Wings un­de­sired

Pasatiempo - - Moving Images - Rob DeWalt The New Mex­i­can

II­diots and An­gels, an­i­mated fea­ture, not rated, CCA Cine­math­eque, 4 chiles A sear­ing beam of morn­ing light cuts through the win­dow of a sparsely dec­o­rated sub­ur­ban bed­room. An alarm clock rings ma­ni­a­cally. A cute bird chirps with en­thu­si­asm from the win­dowsill.

All are un­wel­come sig­nals — the uni­verse’s in­struc­tions for an an­gry man to crawl from be­neath his sheets and trudge to­ward an­other day in a dreary life pop­u­lated by what he per­ceives as a cat­tle call of id­iots. His bit­ter­ness is pal­pa­ble as he grits his teeth and growls, hurls the clock at the bird, rises from his lonely bed, and climbs into the shower. The man will re­peat this pat­tern many times. And then he’ll die. And then, ei­ther for re­demp­tion or for more earthly pun­ish­ment, he’ll be re­born.

In in­de­pen­dent an­i­ma­tor Bill Plymp­ton’s new­est self-pro­duced, self-penned, and self-di­rected film (his sixth fea­ture), which de­buted at the Tribeca Film Fes­ti­val in 2008 and is now hit­ting the­aters in limited re­lease, the pro­tag­o­nist is no an­gel. He’s a gun dealer, a drunk­ard, a thief, a chain smoker, a groper of women, and an un­abashed cel­e­brant of oth­ers peo­ple’s mis­for­tunes. If you take his park­ing space, he’ll light you up like a Molo­tov cock­tail af­ter cut­ting off your neck­tie and us­ing it as a fuse pro­trud­ing from your car’s gas tank. Get used to it. There are plenty of peo­ple to burn in this film, in one fashion or an­other.

Most of the an­gry man’s life tran­spires on a barstool in a neigh­bor­hood wa­ter­ing hole called Bart’s. The bar­maid has dreams of be­com­ing a dancer. The bar owner, who is be­trothed to the bar­maid, is more concerned with money than mar­i­tal bliss.

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