Director: Paul Greengrass

Writers: Brian Helgeland (screenplay); Rajiv Chandrasekaran (book: Imperial Life in the Emerald City)

Starring: Matt Damon, Greg Kinnear, Brendan Gleeson, Amy Ryan, Khalid Abdalla, Jason Isaacs

Set in Iraq of 2003, Green Zone follows the story of Roy Miller (Matt Damon), a warrant officer in the US army commissioned to search for the weapons of mass destruction that were the justification for the just-approved invasion of Iraq.  Intertwining the storylines of Miller’s squad and the remnants of the Iraqi military/government (now forced into hiding), the audience is allowed to trace the independent choices of both sides as the future of Iraq is determined.  More than anything, the film centers around the issue of weapons of mass destruction (WMDs), and the US search for the truth about them.  Growing increasingly frustrated with missions that are simultaneously risking the lives of his men, as well as are turning up no WMDs, Miller’s agitation quickly begins to boil over into the beginnings of rebellion.  Upon confronting his commanding officers about the integrity of their intelligence information, he is politely ordered to “shut up”, but catches the eye of CIA agent Martin Brown (Brendan Gleeson) via his out-spokedness.  Encouraging Miller that there is something to his suspicions about the source of the military’s intelligence, he also importantly lets him know that he has a like minded friend.

The trail down the rabbit hole continues for Miller as his men deviate from their next fruitless mission to raid a safe-house that a young Iraqi (Khalid Abdalla) informs them of.  A small book containing additional safe-houses and locations for the last ranking Iraqi general is found by Miller, but US Special Forces directed by Clark Poundstone (Greg Kinnear) swoop in to take possession of Miller’s prisoners, and what they hope will be the book.  Suspicions increasing, Miller manages to keep the book from them, and brings it, along with the young Iraqi that has helped them, to the US Army’s Green Zone in Iraq- the center of the “International Zone” (and Saddam’s former palace), where the American government has set up shop.  Miller quickly learns that there is more than one side to the story of what has led to the US actions in Iraq, and begins a search, with Martin Brown, to discover the truth about WMDs, as well as the source of the US intelligence surrounding them.

While I have not read Rajiv Chandrasekaran’s book (Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Iraq’s Green Zone) that this film is based on, I have heard that it manages to take a much more objective approach to the invasion of Iraq than the movie.  Focusing on the actions of the Coalition Provisional Authority within the Green Zone following the invasion of Iraq, Chandrasekaran’s book makes a firm effort to stand as a work of journalism that doesn’t take sides.  While important in works of non-fiction, I’m definitely pleased that director Paul Greengrass opted for a different approach in his film adaptation.  This is Greengrass and writer Brian Helgeland’s action-packed political statement about the Iraqi war and the wrong reasons they believe we got into it for.  In the process of the film, Greengrass manages to make you root for and hate the US government all at the same time, simultaneously delivering an awesomely fun ride.

Coming off the heels of working with Damon in both The Bourne Ultimatum and The Bourne Supremacy, Greengrass is on a roll.  Not only has he learned how to deliver an action packed film, he’s also figured out how to make his audience doubt the logical course of events that would normally unfold-making for a much more riveting experience.  I went into this film concerned that Greengrass would fall back onto the successful conventions and choreographed fights that he leaned on in the Bourne films, but am pleased to report that this was a fiercely independent work on its own.  In the course of the film, Matt Damon proves yet again that he is an acting force to be reckoned with.  Jumping into the role of an ethically conflicted soldier, he embodies both the self-assured hero we’ve seen him as in previous action films, but also the meek, fearful character he’s played in earlier films like Good Will Hunting.  Even more impressive in many ways than his acting range, I have no idea how Damon was able to complete filming of Green Zone, only to jump immediately over to The Informant (yes, Green Zone was filmed first).  Talk about being dedicated to your craft—if you’ve seen The Informant, then you know that it would’ve been no easy task to transition between these roles.  With these factors in mind, Damon has quickly become one of the most consistent performers at the box office for me, with virtually every one of his films containing at least something that I like.

While I was impressed with the work of Paul Greengrass as director, I must also speak to the cinematography of Barry Ackroyd.  Filmed primarily in Spain and Morocco, Ackroyd manages to dirty up his shots in a way that absolutely evokes what I would picture as a war torn middle east.  Switching to what appears to be handheld, gritty camera shots in close quarters fight scenes, as well as expansive high definition shots; Ackroyd manages to guide the story via the very angles and resolutions of his cameras.  It’s rare to be able to count on cinematography for both emotional content as well as storyboard guidance, and I think Ackroyd should be commended for this accomplishment.

While I wouldn’t count this as Paul Greengrass’s or Matt Damon’s best film to date, Green Zone is a great film—with a great supporting cast, and an expertly delivered storyline.  Some viewers may be turned off from the political content of the film, but I believe that the overwhelming majority will be pleased with both the content, as well as the overarching story.  Not a perfect movie, but definitely one worth watching.

Rating: 7/10

Director: Henrik Ruben Genz

Writers: Henrik Ruben Genz, Dunja Gry Jensen (screenplay), Erling Jepsen (novel)

Starring: Jakob Cedergren, Lene Maria Christensen, Kim Bodnia

Robert (Jacob Cedergren), a police officer, is being transferred from Copenhagen to Skarrild (a very small village in rural Denmark) after having “just snapped” back in Copenhagen. Robert is being given a second chance in this land of mud, cows and rubber boots where “mojn” (meaning both hello and goodbye) is the typical salutation. Robert soon inherits a cat from previous Marshall who left it behind (the cat also seems to say “mojn”).

People seem to just disappear here (the previous Marshall, owner of cycle shop). Does it have something to do with the bog? (In this part of Denmark, the water table is very high. Cows have been known to sink, stay under water for 6 months then give birth to a two-headed calf with human and cow heads…)

The townspeople of Skarrild like to handle things on their own and they don’t necessarily do things by the book of law. Shoplifters are reprimanded with a smack on the ear, rather than getting the police from Tonder involved. (As far as the Tonder police are concerned, not much happens in Skarrild.) The people of Skarrild also don’t like wife-killers…but don’t worry about that right now.

Robert obviously has a jaded past. His ex-wife won’t talk to him nor can he speak to their daughter – we can only assume that it is related to his “snap” back in Copenhagen.

A seductive blonde named Ingelise (Lene Maria Christensen) reports to Robert that her husband Jorgen (Kim Bodnia) beats her regularly – Jorgen later retorts by explaining that Ingelise is not right in her head. Besides, Jorgen has a temper and he hits everyone. Why is it any different when he beats Ingelise? Whenever their daughter Dorthe (Mathilde Maack) takes her baby stroller out for a walk, it means Jorgen is beating Ingelise. The whole town knows this – but they do nothing. This is the modus operandi for Skarrild – turn your blind eye and ignore it, maybe it will go away. If not, then the bog will make it go away.

At one point, Ingelise tries to kiss Robert – “that’s not by the book,” he says as retracting. Nonetheless, Robert cannot resist her feminine wiles. At one point after having just been beaten by Jorgen – her cuts and bruises still fresh – Ingelise seduces Robert into bed with her…as Jorgen is passed out drunk a mere 20 or so feet away. When Ingelise turns up dead the same night, Jorgen is the obvious suspect – yet Robert knows that Jorgen is innocent.

Terribly Happy is a very odd thriller, because the audience knows exactly who the murderer is. In fact, everyone does. I’m not a fan of films that let remorseless killers off without a scratch, as if nothing ever happened. Doesn’t taking a life (or two) mean anything to anyone anymore? Well, luckily, director Henrik Ruben Genz’s Terribly Happy does not do that and I’m pretty…make that terribly happy the way things get wrapped up.

Rating: 7/10

We are only hours away from day 1 of SXSW FILM 2010, and with that continues our preview coverage with 7 more reviews to wet your film fest appetite. Check out the excerps below and click the links to see the full reviews. Check out Part 1 by clicking here.

White Stripes Under Great White Northern Lights, The | Review

“Under Great White Northern Lights is satisfying because it doesn’t go too deep into aimless conversations with the band, but instead focuses on the music, with excellent live footage that continues to hammer home the raw power that has made The White Stripes a power to be reckoned with. There are certainly poignant moments, with Jack and Meg discussing the idea behind the band, the apparent purposeful colors used from the outset, and their aversion to set lists. But overall, Malloy lets the music speak for the band.”

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Haynesville | Review

“Either I have not been keeping up with current events in the wide world of energy, or the historic discovery of the largest natural gas field in the United States (if not the world) somehow slid under the radar of national news. So, first of all, I have to thank director Gregory Kallenberg for making this documentary. As much as I hate how the world relies so much on coal, oil and gas for energy; knowing that such a significant natural gas reserve exists eases my mind in a strange sort of way.”

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War Don Don | Review

“Director Rebecca Richman Cohen’s documentary War Don Don takes a comprehensive and critical look into the Special Court for Sierra Leone, and the Special Court’s flaws appear to be inherent in the international war crimes tribunal system. How can someone be found guilty for someone else’s acts? Are military commanders guiltier than their soldiers merely because of their rank? What if there is indisputable proof that leaders or military commanders specifically commanded their soldiers to commit heinous acts? What if the soldiers were forced by their commanders to commit heinous acts?”

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Putty Hill | Review

“Putty Hill is a story with a multitude of interconnected characters that do not communicate very well. Most of the characters only speak when asked a question (and sometimes those questions need to come from off camera – presumably from Porterfield – in true mockumentary fashion); but the heart ofPutty Hill is what the actors do when they are not talking, when they are doing nothing. In a strange kind of way, Putty Hill is like Mumblecore for the working class.”

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Good Heart, The | Review

“The most intriguing aspect of The Good Heart is the clever use of the ambiguity of place – this could be anywhere. Everyone except Lucas has an accent, yet the only characters that are identified as being foreign are of Southeast Asian decent (Jacques degradingly refers to them as “Orientals”); while the bleak urban landscape offers no clear identifiers.”

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Presunto culpable (Presumed Guilty) | Review

“Presumed Guilty is by no means an easy film to watch with content that is simultaneously frustrating and heartbreaking. Nonetheless, Hernandez and Smith do a tremendous job with the material, conveying it flawlessly in a straightforward and easy to understand manner. Most importantly, Tono’s innocence is proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. The question remains: is the film convincing enough for the Mexican judicial system to release Tono?”

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Weird World of Blowfly, The | Review

“No matter how one feels about Blowfly – as long as you aren’t too put off by raunchy humor and blunt comments about race – The Weird World of Blowfly is an intriguing documentary about a very fascinating guy. (There, I said it, Blowfly is fascinating.) Jonathan Furmanski’s documentary is also a very informative look at the economics surrounding the comeback of a dirty rapper who is rapidly approaching 70-years old.“

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Iron Crows | Review

“In Iron Crows, Director Bong-Nam Park takes us out of our comfortable confines to a place that is hard for most to imagine. This is not a documentary peppered with overdrawn interviews or over-indulgent cinematography. Instead, Park presents a stark portrait of the squalor of the ship graveyard and the misery these men endure every day. While the men admit freely their trepidation concerning their fate, they also acknowledge the necessity of the graveyard as a source of income, although it is difficult to imagine anyone working such a job for a mere two dollars a day.”

Director: Jonathan Furmanski

Clarence Harry Reid, along with his songwriting partner Willie Clarke, wrote almost 1,000 R&B songs in the 1960s and 1970s for the Miami-based TK Records including Betty Wright’s “Clean Up Woman,” Gwen McCrae’s “Rockin Chair,” KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Sound Your Funky Horn.” Reid is also known as Blowfly, the original dirty rapper. He is the oft-proclaimed inventor of rap music (he recorded his first Blowfly album in 1971); to hear it from Blowfly, Sugarhill Gang’s “mammies were wearing diapers when I was doing rap.”

The Weird World of Blowfly starts in 2008. Donning a sparkly sequins superhero suit, Blowfly (at age 69) is on a comeback tour. (In 2003, Reid sold the rights to his entire catalog of songs to pay off debt, so he now sees no royalty income from his body of work.) Almost all of his audience is white (a mix of punk rockers and college kids); then again, Reid does not seem to have much respect for black people – so maybe its better this way. Then Blowfly is off to Germany to open for Die Arzte, and back to Miami for a Clarence Reid festival.

Blowfly seems to be an idol (maybe even a god) to Ice-T, Chuck D (Public Enemy), Norwood Fisher (Fishbone), Jello Biafra (Dead Kennedys), The Red Hot Chili Peppers  and the aforementioned Die Arzte. The more I thought about it, I wondered what someone like Biafra would see in Blowfly that was so great, but then he said it himself – he likes his “deliciously degenerate attitude toward the world.” Okay, I get that. And I get that he was groundbreaker; he was adventurous and ironic; he dealt openly and bluntly with subjects like race and sex…but I think I’m missing something here.

The best parts of The Weird World of Blowfly are watching Reid interact with his manager/drummer Tommy (Reid talking with his mother – whom he still lives with – is pretty classic too). As Tommy sees it, Reid’s job is to perform and then wait for the next gig. The problem is Reid wants to have more involvement in the day to day stuff and he really doesn’t want to be treated like a baby…however, I would venture my non-professional opinion to guess that Reid is more than a wee bit insane – so let’s just say that Tommy has his hands full.

No matter how one feels about Blowfly – as long as you aren’t too put off by raunchy humor and blunt comments about race – The Weird World of Blowfly is an intriguing documentary about a very fascinating guy. (There, I said it, Blowfly is fascinating.) Jonathan Furmanski’s documentary is also a very informative look at the economics surrounding the comeback of a dirty rapper who is rapidly approaching 70-years old.

Rating: 7.5/10

Directors: Roberto Hernández, Geoffrey Smith

It would not be out of the ordinary for me to begin a review like this one with some politically-biased ranting about how by judging by this film’s title (Presumed Guilty) it could very easily be about the judicial system in the United States. I’ll hold my tongue this time this time, because I do not want anyone to think that I am making a direct comparison between the judicial system in the United States and the judicial system in Mexico. (No matter how screwed up I believe the judicial system in the United States is, the judicial system in Mexico is screwed up tenfold…maybe even a hundred fold.)

Directed by Roberto Hernandez and Geoffrey Smith, Presumed Guilty can easily be seen as a sequel to Hernandez’s previous documentary – El Túnel, a 20-minute film about the absence of due process fundamentals in the Mexican judicial system. We are bombarded by staggering statistics such as: 93% of defendants never see a judge; 93% of inmates are never shown arrest warrant; 95% of verdicts are guilty; 92% of verdicts are based on no physical evidence. It was also discovered that Mexican policemen are rewarded for the amount of arrests they make and any court official can preside over the court hearings (not just judges).

Presumed Guilty focuses specifically on Jose Antonio Zuniga Rodriguez (a.k.a. “Tono”), whom we first find break dancing in prison. In 2005, Tono was incarcerated; accused of killing someone he did not even know, who was never linked to him in any way. At the time of his arrest, Tono had no idea regarding what the case was about or why he was accused. He also had no idea of what his rights were; Tono was told repeatedly by the arresting officer “you did it and don’t play dumb.”

But, on the day of the murder, Tono was working at his market stand where he sold video games and fixed computers from 10am to 6pm. There are countless witnesses that can attest to his whereabouts, but those witnesses were never questioned by the police or prosecutors. Tono was sentenced for 20 years in prison, despite the fact that the prosecutor never proved that Tono fired a gun – his gunpowder test was negative.

Tono believed that his arrest was fate. He had recorded a gangster rap-styled music video (Tono provides the soundtrack for Presumed Guilty) about murdering someone in cold blood (the song turned out to be a premonition – could this song be the reason Tono was targeted by the police?). Also, a week before he was arrested for homicide, Tono found himself heartbroken (we’re not sure why) and he prayed to God: “Kill me or put me in jail. Do as you will but take me away” – his prayers were answered by big brother (the Mexican police) rather than God.

Tono resides in a small prison cell with 20 other inmates – all young men, most of whom are presumably innocent. He sleeps in “the tomb” – a cramped space located under a bunk bed on the cold concrete floor. Tono’s girlfriend must work in order for Tono to survive in prison (78% of inmates are fed by their families); she faithfully delivers food to Tono, despite exposing herself to recurring sexual misconduct by some of the prison guards (they repeatedly lift her shirt and feel her up).

Upon researching Tono’s case, the filmmakers discover that Tono’s lawyer was not adequately licensed – which, luckily for Tono, proves to be adequate grounds for a retrial (a retrial that Tono has to wait an additional three months to occur). The retrial would be in front of same judge, but this time the trial would be videotaped by Hernandez and Smith. A respected and qualified attorney, Rafael Heredia, is brought on (pro bono) as Tono’s Defense Attorney.

Presumed Guilty is by no means an easy film to watch with content that is simultaneously frustrating and heartbreaking. Nonetheless, Hernandez and Smith do a tremendous job with the material, conveying it flawlessly in a straightforward and easy to understand manner. Most importantly, Tono’s innocence is proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. The question remains: is the film convincing enough for the Mexican judicial system to release Tono? (If the answer to that question is yes, I can not think of clearer proof of a documentary’s success.)

Rating: 7.5/10

Director: Dagur Kri

Writer: Dagur Kri

Starring: Brian Cox, Paul Dano, Isild Le Besco

We meet a homeless young man named Lucas (Paul Dano) – looking eerily similar to Evan Dando during one of his heroin-infused daze of the mid-90s – as he sits with his pet kitten inside a dilapidated cardboard box under a bridge. Then we are introduced to Jacques (Brian Cox), a bitter and jaded old fart, who also looks like a bum but is actually an owner of a bar frequented by a multicultural handful of eccentric beatniks.

While listening to a relaxation audio tape, Jacques is instructed to connect his index finger and thumb – this is the first moment when we realize that Jacques is by no means a relaxed person and it is only a matter of seconds before he suffers his fifth heart attack. Lucas, too, is waking up in the hospital after a failed suicide attempt; thus the hand of fate shamelessly determines that Jacques and Lucas will become roommates.

Lucas explains to his doctor, “When it comes to survival of the fittest, I just have to throw in the towel…I don’t follow the rules of civilization anymore; I’m outside, I am an animal.” Nonetheless, Lucas takes the doctor’s advice – a metaphor about “sharing the coconut” – to heart. Full of thanks for the hospital’s help in saving his life, Lucas signs up to become an organ donor. As we get to know Lucas better, we learn just how pure of heart Lucas is.

Soon Lucas and Jacques are released from the hospital, and it is not long before Jacques takes in Lucas in as his protégé to take over his bar. Jacques trains Lucas to become tougher, thickening his skin to prepare him for the primal evils of the world (or at least the world of Jacques’ bar); all the while, Lucas’ unadulterated goodness slowly rubs off on Jacques.

However, Jacques training is not quick enough to prepare Lucas for the feminine wiles of the helpless April (Isild Le Besco). Lucas is immediately smitten by April and wants to protect her as if she were a lost kitten; but Jacques’ anger escalates tenfold with April’s presence, culminating with Jacques’ sixth heart attack.

The most intriguing aspect of The Good Heart is the clever use of the ambiguity of place – this could be anywhere. Everyone except Lucas has an accent, yet the only characters that are identified as being foreign are of Southeast Asian decent (Jacques degradingly refers to them as “Orientals”); while the bleak urban landscape offers no clear identifiers. This could be because the film was made by French, Danish, Icelandic, German and U.S. producers (writer-director Dagur Kari was born in France to Icelandic parents – his father is the Icelandic writer Pétur Gunnarsson) and was shot in Iceland and the U.S.

Sure, Kari’s The Good Heart can be a bit heavy-handed at times, pushing the good heart and bad heart metaphor a bit too far at the all-too-predictable and cringe-worthy conclusion (I would have been much more impressed if the film ended five minutes earlier); but the glorious acid-tinged lines of dialogue (“Son of a mother fucking lesbian bitch”; “Tough titty for a kitty”; “I didn’t know you were so sensitive about your Communistic past, can I call you a Capitalistic swine?”; “You crazy Catholic fuck, lucky bastard, fucking those beautiful cows all day long”; “For a billion dollars I’ll give you a scenic tour of my anal canals. How do you like them apples?”) that roll effortlessly off the characters’ tongues and the highly method-ical acting make this bitterly stiff drink go down rather easily.

Rating: 7/10

Director: Matthew Porterfield

Writers: Jordan Mintzer, Matthew Porterfield

Starring: Sky Ferreira, Zoe Vance, James Siebor, Jr., Dustin Ray, Cody Ray

The setting is a poor, working-class suburb of Baltimore that descriptive adjectives such as decrepit, depressing and boring seem to fit best. There is nothing of merit or worth here. It seems like no one works – with the exception of drug dealers. This location is not the Baltimore of John Waters, nor is it the Baltimore that we see in “The Wire.” This is a place that the U.S. economy left behind a long time ago.

This, dare I say, “white trash” community – of tattoos, dreadlocks, torn clothing, skateboarders and BMXers, graffiti, paintball and video games, and drugs – seems like something Harmony Korine would have concocted for the silver screen; but, in the sympathetic hands of writer-director Matthew Porterfield, Putty Hill brims with subtle neo-realism. It feels like Porterfield is one of these characters, as if he knows them and understands their lives – honesty and delicacy prevail throughout this film.

Cory – the underlying link to the ensemble of characters in Putty Hill – has died of a drug overdose. It was an untimely death but, if anything, his funeral propels his fractured and disjointed family to come together. Few of his family conversed with Cory on a regular basis; none of them really knew him. Friends didn’t even know Cory. So a majority of them do not seem all that upset that Cory died. But, something about Cory brought everyone back together. Maybe they recognize that they should be closer, that they should know each other better. In some ways it might be harder to lose a relative (especially a sibling or child) if you were not close to them. Things like death seem to make you think about your relationships more.

Putty Hill is a story with a multitude of interconnected characters that do not communicate very well. Most of the characters only speak when asked a question (and sometimes those questions need to come from off camera – presumably from Porterfield – in true mockumentary fashion); but the heart of Putty Hill is what the actors do when they are not talking, when they are doing nothing. In a strange kind of way, Putty Hill is like Mumblecore for the working class. As with Mumblecore: the focus of importance is on the space between the lines of dialog; the quiet between the action. Not much happens in Putty Hill, to be perfectly blunt. This is a character-driven story to the nth degree; yet with little individual character development. I think that’s the key to Porterfield’s film and what makes it special: Who would dare make a character-driven film without proper character development? Strangely enough, it works quite well.

Rating: 8/10

Director: Rebecca Richman Cohen

The Revolutionary United Front (RUF) under Foday Sankoh started The Sierra Leone Civil War in 1991. During the 11-year conflict, tens of thousands died and more than 2 million people (well over one-third of the population) were displaced. The civil war was officially declared over in January 2002.

The title of this documentary – “war don don” – translates to “the war is over.” And, as you might guess, I had no choice but to review this documentary because of its name alone – apparently it was destiny.

In 2004, the Special Court for Sierra Leone – an international war crimes tribunal – began its trial of Issa Sesay, who was deemed the Interim Leader of the RUF after Sankoh was jailed. The chief prosecutors, David Crane (2002 – 2005) and Stephen Rapp (2006 – 2009), built their case on the concept that Sesay was a high-ranking rebel commander and should be held directly responsible for the atrocities committed by the RUF. The defense team, lead by Wayne Jordash, claims that: the prosecution’s witnesses were given incentives for distorting their perspectives on the past; Sesay was a merely a battlefield commander; Sesay actively protected civilians, even established free health care for the civilians; and the RUF was not a conventional army and there was no communication between various regions – Sesay did not know of the horrors (amputations, rapes, murders, burning of homes) that were being committed by other RUF factions a hundred miles away.

Both sides seem to agree that reconciliation and peace in Sierra Leone is of the utmost priority, but the prosecution and defense differ in the most appropriate way to maintain peace in Sierra Leone. Will sentencing RUF commanders make Sierra Leone a safer and better place? Could the money being used to fund the Special Court be of more use to the people of Sierra Leone? (For example: Sierra Leone is the third-lowest-ranked country on the Human Development Index and seventh-lowest on the Human Poverty Index, suffering from endemic corruption and suppression of the press.)

Director Rebecca Richman Cohen’s documentary War Don Don takes a comprehensive and critical look into the Special Court for Sierra Leone, and the Special Court’s flaws appear to be inherent in the international war crimes tribunal system. How can someone be found guilty for someone else’s acts? Are military commanders guiltier than their soldiers merely because of their rank? What if there is indisputable proof that leaders or military commanders specifically commanded their soldiers to commit heinous acts? What if the soldiers were forced by their commanders to commit heinous acts? (War Don Don attempts to prove that it is highly disputable that Sesay ordered the crimes that he was found guilty of committing.)

War Don Don effectively covers the trial of Sesay and reveals a perspective on the situation in Sierra Leone that I would guess very few people in the United States are aware of. During the time of the RUF’s control of Sierra Leone, the Western world was only privy to one perspective by the media – the RUF was evil and Sankoh, Sesay and other leaders were guilty. Only knowing that one perspective for so long, watching a documentary that seeks to prove Sesay’s naïveté (if not innocence) seems almost anti-American. But trust me, it is not. Similar to Presumed Guilty (a documentary about horrors of the Mexican judicial system), War Don Don is about the American value of justice which requires the proof of guilt rather than the assumption of guilt.

Rating: 6.5/10

Director: Gregory Kallenberg

The 96 townships contained a rural area in northwestern Louisiana, were told in 2008 that they were sitting on top of an energy goldmine – the Haynesville shale. This gas field is estimated to contain 170 trillion cubic feet (or the equivalent of 28 billion barrels of oil). As we are told by Haynesville, that is a lot of gas – it can also equate to a lot of money. Cue the Beverly Hillbillies theme song.

Haynesville tracks three people with varying perspectives and experiences of the discovery of the Haynesville shale. The first, Mike Smith, loves guns, hunting and freedom. (I would venture to guess that he is probably a Libertarian.) His 300 acres of land transforms Mike into an instant millionaire. The second, Kassi Fitzgerald, is a single mom who becomes a community activist upon learning that one of her neighbors was ripped off by an oil company. For no charge, she begins to represent an ever-growing consortium consisting of her neighbors’ small plots which allows for stronger bargaining power with the oil companies. Thirdly is Pastor Reegis Richard, whose church and ministry benefits greatly from the Haynesville shale because his congregation has more money to donate. To Pastor Richard the natural gas reserve is a gift from God – specifically so that he can realize his dream of rebuilding his childhood school, transforming it into a Christian academy.

Kallenberg does a very nice job of keeping everything in perspective – especially in relation to the U.S.’s energy dependency. (Though the primary three subjects’ stories are all engrossing, Haynesville really succeeds with this support element.) He uses a wide array of respectable talking head environmentalists and energy industry experts, who one after another explain why the U.S. needs to wean itself off oil and coal and how natural gas (including the Haynesville shale) may represent a bridge between the “dirty” energy of the past and the clean “renewables” (wind, solar) of the future. Some of these points given by the experts could really use more and/or clearer visual aids so that these statements will really pack a punch. (A confusing example: one visual aid is a plain map of the U.S. with a line drawn from L.A. to New York City – this is meant [I think] to represent a quantity of natural gas but instead it seems to represent a distance being traveled [by gas driven cars?].)

Haynesville also leaves some unanswered questions, which hopefully means there will be a sequel of some sort…or maybe Kallenberg will continue to build on this documentary and make it longer? I, for one, really want to know what happens to Kassi and her neighborhood consortium.

Either I have not been keeping up with current events in the wide world of energy, or the historic discovery of the largest natural gas field in the United States (if not the world) somehow slid under the radar of national news. So, first of all, I have to thank director Gregory Kallenberg for making this documentary. As much as I hate how the world relies so much on coal, oil and gas for energy; knowing that such a significant natural gas reserve exists eases my mind in a strange sort of way. My ease is partially because the world (especially the U.S) is obviously not prepared (nor are we currently preparing ourselves) for our coal and oil reserves to be exhausted – I won’t even mention the issues regarding the climate changing effects that the use of coal and oil have on our world – and partially because natural gas is the lesser of the evils when it comes to utilizing the earth’s minerals for energy.

Rating: 6.5/10

Director: Emmett Malloy

Featuring: Jack White, Meg White

The White Stripes Under Great White Northern Lights follows Jack and Meg through the ten provinces of Canada, playing just about every venue imaginable. While the color-coordinated duo from Detroit play a number of typical venues, the film frequently finds them jamming with the locals in a bowling alley, pool hall, on a boat, in front of a flour mill, and on a bus in Winnipeg, providing a crowd-pleasing cover of “The Wheels on the Bus.” The White and White team seem to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, placing a taste for adventure above the need to be rock stars.

Under Great White Northern Lights is satisfying because it doesn’t go too deep into aimless conversations with the band, but instead focuses on the music, with excellent live footage that continues to hammer home the raw power that has made The White Stripes a power to be reckoned with. There are certainly poignant moments, with Jack and Meg discussing the idea behind the band, the apparent purposeful colors used from the outset, and their aversion to set lists. But overall, Malloy lets the music speak for the band.

What is most interesting to me about this documentary is that Jack White seems very different from the Jack White featured in It Might Get Loud. The serious nature of White in It Might Get Loud could be attributed to his being a bit starstruck by The Edge and Jimmy Page, or perhaps the subject matter required a more serious approach. Whatever the reason, White seems more amiable in this film, joking with Meg and the locals he meets as they travel the wintery provinces of Canada. Meg does little talking, but that is explained in the film, and I won’t ruin for you.

Under Great White Northern Lights will be a joy for any White Stripes fan, and intriguing for any musician interested in White’s prowess with the guitar. If you’re into Meg, you won’t be disappointed either, as the film gives more or less equal time to both. The film shows the two at the top of their game, and Malloy proves again to be a confident and able filmmaker of the music documentary, providing an appealing glimpse of a band that has become a staple of modern music.

Rating: 8/10