Itty Bitty Titty Committee

A riot grrl empowerment film directed by Jamie Babbit (But I’m a Cheerleader), Itty Bitty Titty Committee — great title — addresses lesbian and feminist issues in a fun and sexy framework. The story concerns an unassertive baby dyke named Anna (Melonie Diaz) who gains wisdom when she gets involved with a radical cell called the C(I)A — Clits in Action. The film uses humor to discuss such diverse issues as the treatment (e.g., exploitation) of women in society, plastic surgery and gay marriage. But Itty Bitty Titty Committee is more than just rhetoric. Anna’s struggle for power and self worth is palpable, and is at the heart of this perceptive film.

Smarting from a break-up, Anna meets the sexy Sadie (Nicole Vicius), a radical girl who soon initiates her in covert actions that “reclaim public space for women.” As Anna is slowly accepted by the cell group, she becomes infatuated with Sadie and more politicized in her own life. Soon she is dying her hair pink and causing her family concern.

Despite the radical nature of the C(I)A’s actions—they protest both the religious right and gay marriage—Itty Bitty Titty Committee features a pretty standard plot. Anna learns that Sadie has a longtime girlfriend (Melanie Mayron), and her personal crises soon manifest in political actions on a much larger scale. If the storyline, which involves Anna and Sadie’s affair and the destruction of a patriarchal/patriotic symbol, never seems to be too outlandish, at least the film’s style captures some of the story’s dynamic spirit.

Babbit shoots segments of the film in Super 8 without synchronized sound, providing an edgy look even during predictable montage sequences of Sadie giving Anna books on feminism and CDs of punk-ish bands. The music in the film is pitch perfect; the soundtrack of female rock tunes is in sync with the characters’ attitudes.

The performances are also terrific. Diaz is convincing as Anna, and audiences will be engaged by her transformation. Likewise, Vicius makes Sadie a sympathetic love interest.

Itty Bitty Titty Committee is more sweet than intense, but that why it is so enjoyable. — Gary M. Kramer

Antônia

Antônia is a gritty and absorbing portrait of four young working-class female singers searching for success and respect in São Paulo. What differentiates this film from the typical rags-to-riches musical drama is that writer/director Tata Amaral eschews the clichéd romantic melodramas and struggles with addiction to examine how these Afro-Brazilian women stick together and support each other—particularly in a patriarchal culture. Amaral films Antônia in an intimate but loving way that pulls viewers into the action on stage and off, and the film is distinguished by its strong social messages, a vivid sense of place and winning performances by the four leads.

Preta (Negra Li), Lena (Cindy Mendes), Barbarah (Leilah Moreno) and Mayah (Jacqueline Simão, aka Quelynah), who perform under the name Antônia—because they all have uncles named Antonio—have been best friends since childhood. Singing backup for a group of male rappers, the women get a break when they are allowed to open for the group. The scene of Antônia performing their joyous, empowering anthem on stage is gratifying and as infectious as their big smiles. But as Antônia strikes out on its own, the band breaks apart one by one. Mayah’s interaction with Preta’s ex causes tension and she is cut out of the group; two other members are forced to quit as well. As the group dissolves, the meaning of performing gets lost on the sole remaining singer.

While Antônia does feature some impressive concert sequences—the group’s rendition of “Killing Me Softly” is especially memorable—it is the social issues the film depicts that truly resonate. Barbarah’s hunky queer brother, Duda (Chico Andrade), is the subject of a subplot in which he and his boyfriend are attacked. This episode sets up another tragedy that affects the group later in the film, but also causes the women to bond.

And it is this connection that forms the crux of the film. Watching the girls changing their shoes before or after performing is a nice, small moment, repeated throughout Antônia, that beautifully captures the strength and love these women have for each other. Viewers will embrace their triumphs and heartbreaks. — G.M.K.

Eastern Promises

David Cronenberg’s Eastern Promises begins with a revenge killing that’s fast, grotesque and disturbing: a straight-razor throat slashing with a knife’s edge repeatedly plunged into neck muscle. Though the film that follows is more rumination on A History of Violence—the title of Cronenberg’s last film—than the acts themselves, the lingering horror of that opening primes us for terrors to follow.

Anchored by a fiery, acutely felt performance by Viggo Mortensen, the film turns on the death of a Ukrainian girl in childbirth, an incriminating diary and London’s Russian mob. Each of the characters—the dead girl, Mortensen’s mob killer Nikolai, Naomi Watts’s mid-wife Anna—are immigrants at different stages of assimilation. Anna, a second-generation Londoner, is a decent, hard-working woman still reeling from the dissolution of her marriage after a miscarriage. She wants to find the girl’s next of kin for both a decent burial and a home for the infant. Unraveling the diary’s mystery immerses her deep into the London underground. It’s a fraught, engaging journey, with great turns by Armin Mueller-Stahl, as mob king Semyon, and Vincent Cassel, as Kirill, his hot-headed—and possibly gay—son.

Cronenberg is an exacting technician, a control freak. His work, though fascinating, is cold. While he’s taken on what one would call “mature” themes in his last few pictures, that professional detachment has been unwavering. His films are tense, suspenseful, ambiguous. He doesn’t proselytize or offer closure. And it seems constitutionally impossible for him to essay a scene of basic sentiment. For many, his films are difficult to watch. That’s too bad because—beneath the genre tropes and violent set pieces—Eastern Promises, as well as A History of Violence, shows how hard it’s become to remain decent against the world’s indifference. — Dan Loughry