More important than the Spanish film El Bola is the independent film revolution it might spark. El Bola is the first release in a new monthly film club called Film Movement.

The creation of Hollywood producer Larry Meistrich (Sling Blade), Film Movement is a way, at least in theory, to bring art-house films to the suburbs. Given the fact that entries into prestigious film festivals like Cannes or Sundance are often released only in New York and Los Angeles, if at all, Meistrich needed a cost-efficient way to give independent film lovers their fix. He also wanted to help indie directors share their visions with more than the same two urban markets.

Film Movement is Meistrich’s solution, combining a film’s theatrical run with its DVD release. The club releases one movie a month, in select theaters in a handful of major markets, and nationwide on DVD, thereby fulfilling Meistrich’s desire to spread independent films across the country.

Movie buffs in Montana may read about Sundance winners online, but they would most likely never get to see the actual films, except for the few that received major distribution and make it to Blockbuster Video.
El Bola, a quaint movie from first-time writer/director Achero MaOas, is an excellent choice for the club’s first film. The winner of Spain’s equivalent to the Academy Awards, it is very intelligent, and features some of the best performances from child actors in years.

The title character (El Bola is Spanish for “Pellet,” the boy’s nickname) is 12- years old, and lives a seemingly normal life in Spain. He becomes friends with a new boy at school, Alfredo, and their relationship is the basis for the film.

The main theme behind El Bola is family. Alfredo’s father is a tattoo artist, a profession most viewers will immediately associate with being macho. Pellet’s father owns a hardware store, where Pellet spends much of his time working. MaOas builds brilliantly on the preconceptions that most viewers will have of the boys’ families. They are exact opposites of what we expect.

Alfredo’s family is loving and joyous. The times that Pellet spends with
Alfredo and his family are some of the only places in the movie where he smiles. Pellet’s own family situation, on the other hand, is not as glamorous. His aging grandmother lives with them, requiring constant care from his bitter mother. The father seems merely strict throughout the first half of the movie, but we then find out that he has beaten Pellet for years.

El Bola walks the thin line between an excellent emotional drama and a cheesy after school special. If MaOas had pressed the issue a little harder, the audience could have easily been annoyed at the heavy-handed attempt at dramatics. Instead of a dark and dreary tale of child abuse, MaOas adds plenty of lighter moments reminiscent of 1992’s Radio Flyer. One of the best scenes in the movie has Alfredo and Pellet, who have just met recently, spending a day at an amusement park. They ride the roller coasters and other attractions, both trying to impress the other by pretending the big drops don’t scare them.

From the moment the boys meet, we like them. Pellet is intelligent and nice, being one of the only boys at school to not reject Alfredo simply because he’s new. Alfredo, on the other hand, seems rougher around the edges. He is caught smoking on his first day of school, and he seems fascinated with tattoos. The way the boys appear at opposite ends of the personality spectrum plays an important role in the end of the film.

The most emotional scenes come near the movie’s conclusion, in which Pellet is on the run from his abusive father. He runs out of his house after an especially severe beating by his dad, and thinks only to go to Alfredo. Alfredo’s parents are more than willing to care for him, but a lawyer friend advises them that keeping him overnight without his parents’ knowledge could result in a kidnapping charge. When Pellet hears that they are returning him to his house, he fears for his life and takes off into the streets. Alfredo’s family and Pellet’s father ride around looking for him, and the silent tension that builds in the car between the enraged family and the ashamed father is stunning. At the end, Alfredo’s father has to choose between keeping his promise to Pellet to protect him, and the risk of arrest via kidnapping charges.

The DVD contains a “making of” featurette, a preview of next month’s Film Movement release, and an excellent Sundance-winning short film, More. Film Movement could not have chosen a better movie to introduce the cinematic benefits of being a club member.
For more info visit www.filmmovement.com.

Shawn Wines can be reached at shawnwines@aol.com.

George W. Fool: Check out the Big Man supposedly reading to a young patriot (though the book’s upside down) or posing for a military shoot, while looking through closed binoculars. We gotta admit: G.W.’s nothing but a fool and we fear his next moves. Either the people open their eyes, or face his judgements. In his words: “I’ve made good judgements in the past; I’ve made good judgements in the future.”

– OS

Nas
God’s Son
***1/2

Just by looking at the front and back of the new disc from Nas, God’s Son, you get a pretty good idea what’s going on: megalomania. From a Jesus-piece on his chest to the doves in his hands, the “humility” attempted on the cover (a clear boost from any jazz LP of the ’60s and ’70s, take your pick, if you know, you know) seems a little out of place; don’t forget the words “GOD-SON” emblazoned on his crotch via a four-pound belt buckle in the liner notes – actually, just try to forget it.
Anyway, once the first few seconds kick in on the self-produced “Get Down,” all those bad thoughts fizzle. However, as the tracks press on, a little too much stating-the-obvious, which can’t be saved even by Nas’ flow, takes away from the songs’ instrumentals; most of which (check Alchemist) are as hard as Queensbridge pavement.
Anyhow, Alicia Keys shows up, but for some reason it’s not even that bad, until, “Bravehearts!” keeps getting shouted out by Nas, when this clinging posse (Nas’ D12) have already proven to be the worst part of every Nas album – in this case, “Zone Out.”
Regardless, the album has more solid tracks than forgettable ones, but, with all due respect to the memory of Ann Jones, getting some guy Nas wouldn’t even list in the liner notes to croon “one more dance witchu momma” is definitely not the best strategy to make a memorable one. The lack of a verse by Eminem on the track that he produced, “The Cross”, is ridiculous; it’s designed for his flow, period. “Thugz Mansion” is priceless, 2Pac and Nas lay down something that would’ve been good seven years ago and turn it into something amazing today.
The last point, which makes “Last Real Nigga Alive” the fakest track out there, is that the bars “Jesus Christ/ He’s just nice/He just slice like a Ginsu” were already spat by Animal (he even drops his name twice in the song) on AZ’s “Hustler” – how “official” is that? I only saw N. Jones and Ron Brownz on the credits for that shit, no Animal as a ghostwriter in there. The album as a whole is good, not great. There are stellar cuts on it, sure, but that doesn’t make a great album. People need to learn that before it’s too late to make a great album anymore.

– Sven Barth

The Rogers Sisters
Purely Evil
***1/2

I know what you’re thinking, “Great, another rock band made of starving artists from Brooklyn, I’ll go put this on the shelf between my LIARS and The Rapture records that I’ve gotten bored with.” But I say, “Hold your horses, mister.”
Sure, this record has the quirky Brooklyn art school charm you’ve grown used to (ex. the track listing on the back of the CD consists of lines from the songs instead of the titles), but there is really something here.
This record is to The Rapture what Devo was to the Fabulous Poodles (Who are the Fabulous Poodles? Exactly.) The vocals are shout-y and out of tune (think Le Tigre circa 1999), and the music ranges from dance punk to dance punk (brings to mind “Are We Not Men?” or The Peechees (not Peaches).
Standout tracks include “The Money Life”, an ode to the joys of extravagant living, and the most obvious homage stylistically to Mark Mothersbaugh, “Now They Know (XOXO),” a track reminiscent of Gang of Four (even replete with the random chanting of “X O X O”), and “I Dig a Hole”(God, this record drips of Devo influences).
I expect “Calculator” (originally released as a 7″ in anticipation of this record) to become the new indie dance hit, although I would not be surprised to see this end up overlooked not much unlike the recent LIARS and My Morning Jacket tracks that deserved to be ass shakers but never got the chance. And, unlike some other rock combos, the implied family status is factual; not to mention, these chicks are way hot, Brooklyn here I come.

– James Hush

It’s almost impossible to figure out what writer/director Pedro Almod

Tonight
Hit up the Revolver party at Soho Lounge, 175 NE 36th St., Miami, and watch Kid 606, with Needle and Sony Mao, take over the stage. Doors open at 10 p.m. and it’s $10 to get in. Call 305-576-1988.

Get your drink and dance on at Churchill’s, 5501 NE 2nd Ave., Miami, with IRON & WINE, Fruit Bats and HoloPaw. Call 305-757-1807 for cover info. See feature on this page.

Reminisce the era of drug experimentation and Day-Glo with ’60s singer Judy Collins and guitarist David Crosby from Crosby Stills Nash at Mizner Park Amphitheatre, 590 Plaza Real, Boca Raton. Tix $25-$45. Starts at 8 p.m.

Saturday, January 25
Cannabis advocates can head to Tobacco Road, 626 S. Miami Ave., Miami, for their Medical Marijuana Benefit, hosted by an eclectic mix of bands including The Oski Foundation, Swivel Stick, Multi-Culture Ink and many others. Doors open at 4 p.m. and $10 goes to the Ploppy Palace Productions fundraiser.

Carmen Lundy sings with the University of Miami Concert Jazz Band at the Gusman Concert Hall on campus, 1314 Miller Dr., Coral Gables. $10. Call 305-284-5813.

Feast on some punk/reggae/ska with Late For Life, Bum Ruckus, Fang Shooey and Vanguard at Kaffe Krystal, 10855 SW 72nd St., Miami, starting at 5:30 p.m. $7 to get in. Call 305-274-1112.

Sunday, February 2
INSIGHT Sundays at Ouzo’s, 71st & Rue Vendome, Miami Beach, with DJs Karakter, Kurt J Random, Contra, Nebuloso
and Polaris twisting hip hop on the one
and twos. Starts at 11 p.m. Cheap drinks.
305-586-9734.

Saturday, February 8
The annual Marley Fest with Bunny Wailer, Stephen and Julian Marley, Steel Pulse, Mr. Cheeks and others at Bayfront Park, 305 Biscayne Blvd., Miami. $22.50 or $30 at the show. Call 305-740-7344.

When you’re young, it’s easy to knock the South for its vast undeveloped pastures, cultural ineptness, and the backward, apostle-quoting sensibility of elders you haven’t met, but exist nonetheless. After enough mid-day car horn blenders, the trembling bass of Eminem singles, and dumpsters of Taco Bell consumption, the South becomes, for some, a hearty myth of peace-of-mind.

The simplicity of “hard work,” a beer, and a lawn deeply surrounded by pine trees, withdrawn as it may be, beats involuntarily knowing where Cameron Diaz ate last night. This is the mindset one will wander through when listening to the reposed folk endearment of Iron & Wine’s The Creek Drank the Cradle.

After spending time in South Carolina and Virginia, Iron & Wine’s sole member, Sam Beam, now lives comfortably in Miami with his wife and two kids. He teaches cinematography at the Miami International University of Art & Design, but this semester he’s off to tour in support of an intimate little record that’s leaving a path of refulgent praise in publications ranging from Entertainment Weekly to Pitchfork Media.

“It feels good. I really don’t see a lot of the press, but yeah, it’s strange that we went from no one hearing it to thousands of people listening to it…it’s good,” Beam laughs over the phone in Tallahassee, where he’ll play a gig that evening with Floridian label mates Holopaw.

Words like “lullaby” and “gentle restraint” often pop up in reviews of The Creek Drank the Cradle, since, through stereo speakers, the album is the musical equivalent to your favorite pillow. It operates on naturally quiet volume, and, on the surface, Beam’s calm yet aware vocals scarcely hint at stress and conflict. With more attentive listening, the intricacies become clear and stories take shape, like a duskily lit museum where headphones narrate modeled recreations of a woman questioning religion after severe loss (“Southern Anthem”) and a man struggling with his mother into adulthood (“Upward over the Mountain”).

Fittingly, Beam wrote and recorded most of the album in the bedroom of a house he has moved (not too far) from in North Beach.

“When I was living up on North Beach, all of my neighbors were Argentineans and Brazilians, and it was very easy for me, because I don’t speak the language very well, to sort of slip away, hole up, and do a lot of writing. I still made a lot of friends, but it felt like a different country from the rest of the country,” Beam explains.

Though subtle banjo twang, slide guitar, and rural imagery draw heavily from Southern influence, (lesser influence derives from late, troubled British folk artist Nick Drake, and perhaps, even director Terrence Malick), Beam believes that many, actually “most,” misconceptions about the South hold significant truth.

“I didn’t like living in South Carolina very much. I took a lot of it for granted as far as the geography. It takes you a while, once you move away from somewhere, to realize what you miss. When you write a little bit more contemplative stuff, man… it kind of wanders back to you.
Socially I still don’t like going back there for very much, but as far as the geography, the architecture and the nature, I love it.”

The combo of submitting 2-discs of undiscovered, profoundly down-to-earth songs and failing to be a good ‘ol boy is no doubt what landed Beam a deal with Seattle’s auspiciously rejuvenated Sub Pop Records (Nirvana, Hot Hot Heat, the Catheters). The dots connected perfectly from there on, with Iron & Wine opening for Modest Mouse front man Isaac Brock’s side-project, Ugly Casanova, on a tour to promote its acclaimed, experimental folk LP Sharpen Your Teeth…featuring Holopaw’s front man John Orth.

With another album’s worth of material in the can (at least) and The Creek Drank the Cradle topping The Onion A.V. Club and Allmusic.com’s best of 2002 lists, Sam Beam plans on returning to the studio (a real one) “sometime this summer” to record all-new material with a more “dynamic, cleaner sound,” added percussion, and backup vocals from his sister, who performs with him on the road.

Over the past two years, Miami’s non-South Beach music scene has grown at a brisk rate, from the independent hip hop of Counterflow Recordings to DJ Le Spam to flourishing club nights like Revolver and POPLIFE luring nationally credible independent acts. For the city to have an act like Iron & Wine garnering recognition of this caliber pushes the city’s faux trance reputation further out-to-sea.

“The beach culture is a lot easier to sell on the news and promote the city to get tourists to come, but it’s not a huge part of the city, there’s a lot of normal people. People flip out when they find out I live in Miami.”

Iron & Wine, Holopaw, and Fruit Bats play at Churchill’s, 5501 NE 2nd Ave., tonight. Check the Life & Art calendar for more info on the show.

For more info visit www.subpop.com.

Hunter Stephenson can be reached at HurricaneAccent@hotmail.com.