About Town
The 56th Annual Nashville Film Fest
The Nashville Film Festival occurs every September at various venues across Nashville that vary from year to year, from historic places like the Belcourt and the Franklin Theater to Soho House and the Regal Green Hills. Movies are a familiar medium to all of us; you may not frequent the ballet, concerts, opera, or plays, but the average American spends over half their leisure time watching TV. If you would like to get more involved in the arts in Nashville, this is an easy way to start. The festival is always a lot of fun; there were 150 different films at this year’s festival, so it’s easy to find what you’re interested in. You also get to see films before their general release, so you can recommend films to your friends before they’re even in theaters.
Besides getting to speak with Director Jason Padgitt, three of our reporters got to cover the festival this year, covering narrative features, documentary features, shorts, and several award winners. Here’s a taste of what the festival had to offer:
The Feeling in Flamenco, Tangana’s The Flamenco Guitar of Terai Cortés.
In the opening scene of C. Tangana’s (aka Antón Álvarez) 2024 documentary The Flamenco Guitar of Yerai Cortés (winner of two Goya Awards, one for best documentary and one for best original song) we encounter the director in a café where he reveals to us that the whole project began when he saw Cortés play and noticed that “modern people treat him as one of them, but the Gypsies treat him as a gypsy.” (It is worth noting that the Spanish word “Gitano” is used throughout the movie, although it is considered offensive by some Romani peoples). Of the many themes that underlie the film’s narrative—passion, love and forgiveness, family and artistic process—the most profound theme (for me at least) resided at the border between the past and the future or tradition verses progress, as loosely defined within the experiences of Gitano culture and 21st century Spanish culture.
Overall the film consists of chapters or sections that slowly unwind the narrative. For example, in the first chapter we learn of his parents’ troubled relationship and how their ongoing dislike of each other is a source of his own sadness. The characters here, his mother and father, reveal an old-world perspective in both witchcraft and misogyny that sets them up as a foil for his forward thinking “modern” girlfriend. In a later chapter, when she must confront Cortés’ own infidelity, the tension increases for his position on the border of the two worlds, and he is dismayed when she responds as a modern woman would (and not as his mother had). The familial issues are multifaceted, even if we don’t get a glimpse of the Cortés family’s previous generations. Instead of a long lineage, it appears that the culture survives on the tradition alone. Throughout the film, there is a further familial mystery that is uncovered at the denouement, and while it is perhaps overblown, one imagines (and Cortés demonstrates musically) how powerfully he felt the reveal.
Indeed, hearing, second hand, of the sordid personal details of a marriage deteriorating a generation ago (as well as other personal gossip) might seem trivial to the viewer, especially when shorn of the narrative elements that cinema typically creates to accompany those details, but by the end of each section there is a thrilling (and some even chilling) flamenco performance from Cortéz that personalizes the story—isn’t that one of the beauties of music? The ability to raise the banal to the pathetique?
Undoubtedly, Cortés’s musicianship is fantastic. His position in the flamenco world is established, but he is reaching into the popular music world as well. He plays piano and a steel-strung guitar (but not in the film)—skills unheard of in the flamenco tradition. Tangana lets his music speak for itself with well-mixed performances and a camera and microphone that are at times positioned in tandem to focus the aural element. Others have criticized Tangana for not explaining what makes Cortés great, and this certainly isn’t a music theory video, nor is it a rags-to-riches story. What makes it different for me was the unresolved tension of the film that seems to question whether or not Cortés might liberate himself from tradition. I really liked the film for its luxurious glimpse into the expressive meaning behind the flamenco tradition and Cortés’s works specifically. As with all great films about music, the narrative is much less important than the emotion.
–JM
Director Rohan Kanawade’s Debut Cactus Pears Should be on Your Radar
Cactus Pears, winner of Best Narrative Feature, chronicles protagonist Anand in the midst of a ten-day grieving period following his father’s passing. Anand, his parents’ only son, has traveled from Mumbai back to his home village to observe the customs of the mourning period. While navigating this loss, he faces social pressure from friends and family to pursue a wife due to his increasing age. At the start of the film, Anand is depressed and isolated, lacking in community, understanding, and love. What viewers soon discover is that Anand is a gay man and has been avoidant towards finding a wife because it isn’t what he desires. The film takes a turn once Anand’s childhood friend, Bayla (Suraaj Suman), reenters Anand’s life. The two rekindle a long-standing friendship, and Anand finds connection, love, and understanding in Bayla. This Indian film by Rohan Kanawade is the director’s feature debut, with three previous shorts under his belt. The film is in the Marathi language with English subtitles.
One of the immediate impressions of this film is that it is far-and-away one of the best-looking films of the year. The compositions and framing are excellent, with several shots that are still imprinted in my mind. The cinematography is also very effective in reinforcing subtext within the film. Cinematographer Vikas Urs does a wonderful job of highlighting proximity in claustrophobic and enclosed environments, whether that be dinner scenes or a stationary shot of Anand and his mother on a bus. Yet a key aspect of this film is the isolation that Anand feels with his unique experience as a gay man. There are several wonderful shots that highlight Anand in the foreground among crowds of people. A standout moment occurs during his father’s cremation, where Anand sits at the front of the mourning party, weeping and distraught. This theme of isolation is further supported in the wardrobe choice during the beginning of the mourning process, where Anand arrives as the only member wearing a dark charcoal shirt. In the Hindu tradition, wearing black to a funeral is not considered acceptable, and his family members ask repeatedly for him to change clothes. Not only does his choice of clothing in this scene clearly distinguish Anand from the rest of his family, but it also paints him quite clearly as a “black sheep.”
Anand’s emotions are muted throughout the film, and rarely does he ever express feelings beyond a wry, sullen smile. Cactus Pears contains several shots of Anand sitting in pairs with another person. So much is communicated in the framing, blocking, and body language shown between Anand and his scene partner. One instance in particular that stood out is when Bayla and Anand have their first one-on-one conversation on a rooftop. Throughout the duration of the conversation, Anand looks straight ahead and rarely makes eye contact with Bayla. The same happens in conversation with Anand’s mother, where she is turned inward to face him, yet Anand cannot bring himself to reciprocate.
Bushaan Manoj as Anand deserves enormous credit for his performance which shines in its subtlety and restraint. As the film goes on, Anand becomes more comfortable in himself, made clear both by Manoj’s performance as well as intentional direction from Kanawade. One memorable example is when Bayla gets into a disagreement with his parents and Anand goes to comfort him. While the two speak together, Kanawade cuts from a medium shot of the two speaking to a shot of Anand’s foot turning inward closer towards Bayla.
The key thematic material and emotional arc that Anand experiences is the revelation of what it is like to receive love. Although he had come out to his parents, Anand was closeted to the rest of the world. In having to hide such an integral part of his identity from the world, Anand did not feel as if he could open up fully to connect with people. But both Bayla and Anand’s mother, Suman (Jayshi Jagtap), demonstrate a relentless and sustaining love which Anand learns slowly to accept. The pivotal moment in this film, which it is titled after,occurs after a scene where Anand and Bayla sit outside together and reminisce about the twin mango trees that they planted together in their youth. Anand inquires about the cactus pear trees, to which Bayla responds that there are very few left. Later, someone gives Anand a bag which Bayla had dropped off earlier. It is revealed that Bayla found Anand cactus pear fruits and had taken the time to remove the spines from them. This is one of the first times in the film when we see Anand receive love and experience joy. It is a supremely heartwarming sequence, of which the film has many.
There is also a beautiful element of spirituality in Cactus Pears, shown both in the funereal proceedings and the grieving process. When Anand’s father’s body arrives at the cremation site and his body is unloaded from the van, we are treated to a Cinéma vérité-esque approach as the van door shuts and the camera remains inside the car as the burial party walks away and the sound of crying voices fades. This lingers for maybe ten seconds or so. This was a brilliant directional decision. Possibly my favorite moment of the film occurs after the ten-day ceremony concludes while Anand is visiting his temple. While I won’t share exactly what happens, there is an implied dream sequence that me tear up.
Cactus Pears is a remarkable film, let alone for a debut. I am very excited to see what direction Rohan Kanawade chooses to go in the future: I am on board. This is an extremely tender and thoughtful work that is beautifully shot, contains excellent performances, and has a compelling romantic arc. I would happily recommend Cactus Pears to all.
–EM
Graveyard Shorts are Good Shorts, but Not All are Appropriate for the Graveyard
The Graveyard shorts category is problematic for me. To be included, I suppose the film must have some horror element, but a number of these films, while many are very good, are simply not horror, or the element of horror is not nearly the primary generic convention. Of course, I complain, but every year I go to see the Graveyard Shorts because it is always the best category, and this year was no different!
Brittany Ashley’s Take Care is the story of a woman who deliberately injures herself just to be in the care of a particular ER nurse. As such, it is an episode in a broader story, but enough information is given to get the drift of it. It stars a lovely maternal Stephanie Courtney (“Flo” from those insurance commercials) as the ER nurse and a delicate and distraught Courney Pauroso as the patient who hurts herself. Courtney’s caring but suspicious position was very well expressed. I particularly liked the subtle way the patient’s home is drawn in dreary, dark opposition to the bright, hopeful lights of the emergency room. When it ended, I felt awkward, a feeling that probably made this film a success.
Steven Lai and Léonard Giovenazzo’s Bark maintained that awkward feeling when their protagonist, a young Chinese-American woman (played well by Brianne Tju), runs over a dog en route to meet her boyfriend’s parents. Of course, to make matters worse, the boyfriend and his parents are weird in an adoring way. Unfortunately, because of the dog, she can have no fun with it at all. And to make matters worse… (spoiler deleted). In his appearance here, Eric Roberts wins the award for being the actor who seems to enjoy his role the most.
Ishkwaazhe Shane McSauby’s The Beguiling is described in the logline as “What seems to be a burgeoning romance between two Indigenous people takes a sinister turn as one grows suspicious of the other. When confronted, deceit turns their romantic evening into a darkly comedic nightmare.” Apparently McSauby’s thesis from NYU’s Tisch School, this is a remarkable film in its slow increase in suspense and the constructed (and maintained) confusion as to which character is the protagonist and which is the antagonist. This leads a luxuriously long way into the exposition. The seductive Kim Savarino creates an outstanding tension with the confused, but willing, Benairan Kane, and her explosion at the reveal and denouement is excellent: “what, do you want me to dance?!?!.”
When it comes to the slow increase in pressure, Jon Walkup’s A Minute on Each Side provides another wonderful example—almost as if living in a microwave oven (well done Cooper Shine!). The film also expresses the way one’s perceived destiny can turn on a dime (or a bell). Jake Lewis does a wonderful job with the script, rescuing the film from becoming a simple cinemaphotographer’s gimmick, and earning the Audience Award for Graveyard Shift Short. 
The fantasy world of a killer mermaid in Ali Cook’s The Pearl Comb, was my favorite of the group. Not least because of Simon Armstrong’s patient, let’s see what comes of it, attitude. It’s a wonderful take on a fairytale that often suffers from the Disney Effect (where even the monsters become Princesses™). Clara Paget plays a wonderfully nasty and mean fishlady and the Victorian setting and costuming were marvelous.
Overall, as a horror category, several of these shorts seem forced, in that they are thrillers, suspense or dark comedies, but not strictly horror. Of these, Jack Savadori’s Blondi seems the strangest fit. One of the most common aspects of horror is to take an everyday, friendly thing, and reveal its terrible side. Savadori does the exact opposite, revealing Adolf Hitler’s love for his dog. The novelty of the film is that it is from the dog’s perspective, which, as we learned in the delightful talk back section, required that the sets be set up in 360 degrees, and not everything made the film—apparently even German Shepards are difficult to direct! The movie’s ending isn’t horror though, it’s just sad.
Julian Park’s Shitfly reminded me of a post-apocalyptic world mixing the claustrophobia of Snowpiercer with the banality of Office Space’s late-stage capitalism. From healthcare to environmentalism there were almost too many issues packed into this film. The darkness (all in brown and yellows) reminded me of David Fincher’s Seven, and I did spend some time wondering “What’s in the BoxPackage?!?!?” Æon Flux has had a little influence here too. All of this is not to say the film is derivative, rather, I’d say it was inspired, and, I think Park, of the group, has the most promising future in horror.
–JM
Wagner Shows His Colors in Feature Debut, Peacock
Writer-director Bernhard Wagner embarked on his first feature length production in his newest film, Peacock. Following a decade-long stretch of short film directing, the Austrian native’s big screen debut is a dramatic comedy that follows Matthias (Albrecht Schuch), an amicable and inoffensive friend-for-hire who works for a company called MyCompanion. While Matthias is the company’s highest performing employee and shines at morphing into whatever a situation requires of him, he struggles to pinpoint his own identity. After his wife Sofia (Julia Franz Richter) leaves him for exactly this reason, Matthias is left to do some soul searching and reflection while still attempting to save face in front of his clients. The film is in German with English subtitles.
Peacock, much like Matthias’s character, is sheen, put-together, and visually impressive. The shot compositions are beautiful, the color pallets used in both the wardrobe and scenery pop, and the character blocking is very tight. One scene that stands out in my mind occurs right at the start of the film, when Matthias is out accompanying a middle-aged woman to a social event. The members of the party sit and watch a cellist perform (with a very creative use of diegetic music, I might add!) behind luscious green foliage. The cellist matches her instrument in a chestnut suit. It is simply gorgeous. The color theory in this film is like a seven course meal, except every dish is a dessert. The editing, which is quite possibly one of the film’s strongest attributes, successfully maintains interest and keeps things moving along. The film is also remarkably concise in its statement. Shots rarely linger longer than feels necessary, pacing is consistent, and the feature clocks in at an hour and forty-two minutes.
The performances in Peacock are strong across the board, but Albrecth Schuch is easily the standout for me. He is able to communicate Matthias’s indecisive and milquetoast nature in a way that is so convincing that it is frustrating to watch his character at times. He also does a beautiful job of showing how Matthias longs for connection but simply cannot bring himself to stake an opinion about anything. Julia Franz Richter also makes an impression with her limited screen time as Sofia, and Maria Hofstätter is quite good as Vera, who seeks out Matthias as a verbal sparring partner to prepare for arguments with her husband.
Thematically, Peacock provides a scathing critique on the veneer behind wealth, including the various hijinks that upper class folks engage with to signify their status. Early into the film, Matthias purchases a decorative bear that serves to varnish his home’s fourier. The bear, quite simply, is a terrible piece of interior design, and Sofia clearly does not care for it. Sofia probes Matthias as to whether he likes the decoration, and Matthias can’t bring himself to have an opinion other than that he thinks it will impress guests. Later on, in one of Matthias’s final jobs with “MyCompanion,” he accompanies a woman to a contemporary art performance where a naked man douses himself in paint and then hurls himself at an upright canvas. This is scored by a choral ensemble performing contemporary repertoire. It is completely absurd, and the audience at my showing got a kick out of that sequence. Finally, the climax of the film contains a sequence where a very affluent audience completely misinterprets an event as “performance art”. Wagner seems to be suggesting, with a sneer and a nudge, not only that the rituals of performing wealth are completely arbitrary but that these elites don’t quite seem to know what constitutes “good” or “bad” art.
And, of course, I would be remiss not to mention the visual motif of the peacock itself. It first appears while Matthias is catching up with an acquaintance from earlier in the film at a retreat center. Later, it appears directly on top of his car. Rather on the nose, the peacock could serve as a reminder of the disconnect between Matthias’s attractive exterior and his discombobulated interior. To circle back to the color theory of the film, Matthias sports an array of looks during his jobs, from two-toned blue suits to saffron polos. If this is what Wagner was going for, one could argue that the point is sufficiently reinforced.
There are also some interesting references to other films that I caught. The most notable occurs in the aforementioned scene with the naked painter. There is a long shot on Matthias watching the performance as he begins to well up with tears. The camera slowly moves in closer to Matthias’s face as the music swells, à la Nicole Kidman in Jonathan Glazer’s magnificent 2004 film, Birth. The recurring noise emanating from Matthias’s cellar and the suggestion of the inanimate having a mind of its own reminded me of the metronome ticking within the walls of Lydia Tar’s home in Todd Field’s Tar (2022).
Peacock attempts to hold a mirror to high society in its satire, but it seems to occasionally catch corners of its own reflection in doing so. I don’t think that the aesthetics of Peacock were as far removed from all that it was thumbing its nose at. Much like the protagonist, the film is so pristine in its appearance that its attempts at self awareness are often rendered a bit flat. However, this should not take away from the film’s many successes. The film boasts superb visuals, excellent performances, and some really nice comedic beats. Peacock makes for a strong debut from Bernard Wagner and is certainly worth a watch to all looking for some tasty visuals and a few chuckles.
–EM
Do You Wanna Hunt a Python?
The Python Hunt is an observant, humorous documentary which won the Audience Award for Documentary Feature. It takes place in the Everglades, which are the largest tropical wilderness in the US, located at the southern tip of Florida. It has been experiencing ecological disaster after 90% of native mammals have disappeared due to the high numbers of invasive Burmese Pythons. Numbers estimating the amount of the snakes vary wildly, from 50,000 to 500,000. Of course there are always irresponsible pet owners who release dangerous exotic animals into the wild once they grow too large or dangerous, but the documentary attributes the high number of pythons to a tropical storm. Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992 during an exotic animal expo and a python breeder’s stock of 900 baby burmese pythons was accidentally released into the wild. They grow quickly, have no natural predators, and have up to 100 eggs a year.
Think the Australian rabbit problem, or the less cute rat problem in New Zealand. In order to deal with this issue, the Florida State Government has begun several different programs. What this documentary focuses on is the ten day long 2023 Florida Python Challenge, a competition with a $10,000 prize for the most pythons caught. A thousand people signed up for this, most of them amateurs. The film focuses more on what the hunt is like for the people it follows; it is not a nature documentary (despite its gorgeous footage) nor an investigative examination of python policies. Different people in the documentary present different views on the issue, blaming the snakes for all ills, or claiming they’re the scapegoats for bad governmental management, water management, land development, or pesticides. The Python Hunt is a jumping-off place for these issues, rather than committing to one in particular: the truth remains unestablished by the time the credits roll.
What is clear, though, is that the pythons are a problem that does need to be eradicated from the Everglades, although the possibility of that seems doubtful. By the end of the ten day challenge, 209 pythons were caught and killed, with many thousands remaining.
Python hunting takes place at night, so there are hypnotizing shots of these large snakes in the wild, lit by bright beams of light in the dark wetlands. Director Xander Robin was present for a Q&A after the showing and said that they used no stock footage for the film. Every shot of wildlife was filmed by one of their three camera crews, each made up of four people, and their footage is fantastic.
Robin is a Floridian, and he avoids the frequent mocking exposure of documentaries examining rural subjects: the people’s idiosyncrasies are enjoyed without malice. Although the “Florida Man” personality is certainly present in the film, it’s impossible not to admire the confidence and bravery of these people darting out into midnight swampland to catch pythons that can grow up to 18 feet long. And although these pythons aren’t venomous, they aren’t the only snakes in Florida. At one moment a local teenager deliberately grabs a cottonmouth, a venomous snake whose bite could kill him. Robin said that moment was frightening, and his documentarian self was conflicted about getting a lethal bite on camera. Luckily, however, he was spared any such grisly moment or ethical dilemma.
We follow a few different characters, and the beginning of the documentary is a flurry of introductions. Each person is memorable and fascinating, including: local snake expert Toby taking 82 year-old Anne out hunting to fulfill her bucket list wish to kill a snake; San Francisco hipster Richard, who microdoses while hunting with two vegetarian friends; Jimbo, a Sean Penn lookalike embittered by having been fired from a different governmental python program, and disgusted by the tourism around snake-killing (he talks about how much better it was when you could catch and sell the snakes, which now is illegal). Jimbo calls the challenge participants “yahoos” and sets out fake snakes as a prank. He and his daughter take up much of the screen time and join in with a local competition hosted by a bar which catches almost as many pythons as the state-run event. Jimbo even made the drive to Nashville to join the director for the post-film Q&A. He was exhilarated by seeing himself on the big screen, and our brief experience listening to him speak confirmed the portrayal of him in the film.
Although the momentum of the story sags a bit two-thirds of the way through, as we adjust our expectations from artificial reality TV antics to actual documentary, the film is an engaging watch. The theater audience caught each joke, the man sitting to my right belly-laughing at the clever editing. In one character study, a young ex-marine mentions that her boyfriend doesn’t like her hunting pythons with two men she’s met, then the film cuts to her loading into the men’s truck while her boyfriend’s dog stares sadly out the window.
This documentary has many of the joys of trash reality TV without the accompanying falseness and contrived drama. The people chosen for the film are eccentric, and certainly attempt to play a part for the camera crew. However, the careful editing and chosen moments are revealing, exposing the person beneath the facade. Although you’ll have to research on your own to come to a full understanding of the python problem in Florida, you’ll learn a lot about the minutiae of python hunting from this documentary, and that’s enough for me!
–GK
Remembering Andrea Gibson in Come See Me in the Good Light
On a Saturday evening, folks arrived early in anticipation for Nashville Film Festival’s screening of Come See Me in the Good Light. People conversed among themselves, couples, old friends, and strangers alike. I arrived at the screening about twenty minutes before showtime to a theater that was almost completely full. In the first tier of the theater about four rows to the bottom was a section with paper taped on the heads of the seats, marked “reserved”. I found a corner seat on the left side towards the back of the theater. The woman who sat next to me went to grab a plastic tray to share her popcorn with the couple seated on the other side of her, complete strangers. While I was previously unaware of Andrea Gibson’s work prior to the film, in retrospect, it seems as if the folks in my theater intuitively understood the spirit of the film they were about to see. Though hard to believe, there was a palpable, unspoken sense of community among the various individuals who found themselves in the theater. At 6:30, one of the film’s executive producers made her way down from the reserved row and introduced the film. She expressed her admiration for Ryan White, the film’s director and a long-time collaborator, and mentioned that what sold her on joining the project was hearing that the film was to follow Gibson’s life.
Andrea Gibson was one of America’s most lauded poets of the twenty-first century. Their work had a beautifully raw affect, often covering topics on gender, mental health, and mortality. Their prolific performances at various poetry slam events garnered them an international following, and Gibson was appointed poet laureate of Colorado in 2023. In 2021, Gibson was diagnosed with terminal ovarian cancer. Come See me in the Good Light follows Gibson and their wife, Megan Falley, as they navigate Gibson’s journey through cancer treatment. Director Ryan White beautifully captures the numerous challenges that Gibson and their loved ones face while simultaneously providing a comprehensive profile on Gibson’s early life. Biographical content ranged from personal anecdotes from Gibson themself, to early 2000s videos of Gibson performing at slam events, to footage of Gibson playing in the high school basketball state championship. One effective directional tool that White used to introduce Gibson’s poetry to viewers who may not have been familiar with their work was to include excerpts or whole poems through voice over.
One of the central conflicts that Gibson faced was how their cancer affected their ability to tour and perform live. In 2022, they had to cancel a slate of tour dates due to a recurrence. In the documentary, viewers are shown the video that Gibson posted to social media announcing the cancellation of the shows. It is a brutal and crushing moment. Towards the end of the documentary, Gibson’s health was able to improve to a point where they felt that they could perform a show in Denver. The lead up to the performance follows Gibson in the weeks prior, anxiously reciting dozens of their poems attempting to re-commit the words to memory. This is not only because Gibson wished to be able to recite the poetry without a visual aid, but also because Gibson’s vision had declined to where they likely would not be able to read the confidence monitor onstage if they forgot any words. Gibson’s final public performance was absolutely beautiful, and Ryan White did a wonderful job of capturing the nervous anticipation of both Andrea and Meg, as well as the thousands of fans who loved both Gibson and their work.
At the film’s core, though, Gibson’s cancer is not its center. The subject of the film is Andrea and Meg’s marriage and how the two support each other through immense adversity. Despite the gravity of Gibson’s terminal diagnosis, there is so much light that both Andrea and Meg emanate. Whether it be through laughter or tears, Andrea and Meg’s love for each other endures, and Come See Me in the Good Light leaves viewers with an overwhelming sense of hope and admiration for the human spirit. Some of the most profound sequences are when Gibson receives their blood work results to detect recurrent cancer. There are two distinct points where Gibson receives first wonderful news, followed by elation, laughter, hugs, and a phone call to their mom. Gibson receives a much less favorable result later on where Andrea and Meg hold each other quietly, crying. There is a tremendous feeling of despondency upon reading the results, but their love and support of each other is what lingers.
Gibson passed in July of 2025, and Come See Me in the Good Light is a beautiful testament to the life they lived, the values that they embodied, and their artistry. The film’s distribution rights were purchased by Apple TV in April of 2025, and the film will be available to stream on November 14. The documentary is a deep, introspective, and undoubtedly hopeful body of work that demonstrates how humans find beauty in the midst of struggle. I highly recommend a viewing to all.
–EM
Pleasant Peasant’s Music Video
East of the Sun won Best Music Video at this year’s Nashville Film Festival. It’s easy to see why: the hypnotising nature of the footage blends aptly with the music. Experimental folk musician Pleasant Peasant (Gavi Kutliroff) released a four-track EP last year called East of the Sun, and the segment of the music video entered into the festival takes two of those tracks, “West of the Moon,” and “Fog is Rolling In.”
While the title of the EP and two of its songs come from an old Norwegian fairy tale, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, I didn’t see the attributed folktale in the music or videos. That is, until I saw the album cover for the EP: a detail from Kay Nielson’s illustration for a 1914 deluxe children’s book. You may not know his name, but have probably seen his work: he designed the “Night on Bald Mountain” portion of Disney’s Fantasia. Noticing the album artwork made me chuckle: I’d checked my copy of that exact illustrated storybook to refresh my memory of the story. It also cleared up the mention of the folk tale as inspiration for the music video, at least: in the illustration, the heroine has awakened to discover her love and her castle gone, finding herself alone in her nightdress in gloomy woods, and the video has women dancing in white nightgowns in the woods, in a series of dreamlike moments. I don’t think I know of anyone who dislikes watching beautiful women dance, or seeing stunning woods. The best part of the music video for me was the fascinating play with color in “Fog is Rolling In.” A woman sits, dazed, as the camera slowly pulls back, and Colorist Jeremy Brooke’s subtle play with color is mesmerizing, the shift in color at first unnoticeable, then entrancing.
The full version of the EP’s music video is available on YouTube , with all four tracks. The music is self-described as “spiritual folk music.” If you like acoustic guitar, raw vocals, and melancholy vibes, then you’ll enjoy it too. The lyrics are thoughtful and the music quickly draws you into its mood, making you feel like one of the beautiful, pensive dancers in the music video.
–GK
My New Favorite Film
It may be a morbid thought, but most parents have wondered this to themselves: what would my spouse do if I died and they had to raise our children on their own? Omaha, the Audience Award for Narrative Feature, examines that circumstance in a captivating and experiential way. It’s made up of the tactile, specific moments that personify so much of childhood, parenting, poverty, and lifelong memories. The story begins in the early morning with Martin getting his two children and their dog into their old Toyota station wagon. They try to get the car started while a police officer tapes up an eviction notice on the front door. Working together with both front doors open, Martin and Ella push the car to a running start and get it going after several tries. The setting is 2008, beginning in Nevada and following their road trip as they make their way to Omaha, Nebraska. This is a roadtrip movie, but not an ordinary one. There’s no wild hijinks or thriller twists. Anyone who’s gone on family road trips across the US immediately recognizes the realism: a moment when Ella thinks she’s lost her brother in the gas station, when the kids are playing in a motel swimming pool, when Charlie is asking for toys and when Martin runs down a grocery aisle with them hanging on the cart. And for those who experienced 2008’s financial hardship, you’ll recognize the grim mood, the constant arithmetic of poverty.
The road trip doesn’t cheat, either; there aren’t flashbacks. The plot is like the journey, moving directly toward its destination with us as passengers. Like Ella, we know they’re going to Omaha, but we wonder what their specific destination is: why there specifically? Three perspectives on the same moments are all shown: the little boy Charlie’s innocent cluelessness, focused on the textures and tastes of toys and treats, Ella’s quiet watchfulness and attention, and their widowed father’s quiet desperation, all give us increasing unease and hope for what their final destination is. We don’t know Martin’s goal, but we’re always a beat ahead of Ella’s understanding.
The cast is small, mostly made up of the family of three. John Magaro as Martin is perfect casting. His masked despair, his love and his grief for his dead wife, his attempts to delight his children while almost unable to smile is compelling. The only moments when he smiles are when repeating obvious silly rituals that had been established before his wife got sick, when they were happy. I’ve seen accomplished, A-list actors struggle to play father roles, but real-life father Magaro utterly captures it. Ella is played by Molly Belle Wright. We’ve all seen too many precocious child actors, elementary kids mimicking teens with excellent precision. Instead, Wright behaved like an actual nine year old girl. Her quiet eyes taking things in, visibly processing behind her gentle stoicism, is heart-breaking. Her big-sister rhythm as she talks to her little brother, and the ways they argue and play, are spot on. Wright is flawless casting, and I have a feeling that we’ll see her in more films. Wyatt Solis is Charlie, and he is another excellent choice, just a little boy being a boy, completely natural and with no cutesyness for the camera. At the Q&A with Producer Preston Lee after the showing, after being asked what filming was like, he told us “Don’t make a movie of a road trip in a small car with two kids and a dog.”
It’s beautifully shot, capturing the small space of their car and the big sky they travel under. They stop and fly a kite on salt flats, there are beautiful underwater shots somehow captured at a drab motel, moments with beautiful animals at a zoo. Director of Photography Paul Meyers did an outstanding job.
Director Cole Webley and Preston Lee had worked together for a long time making commercials for large companies like Johnson and Johnson, Re/Max, and others, as well as a few short films. They had decided to make a film and hired Robert Machoian to rewrite a script by the director. Machoian sent them the screenplay for Omaha as a sample of his writing. They immediately decided to make his film instead.
Omaha reminded me of books by Nobel Prize winner Sir Kazuo Ishiguro. Like his books, this film will quickly immerse you in its world. It will make you feel, and it will make you cry, and somehow, you won’t be sad that you’re crying. Unlike many of Ishiguro’s endings, however, this one has hope. I haven’t been this touched by a film in years. This movie will be appearing in theaters April 24th, and you should absolutely go see it.
–GK
Sun Ra Shines
Christine Turner’s Sun Ra, a documentary on one of the 20th Century’s most interesting musicians, poets, Egyptologists, sociologists, historians, activists, bandleaders, and draft resisters, was a fantastic depiction of the man. Remarkably, Turner doesn’t emphasize any of these roles so much as Ra’s importance (founding position, really) at the head of the afro-futurist movement. The movie opens with him improvising at a piano on the tune Somewhere, Over the Rainbow as he is heard saying: “If we came from nowhere here, why can’t we go somewhere there?” This is the beginning of a powerful narrative which unpacks the relationship between mythology and history (fact), and Ra’s ambition to create one to amend the absence of the other. Importantly, and the thing that makes the film distinct from others, is the way that it treats the mythology that Ra creates in a serious manner.
The movie traces Ra’s journey from his origins in Birmingham, Alabama; through his musical development; into the philosophical, cosmological, and mythic ideas he built around his life and work — from his claim of “transmolecularization,” to his self-identification as hailing from Saturn; to the deep embedding of Afrofuturism in his music and public persona. The film also situates Sun Ra in historical context — Jim Crow, Black life in the mid-20th century US, the discourses around art, spirituality, imagination, and even his resistance to serving in the military during World War Two.
One of the film’s strongest assets is its access to archival Sun Ra performances, film, interviews, and rare footage—some of which came from the wonderful Sun Ra Collection at Vanderbilt. The Venice concert clip of “Over the Rainbow” is incredibly moving, serving both as an entry point for newcomers and an emotional anchor for those familiar with his work. The way performance and myth intertwine helps the film avoid being simply a dry biography — it immerses you in Sun Ra’s sensibilities. Interviews with artists from the Arkestra are insightful, bringing together those that questioned their leader’s purpose with those that celebrated him in every way.
The soundtrack to the film is wonderful. Many tracks are heard demonstrating his abilities in New Orleans, Swing, Standards, Bebop and even avant-guard sounds. These sounds and styles, however, pass by very quickly with very little analysis of their sound or innovation. Certainly, Turner’s direction is sympathetic, ambitious, and assured. She walks the line between homage and analysis; the film doesn’t feel hagiographic though it clearly has deep admiration. And yet one is left wondering what, for Ra, space sounded like?
From a broader perspective, there is very little engagement with Ra’s influence. For example, in terms of fashion, Little Richard and Jimi Hendrix are mentioned for their glamourous outfits. But from a musical perspective, there is a pretty direct connection between Ra’s jazz harmony and Hendrix’s quartal planing in “The Third Stone from the Sun.” Also, for what influence it does track, all is emphasized on black culture. Yet there’s David Bowie’s” Space Oddity,” early Pink Floyd and other artists. Ra’s presence on tour in concerts from the psychedelic movement is downplayed as an oddity when it was probably the source of much innovation in that largely white rock movement’s music.
These criticisms are small, and it is ridiculous to expect a 84 minute documentary to cover everything. Some elements must be sketched so that others can be covered in their nuance and depth. In all, if you are interested in Afro-futurism or newly learning about Sun Ra, this movie is a fantastic choice. If you have been introduced to this genius, the film will enrich your knowledge and provide fantastic reminders of why you learned about him in the first place.
–JM
While the 56th Nashville Film Festival is over, they have other events year round, and you can check out their list of award winners as a guide to what films you should see. We at MCR highly recommend the festival, and you should attend next year!
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A Nashville native and MTSU graduate, Grace Krenz is a reader, a writer, and an arts enthusiast. She lives in Nashville with her husband and two children.
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Joseph E. Morgan is a father of two, husband, teacher and recovering guitarist in Middle Tennessee.
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Ethan Morrell is a composer and audio engineer from Nashville, Tennessee. He is currently finishing up his Bachelor’s degree at MTSU. In his free time, Ethan enjoys attending concerts, cooking, and following NBA basketball. He is also a co-host of The Fresh Faced Filmbro podcast.
