Azazel Jacobs could very well be called heir to the Ken Jacobs throne of avant-garde cinema - though with the exception of a small gaggle of dedicated cinephiles who hang out regularly at New York's Anthology Archives, and possibly a handful of critics as well, it may be rather too Lilliputian a kingdom to even worry about - but here I am anyway, praising the forthright crowning of a new, possibly clown, prince of counter-culture cinema.
A royal chip of the ole block perhaps, but in actuality, the Jacobs fils is less like pop than more. Shying away from the experimental, this piper's son goes instead for the hip, somewhat grungy, indie look and feel for his debut feature about a slacker who is emotionally awakened by a carefree, Max Fleischer-esque heroine. Now with having never been all that enamored with the slacker generation American indie scene (all those Linklater wannabes) it came as quite a shock when I realized how much I was enjoying this film. With the sub pop integrity of the sire Jacobs and his ilk, Azazel has managed to infuse early Nouvelle Vague aesthetic - complete with seemingly impromptu and equally amateurish dance number - into his film, creating something unusual even by his father's standards. Bravo indeed. [03/03/07]