A patient receives a controversial treatment in THE GOD CELLS
THE GOD CELLS: FETAL STEM CELL CONTROVERSY (Eric Merola, 2016)
Cinema Village
22 East 12th St. between University Pl. & Fifth Ave.
Opens Friday, June 3
212-529-6799
stemcellsmovie.com
www.cinemavillage.com
In his 2014 documentary, Second Opinion: Laetrile at Sloan Kettering, writer, director, producer, and coeditor Eric Merola investigated the controversy over Laetrile, focusing on Memorial Sloan Kettering science writer Ralph W. Moss, PhD, and the banning of the cancer drug, which resulted in patients flocking to Mexico to receive treatment. Now Merola, whose two-part Burzynski explored the cancer therapy Antineoplastons, turns his attention to the stem-cell controversy in The God Cells, another important documentary that, unfortunately, suffers from some of the same filmmaking problems Second Opinion did. The pacing is awkward, the narrative overly biased, and alternating front and side shots of various speakers are needlessly disconcerting. The film also plays out like an infomercial for stem-cell treatment, which is banned in the United States, so Merola follows numerous patients to Mexico, where they receive the shots and many have experienced remarkable results. Although Merola does note the antiabortion movement’s religion-based fight against the use of stem cells, he instead reveals that the bigger issue in preventing their use in the U.S. is that the FDA is making it as difficult as possible to get the treatment approved because of its potential financial impact on Big Pharma and doctors, who benefit from people taking more and more drugs and coming back again and again for various other, arguably less-successful treatments.
Merola meets with men, women, and children who suffer from lupus, muscular dystrophy, multiple sclerosis, chronic lymphocytic leukemia, severe arthritis, and Parkinson’s, among other diseases, and who report nearly instantaneous recovery after stem-cell injections; in fact, they are shown golfing, rowing, and participating in other sports activities when previously they had trouble just walking. Also singing the praises of stem cells are former football quarterbacks John Brodie and Jerry Kramer and Laugh-In creator George Schlatter. While some doctors go on the record in support of stem cells, others are more hesitant, fearful of retribution from colleagues and the American medical industry. Merola spends too much time with CIRM, the California Institute for Regenerative Medicine, and celebrity doctor William C. Rader of Stem Cell of America, outspoken proponents of stem-cell research. And the film features an overly long section on television director and producer David Barrett (Blue Bloods, Cold Case), who talks about how stem cells saved his life as well as that of his grandfather, ninety-nine-year-old Dave McCoy, who might be deserving of his own documentary. Interestingly, Barrett is the executive producer of The God Cells. Still, it’s a critically vital film that will open your eyes on yet another medical controversy that raises the question: Is corporate moneymaking more important than the health of the individual? The film opens at Cinema Village on June 3, with Merola and special guests participating in a Q&A following the 7:10 show that night.
The main image used to promote James Solomon’s debut documentary, The Witness, is a 1961 black-and-white photograph of Kitty Genovese. In the portrait, she stares back at the viewer almost accusingly; in light of her famous death three years later, it is as if she is calling us all out for the events that happened during and after her murder. In 1964, Genovese was killed by an assailant on a Kew Gardens street while, as the New York Times reported, thirty-eight neighbors heard the screams, looked out their windows, and did nothing. Forty years later, the paper reexamined the case and their coverage and found numerous holes in their original story. That set Kitty’s brother, Bill Genovese, who was sixteen when his sister was killed, on an obsessive mission to find out the truth about what really went down on March 13, 1964, and afterward, when New York City was publicly decried across the world as an awful oasis of urban apathy. Genovese hooked up with screenwriter Solomon (The Conspirator, The Bronx Is Burning) and spent eleven years reinvestigating the case — the two men had actually met in 1999, when Solomon was collaborating on a never-realized fictionalization of the story with Joe Berlinger and Alfred Uhry for HBO. The Witness plays out like a police procedural as Genovese follows every crumb he possibly can, meeting with witnesses, detectives, his sisters’ friends, and such journalists as Gabe Pressman, Mike Wallace, and Abe Rosenthal, the Times editor who wrote the book Thirty-Eight Witnesses: The Kitty Genovese Case, which helped turn the sordid tale into legend. “The story doesn’t make any sense to me,” Pressman admitted he thought back in 1964, although no one would question the Newspaper of Record. But Genovese does just that, and what he discovers is nothing short of shocking.
Newark-born auteur Brian De Palma might be best known for such critical and popular successes as Scarface, Carrie, The Untouchables, Dressed to Kill, and Mission:Impossible, but he got his start as an underground indie filmmaker working in downtown Manhattan. One of his most intriguing pictures is the documentary Dionysus in ’69, screening June 5 in a monthlong retrospective at Metrograph that includes every De Palma movie save for his first, Murder a la Mod. In 1968, the Performance Group, led by Richard Schechner, staged Dionysus in ’69 in the Performing Garage on Wooster St., a participatory play based on William Arrowsmith’s translation of Euripides’ The Bacchae. The show was almost more of a happening than a drama, as the actors regularly disrobed (and at several points form a kind of sexual human centipede) and the audience, either sitting on the floor or up in wooden platforms with ladders, became part of the action. Dionysus in ’69 was the first example of Schechner’s Environmental Theater, a theory that posited, among other things: “1. The audience is in a living space and a living situation. Things may happen to and with them as well as ‘in front’ of them. 2. When a performer invites participation, he must be prepared to accept and deal with the spectator’s reactions. 3. Participation should not be gratuitous.” In a 1975 interview with David Bartholomew, De Palma explained, “I was very strongly affected by the play when I saw it. . . . This was the most exciting thing I’d seen on stage in years. So I began to try and figure out a way to capture it on film. I came up with the idea of split-screen, to be able to show the actual audience involvement, to trace the life of the audience and that of the play as they merge in and out of each other. I wanted to get the very stylized dramatic life of the play juxtaposed to what was really going on in that room at that time. I was floored by the emotional power of it.”
“If you don’t want anything, you won’t have anything, and if you don’t have anything, then you’re as good as dead,” Mr. Dennis (Michael Higgins) tells Wanda Goronski (Barbara Loden) in Wanda, which appropriately kicks off Film Forum’s two-week “Genre Is a Woman” festival on June 3. The first theatrical feature written, directed, produced by, and starring an American woman, Wanda is a raw, naturalistic road-trip movie about an emotionally vacant woman who walks through life in a kind of stupor, wandering into situations to avoid being alone yet still trapped in an unrelenting alienation. Loden, who won a 1964 Tony for her portrayal of Maggie in Arthur Miller’s After the Fall — the play was directed on Broadway by Elia Kazan, whom she would marry four years later and remain with through her tragic death in 1980 — doesn’t try to turn Wanda into a feminist antihero, but she does take all the power away from her, making her completely dependent on other people, primarily men, an excellent counterpoint to Loden herself, who has all the power. Staying on her sister’s (Dorothy Shupenes) couch in the middle of Pennsylvania coal country, Wanda is almost zombielike as she slowly heads to court in curlers and a housecoat and lets the judge award custody of her two children to her soon-to-be-ex-husband (Jerome Thier). “I’m just no good,” she mumbles. Broke and apparently with no faith or hope in her future, she proceeds to get involved with some sketchy losers, including Mr. Dennis, who takes her on a minor crime spree that is a far cry from Bonnie and Clyde. All along the way, she rarely has anything of any interest to say to anyone; the only time she speaks clearly and definitively is when she explains that she likes onions on her hamburgers.
Louis Malle’s first feature-length fiction film, following The Silent World (made with Jacques Cousteau), is a classic French noir that comes with all the trimmings — and was recently restored in an excellent 35mm print with new subtitles. Jeanne Moreau stars as Florence Carala, who is married to ruthless business tycoon Simon (Jean Wall) but is carrying on an affair with Simon’s right-hand man, Julien Tavernier (Maurice Ronet). Julien plans the perfect murder — or so he thinks, until he has to go back to retrieve a crucial piece of evidence and gets trapped on the elevator. While he struggles to find a way out and Florence waits for him anxiously at a neighborhood bistro, young couple Louis (Georges Poujouly) and Veronique (Yori Bertin) take off in Julien’s convertible and get into some serious trouble of their own. Mistaken identity, cold-blooded killings, jealousy, and one of the greatest film scores ever — by Miles Davis, recorded in one overnight session — make Elevator to the Gallows a splendid debut from one of the world’s finest filmmakers. The film is screening June as part of the Rubin Museum Cabaret Cinema series “Rain,” being held in conjunction with the 
