Of course, Sun-hwa has her household, and it's all too real. Her controlling husband, Min-kyu (Kwon Hyuk-ho), saves his love for golf. It's not clear whether he's more outraged that Tae-suk steals his wife or his 3-iron, which is used several times in the film as a weapon. In one of the movie's best sequences, Sun-hwa silently spies on Tae-suk when he first enters her home. They live parallel lives under the same roof for perhaps an entire weekend. Watching him, she sees what a good caretaker Tae-suk is of other's possessions—fixing things and cleaning up. That's what she needs, too, and she also gets to return the favor when Tae-suk has his own tears and bruises.
With enormous economy and tact, and not a few surprises, director Kim (Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter . . . and Spring) shows how his homeless lovers construct their own cozy structure out of silence. (R) BRIAN MILLER
Thinkfilm
Kontroll's Balla and Csányi.
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We Jam Econo: The Story of the Minutemen
Runs Fri., May 27–Thurs., June 2, at Northwest Film Forum
It's difficult to place the Minutemen in the context of punk rock without defaulting straight to grandiose clichés, but the band's impact on the genre justifies some rather bold claims. That said, We Jam Econo—the first comprehensive documentary about the trio—shoulders a considerable burden without being entirely overawed by the subject.
Director Tim Irwin and producer Keith Schieron sensibly share the load by letting some of punk's most revered figures do the talking. The conclusion: Well beyond the group's short history (1979–85), the Minutemen influenced the bands that influenced the bands that—these days—get lazily described as punk rock. The flurry of interviews includes Ian MacKaye, (Minor Threat, Fugazi, and co-head of the fiercely independent Dischord Records), Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore, Colin Newman of British punk pioneers Wire, and Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea (whose style owes a considerable debt to the Minutemen's Mike Watt). Throw in more comments from roommates, family members, and girlfriends, plus comprehensive interviews with Watt and drummer George Hurley (guitarist/vocalist D. Boone died in an auto accident in 1985), and we get a whole chorus trying to define the Minutemen and what they meant. Therein lies the caveat of Econo— if you don't know (or care) about the significance of the interviewees, all their postulation starts to sound redundant.
Thankfully, that's usually right when the painstakingly gathered live footage steps in. Despite the band's ardent dedication to touring, very little live footage exists, and Schieron and Irwin may have found all that's left. If you're a fan, watching the band in action is a treat. These scenes remind us how the music—short blasts of jazzy, angular rhythms, all pummeled and disfigured by Hurley's turbulent percussion—was a vast departure from most early-'80s punk (not to mention what's followed since). Boone and Watt's lyrics were erudite and proletarian, without becoming polemical. The Minutemen never signed to a major label, and suffered the usual hardships as the price for artistic integrity. True to its subject, this indie documentary shows how the Minutemen epitomized the independence and innovation of punk rock. Two decades later, as punk becomes increasingly tangential, it's good to remember how that term was once defined. (R) GRANT BRISSEY
