- guardian.co.uk,
- Monday January 01 2007 00:00 GMT
Bobby Bird:The Devil in Denim
Whoo-hoo ! Late January means one thing to us here at Cybercinema and that's the Sundance Film Festival Online, which delivers world-class goodies to our starved screens. We love Sundance because it's the only festival that puts all its short films online, as well as in competition. This year they are tantalising their internet audience by making each film available only after its Park City screening, but we've already winkled out Charles Burmeister's subtly comic and pathos-packed Interview, in which an unironed shirt ("It's 100% American cotton, 100% me") spells both emotional and employment disaster for slacker Mark. Pair it with Bobby Bird: The Devil in Denim Carson Mell's wily, wacked-out animation in which an old rocker's tattoos tell his life-story, and you get quirky yet chiming portraits of the US male. We take our cue from these two, and put men under the microscope this month for our other featured short films, but don't forget to check out Sundance's drip-feed of daily shorts offerings as well. They're online until June, for the truly tardy among you.
Jellybaby
New father Jack is "quite possibly the oldest 22-year-old in the world" thanks to his ever-shrieking baby boy "It". But has Jack taken the phrase "he just needs changing" a little too literally, when fate pushes an identical-but-silent infant into his path ? Irish directing duo Ronan and Rob Burke's bleak comedy about the challenges of first-time fatherhood is hilarious and horribly recognisable at the same time. Deadpan realism is the order of the day, even when we're dealing with babynapping , rather than baby naps.
Gone
"Dirty, ashamed, powerless, shit - that's how I feel about myself".A drunken lad is confessing to his role as a horrified yet mute witness to a teenage "roasting", in Matthew Thompson's powerful little British drama. Thompson takes soap-opera ingredients (a boozed-up girl, a bashful boy, a posse of laughing louts) but transforms them with a thoughtful boy's-eye-view of events, full of lingering regret and telling details. A tender, 10-minute antidote to the current telly and tabloid obsession with teenage thuggery.
The Astral Gypsy
Born with spina bifida, disabled graphic artist and martial arts teacher Al Davison has overcome extraordinary obstacles (21 operations by the age of eight, and five murder attempts by his father) to become an extraordinary man. Student filmmaker Richard Cracknell adroitly packs his portrait of the artist into a funky, acid-coloured four-minute documentary. His smartest move ? Letting Davison's surreal comic-book creations loose across multi-image split screens, bringing his subject's witty, self-deprecating testimony to violent life.
It's Not My Fault
If it's true that men think about sex every six seconds, then according to Andrew Gillman's needle-sharp stream-of-consciousness comedy, they're also thinking a lot about shame, Curly Wurlys, thongs, and Blue Peter badges. Caught between his inner Lothario ("Nice tits !") and his Inner Child ("Escape. Blend in. Hide") in this clever, pared-down triptych, our Everyman hero is desperately trying to get through an ex-girlfriend's birthday party without breaking a sweat or bursting into tears. Lone actor Bruce MacKinnon anchors this conceit by delivering the three warring interior monologues with a breezy, unselfconscious relish. The Guardian's rules about full disclosure compel me to admit that I've known the director since, ooh, before decimalisation, but it's a nifty little piece nonetheless.
A Men's Room Monologue
Alex Salsberg's cheerfully unfinished cartooning may be crude, but his witty insights into the unspoken etiquette of the gents' are nothing short of animated anthropology. How else would we know about the Crowders, Conversationalists, and Daughterdads ("Don't look at the man, sweetie!") that make urinal use so socially hazardous? An invaluable primer for any woman who has ever wondered why there is only ever a queue for the Ladies. And where that strange smell is coming from...
Football Agent
Perhaps we can't all bend it like Beckham, soon gracing the Los Angeles Galaxy with that golden right foot for a trifling US$143,000 a day. But could we rustle up a healthy 10% fee from a stable of overpaid soccer players ? Let me do the talking, lads. Try your luck (and your reflexes) in this fun, fast-moving agenting simulation, in which your flying fingers find up-and-coming footballers going cheap, then snap them up and sell them on for eye-watering prices. Keep a close eye on your whole stable of stars though, since their prices change faster than Posh changes clothes, and have a nasty habit of bankrupting you swiftly. But if you'd rather spend your precious leisure time with this season's Golden-Globe-winning male icon, click here for the fluffy-tailed masterpiece that crams the whole damn movie into 30seconds of Bunny Borat. Jagshemash, people.
