Heartland International Film Festival 2023 Screening #1: “Jailhouse to Milhouse”

Pamela Hayden smiling while holding on to a large cardboard standee of Milhouse, who looks confused as usual.

“My mom thinks I’m cool!”

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: since 1992 Indianapolis has held its own celebration of cinema with the Heartland International Film Festival, a multi-day, multi-theater marathon every October of documentaries, shorts, narrative features, and animated works made across multiple continents from myriad points of the human experience, usually with an emphasis on uplift and positivity. Ever since the “International” modifier was added in recent years, their acquisition team steadily escalated their game as they’ve recruited higher-profile projects into their lineups. Last year’s big names included future Oscar nominees The Whale and The Banshees of Inisherin; past years featured films that I later ended up catching during their scheduled theatrical runs, such as Room and Lion.

For years my wife Anne and I have talked about getting into the spirit of the festivities. We attended our first Heartland showing in 2011 (a tale I’ve yet to share here on MCC), attended Heartland’s sneak preview nights in 2015 and in 2016, and attended merely one of last year’s showings…which turned out to be a film that’d already been on Hulu for months. We’ve always been afraid of overcommitting during our usually busy Octobers, but we knew we could do better than that.

This year we will do better. The festival’s 32nd edition will run October 5-15. I’ve committed to at least five different Heartland showings — one of them virtual in-home, while the others will screen at four different theaters throughout central Indiana. Anne volunteered to accompany me to two of them; my son is on board for one; still another will be a solo outing to a theater 35 miles from home that I’d never heard of, let alone knew existed. Lord willing and if my family will let me, I’m hoping to write about each experience as quickly as I can throughout the week, hopefully in shorter entries than my usual overlong amateur film essays with anti-casual word counts. We’ll see how that goes.

Our first HIFF entrant was screened at home, apropos of its subject and how we’ve known of her talents for decades. But we never knew her story till now.

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I for One Welcome Our New “Barbie” Overlords

Margot Robbie as a happy Barbie in a  cute pink hat, driving away from Barbie-Land while singing along to Indigo Girls' "Closer to Fine" on the soundtrack.

It’s Stereotypical Barbie With New Hat! On sale now!

One of the cool benefits of having your “man card” revoked (a hoary internet phrase that hasn’t amused in years) is you’re under no macho mandate to throw a grizzly-postured tantrum whenever someone in the world dares tell a gynocentric story in which males just might have a lesson to learn about not making manhood their religion and sole personality trait. Mine was plucked away decades ago without a fight and without regrets, which might explain my uncanny superpower to make any dudes-only group disband merely by joining them. I’ll concede masculinity has some uses, such as in my household roles of Chief Spider Hunter and Crabgrass Appeasement Negotiator, but what few signs of ostensible manliness I ever bother to exhibit aren’t really a source of chest-thumping pride, nor are they a weak spot with fontanelle sensitivity whenever they’re justly and sharply skewered.

From over here in the wallflower seats in the corner, the Barbie movie was 98% brilliant. I’d enjoyed director/co-writer Greta Gerwig’s last two films, Little Women and Lady Bird, as well as the insightful Frances Ha, which she starred in and co-wrote with her partner/director Noah Baumbach, who in turn co-wrote Barbie. I hoped they’d be up to the challenge of crafting a big-budget battle-of-the-sexes satire that also had to double as a feature-length ad for a major corporation’s massive merch-line, after Jon M. Chu failed to achieve this dream of mine with Hasbro’s G.I. Joe: Retaliation.

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“Oppenheimer”: In the Shadow of Manhattan

Cillian Murphy with hair slicked back, sitting with a lit cigarette and staring wide-eyed into the distance as an offscreen General Matt Damon asks important questions that annoy him.

J. Robert Oppenheimer lit up more cigarettes than nuclear bombs. Believe it or not!

It’s 1986. DC Comics has begun publishing Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen in monthly installments. It is one of several contemporaneous works that change the medium, for better or worse. Its most powerful character is Jonathan Osterman, a nuclear physicist turned by a freak laboratory accident into the nigh-omniscient, nigh-omnipotent Dr. Manhattan fourteen years after the end of World War II. Although the word “quantum” is never used in-story, his origin and intimidating powers are directly tied to the Atomic Age and the emergence of quantum mechanics. The American government employs him as an ultimate weapon, wins the Vietnam War, and changes the world and its timeline, for better or worse. As extrapolated by Moore as a sort of offshoot from quantum superposition, Dr. Manhattan perceives everything that has ever happened, is happening, or will happen to him all at once, rather than in chronological order, within/outside of each and every second that ticks by for us mortals (up to a pivotal event in the concluding chapters):

“There is no future. There is no past. Do you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every facet.”

It’s 2023. Oppenheimer is the new film from Christopher Nolan, the celebrated writer/director whose works often play with time-shifting and experiment with our perceptions in their storytelling construction, for better or worse. Tenuous connections stretch between the leapfrogging reminiscence of the fictional Dr. Manhattan and Nolan’s narrative of the real-life Mr. Manhattan Project himself, theoretical physicist Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer. Much as Dr. Manhattan’s life is portrayed as a series of flashbacks that are out-of-order to us mortals yet interlock conceptually by the end, Nolan likewise eschews the standard Hollywood biopic formula (this happened, then this happened, then this happened, then The End), with a slightly modified form of the other standard Hollywood biopic formula (ordinate flashbacks within an end-of-timeline story frame) to chronicle the lives of the masters of the atom from interwoven character arcs. Certain images recur from one era to the next for foreshadowing and epiphanies and so forth. Ultimately the audience needs to experience the whole tapestry before they can truly see each component for what it is.

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“Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One”: IMF MVP + BFFs v. AWOL AI

Tom Cruise and Rebecca Ferguson sharing a warm, quiet moment on a Rome rooftop with some basilica in the background.

Do you know how hard it is to find a decent pic of Ethan Hunt holding still?

You’ve seen the headlines. You’ve watched Tom Cruise all but jumping on his couch about it for years. You’ve seen the extended trailer that already spoiled the Scariest Motorcycle Jump by an A-List Actor Ever. At long last, Ethan Hunt is back! The series that tops itself every time is back with a sequel that took an entire pandemic to make!

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“Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny”: One Last Whip-Crack for Us Gen-X Whippersnappers

Angry Indiana Jones standing indoors and brandishing his whip.

Funny how Disney’s official movie site gallery has more pics of Imaginary Plastic Surgery Indy than of Keepin’-It-Real AARP Indy.

Like most of Generation X, I grew up with Indiana Jones as a surrogate uncle. I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark at the drive-in when I was 9, possibly the perfect venue for a thrill-ride throwback to the Saturday-matinee serial era that outraced every action flick ever made up to 1981 and for decades after. I’d just turned 12 when I was awed by the breakneck speed-runs of Temple of Doom at an indoor theater (the perfect age to fall for it), though my grandma walked out at the heartectomy scene and waited in the lobby for the rest of the runtime. I was 19 when our family skipped Last Crusade in theaters, but I bought it years later when one of McDonald’s bizarre ’90s merch experiments had them selling the entire trilogy on VHS alongside their Extra Value Meals. I finally got to watch Our Hero reunite with his dad as I reunited with Fun Uncle Indy.

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Yes, There’s a Scene After “The Flash” End Credits

Michael Keaton as Batman in the Bat-Cave, with his costume on except no mask.

…a.k.a. Batman III, as far as Warner Bros. and nostalgia addicts are concerned.

Weaksauce disclaimers up front. Your Mileage May Vary.

Sometimes we spend money on things you wouldn’t. Sometimes it’s for stuff we don’t endorse, like that time we paid to see the largest inherently racist monument in America, or when we watched House of Cards during the pandemic. Sure, we’re happier when our expenditures are a wholehearted vote for the parties responsible for the thing we’re about to experience or consume, but sometimes we pay the price because we want to see the flawed thing for ourselves and formulate our own impressions, for better or worse or worst. Any personal reservations and/or revulsion are then taken into consideration when expressing our opinions and/or regrets in the final analysis. Interpret it however you will, but we define it however we will.

In a sense, we compromised: my son and I went to see the latest superhero film starring an actor accused of felonies, misdemeanors, and misdeeds ranging on a scale from obnoxious to irresponsibly gross. Anne stayed home, enjoyed a free afternoon, and gave me permission to share all the spoilers later at dinner, from the funniest to the stupidest.

The TL; DR version: The Flash was better than I expected, which is more than I can say for some of this year’s other sequels. That’s neither a justification nor an unconditional thumbs-up for it. Onward we press with the usual wordiness.

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My Ten Favorite Spider-People in “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse”

Miles Morales and Spider-Gwen sitting upside-down on the underside of a ledge, looking out on New York City.

Two Spider-friends chatting about their tangled webs.

It isn’t writer’s block exactly, but jovially verbose movie entries that amount to “WOWIE WOW WOW WOW 11/10 no complaints!!!!1!!” take far longer to coalesce in my head than irritated MST3K-ish nitpickery of a more disappointing flick. Hence why Transformers: Rise of the Beasts got an entry before Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse did, even though I saw the latter first on opening weekend. Obviously I can’t simply not write about it, but it took days to turn “WOWIE WOW WOW WOW 11/10 no complaints!!!!1!!” into any kind of fun writing exercise. Hence: pointless listicle time! I haven’t churned out one of those in months.

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Yes, There’s a Scene During the “Transformers: Rise of the Beasts” End Credits

A cardboard standee at the theater with the good-guy Transformers lined up, animals on one side and cars on the other.

Action figures sold separately. May be a mental choking hazard for viewers over 12.

The shiny, tinny, explodo-driven popcorn-drek series that chewed up and spat out the dignity of Anthony Hopkins, John Malkovich, Frances McDormand, Glynn Turman from The Wire, and Stanley Tucci’s Merlin is back! And it’s more toyetic than ever! Gone are the lumbering, turgid, 100,000-piece jigsaw monstrosities that didn’t resemble the cartoons of our youth, by which I mean Michael Bay’s poorly “written”, billions-earning quintilogy and its intricately hollow CG animated stars. The robot designs are simpler, the thin characters are thinner, the exotic location shoots are fewer, the camera’s male gaze is less lecherous, and the filmmakers remembered how Hasbro’s former key demographic — i.e., The Children — used to think these things were cool. That faint marketing memory lives on through director Steven Caple, Jr. (Creed II, the least ambitious and pretty-okayest of that great trilogy) and five (!) credited writers, who, along two multinational companies’ worth of corporate overlords, have decided our alien car-robot heroes should make some new alien animal-robot friends!

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Yes, There Are Scenes During and After the “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3” End Credits

Rocket mid-speech, surrounded by his friends' legs.

Guardians Origins: Rocket. This time, it’s fursonal.

Just as the Fast and the Furious saga proudly demonstrates found-family pop-culture franchises aren’t just for whitebread folks, James Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy series has demonstrated they aren’t just for humans, either. Whether you’re a little-league space hero, the daughter of a genocidal madman, a 1950s kaiju, a funny-animal gunslinger, or some other kind of ill-formed misfit who’d never be invited to apply for Avengers membership (okay, maybe the Great Lakes Avengers), these losers gave us hope that we too might find the right motley crew out there who needs us on their team so we can all become all-stars with our own action figures.

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The Ex-Capital Birthday Weekend, Part 10 of 10: An Epilogue of Film, Fowl, and Facades

Several dishes on a wood table in a hardwood restaurant. Meal details are described later in the entry.

Welcome to The Eagle! That’s the name of the restaurant, not the main dish.

Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover:

In addition to our annual road trips, my wife Anne and I have a twice-yearly tradition of spending our respective birthdays together traveling to some new place or attraction as a short-term road trip — partly as an excuse to spend time together on those most wondrous days, partly to explore areas we’ve never experienced before. We’re the Goldens. It’s who we are and what we do…

Thanks very much to those of you who’ve followed along with my eight previous, glacially posted galleries that comprised our October journey around Indiana’s original state capital Corydon. Whereas the first chapter was a prologue about a donut shop we tried along the way, so too is our epilogue connected to the main storyline only by our timing and our desire to add still more festivities to Anne’s autumn birthday weekend. As a capper, we spent Saturday on Massachusetts Avenue, downtown Indianapolis’ premier upscale restaurant hub. On one end of Mass Ave we planned for lunch; on the other, a film for a special occasion. All told, the meal was better than the movie.

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