First off, I'm ashamed to share the same name as this twisted pervert. Man, it's bad enough hearing that somebody shares your name, but in this context it becomes even harder to swallow.

Please read my review of David Kaplan's Year of the Fish over at Hammer to Nail, which is released in several cities today. I think it casts quite a special little spell and is a film that deserves to be seen.

Two big events have been happening this week: the Democratic National Convention and the US Open. I was going to suck it up and buy tickets off Craigslist for the Open on Wednesday night, but I decided to be a responsible American and stay home and watch Joe Biden's speech instead. I have an aversion to these conventions, especially in a "television spectacle" sense. They seem to be gaudy cheerleading competitions aimed at an audience I've yet to figure out. That's why I opted out on the first two nights (I watched Michelle Obama's speech the next day online). But I felt a little guilty and uninvolved, so I said "screw you tennis!" and got my politics on. The result? More confirmation that these conventions only push me away from the entire political process. That makes me sound like an idiot, I realize, but I can't help it. The whole "presidential race" feels as pointless to me as a parade. Each candidate should have one 60-minute chance to lay it all on the line. We can decide from there. These debates—and even the speeches now—feel like the same shit we heard the last time. At this stage I know who I'm voting for, and watching every single second of the convention and every upcoming debate (I'll watch at least one, certainly) won't change my mind. So I'd rather waste my time on... tennis!

Yes, that's right folks, in a year when the world has been impossibly kind to me, it turns out my decision to be responsible paid off. Yesterday afternoon, after emerging from a press screening of Gomorrah (more on that to come), I got a wow-wow-wow text from my wow-wow-wow girlfriend telling me that she'd landed two free tickets to last night's US Open session. They were easily the best seats I've ever had for Arthur Ashe Stadium, and both Serena and Rafa were playing. While Serena destroyed Vesnina and Rafa appeared to be on the same path with his young American opponent Ryler DeHeart, DeHeart tapped into that New York City magic for a few games to fill the stadium with electricity. Of course, that was short-lived, but at least he gave us something to get excited about. I've seen a good bit of live tennis in my days, but I've never seen a forehand move the way Nadal hits it. Homeboy is good.

Something pretty hilarious happened while we were there. During changeovers, they always cut to one- and two-shots of people in the crowd, who are dancing or sleeping or doing whatever. Holly and I kidded around about what we'd do if they chose us. And then, ten or fifteen minutes later, they chose us! It was a total shock to the system to be looking at the huge screen and then there you were up there on the huge screen! What makes it so funny is that we had riffed on funny things to do—I've always wanted to give the camera the finger to see if they'd arrest me, but I also thought it would be great if we either started making out really sloppily or acted like we were in a totally embarrassing fight. So what did we do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The whole fun of that silly game is watching people give a jolt of shock when they realize they're on the big screen, at which point they respond by dancing or doing something else crazy. But we just sat there doing what we were doing, which was having a low-key, random conversation. Everyone probably thought we were stoned—or really, really stupid.

Since this blog is supposed to be about cinema, I wanted to let everyone know that I saw So Yong Kim's Treeless Mountain yesterday and I think it's just an absolutely delight. Not even twenty-four hours later and I'm dying to see it again. Kim references Ponette and Nobody Knows in the press release, but I think I like her film more than either of those. Treeless Mountain is certainly striking a more minor chord than Nobody Knows, but that's what I love about it. In some magical way, the deceptive simplicity creates for a more universally affecting experience. To those of you who are going to Toronto, see this movie!

Oh yeah, Happy Labor Day. Bring it, autumn!

Shame on me for never having watched Kentucker Audley's Team Picture until this weekend, but I'm almost glad I waited. No real reason why, except that it felt extra-refreshing to watch one of "those" movies removed from the context of "that" movement. A year removed from all that buzzing, I was able to simply watching the movie on its own terms. On those terms, I found it to be swimmingly successful. And not the Olympic-sized pool kind of swimmingly, either. I'm talking about the kiddie-pool-in-a-front-yard-on-a-hot-summer-day kind of swimmingly. Which, if you know me, is the kind of swimmingly I'd just about always rather. On its own humble terms, Team Picture captures that moment in time between college (or should-be college) and full-blown adulthood. That it does so without feeling self-absorbed, whiny, or annoying is what makes it feel like such a special little gem. There are a handful of exchanges that had me laughing out loud with uncomfortable recognition. Read David Lowery's review over at Hammer to Nail, in which he compares the film to other works in the Generation DIY movement, not out of laziness, but to thoughtfully express what bands these films together in more than just a superficial, technical way. Then see it for yourself, or if you've seen it already, see it again. I plan to do that myself in the very near future.

I just read Manohla Dargis's incredible review of Momma's Man and it got me thinking about something. While I suppose I've known this all along, I've never really expressed it. This might be an embarrassing admission, but so fucking what. I'm feeling a tad discouraged and disgusted with where this business appears to be headed -- content! content! more content! even more content!!! all we care about is content!!! more!!! more!!! MORE!!! eighty-six movies are being released this weekend!!! too many choices so why not see nothing instead!!! watch a movie on your wristwatch!!! short films on toilet paper!!! watch Days of Heaven on your rearview mirror!!! -- and I'm trying to remember what got me excited about movies in the first place. What that has to do with this exactly, I'm not too sure. It just has me wanting to get personal, I guess.

I didn't write this in my review, for I didn't want to seem too solipsistic, but I want to make something clear: it wasn't just the content of Momma's Man that devastated me so much when I saw it at Sundance. While that certainly played a large part in turning me into a quivering puddle of tears for an entire day, there's something else that contributed to making me feel so weak and fragile. It was the humbling realization that I was watching another filmmaker express himself in a way that I never have (and almost certainly never will -- not being self-deprecating here, just being honest). On that morning, I watched a nearly identical movie to one I had been wanting to make for years. I have the abandoned scripts to prove it. The return home, the rummaging through old things, the awkward, loving exchanges between a confused child and his devoted, concerned parents. Yet, here I was watching a film that was just oozing with deeply personal sentiment, made by a writer/director who had found a way to give his story enough remove to keep it from becoming smothered by the weight of its own autobiography. Watching Jacobs ride this impossibly narrow line was like shining a spotlight on my own inferior vision for what my film would be.

While the roles are reversed in Jacobs' film to my own situation -- I am creative and my parents are living the conservative life -- I still felt like Momma's Man was speaking directly to me. Or should I say for me. Or, taking it even one step further, from me. Perhaps that's the distinction. Though written and directed by someone else, it's hard not to feel like I made Momma's Man. For every decision is the decision I would have made, had I the talent and capacity to express myself so purely. But I don't. Maybe one day I will say something through words or cinema or music that I can be proud of, but for now, I will live vicariously through Jacobs and Momma's Man and use his lesson to inspire and not deflate me.

One last time (okay, I'm lying, I'll probably say it a lot more), I urge all of you to see Momma's Man this weekend and support a movie that makes me cry just thinking about it.

Please check out a lengthy conversation I had with Azazel Jacobs over at Hammer to Nail in conjunction with tomorrow's theatrical release of Momma's Man. If you have even a fraction of interest in truly independent cinema -- why in the hell are you reading this site if you don't? -- then I don't have to tell you how important it is that you block out two hours of your weekend (or should I say ninety-four minutes) to go the Angelika to buy a ticket for this movie. Aza will be doing a Q&A after the 7:30pm showing tomorrow night, but if you can't make it for that one, it doesn't matter. Just make sure you see it this weekend!

Another unforgettable Sundance film is also coming out in theaters this weekend. Documentary Grand Jury Prize winner Trouble the Water is as important a work as I've seen this year. I'll be posting my review of it on Hammer to Nail tomorrow, but for now I will simply say that it's going to be gushing in its praise. I watched it again yesterday since I hadn't seen it since January, and it worked just as mightily the second time around.

But that isn't it for great independent cinema this weekend. Rooftop Films (who also had a hand in the making of Trouble the Water) put their money where there mouth is once again in creating another filmmaker-friendly grant. This one is called the Rooftop Films and Eastern Effects Equipment Grant. In their words, this grant lends "one Rooftop alumni filmmaker a two-ton lighting and grip package for 30 days, to be used on a feature-length film." This year's winner proves once again that Rooftop has exceptional taste: Lee Isaac Chung. Chung's Munyurangabo took my breath away when I caught it at the Sarasota Film Festival this year (where it won the Best Narrative prize). As usual, Tom Hall's review at Hammer to Nail says it better than I ever could, so please read that. It's screening Saturday night at the Old American Can Factory in Gowanus, one of my favorite Rooftop locations, which only adds allure to the already exciting prospect of seeing an extraordinary film.

If these were the only three movies receiving a theatrical release in 2008, I would consider it a highly successful year. Independent cinema is not dead, even if the audiences seem to be. What's wrong with you people? Filmmakers like Azazel Jacobs, Lee Isaac Chung, and Tia Lessin and Carl Deal are giving you all that they have, producing works of genuine enlightenment, entertainment, and inspiration. I know the comfort of sitting on one's couch and watching under-aged children spin around in tights is tempting, but get off your asses and go to the movies this weekend!!!

First of all, check out my review of Josh and Benny Safdie's incredible new short film, There is Nothing You Can Do, over at Hammer to Nail. Then follow the link at the bottom to watch it for yourself!

In music news, if you were a tad underwhelmed by A Hundred Miles Off, don't worry. With You & Me, The Walkmen are back on their A-game. I really dig this record, and it's only getting better and better the more I listen to it.

I also highly recommend these recent releases, which you can download for free online (thanks, guys!):

Ham1's The Underground Stream (Jim Willingham and company prove that they're only getting better with age. Download it here.)

Richard Swift's Ground Trouble Jaw (Swift abandons the sloppy garage rock of his recent 2-disc release Richard Swift as Onasis for some Motown-esque melodic grooviness. Download it here.)

That oughtta get you going for the day.

Ladies and gentlemen, in conjunction with Joe Pacheco's Brooklyn Independent Cinema Series, I am proud to present the New York premiere of John Maringouin's Running Stumbled tonight at 7pm (Barbes in Park Slope, 9th St. and 6th Ave.). A special bonus treat is the world premiere screening of Jeff Peixoto's beautiful short film 1983.

I watched Running Stumbled yesterday to confirm that it played through my laptop (that's how we're screening it), and I can safely say that it's one of the stronger anti-drug pieces of cinema that has ever been made. Or should I say anti-pills? This movie has a strong kinship with the more intense moments in Kamp Katrina.

Join me tonight to celebrate John Maringouin's startling achievement. I can confirm that John is a nice guy but after watching this film you're going to wonder how. It's that harrowing. Watch the UK trailer right now...

New Yorkers take note. This weekend brings another great one-two punch from Rooftop Films. Tonight is Heavy Load in Williamsburg. Tomorrow night is Song Sung Blue on Roosevelt Island. I'll be seeing Heavy Load for the first time tonight, but I can vouch for Song Sung Blue, which is one of 2008's best films. Unfortunately, I'm going to miss out on my chance to wow the crowd with my version of "Love on the Rocks" (one of my karaoke staples) as I'm committed to the Walter Reade to experience Lindsay Anderson's O Lucky Man! for the first time (go here for details about the complete "Lindsay Anderson: Revolutionary Romantic" program). Either way, I recommend emailing Rooftop for your own chance to release your inner Neil and to see a really solid movie. Visit the official Rooftop Films site for details.

Also, Joe Pacheco has asked me to program another night of movies for his Brooklyn Independent Cinema Series. This time around, I've chosen a feature. I'm shocked that we'll be giving John Maringouin's must-be-seen-to-be-believed documentary Running Stumbled its New York premiere, two-and-a-half years after its world premiere in Rotterdam (where I first saw it), but that's how it goes. Running Stumbled isn't the easiest film, but I mean it when I wrote in the description on the Brooklyn Independent site that it's one the most fascinating works of non-fiction I've ever seen. This might be the only chance for you to see it for some time to come, so don't cancel your Monday night plans and get your asses to Barbes in Park Slope. I mean it!

Have a nice weekend. I'm hoping to.