Volume 118: Jezabel / Holy Frit
The Voice of Energy Vol. 118
The newsletter is coming late in the day today because of a busy frickin' week so I'll keep the intro brief. Got two movies reviewed for you this week and many more on the horizon. Go forth and read.
Jezabel (2022, dir. Hernán Jabes Águila)
As an allegory for life in Venezuela under the shadow of the Maduro government, Jezabel, the latest feature from Hernán Jabes Águila, is about as subtle as a jackboot to the temple. That is entirely by design. The message that the director is trying to impart with the help of co-screenwriter Eduardo Sánchez Rugeles is one that needs to be told in big block letters of neon light blaring out at the viewer like the credit sequence to a Gaspar Noé shockfest.
Águila does seem to be taking some inspiration from films like Noé’s Love and Larry Clark’s Kids as it is rife with young bodies — belonging to actors Gabriel Agüero, Eliane Chipia, Johanna Juliethe, and Shakti Maal — in various states of undress and engaging in all manner of illicit acts. At least with Jezabel there is some sense of the aftermath of all the fucking and partying, especially when Eli (Chipia), one member of this sexually fluid foursome winds up dead, potentially at the hands of a hip English teacher (Giovanny Garcia) she was getting close to.
The film flows smoothly between this quartet’s freewheeling high school days in 2017 to a period 13 years later where we follow Alain (Agüero), grown, bearded, working at a newspaper, and very much haunted by the death of his friend / lover. Things become even more complicated when he starts a relationship with Salvador (Erich Wildpret), a journalist who used to work at the same paper. Alain opens up to his new partner about the past, which sends Salvador hunting down more details about the death. In his digging, he uncovers the news that the accused teacher was literally torn to pieces in prison, and there are still unanswered questions about Eli’s murder.
Águila walks us along the threads of this story much in the same manner as an investigative journalist would, pulling back each layer slowly to reveal ever darker shades of near-sociopathic ugliness squirming just below the surface. Time spent by the foursome at a sleepaway camp uncovers not only orgiastic parties by the teen counselors but some truly nasty business going on with the younger campers. So, too, is their decision to mete out revenge on a disliked math instructor by planting child porn on his computer and faking a tearful phone call to the teacher’s wife to direct her to it.
Even with its eye candy cinematography by Gerard Uzcategui and the finely-tuned editing of Clementina Mantellini, Jezabel is still a bit of a messy work. Águila gets hung up on the technological possibilities of our near future with talking cars and an ability to channel surf with flicks of a finger. None of that contributes to the film in any marked way. So, too, does the director and Rugeles stumble as they hit the home stretch, with a closing moment full of groaning cultural reference points. Just when they landed their most decisive blow, the filmmakers hurry over to make sure your landing is a soft one.
Jezebel is available now through VOD services.
Holy Frit (2021, dir. Justin S. Monroe)
In 2017, the Church of the Resurrection in Kansas City broke ground on a cartoonishly big expansion, and with it, the elders commissioned an equally huge stained glass window — some 400,000 square feet in size — to adorn the wall behind the pulpit. After taking bids for the job, the church opted for Jobson Glass, a centuries old firm based in Southern California, and their chief artist, the prickly yet engaging Tim Carey.
The production and delivery of this enormous piece of glass art isn't the sexiest subject for a documentary film, especially one meant for a mass audience. And with all respect to filmmaker Justin S. Moore, his resulting effort Holy Frit skirts the edge of pointlessness throughout its running time. Much like the project in question, it just barely succeeds at its goal.
So much of that comes down to the personalities of the people in front of the camera and the unmistakable talent of the folks behind it. Carey is an ideal emblem for the tortured artist. He's quickly, easily ired, and leaves copious amounts of sweat equity on the floor of Jobson Glass's production floor. And into the mix arrived the impossibly named Narcissus Quagliata, a cigar smoking Norman Mailer-esque bon vivant and blowhard who developed a technique of blending colors using frit (essentially glass beads) to produce painterly results in glass art. He serves as a consultant on the church's window and as a Waldorf to Carey's Statler. Watching those two butt heads and achieve a mutual respect is one of the best story arcs in this colorful film.
Moore, with the help of editor Ryan Fritzsche, keeps the pace lively and steady, knowing just when to let the film and its viewers catch their collective breath before tossing us back on to the treadmill of arguments and successes. He also includes a side story about the plight of Bullseye Glass, the manufacturer who was nearly shut down by the EPA for allegedly contaminating the grounds around their Portland facility.
What Moore and their subjects could never completely sell me on is why I should care whether Carey and the rest of the Jobson crew met their deadline. There were some perfunctory interviews with Kansas City residents wondering aloud about the expense of a megachurch when those funds may be better used supporting the community beyond the flock. It's a question that gets quickly brushed past in place of shots of awestruck churchgoers and plenty of florid patter from senior pastor Adam Hamilton.
The main strength of Holy Frit is in accurately presenting the labor that goes into a project of this size. Much like the great montages in Better Call Saul, Moore puts us in the thick of the (sometimes literally) grinding work of designing, painting, firing, and construction of a piece of stained glass. And he has the audacity to spend some time with the Hispanic team at the church tasked with placing the hundreds of panels in their proper spot. Watching them heave these weighty squares of glass and managing to pop them in their frames was the only times this film took my breath away.
Holy Frit opens in L.A. tonight with screenings happening around the U.S. throughout November.
That feels pretty good, yeah? I hope your week has not been as chaotic as mine. But I'll be back next Friday with some more reviews including a look at the new Frederick Wiseman film.
Artwork for this edition is from Sometimes to be lost is to be found, an exhibition of photos by Akinbode Akinbiyi which opens at Kunsteverein Hannover on Nov 11.
This newsletter was written on the unceded land where once stood the traditional village sites of the Multnomah, Wasco, Cowlitz, Kathlamet, Clackamas, Bands of Chinook, Tualatin, Kalapuya, Molalla, and many other tribes who made their homes along the Columbia River creating communities and summer encampments to harvest and use the plentiful natural resources of the area.