’s character takes a whopping half-hour to discover the potential of the shoes for sex.  “The Cobbler” bops around from episode to episode, most stupid but a few touching, all the while squandering a great opportunity for an obvious message. The premise of the story effortlessly lends itself to discussing cultural differences and the understanding we can gain by learning through experience.

But sadly, this isn’t a Tom McCarthy movie, not really.  It’s an Adam Sandler movie.  In his movies, social commentary would never get in the way of entertaining genre fare.  Shame on us for assuming anything might be different here.  C / 2stars


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REVIEW: Barbara

19 07 2015

BarbaraIn all fairness to Christian Petzold’s “Barbara,” Netflix kind of ruined the movie for me.

Here’s their logline: “In 1980 East Germany, Barbara, a doctor, is reassigned to a small rural hospital as punishment for trying to find work in the west.”  Knowing our culture of normalized spoilers, I assume this exile would mark a precipitating event or a major plot turning point.  Instead, it was the exposition rather than the conflict.

So, in essence, I spent much of the movie expecting something to happen that already had.  In many ways, this tainted and affected the experience.

But nonetheless, I still found plenty to admire in the film – namely, the haunting and beautifully removed cinematography by Hans Fromm.  Nina Hoss as the titular character also brings plenty to the table with a performance that make the repression palpable as she pines for greener pastures.

As for “Barbara” on the whole, I suspect the effects of Petzold’s slow, deliberate pacing vary by viewer.  It’s the kind of film you label “evocative” if you found it successful and “hollow” if not.  I found it had moments of both – not a total snooze, but certainly leaning more towards the drowsy end of the spectrum.  But, as I said, that balance might be different were it not for Netflix’s crummy summarization.  C+ / 2stars


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REVIEW: Creep

18 07 2015

CreepNear the midway point of Patrick Brice’s found footage horror flick “Creep,” a lingering shot on Mark Duplass’ Aaron yields a moment of intense vulnerability capped with the line, “If I got to know you before you got to know me, I thought I would be less scared.” It’s one of the most incisive lines uttered on screen in recent memory, quickly alerting any smart viewer that this is far more than a standard-issue scare.

“Creep” is astutely attuned to the terror of the new generation of overzealous Internet commenters and predators, and Brice beats Lifetime to the punch on the concept.  (Just wait for it, we’ll see “The Tinder Killer” in no time at all.)  Duplass stars as Josef, a man who claims his life will soon be cut short by a malignant brain tumor and thus seeks a videographer to film some footage for the son he will leave behind.  In need of some cash, unwitting Aaron (played by Brice) answers the Internet posting and comes to Josef’s cabin to help.

Little does Aaron know that Josef is the kind of fanatical weirdo that makes every girl regret that swipe right on Tinder.  He has little regard for the personal space or feelings of others, constantly making ill-advised practical jokes and comments that make Aaron extremely uncomfortable.  Tellingly, Josef finds a kindred spirit in the wolf, a creature that he sees as loving deeply but also dangerously out of an undeveloped social instinct.

“Creep” proves so terrifying because Josef is not a pathologically ill menace, seeking to exact harm due to an unexplained chemical imbalance or traumatic childhood experience.  Our screen-addled, intimacy-phobic culture bred him.  It hardly seems like a coincidence that in the back half of the film, Josef delivers his threats to Aaron in a video message for playback on a DVD player.  Even when talking life and death, he feels safer behind the remove of a screen.

Unfortunately, Brice gives in far too often to the easy temptation of the jump out scare, but “Creep” nonetheless lingers in the memory with its chilling message.  Perhaps with the help of availability on Netflix’s streaming service, this film could become the next “Catfish,” only without any qualms over the blurry line between fiction and reality which plague that documentary.  “Creep,” wholly fictional, only has to stay true to its concept and internal logic – two things Brice pulls off expertly.  B+ / 3stars


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REVIEW: Mr. Holmes

17 07 2015

Mr. HolmesSherlock Holmes has never been the most embraceable character, but “Mr. Holmes” takes his smug standoffishness to get-off-my-lawn levels.  In the opening scene, Ian McKellen’s more advanced Sherlock Holmes scowls needlessly at a child with whom he shares a railway car.  This detective acts superior simply out of habit, not out of a continually merited accomplishment.

Then, at the pace of a retirement home bingo game, Holmes mulls over three mysteries as he retires to an English countryside getaway run by an exasperated mother (Laura Linney) and her son.  One takes place in the around the time of the Great War, another in Japan in the time of World War II, and a final one unfolds in the present tense.  Triple the story hardly equals triple the excitement, though, as scripter Jeffrey Hatcher frustratingly delays connecting the dots and director Bill Condon never finds away to balance the storylines.

All the while, Holmes suffers from the loss of memory, and the mind once sharper than a trap must resort to writing details on a shirt cuff in order to recall them.  (To the film’s credit, the illness never gets played up for sensationalism.)  Quite frequently, “Mr. Holmes” took a toll on my brain too; it made me lose attention.

Thankfully, I did manage to hold on for the end, when the pieces do ultimately come together and provide a worthy reflection on the legacy of the Sherlock Holmes character.  Age may slow the fast-spinning wheels of reason in the head of this iteration of the beloved detective, ensuring that he would never be mistaken for the Benedict Cumberbatch or the Robert Downey, Jr. versions.  Yet with that experience comes retrospection, wisdom, and human intuition – traits often better embodied by his trusty sidekick Dr. Watson.  This discovery feels like something that Ian McKellen truly revels in, both as his character and as an actor in his own right.  B- / 2stars


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F.I.L.M. of the Week (July 16, 2015)

16 07 2015

COGHad I not known “C.O.G.” was based on a David Sedaris story prior to viewing the film, my reaction would probably have been less enthused.  I would have chided it for being slight and meandering, simply jumping around a bunch of mini-stories without ever settling.

But because I knew, Kyle Patrick Alvarez’s “C.O.G.” made for a most enjoyable watch – enough so that it has earned my pick for the “F.I.L.M. of the Week.”  Humorist and essayist Sedaris (perhaps the single biggest non-film critic influence on my writing) has gifted the world with quite the treasure trove of stories to adapt for the screen, and this film marks the first out of the gate with his source material.  Alvarez, and actor Jonathan Groff as Sedaris surrogate Samuel, set the bar high for anything to follow.

Perhaps the highest praise I can lavish on “C.O.G.” is that it perfectly replicates the joy of reading Sedaris on the page.  (Yes, I said page because I’m old-fashioned and prefer the feel of paper running through my fingers.)  The sardonic wit and dry observational comedy flows effortlessly from the film’s two key architects as Samuel, fresh out of Yale, ships out to rural Oregon in order to encounter some real, salt of the earth humans.

He gets just that in his encounters with pickers at an apple orchard, factory workers, and some rather pious churchgoers.  Groff plays Samuel as a good-hearted person who cannot help but look down on the folks with whom he half-heartedly tries to integrate.  No matter the scenario, be it an unwanted advance by his affable colleague Curly (Corey Stoll) or an instructive message from devout Martha (Casey Wilson), we can see the wheels turning in his head that will eventually convert life into prose.

In some sense, the payoff is knowing that everything leads to what we see on the screen in “C.O.G.”  And given how well Alvarez keeps the observations and clever comedy in tact, it feels worth the time.


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REVIEW: A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence

15 07 2015

PigeonCharlie Chaplin once famously remarked, “Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long shot.”  Swedish maestro Roy Andersson opts for the latter in his drolly observed film “A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence.”  Yet somehow, his deadpan look at some of life’s most nagging questions manages to feel every bit as tragic as it does comic.

The film unfolds in a series of loosely linked tableaus, sometimes related to the main story and at other simply constituting a quick “meeting with death.”  No matter the situation, Andersson films it in long, unbroken takes at a safely removed distance – and all in deep focus.  This stylistic choice permits multiple planes of action and depth that rival Jean Renoir’s “The Rules of the Game.”  Those who catch on quickly enough to the convention might notice that sometimes the best action takes place in the background, where actors gesture both hilariously and self-reflexively.

The whole product recalls Woody Allen’s “Love & Death” in its effortless, absurd mulling of philosophy, and Andersson even ups the ante with his rigorous formal detail.  He even manages to seamlessly incorporate in some touches of absurdity, a tough feat indeed.  These moments of non-sequiturs and nonsense that often detract from a film only seem enrich the struggle of the down-and-out protagonists, Sam and Jonathan, two struggling salesman of joke novelties with the most humorless delivery.

Like any great work of art, “A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence” raises more questions than it answers.  But Andersson makes sure anyone can walk away from his movie with the answer to one urgent conundrum: if someone dies in a cafeteria line, who gets the shrimp sandwich they purchased?  B+ / 3stars


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Random Factoid #577

14 07 2015

There’s rumors, in the Twittersphere… (to quote the great “21 Jump Street“)

…that people are angry with Jesse Eisenberg.  The Oscar nominee for “The Social Network” – and villain of next spring’s “Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice” – was quoted saying something about Comic-Con that upset quite a few folks.  Here, to the best of my knowledge, are those remarks in context, courtesy of The Hollywood Reporter:

“It is like being screamed at by thousands of people. I don’t know what the experience is throughout history, probably some kind of genocide. I can’t think of anything that’s equivalent.”

IMG_0998 I would like to add some further context simply to explain Jesse Eisenberg, not Comic-Con.

“The Social Network” is one of my all-time favorite movies, so I have always been curious – naturally – to meet its star in person.  Almost two years ago at the 2013 London Film Festival, I got the chance.

I got a ticket to the gala screening of his film “Night Moves” (which wasn’t great but will almost assuredly be better than any movie Zack Snyder could ever concoct) and happened to be strolling around Leicester Square on my way to the theater when I noticed Eisenberg making his way down a line of fans to sign autographs.  Naturally, I jumped in.

Now, I’ve gotten the chance to interact with quite a few actors in my day, a fact I cite not to brag but to let you know that I speak with some mild authority when I say that Eisenberg moved particularly slowly down his wall of admirers.  He looked down towards the ground and made only the most meager of efforts to interact with the person in front of him.  Eisenberg signed whatever piece of paper a fan handed him but clearly ignored whatever praise they might heap on him.  In a mechanical fashion, he would mutter, “thank you so much,” essentially without being prompted.

IMG_1014(Seriously, I am not bitter about this, but when Eisenberg got to me, my Sharpie ran out of ink.  Rather than wait, he just moved on to the next person.)

I tell this story to let the film blog world know that Jesse Eisenberg is probably the most shy, introverted celebrity I have ever come across.  He sees fame as a negative externality of his acting prowess, not a reward for it.  I think his nightmares probably involve Facebook coming to life.

So if you are someone who regards Comic-Con as hallowed ground, just try to see it through his eyes.  All that attention, scrutiny, and adoration must feel so overwhelming, perhaps embarrassing, to Eisenberg.  Or think of it from the opposite extreme – Comic-Con for Jesse Eisenberg is what zero likes on Instagram is to Kim Kardashian.


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REVIEW: The Salt of the Earth

13 07 2015

SaltThe personal journey that gave us documentary “The Salt of the Earth” bears a similarity to one of my favorite non-fiction films, Sarah Polley’s “Stories We Tell.”  Co-director Juliano Ribiero Salgado embarks making this film (with renowned German director Wim Wenders) as a means of discovering his father Sebastião, just as Polley discovered her mother through the process of compiling her own film.

Salgado seeks that entry point not through his life, however, but through his work.  Throughout Juliano’s childhood, Sebastião was a mystical figure because of the frequent travels his vocation required.  He was no run-of-the-mill salesman, though; Sebastião Salgado and his camera penetrated the psyche of some of the most remote, impoverished corners of the world.

As a photographer, Salgado takes an unconventional look at his subjects.  And, no, I am not referring to the epic scope of his pictures.  Salgado actually began his career not as an artist but as an economist.  His knowledge of capitalism and global corruption clearly informs the tragedy and urgency present in his pictures.

Salgado and Wenders do a great job providing a balance of curatorial notes on the pictures with a wondrous behind-the-scenes look at how Sebastião Salgado captured them.  The work, and the man who produces it, deserves consideration as both aesthetics and anthropology.  Especially in the segments of “The Salt of the Earth” that shine a harsh light on the Rwandan genocide – “the worst of our species,” as Sebastião Salgado dubbed it – the photos are now likely to receive it by a much wider audience than before.  B / 2halfstars


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REVIEW: Minions

12 07 2015

The tiny yellow Minions from “Despicable Me” became the breakout stars of the franchise, and Illumination Entertainment has happily licensed them to hawk any number of products – Xfinity, GoGurt, Vivo smartphones –  in between installments of dastardly Gru’s villainy.  With their lack of adherence to a single language as well as their inherent childish tomfoolery, the Minions might represent the well-equipped figures for transnational stardom in the time of talkies.  (And to that end, “Despicable Me 2” brilliantly realized their potential for silent-era physical comedy.)

Yet in “Minions,” when all they have to sell is their own appeal, the ploy falls flat on its face.  When the little guys get bumped up from sideshow status to the main attraction, they simply cannot carry a movie.  Though many people, myself included, clamored for them to take the spotlight, this feature-length exercise in branding proves the little nuggets are most enjoyable in small doses.

“Minions” somehow made me beg for relief from the comic relief.  The meek attempts at plot by screenwriter Brian Lynch are downright insulting; not that I was expecting “Citizen Kane,” but a movie targeted at preschoolers does not have to possess the sophistication of a story they scrawl out in finger-paint.  With connections this tenuous between scenes of Minion mayhem, directors Kyle Balda and Pierre Coffin should have opted for a sketch-style film that brought a train of big comedic set-pieces with no expectations of forward motion toward a climax.

If aiming for the lowest common denominator with the audience, pretensions of a narrative are futile.  Everything else aimed at viewers who managed to complete kindergarten feels like a waste, especially the presence of Sandra Bullock as the Minions’ chosen master, the villain Scarlett Overkill.  Bullock’s considerable vocal talents are completely squandered in service of a one-note character that would sound no different if voiced by someone millions cheaper.  Furthermore, the “adult” humor could not be more painful with a recurring transphobic gag and a disturbingly glib attitude towards torture – the film summons the memory of Abu Ghraib only to laugh at the abuses.

The Minions still have a more than welcome place in our culture, despite the complete face-plant of the film.  (Box office numbers will surely reflect otherwise, though.)  Illumination would be wise to relegate their antics to a “Penguins of Madagascar”-style television series, where they can spew gibberish and cause chaos in palatable portions.  Parents, too, can tune in and tune out as they please while still enjoying an agreeable amount of Minion madness.  C- / 1halfstars


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REVIEW: Amy

11 07 2015

AmySince our shallow society can scarcely handle complexity, a rather traditional narrative gets slapped onto the life and death of Amy Winehouse. Unfortunately, her membership to the “27 Club” alongside Joplin, Hendrix, and Morrison lent itself to vast overgeneralization.  People tend to cast her as a talented but troubled artist haunted by personal demons, substance addictions, and public pressure.

Asif Kapadia’s documentary “Amy,” pieced together solely from personal videos and archival performance footage of the singer/songwriter, steals the story back for two hours to correct mistaken notions and fill in a few holes of knowledge.  In many ways, public perception of Winehouse’s downward-spiraling trajectory was spot-on.  But thanks to Kapadia, the familiarity of her struggle does not make her journey conventional.  It makes the tale even more tragic.

Be it a jazzy rendition of “Happy Birthday” at 14, a record label sitting room in her late teens, or packed outdoor arenas in the UK by her early twenties, Amy Winehouse knew how to captivate any audience with her singing voice and fiery personality.  She began writing songs because there was, as she put it, “nothing new that represented me.”  Winehouse’s words and melodies come from a place of authenticity, informed by the real pain of traumatic childhood events like a divorce and a diagnosis of depression.

For many years, people like me were content to consume Amy Winehouse’s albums while merely considering her as a figure, not a person.  To produce music that resonates on such a personal level by confronting inner darkness, she had to face her fair share of issues.  Throughout “Amy,” the songs weave naturally into the storyline, a brilliant editorial choice since the words flowed so directly from her life.  Kapadia usually opts to superimpose the words over Winehouse singing live, allowing an appreciation of her talents as both a lyricist and a performer.

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