Goal: Incorporate the insult, "he's not a full shilling" into regular speech.

This film was another member of the True/False lineup. Gotta say I was cringing from the start and that feeling didn't let up until the credits rolled. My biggest problem with it, though, was the quality of the filming, which often was extremely reflective of the director's videography roots. Most of it looks like a series of strung together home movies, but not in any kind of spectacularly inventive or authentic way.

KNUCKLE is a lightweight among True/False contenders

Film: KNUCKLE (2011)

[Documentary]

Never was the term “Fighting Irish” more appropriate than in Ian Palmer’s KNUCKLE, a tale of puts bloody faces to the names Quinn McDonagh and Joyce.

The two are members of Ireland’s Travelers, a small nomadic population often poor, illiterate and fiercely prideful. Their lives are consumed by a never-ending family feud in which cousins, uncles and brothers pummel each other for money and recognition.

For as barbaric as the bare-fisted scrapes can look, there is order in the chaos. “Fair fights” are arranged after one clan instigates with a video threat or smack talk. A time and place are set, and referees hired. Then all that’s left is 20 minutes of “noses and mouth broken in and 15 to 16 stitches” worth of damage.

Watching this film is like being subject to an experiment in systematic desensitization. In the first feud, between James “The Mighty Quinn” McDonagh and Paddy Joyce, audible hisses cut through the theatre with each landed punch. The audience can only pull quick bursts of air through gritted teeth as the sickening soft thuds of skin on skin and token spatters of blood assault the senses.

This is nothing like a greased up Brad Pitt in Fight Club (1999) who manages to look good with half his teeth knocked out. This is hairy, flabby, sweaty men and boys who don’t come to the fight looking for one-time catharsis, but rather the continuation of a decades-old dispute. The images are gritty and the fighters’ techniques scrappy. It is rough-and-tumble — and they do tumble, often — and each brawl is more pathetic than the last.

At one point, Big Joe Joyce, the oldest and most revered fighter of the Joyce clan, comes out of retirement to fight. His style is to “leave [his opponent’s] face like a butcher’s block.” Palmer narrates with a resigned tone that as he watches two grandfathers beat each other up, he’s had enough.

His admission sounds a lot like James’ many empty promises of final fights. In the end, neither director nor subject can quit.

The film is full of ironies. From the images of Catholicism, such as a large portrait of Pope John Paul II, that hang on nearly every wall, to the fact that the Traveler tradition of intermarrying forces generations to switch sides, the nonsense of it all is plain to see. The families aren’t oblivious to the foolish nature of the “tradition,” but to them, hoping for resolution is even more inane.

Whether Palmer’s characterizations or the pure 97 minutes of violence are the cause, it’s disturbing that by the end of the film, the audience is audibly more stoic and you can find yourself rooting for one of the Quinn men in the film’s last fight. No matter the influence, one thing is certain: the experiment was a success.

It's like Bring Your Audience to Work Day

I had the great privilege to speak with the director, Jon Foy, for about a half hour after the film. To use a phrase of his, the film "exudes fun." Though he was describing the True/False Festival in general, I think it is appropriately applicable. This film will make you feel like a detective, minus the pipe and nerdy sidekick.

Is This Real Life? Resurrect Dead: A Modern Day Arthur Conan Doyle Novel


Film: Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles (2011)

[Documentary]

“TOYNBEE IDEA/ IN MOVIE 2001/ RESURRECT DEAD/ ON PLANET JUPITER” reads more like a text from last night than a call to action. But as Jon Foy illustrates with his documentary Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles, those cryptic words are a window to a life pleading for recognition yet thriving on anonymity.

With the rising popularity of street art and names such as Banksy entering the vernacular, Resurrect Dead is a timely, masterfully-woven investigation of a phenomenon that has baffled those who noticed it for nearly 30 years: linoleum tiles embedded in streets from Philadelphia to St. Louis, inscribed with the curious message. Reminiscent of — but about 10 times more enlightened than — Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010), Foy’s directorial debut makes audiences honorary members in an against-all-odds manhunt. It’s a pursuit that often feels Sisyphean and requires a tireless leader, but Justin Duerr is just the man for the job.

“The unstoppable force,” as he is called, Duerr met Foy accidentally in 2000, when Foy prank called Duerr’s roommate, posing as the man behind the tiles.

Justin’s interest is deep and well documented. He has photographed and kept a log of every location where he’s spotted a tile, and employed his former girlfriend as secretary of the search. To say he’s obsessed is not an understatement.

“It’s not an art project put together by some art students,” Duerr says. “It’s real.”

It took a few years, but as more self-proclaimed sleuths and puzzled passersby like Justin began to congregate on Internet forums dedicated to the Toynbee mystery, theories were tossed around left and right, ranging all the way from Pink Floyd to the Bible to “messages from space.” The crazy part: it was a little but of all three … that is, if you replace Pink Floyd with Led Zeppelin and think “Stairway to Heaven.”

These message boards are how Duerr and co-detectives Colin Smith and Steve Weinik found each other and began an all-consuming journey to solve the mystery of the Toynbee tiler.

The list of “suspects” reads like a mafia line up, complete with celebrity and potential culprit’s epithets preceding their less interesting legal names. There’s Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright David Mamet and a man named James Morasco. And there’s Severino “Sevy” Verna and Julius “Railroad Joe” Piroli. Those last two are the current and former residents of a south Philly address that was found on the only tile to make it out of the states and into South America.

The house on S. 7th Street exudes that Boo Radley kind of reclusiveness — complete with double padlocks on the front door — and from neighbors’ descriptions, so does the man inside. Whether he’s dropping tiles across the Midwest and east coast — vis-à-vis toys in a tree hollow — is unsure, but what is clear is Justin’s connection to Sevy, a man locals call quiet, a “birdman,” but very intelligent — a lot like Justin in his high school days.

Though Foy is new to the documentary scene, and feels he got lucky with the way the search unraveled, there is nothing amateurish about the film’s narrative. Practically dripping with suspense, Resurrect Dead puts you on an investigative rollercoaster — to use a tired but completely appropriate cliché. Foy suggests the mystery is a MacGuffin (a device to move along the plot, but secondary to the central focus). While that is debatable, Foy expertly employs another Hitchcockian technique — pure cinema — and allows the story’s absurdities to speak for themselves.

Whether perched over Justin’s shoulder or at his feet, Foy’s camera and the viewer’s perspective are like a fourth set of eyes poring over the documents and sifting through the theories. As each lead takes the guys down a new path, the buildup of discovery and the letdown of each dead end are palpable. These thrills and chills are due in part to Foy’s original score, which evokes an eerie sense of paranoia, but the real drama lies in the clues (clandestine radio broadcasts, a screenplay and hijacked TV news) that’ll have your mouth hanging agape in disbelief and grinning at the inescapable fact that it’s all true.

A definite must-see at home if not at the festival, Resurrect Dead, is an exciting ride that is sure to grip audiences and hang on until the credits roll.

"Dog Sees God" as interpreted by MU Theatre

Play: Dog Sees God (2004)

Remember in high school when your senior class voted for all those “most likely to” categories, and at your 10-year reunion when the guy who won “class flirt” came back as Molly the transgendered P.E. teacher? Dog Sees God brings that “all growed up” approach to one of America’s favorite comics, the Peanuts, and pulls the proverbial football out from under its foot. An angst-ridden cast, alcoholic and Rastafarian debauchery and teenage sex — including the gay kind — make this unauthorized parody directed by Bryan M. Vandevender a shocking yet delightful look at the characters we thought we knew.

The brilliance of this play lies in its ability to make the drama we find so contrived and overdone in most popular entertainment, into a relatable, evocative experience that is incredibly timely and raises awareness without preaching. With strong language, and even stronger content, the play gets very heavy very quickly, but should be regarded as an exercise in mind-opening that is beneficial to all audiences mature enough to watch MTV.

The characters of Dog Sees God have more baggage than a trans-continental flight: identity crisis and juvenile detention, drugs and homophobia, they’ve got it all. The first scene is no different as our protagonist, CB (Andrew Rea), chokes out a monologue to his ethereal pen pal. You see, his dog, which shall remain nameless, died, and well, he’s feeling a bit unstable. As the audience listens to Rea reminisce and ramble, it feels like that awkward moment on a bus or a plane where the stranger next to you decides you would make a great counselor, and you’re forced to nod and “hmm” like you know how they’re feeling. Before you know it, Rea’s got you leaning forward in your seat and brought a concerned wrinkle to your brow. You’re hooked.

Thunder rolls characteristically overhead as the scene Canis Exequiae (meaning dog funeral) begins. We get our first glimpse at how the loveable kids from the comics have changed as CB’s Sister approaches him at the grave, lighting a cigarette and looking more like Elvira than the pink princess we remember. The two argue over mutual annoyance of each other and whose “f-ing dog” it was anyway. The scene brings back memories of Donnie and Elizabeth Darko fighting across the dinner table, spitting expletives and resentment.

CB enlists the help of another familiar face at the iconic brick wall, where he is joined by confidant, Van (Ian Matthew Sobule). If the setting doesn’t give away Van’s identity, his red shirt, blue hoodie and admission that he smoked the remains of his beloved blanket should do it. Yes, Van is the token pothead — just part of the reason this scene is titled Nirvana. Sobule offers a comedic performance with just enough droopy eye and dazed bliss to make it convincing, but without going full-on Jeff Spicoli (Fast Times at Ridgemont High) on us.

At school CB’s character is a bit sinister as he doubles over laughing when friend, Matt (Joseph Burch), sexually harasses his sister, and classmate Beethoven (Christopher Carlson). CB joins Matt, shoving and calling the boy “fag.” This is not the CB we once knew who did the right thing to a fault. Though we’re disappointed in CB, Matt’s attack is harsh, including a threat to kill Beethoven for supposedly being gay.

Burch, like Sobule, delivers despite a typically exaggerated role: the villain. With a firmly set brow and rigid shoulders seething aggression, he conveys intimidation through his body more than his voice, making him the perfect bully and our antagonist. His character carries a touch of ironic humor as well since he dropped the childhood nickname (Pig Pen) and acquired a germ phobia.

The next characters we meet are Tricia (Maddie Byrne) and Marcy (Alyssa Cartee) — think Peppermint Patty and Marcie — whose double-trouble partnership hasn’t changed much, except that instead of sleeping through class, they’re now boozing through it. The girls’ attempt at the drunken duo feels a bit over-the-top, but is completely tolerable.

Beethoven’s exposition comes as a response to CB’s relentless search for answers to the afterlife, which he resumes while crashing the pianist’s lunchtime practice session. Exasperated by CB’s self-pity, Beethoven vents his frustration over CB and his pals’ bullying, the reason he spends the hour alone each day. When Rea scoffs at his sensitivity, Carlson delivers a line that causes all the air to leave the room:

“No wonder kids bring guns to school and shoot you f***ers down.”

The final member of the cast, Van’s Sister (Stephanie Juergens), is introduced to the audience behind bars with a flimsy sign reading: “The doctor is in.” Sporting a jumpsuit and pigtails, she’s as snarky as ever and glad to see CB. Juergens has mastered the feigning-innocence pout, and her thick black eyeliner gives her an edginess that speaks louder than the handcuffs she’s wearing.

The play’s other strong point is its sardonic humor. In a party scene at Marcy’s house the characters simultaneously break out in their own “dances” — a cheeky homage to the source material — bouncing, twisting and waving in place. Later, in the heat of a lover’s quarrel, Beethoven begrudgingly hands over a “mix” he makes for his beau. Carlson, and the audience, can barely keep from laughing at the classically teenage gesture as he turns away to hide his grin. Moments like this make watching the performance live feel like a long shared joke between cast and crowd.

Amidst the commendable acting and colorful script, some very serious topics centered on identity, bullying, and death shroud the play’s lighter notes with a somber warning.

Dog Sees God leaves viewers paralyzed by its sobering message, but simultaneously stirs them to action. A good amount of grief gets served up as the characters battle confusion, fear and loss, but they reflect the troubling reality the youth of this generation faces. Our American cultural climate could not be more appropriate for this story of self-doubt and its important warning. It is as entertaining as it is informative. It is irreverent and essential.

Don’t be a blockhead. See it.