Revolution (2013)

After premiering Sharkwater, his groundbreaking documentary, in Hong Kong more than a decade ago, director Rob Stewart fielded questions from the audience.  A sharp young woman asked why he even bothered trying to save the great whites and all their relatives when scientists have predicted the entire ocean will be completely depleted anyway before 2050?

A flummoxed Stewart stalled repeatedly.  (“That’s a good question.”)  Despite his experiences as a marine biologist, he didn’t know quite how to reply.

Revolution, the entertainingly informative sequel to Sharkwater, is his eventual, belated answer, offered several years after being put right on the spot.  Tragically, it would be the last film he would complete in his lifetime.

The scene with the young woman is a sobering conclusion to a quick, mostly visual recap of the earlier film that opens this flawed follow-up, a sequence that also includes a brief montage of Stewart’s successful media tour appearances where he does promotion for Sharkwater on NBC talk shows and Larry King Live (with TMZ boss Harvey Levin filling in).  He also encounters extremely enthusiastic kids of various shades eager to discuss his terrific debut.  (They treat him like a rock star.  He looks the part.)

Like Sharkwater, Stewart is at his best in Revolution when sharing his knowledge of the environment and its many quirky, colourful inhabitants.  Learning about the flamboyant cuttlefish, the various “misfit” sea creatures who live and hide in “the muck”, deceptively predatory coral, brainless jellyfish growing in numbers in the absence of other species, the rise and fall and rise and fall again of the perpetually endangered Canadian Lynx and why Lemurs, the wide-eyed tree-dwellers with their graceful, human-like dancing are the only primates in Madagascar is all fascinating and enlightening.

Stewart is also persuasive and effective in explaining the climate crisis in terms even kids can follow, for the most part, even though there’s a lot of information to digest.  On his own and through a litany of experts young and old, Black, Brown, Indigenous and white, we learn, among other things, that the ocean is becoming more acidic (thanks to astonishingly excessive amounts of carbon dioxide) and therefore less hospitable to marine life, almost all of which have been wiped out already, “more than 90%”, which was also pointed out in Sharkwater.  There’s a “dead zone”, one of hundreds filled with dead coral and not much else, so big in the Gulf of Mexico it’s “bigger than Connecticut”.  If that’s not ominous enough for you there are now 75% fewer forests, as well.  It’s no wonder each shocking on-screen graphic is accompanied with the same horror cue.

Stewart connects the dots between the pollution in the air, the missing trees and the pollution in the sea; the ruthless expansion of big polluters, their endless greed, the politicians who enable them despite the breaking of various laws and the precipitous decline of the planet’s health; the rise in peculiar seafood delicacies (shark fin soup), the increasingly sloppy fishing expeditions and the near extinction of the underwater class system.

Never shy about blurring the lines between filmmaker and activist, Stewart is however far less successful at being an on-camera Michael Moore (it’s just not his personality) even though Sharkwater has gotten more substantial results as noted in the more encouraging third act graphics.  (Shark fin bans are becoming politically popular, whereas they don’t make cars in Michigan anymore and Bush got reelected.)  He’s more of a knowledgeable tour guide than a muckraker, despite his urgent pleas for reform.

Consider the sequences where the self-described neophyte participates in rallies and protests.

In Ottawa, just outside Parliament Hill, the Toronto native delivers a nice, supportive speech as the emcee of “the biggest climate change rally in Canadian history” (which looks rather small to me), but not an impassioned, inflammatory one that might’ve scared the then-ruling Stephen Harper Conservatives into at least thinking about scaling back their mindlessly aggressive degradation policies.  (After all, they did shut down all those science libraries without warning or much public backlash and, as Stewart notes at the conclusion of the event, swiftly killed an environmental reform bill.)

Seven years after its release, and two years before Mr. Brownface became Prime Minister, the horrifyingly scarring Alberta Tar Sands are still in business, but thankfully scaled back now because of COVID-19 and a slowed-down economy.  The big fear of it expanding into the US have not yet come to pass.

While walking and chanting with American protestors, including the actress Daryl Hannah, in Washington, D.C. as part of a rally to force the shut down of a coal plant powering the White House (Stewart notes similar protests across America have prevented the building of 22 new ones), there is so little interest from the police in stepping in to stop them that their plan to get arrested for blocking the entranceway and draw media attention for their antics is a complete bust.  No one cares.

“It seemed protesting might not be enough,” Stewart notes dryly.  Or maybe the protest needs to be more threatening to the establishment beyond Robert F. Kennedy cutting decent promos on the government.  I mean why call your movie Revolution if you’re too timid to launch one?

Finally, there’s the trip to the 2010 UN Climate Conference in Cancun, Mexico.

Stewart participates in a borderline cornball stunt where he cuts a promo on Harper’s non-existent climate policy while wearing a silly shark costume after a bunch of Canadian kids, all activists themselves, make mock sales pitches about selling the destruction of their future to the highest bidder.

There’s an admittedly funny bit where someone sings satirical lyrics to the Jurassic Park theme while activists bearing dino flags dance around her.  But considering how residents in Minneapolis burned down a Target and a police precinct in the aftermath of a Black man being murdered by cops (resulting in the recent push to abolish the whole department), this “tactic” is not exactly “drastic”.

Stewart claims they all tried to get private meetings with politicians (to try to shut down the Tar Sands) but none would agree to an on-camera interview.  More should’ve been done to get their attention.  There are clearly no Larry Kramers in this crowd.

Being named Fossil Of The Year for being the biggest saboteur of climate change negotiations five years in a row didn’t shame Canada into becoming David Suzuki, nor has the new regime been any better.  (Trudeau is just as bad a polluter.  His government actually bought a pipeline with taxpayer money.)  Indigenous protestors, who are directly impacted by the carcinogenic Tar Sands because they live near the area, are more serious with their message but just as ineffective.  Peaceful rebellions are overrated.

One protest, however, does cause alarm and yet it too is so gentile and peaceful, you’re amazed at the fallout.  Activists stand outside the doors to the conference hall counting out the number of people who died because of climate change in the last year.  They demand justice and political reform.  What they get is a swift exit from the conference.  As a number of activists weep on a bus than sends them away, an observing, highly ambitious 13-year-old Bavarian tree planter, mortified by the whole needless spectacle and who simply wants a better future for his generation, is reduced to tears himself.

Much more effective is a UN address from another teenager, a girl from Lebanon, who calls out the global political establishment for caring more about protecting businesses than preserving the planet’s health.  She openly derides their cynicism, wondering earnestly why there’s any more need for negotiating when time is running out.  Next to Kennedy’s stick work, it’s as close to a pipe bomb as we’re ever gonna get here.  One wonders if Greta Thunberg took notes.

It’s fairly obvious that capitalism is the culprit, the real catalyst of Earth’s decline.  It’s why killing sharks for their fins became such a booming business.  It’s also the reason for all the overfishing in the oceans, especially the tragic mistakes.  (Look at all those dead, unwanted seahorses in all those glass containers, a shocking image.)  It’s always been profits first, decency second.

It’s also why 51 of the top 100 global economies are not countries, but corporations, including the big oil companies itching for a piece of the Tar Sands action.

And yet, the word “capitalism” is never mentioned.

When activist after activist and scientist after scientist point out that the system needs to change, that the planet’s needs should come before corporate profitability and that humans should be in harmony with the land and each other, rather than locked into perpetual competition, and immediately cut down on unchecked consumption, it’s a little peculiar how they all dance around the obvious solution.  It even has a name:  socialism.

In a couple of scenes, we get a sense of the opposition to this inevitable change.

A former Greenpeace activist turned deliberately dishonest Tar Sands advocate (without explaining why he switched sides or how much he’s getting paid to sell out) complains about the fear of no gasoline in millions of cars if those pesky environmentalists get their way.  (Is he auditioning to be a Scooby Doo villain?)  He declares with a straight face that everything’s on the up and up in the ol’ TS.  Everything’s clean, man!  Nothing to see here.  And animals?  Who gives a fuck about them?  First Nations communities are completely ignored.

Thankfully, we get the real shit on what goes on in this horrible eye sore that can be seen from space from scientists and Indigenous activists with more integrity, but it would’ve been nice to hear Stewart push back directly on his bullshit himself.

The beautifully photographed Sharkwater did a masterful job of convincing me that everything I believed about sharks was completely wrong.  They are not a threat to humanity.  (Not only is it rare to be bitten by a shark but if you do, you’re most likely to die from bleeding out rather than becoming their next hearty meal.  They’re afraid of us more than we are of them.)  In fact, they’re so essential to the smooth running of the underwater ecosystem that their profound decline in numbers is changing the order of things down below and definitely not for the better.

But the movie also suffered from White Saviour syndrome.  Stewart sometimes got too carried away with his first-person, sometimes self-centered crusade to see that he wasn’t the only one worried about the shark problem.  He didn’t have to educate anyone in South America.  They already knew.

In Revolution, there’s a gut check moment where he’s told his carbon footprint is too high.  He confesses that the experts lowballed the actual number.  In a bitterly ironic revelation, his planet-saving jaunts around the world to make his movies may have unwittingly helped contribute to its decline because of his over reliance on gas-guzzling vehicles and planes for transportation.  It’s a welcome moment of humility for a guy who got a little carried away with being an environmental superhero in the earlier film.

There was also more drama in Sharkwater as demonstrated in the Sea Shepherd sequences where heartless shark poachers are confronted by these dedicated enviro protectors.  After being screwed over and grounded by some thoroughly corrupt authorities Stewart and his pals ultimately make a courageous run for it.  It’s only after they’re safely out of their oceanic jurisdiction does the captain, otherwise a stoic figure of fearlessness, express an outward sigh of relief.

There’s no such excitement in Revolution (the activists being sent away just doesn’t compare) but there are a lot of “inspirational graphics” and a shameless plug for a not so revolutionary app during a conclusion that briefly turns the film into an infomerical.

Just before the end, we learn about a class in a beautiful island greatly inspired by Sharkwater who write letters to their governor demanding a ban on shark finning which he dutifully signs, much to their delight.  Stewart goes to meet them after their teacher writes to him and they’re thrilled at his high-fiving presence.  In turn, he’s clearly amazed at the impact of his film.  While the gorgeous looking Revolution doesn’t come close to matching its power, it positively continues the conversation he started.

Alternately depressing and yet strangely hopeful, if a little preachy at times, it reminds us of the fragility of life, the crucial importance of healthy ecosystems and the irreplaceable animals who inhabit them.

There have been five mass extinction events in Earth’s epic history and we might be in the middle of the sixth.  Stewart may be gone now (after a preventable drowning while filming his third doc that was later finished by his family and friends) but the kid who thinks we should protest and riot for Mother Earth gives me hope for the future.

Dennis Earl
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
4:19 a.m.

Gran Torino (2008)

We all know Walt Kowalski.  He’s our grandfather, our co-worker, our boss, our uncle, our neighbour, our father-in-law, maybe even our own father.  He’s that grumpy gus who alternates between glaring and yelling when he’s not groaning or shaking his head in disgust.  He has horrible politics.  He views the neighbours with suspicion especially if they’re not white.  And over time, he will have alienated everyone who’s ever cared about him giving him exactly what he wants: total solitude.  At least dogs don’t judge.

In Gran Torino, Walt Kowalski is played by Clint Eastwood in one of his best performances.  Nearing 80 at the time of its making but still retaining that same squinty-eyed handsomeness that made him a star decades earlier, he is the quintessential right-wing crank, a Korean War veteran without a filter.  Sometimes, the epithets he flings are filled with venom, other times he’s like a roaster at the Fryer’s Club.  But not everyone appreciates the “joke”.

The movie begins at a funeral.  Walt’s wife has died.  We meet his family.  Some of the grandkids are openly disrespectful.  His son, a car salesman, hates him.  Their social interactions are the definition of awkward.  Needless to say, there’s a healthy buffer zone.

At the wake back at Walt’s place, his bratty teenage granddaughter is more interested in her phone than her grandpa’s genuine sorrow.  In a truly nervy scene, after getting caught sneaking a smoke in his garage, she wonders if he’ll bequeath to her some of his belongings after he croaks.  He’s too offended to even offer a tart rebuttal.

Next door lives a sweet Hmong family, refugees from the Vietnam War, in a house that is falling apart.  As a large gathering arrives for a baby celebration, out come the racial slurs.  There’s a humourous running gag involving their grandma who doesn’t speak English but makes her disdain for Walt perfectly clear.  The feeling, of course, is mutual.

There’s an incident that spills over on Walt’s property.  And yes, the old codger comes out with a rifle and barks, “Get off my lawn!”  No one gets shot and peace is quickly restored.  Suddenly, Walt is showered with food and flowers from the relieved family.  They all go in the trash.

But then the teenage daughter, Sue (the charming Ahney Her), befriends him.  She invites him over for another family gathering where he belatedly realizes he shouldn’t have thrown out all that food.

Later, when she’s confronted by a group of sexual harassers on the sidewalk while walking around with a date, Walt happens to survey the scene from his pick-up truck.  He drives up, is accosted by the young men (all Black), gets out of the car, convinces them he’s not to be fucked with, offers more blatant racism and gives a relieved Sue a ride home.  For his part, the freaked-out white guy she leaves behind (played by Eastwood’s son Scott) gets called a “pussy”.

Even though he openly believes in discredited stereotypes about Asian people (like the one about them all being extraordinarily smart), Sue offers one of her own.  As she puts it, Hmong girls get a great education while the boys end up in jail.  Her brother Thao (a very sympathetic Bee Vang), who Walt calls Toad, is not like his gangbanging cousin, however.  He’s quiet and withdrawn, unsure of himself and often relegated to doing “women’s work” like washing the dishes and gardening.

When the cousin and his buddies pressure him relentlessly to steal Walt’s beloved 1972 Gran Torino, still in pristine condition and first put together back when he worked in the now-disappeared Ford factory in Michigan, inevitably he gets caught.  Although he’s pissed at the intrusion (out comes the trusty rifle again), it’s a life changing moment for the both of them.

Gran Torino’s set-up is pure formula: the old white bastard softening his growl to bond with a timid young man of colour who eventually finds his courage and purpose.  As Thao is ordered by his mom to do a week of chores at Walt’s place, the film’s surprising sweetness sneaks right up on you as does its biting comedy.

Walt is friends with a barber (John Carroll Lynch).  Their patter is pure racial roasting.  They’re self-aware Archie Bunkers.  Walt appears to be his only customer.  As he grows closer to the kid, the old man tries to teach him “guy talk”.  He has him come in and out of the shop a couple of times to practice.  This pays off extremely well when Walt manages to get him a job interview with a friend at a construction site.  To see this Hmong kid make a connection with his new white boss over being screwed over by imaginary mechanics is the funniest bit in the whole picture.  There really is a secret white guy language.

But Thao’s cousin continues to hound him.  One of his goons puts a cigarette out on his face.  When Walt pays the guy a visit, he pounds the shit out of him and offers a warning that goes unheeded.  The gang retaliates, Sue is horribly violated and Walt needs time to think.  This is no time to be stupid.

The very effective Christopher Carley plays a young priest who eventually manages to convince the cranky Walt to come to confession, his wife’s dying wish.  It’s here he admits what the audience already knows.  He’s in pain.  He saw and did things in Korea that have never left him.  He can’t shake those horrible images, only some of which he acknowledges.  He regrets not bonding with his son.  After so many years, he still can’t relate to him.

At his wife’s funeral, Walt lets out a nasty sounding cough.  Later on, the coughs worsens but now, there’s a bloody discharge.  He visits the doctor.  They want him hospitalized.  He makes a call to his son.  He actually tries to be his father for once, asking how everybody is.  The son is shockingly indifferent and makes an excuse to get out of the call.  But after he hangs up, he looks confused.  He senses something’s off.  A missed opportunity.

Despite his tough guy act around Thao, Walt loves him.  He enjoys his company, sees his potential, maybe even recognizes qualities he once possessed before he got absorbed by the system.  In a bittersweet irony, he’s a replacement son and Sue, his substitute daughter.  “You’re a good man,” she tells him after all the good deeds he does for the family.  “I’m not a good man,” he replies in a rare moment of humility.

The truth is more complicated.  There’s no excusing his ugly bigotry, no matter how many times he tries to pass it off as edgy comedy, even after he warms to Sue and Thao’s family.  And his views on masculinity are certainly tinged with toxicity (although he’s ultimately right about Thao needing to stand up for himself).

But look at those scenes where Walt interacts with his next door neighbours.  He pats a little kid’s head as she passes through the living room, a big no-no in Hmong culture which he didn’t know, which he doesn’t understand.  (She later comes to his house to make a request and he’s charmed by her adorableness.)  He’s friendly and appreciative of the women feeding him.  (No more chucking their delicious goodies in the dustbin.)  A girl with a crush on Thao makes small talk with Walt in the basement as they hang with their friends.  Her non-judgmental attitude puts him at ease.  Knowing how she feels about the shy Thao gives him an in.  He might be gruff about it but he does care about the kid and wants him to be happy.  After all, he has no male role model.

And how about Walt’s volcanic fury over Sue’s assault?  He cries alone because he fears exposing his vulnerability.  Like a certain Republican President, he wrongly sees it as a weakness never to be shared.  It’s this quietly raging, internal conflict that fuels much of his irritability and shame.

Gran Torino ultimately is about closure through redemptive acts.  It’s about reaching that moment in your life when you realize you don’t have a lot of time left and while you might not be able to right every wrong you committed, maybe you can still end on a high note.  You may have forever alienated your real family, who aren’t exactly decent people themselves, but maybe there’s a chance you can do something so courageous and heroic, this selfless act will stand as your real legacy, even if it can’t entirely atone for a life of prejudice.

Walt isn’t a good man or a bad man.  He’s a frustrated man, a guilt-ridden man, a lonely man, a broken man.  He may think he likes living alone with his loyal dog Daisy but he feels neglected and rejected, a misfit in his own town that has changed beyond his recognition.  Thao and Sue represent what his life could’ve been if he made better choices and had more appreciative kids.

Eastwood is on very familiar ground here.  Walt could easily be Dirty Harry in retirement or William Munny if he lived in the city.  (There’s a lot of Rudy from the first Survivor in him, as well.)  He is a violent man who wishes he wasn’t.  He is a racist man who can see past his dehumanization up to a point even if he can’t quite let go of bad ideas and crude jokes.  He is a regretful man who wishes he was a better father.  Only Eastwood could’ve pulled off this tricky, complicated performance.  We care about this asshole, but he’s still an asshole.

Walt’s most heroic act isn’t what he does for the Hmong family, the neighbourhood where the gangbangers live or even the expected rewards he leaves behind for his new friends.  It’s preventing a good young man from ruining his own future.

Dennis Earl
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
Saturday, June 6, 2020
3:04 a.m.