‘Vincent: A Life in Color’ 1/2
Fashion Man, Vince the Suit Guy, Riverace, “the crazy guy on the bridge”: Vincent P. Falk, legally blind and very nearly blinding in his fashion sense, has been a downtown Chicago fixture for years, famous for his spin moves performed on the Chicago River bridges for the enjoyment of the passing tour boats, showing off more lining than Merv Griffin ever did.
Falk’s story, the story behind the lime-green flash, is a good one. Director Jennifer Burns’ light, genial touch captures part of it, though “Vincent: A Life in Color” seems determined to softball and good-time the image of Chicago, Falk and Falk’s very real accomplishments. As a result it ends up shaving off the edges that would’ve made Falk’s story come fully alive on screen. Also, I’m not sure how many interviews with tour-boat guides qualifies as “too many,” but this doc, while diverting, comes close. (And while we’re on it: Does Sun-Times columnist Neil Steinberg realize what a prejudgmental jerk he sounds like when recalling his first Falk sighting?)
No MPAA rating. Runs Friday-Thursday at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St. Running time: 1:36.
— Michael Phillips
‘The Human Centipede’ no stars
There are terrible movies, and there are loathsome movies. And then there’s that rare breed of movies so idiotic, exploitative and sickening one wishes they could be scrubbed from memory. “The Human Centipede (First Sequence)” is such a specimen. Would that I had 100 legs to kick it.
In it, two nubile American girls on holiday in Germany make the stupidest possible choices and wind up in the talons of a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein, whose pet project is surgically joining human beings. The details of the process, central to the film, are unprintable in a family newspaper — and so nauseating that the filmmaker should personally apologize to every member of the audience.
Even a concept so outre could prove worthwhile if it were joined by some iota of wit or intelligence. Instead, the vegetative state required to endure this mind-bogglingly objectionable boondoggle separates it from merit. This is one of those movies in which victims repeatedly have opportunities to escape but choose not to, guaranteeing still more grotesque degradation, full of gore, torture violence and sexual humiliation. To call it moronic is to insult morons.
As the bad doctor, Dieter Laser (points for the name) is so wildly over the top as to resemble a cross between Bela Lugosi and any random lead singer from a German ’80s band. It’s “Sprockets” meets “Saw” meets a coprophilia fetish video. Ultimately “Human Centipede” is really only for a (one hopes) very small fetish community.
And yes, writer-director Tom Six is already making a sequel to this crime against cinema.
No MPAA rating. Plays at midnight Friday and Saturday, May 15 and 15, at the Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport Ave. Running time: 1:30
— Michael Ordoña, special to Tribune Newspapers
‘Takedowns & Falls’
“Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose”: The motto of the Dillon Panthers of “Friday Night Lights” could be that of the Central Dauphin Rams wrestlers, a Harrisburg, Pa., team featured in the documentary “Takedowns & Falls.” The Rams are led by a man of Coach Taylor-size charisma, Jeff Sweigard, who sets an example in his personal and professional life for his team, which is heavy on underclassmen.
Directors Todd Hickey and Kirk Ledger had extraordinary access to the Rams, starting 107 days before the state championships, in which Sweigard, entering the 2006-2007 season, has yet to coach a team or individual winner. We see his guys — starting with more than 40 members, ending up with about 30 — enduring bloody noses and nausea as they build up their endurance for what is undoubtedly one of the most physically grueling sports. And we meet the families, especially the Peppelmans, who have turned a barn on their property into a training center for Walter, a junior, and Marshall, a freshman. These kids are privileged but not pampered by their coaches or, from what we can see, their families.
For an audience of non-wrestling enthusiasts, however, the filmmakers’ access proves a bit of a takedown in itself. Unwilling, it appears, to waste their footage, they let the film drag on past the two-hour mark, tamping down the suspense they’re trying to build. And, unlike football, baseball or basketball, wrestling at its finest lacks the cinematic elements that can build to a crescendo. Watching a face get mashed into a mat isn’t the same as an end-zone ball spike. But it’s real, as are the struggles and achievements of Sweigard’s team. That’s enough.
No MPAA rating. Plays Fri.-Thu. at Facets Cinematheque, 1517 W. Fullerton Ave. Running time: 2:02
— Maureen M. Hart
