Karina on SpoutBlog

Visually more sophisticated than the bulk of features to yet come out of the new wave of DIY independent American cinema, narratively smoother and yet still boundless in mold-breaking ambition, Medicine for Melancholy offers a self-contained rebuttal to claims that precious, naturalistic dramas about the existential dilemmas of hipster singles are exclusively a white man’s game. But the most exciting thing about the film is that director Barry Jenkins doesn’t seem interested in rebutting anything, or in playing any sort of game but his own. His mission: to talk about what it feels like to be young, black and artsy in a city in which people who fit that description make up a minuscule fraction of the population.

Formally and thematically, Melancholy is, in fact, driven by fractions. African-Americans currently make up less than 7 percent of the city of San Francisco. Several decades of gentrification have all but whitewashed the city’s historically non-white communities south of Market Street; the few non-gentrified pockets still standing are under constant threat of being steamrolled by the luxury housing boom. To make that point visually, Jenkins and cinematographer James Laxton literally drain the color almost completely from their digital video image (on first viewing, I guessed that the entirety of the film had been desaturated 93 percent to match the racial breakdown, but in a recent interview, Jenkins said the level of desaturation actually fluctuates). The resulting image is soft and smoggy, mostly gray with pastel hints. Melancholy may be more committed to certain of the city’s un-pretty social truths than any other recent fiction film set in San Francisco, but ironically, as a sheer portrait of the city, it’s also maybe the most beautiful.

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Under discussion:

8 Mile  (2002)

Battlestar Galactica  (2003)

Nerdcore Rising  (2008)

An administrivia note: we still have a couple of SXSW previews to push out over the next two days, but starting this afternoon we’re going to start posting full-fledged reviews of films in advance of the festival’s opening on Friday. Make sure to check our SXSW 2008 category for all the goodies.

Now, for today’s preview. Probably the only documentary in recent memory featuring appearances from both Weird Al Yankovich and Jello Biafra, Nerdcore Rising (premiering at SXSW on Sunday as part of the 24 Beats Per Minute program) delves into a subgenre of hip hop that’s all about nerdery. The trailer for the doc can be found above, and director Negin Farsad answers the 4 Questions We’re Asking Everyone below.

Tell us about your movie. Who did you work with, why did you make it? Give us the reductive, 25-word or less, “It’s like [pop culture reference a] meets [pop culture reference b]!” pitch, then explain what the quick and dirty sell leaves out.

Nerdcore Rising is like Battlestar Galactica meets 8 Mile.

Basically, its a documentary that explores a rapper who’s trying to make it – though in this instance the pseudo-fictionalized Eminem is being played by lovably geeky and lyrically speedy, MC Frontalot, the godfather of Nerdcore hip hop. And, like Eminem, before being a rapper Front’s life was hard – though that hardship was less financial and more algorithm-related. Frontalot used to be a web coder/designer but decided to invent a new genre of hip hop, drop all the bandwidth, and form a band (puns!). Also, I’d like to note that Eminem and MC Frontalot happen to share exactly the same skin color though I believe their similarities end there.

But, other similarities pick up with Battlestar Galactica because Frontalot is a Cylon. Kidding. Because the film takes place in outerspace. Kidding. Because Frontalot is a big geek and he really loves fictional space odysseys as do his fans. In fact, his fans are the real stars of the movie because throughout the film they share with us their love of video games, their obsession with Star Wars, their weakness for table-top gaming, and, of course, an unabashed belief in the Nerdcore hip hop. They provide the proof that Nerdcore isn’t simply about one nerdy guy with “thick-ass birth control glasses” (as someone in the film describes them) but it’s really about a movement, complete with die-hard fans. Fans that have been looking for a space to bob their heads to strident hip hop beats with lyrics that mean something to them. Nerdcore is that space and Frontalot is making their heads bob.

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If Lindsay Lohan can drive a print publication’s subscription revenue up by a low five figures by pretending to be Marilyn Monroe, why can’t columnist/VH1 talking head/soft-sculpted middle-aged gay man Michael Musto do the same for the Village Voice? Interestingly, this slideshow seems to be a trojan horse used to smuggle a cranky old man essay into the weekly, complete with grumbles that today’s nip-slipping, up-skirt courting starlets “never claim an affinity for anyone esoteric, like Barbara Payton, Carrie Nye, or Tippi Hedren.” Cool it with the history, old man––just show us your tits!