It’s happened to all of us. Parents or ecstatic relatives always find spontaneous opportunity to recall near encyclopedic litanies of baby moments. They can be cute, fretful or simply ridiculous, but at their best each reveals an inner wonder that seems to last only so long as baby talk. That said, it’s nice to be in on things once again.
This shouldn’t suggest that the work is just a cinematic baby book tailored for ‘ooos’ and ‘awwws’ (though there’s plenty to go around). Babies’ cinematography alone is a beauteous compilation of living snippets, denoting a matured dive into humans’ first year(s). The title for one is prominently contrasted over a large crosswalk flooded with adult pedestrians. This superposition reminds audiences that however we may have developed since, everyone shares roots in our universal childhood.
Those sensitive to the camera’s invisible devices will also gain insight into culture and its influences on parenting. Culture here is especially transparent, hardly requiring explanation that Balmes thankfully does not offer. Hattie is first seen, for example, looking like a mechanical crossbreed. She’s hooked up to more hospital equipment than even some critical care patients – a strong depiction of health care saturation. Also seen is the Himba tribe’s customary use of hematite powder, its crimson hue vivid on skin and camera. Though different on the surface, both societal norms are fascinating, even inclusive for what they are. This film is as unexplained as it is intuitive. Crew, author and even parents' presence here is essentially nil, allowing for total immersion that continues even once the end credits start to roll.
The film progresses easily, giving in evolving content at a relaxed pace. Akin to life’s own processes, the babies are born, nap, then crawl and coo before growing into warily triumphant first steps. Though the little costars never meet in reality, Balmes sequences his shots – especially in the hind quarter of the film – to intertwine and play off of one another to great effect.
Knee-high subjects like this foursome lend themselves flawlessly to verite or naturalistic filmmaking because of their inherent naivety. Clearly not aware of Balmes or his intentions, each ‘acts’ out simply whatever comes – be it gurgles, acrobatics or tantrums. Each location’s unique environment is united by these feats of mini-humanity. And so is their parents’ love. Ponijao’s mother crops his hair with a blade as delicately as Hattie’s father rocks her to sleep. In short, sex and race know no boundaries when it comes to coddling newly born beloveds. Hattie’s reluctant day at baby yoga, however, is wittily more foreign in its Western eccentricity than Ponijao and Bayar’s comparatively humble dwellings.
Audiences will see and love these children ponder and play as only they can. This is because in so doing, they impart portions of their own sensation. Coincidentally enough, each family has furry companions – perfect figures for humorously developmental social interaction. Hattie’s admittedly adorable and awkward proximity to her cat mirrors the heartwarming and sometimes hair-raising contact Ponijao and Bayar have with their families’ resident livestock. These spurts of parental adrenaline are kept at a minimum, however, as things are kept as light and moving as the soundtrack.
As contemporary as the new generation Babies documents, music here is relevant to an unexpectedly large audience. An altogether cheery sound caters to older patrons, while the notably hip talent providing it (Coraline’s Bruno Coulais and indie staple Sufjan Stevens) will certainly attract youth audiences for a listen and maybe a laugh.
Even from a cynic’s point of view, there’s more to this film than one could expect sitting through baby-themed anything (let alone an hour and a half of it). What Babies shares is commonality – in humanity and even more so in life. The epitome of this unspoken message is Bayar’s impactful stance in a windy steppe. He gleefully faces the brunt, then signifying a shared victory for mankind. Here Balmes features one of us going beyond possibly any of his coming years.
Movie patrons flee screaming as a director on set exclaims, ‘Patch Adams, you’re dead!’ So goes this commercial (relatively speaking) yet quintessentially Waters work of filmmaking and terrorism. With nods to fellow ‘weirdos’ like Fassbinder and Warhol, and middle fingers for about everyone else, Demented is a model for momentous satire.
Compact, powerful and filled with more fanatically quotable dialogue than most contemporaries’ filmographies combined, it works because everyone is a target. The absurdist band of cine-punks is too ecstatically deluded to know how hilarious and cathartic they all are. Hollywood has its David in this must-see alt-auteur vision.
Saying the only good thing to come out of 1968 was a man-hating transsexual is suspect at best. But it’s oh so true. Twenty years after The City and the Pillar (1948) outed him and ‘ruined’ his career, iconoclast Gore Vidal proved he was a talent whom – to quote his anti-heroine – ‘no man will ever possess.’
Myra and Myron – the man with whom she shares a body – embark on a diary-documented crusade to forever alter American notions of gender, film and politics. This they do to the score of Gore’s emphatically elegant prose. Here is a long unsung masterwork.
Scissor Sisters’ greatest dance hit is about someone who doesn’t feel like it. That says something. With collective PhDs in fringe elements (in more ways than one), the retro-clectic group weaves all the better parts of disco and glam rock into pop that defies such contrived categorization.
An impressive sequel, Ta-Dah! delivers catchy tunes that read like kitschy modern poetry. The fivesome sparkles in ‘She’s My Man,’ ‘I Can’t Decide’ and ‘Kiss You Off’ – lead vocalist Jake Shears’ fabulous screech leading the way. Similar to David Bowie and the Bee Gees, collaboration with Elton John only bolsters these audio re-trendsetters.
Babies (2010) 
