As the scene faded from view, I looked back and saw an enormous tree near the entrance of the obscure place.

Hidden in the seventh and final book in the Harry Potter series, the Deathly Hallows, is The Tale of the Three Brothers. Ostensibly, the short story is about how one cannot conquer, trick or hide from Death. In the end, the piece, expertly written in a tight form by J.K. Rowling, would find its home in two other artistic locales, including a collection, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, published a year after the final novel in the Potter series, with net proceeds benefiting the Children’s High Level Group (CHLG), an organization helping promote children’s rights and enriching the lives of vulnerable young people.

But it is within the sinister, sprawling, and subdued Part I of the Deathly Hallows film, that one finds the other hidden gem amongst a formidable tale of courageous fortitude—a short sequence, a mere three minute-plus animated film directed by Ben Hibon—which is pondered in this edition, as we look at The Tale of the Three Brothers, the shadow puppet-inspired film in Hallows, Part I, and Hibon’s earlier conquest of MTV Asia with Codehunters, in another gaze behind the celluloid curtain in our Hidden Flick series.

Somehow, in my excitement at discovering such a weird and wonderful establishment, I missed its totem-like power.

The Tale of the Three Brothers excels because it stands alone as its own story betwixt the elaborate Potter structure penned by Rowling. Interwoven within her seven-novel tomes is the sense that Rowling also had a few moral and ethical dilemmas she’d love to address, but like any fine fiction writer, she played her cards with subtle grace, always allowing the actions and words chosen by her characters to dictate the flow of events.

Within the Three Brothers, she hit one of her final peaks in the Harry Potter series by just getting to the point—aren’t we all living every day with the knowledge that we can master time and space in some sort of theoretical realm, but we can never master death? It is a simplistic tale, but she writes the piece with such chilling clarity that one is left enlightened by the experience in a very Zen way—hey, you’re gonna die, so it is up to YOU how you live before you cross that fine line between the material and the ethereal.

The tree was massive, and stood as a monument to something real and true, but there was very little life left on its long and gangly branches.

Hibon needed to film the animated sequence within the parameters laid out by Rowling, and do it in such a way that he respected the briefly-told material, and find a way to craft his own seal, his own identity, his own mark on the dark story of one’s encounter with Death. Granted, he also had to face the challenge of showcasing his piece within a film that was also directed by David Yates, who helmed all four of the final Potter films.

But Hibon met the challenge by emphasizing the visual motifs of the story. He chose an ancient shadow puppet format that is somehow timeless, and holding a rather magical quality when crafted by the third eye of a filmmaker like Hibon who can be succinct with a visual image without a lot of dialogue. What moves the piece along with even more delicate grandeur is the narration by Emma Watson, who plays Hermione Granger in the film series. She breathes life into a piece that is always creeping towards inevitable death.

However, the fact that what was there was so extraordinarily beautiful made the tree even more powerful, large, and magical.

The animator garnered some richly deserved praise from his brief work in Yates’ film. Currently, the Swiss-born director is at work on Pan, which purports to be a “dark contemporary version of Peter Pan,” not that the tale of lost children living with pirates on an island with an adult sporting a hook for a hand isn’t sinister enough. But before Potter and Pan, Hibon directed a six-minute animated short film for MTV Asia called Codehunters. Yes, he has done extensive work in various media, but this pearl stands out, along with the Potter set piece, for its action, visual ingenuity, speed, camera work, colors, and, most importantly, its complete and utter lack of respect for any dialogue.

Hibon learned the first rule of all good filmmakers early on—tell the story visually. And he does in Codehunters, as he did when he crafted a cinematic hidden gem that had memorable visual shots in The Tale of Three Brothers, albeit with some sublime narration written by Rowling, and spoken by Watson, and one presumes another artistically-fascinating film in Pan, an oft-told tale which could immensely benefit from a new perspective in an intriguing and fresh way. The future looms. Death? Not so fast…

I didn’t see the bareness, just the potential beauty and life in the small, new buds that were present and waiting to expand outwards in full bloom.

- Randy Ray

Hidden Flick – Season 5:

Set 1: Another Life, Brother, Oshare Can You See, The Ocean Learns to Sway > And the Wave Rolled Back, Rock ‘n’ Roll Drive-In, Part 2 > The Tale of the Two Films >

• The Tale of the Three Brothers (within Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt. 1): Amazon / NetFlix
• Codehunters: Free (and legal) on YouTube

The old wizard turned away from his creation, and vanished beyond the veil of illusion. One wonders if the world would ever see him again, let alone have any sort of real discourse about his hidden knowledge. As he glanced back one last time in the darkness, there was a bemused sparkling look in his eyes.

John Boorman’s Excalibur came out 30 years ago in 1981. As one previews the current onslaught of action hero films based predominantly on Marvel Comic adaptations, one is apt to look back at the legends of old, especially as this is being written on Memorial Day, a day when our culture celebrates our fallen heroes—in and out of battle.

Excalibur is an excellent feast for the eyes—the battle sequences are superb, and the scenery is both rugged and beautiful—and the ears—the soundtrack is a combination of classic pieces culled from the archives of some of the legendary musical figures of our past, and newer motifs written by Trevor Jones. Excalibur faired well with film goers 30 years ago, but its selection here is more so because of its quest for hidden knowledge, that which can bond and unite a nation, and give it purpose, as well.

Therefore, we extend a warm salute to a film about a hero named Arthur, his wife, Guinevere, his not-so-loyal knight, Lancelot, a wizard named Merlin, and a sword called Excalbur in this edition of Hidden Flick, John Boorman’s classic take on a legendary tale.

Perhaps, a bit of background before we conclude our study of Arthurian legend with some final comments on this pursuit of hidden knowledge, or hidden magic in a great time of transition between the chivalric and Renaissance eras in Boorman’s Excalibur.

The story of Arthur was a myth whose time had come. The ‘real’ Arthur was possibly a Roman garrison commander, circa 470 to 420 A.D. The legendary Arthur is slated at 12^th to 13^th century A.D. In the movement of eras, he is also transformed from empirical servant to a mighty king and ruler. This chosen one, perhaps even a Welsh cavalry general named Artorius, remains unclear to this day. Was he indeed Welsh, or, as believed, Roman? Or, a king’s associate from the 5^th century?

Regardless, it appears that he was a great military campaigner who was unable to repel the pesky, barbaric Goths in Burgundy. The historical Arthur was, like the legendary figure, apparently duped by a loyal follower—Lancelot betrayed Arthur by his liaison with Guinevere, Arthur’s wife. The overdramatization of the betrayal of our Arthurian hero indicates another similar trait. The Romans never latched on to the chivalric ideals that would blossom in the 12^th to 14^th centuries. Nevertheless, the historical and legendary aspects of both myth and alleged fact share a common empirical lust.

Whether it be the Caesar figure for almighty omniscience and power, or the Excalibur sword, brought forth and offered by the Lady of the Lake to the wizard and seer, Merlin,  who would offer the fateful words to Arthur, not only in the legendary tale, but in Boorman’s film, that Arthur was destined to be at One with the Land, meaning that his entire existence was tied to the well-being of his kingdom, the people, and the land where they dwelled…so it is foreseen, so it will be done…the Excalibur sword was brought forth to guarantee Arthur’s might, and these two cultures viewed life as a struggle full of risks, conquest, and, ultimately, self-righteousness.

Rome sought space allocation and commercial strongholds. The Britannia of the Dark Ages and the legendary Arthurian era, which is captured in the myth and cinematic tableaux drawn by Boorman, was striving for moral cleansing while spreading its language, doctrines, beliefs, and might. Arthur was, perhaps, again, Caesar reborn, but he had no equal. Lancelot could not match up with the virtuous Arthur. Furthermore, it is interesting that the Excalibur sword is used by a burgeoning nation as a symbol of power, a very Roman feature which carries over the philosophy of good conquering evil.

More to the point, ancient empirical Rome and latter-day medieval Britannia had their collective hands full vanquishing encroaching alleged evil barbarians. In Rome, these advancing hordes eventually sapped the power of the once great empire. In romanticized Arthurian times of myth and legend, the evil and corruption are within the kingdom itself. It is in its very nature, the ultimate symbol of historical Arthur—external, probing, insistent enemies. This contrasts with Sir Thomas Malory’s 1485 version of Arthur, in which the rotting of the Round Table—filled with knights sworn to service to their King Arthur—is an internal process fueled by infighting and responsibility conflicts. Should Lancelot be loyal to his king, or to his true love to Guinevere? How can Arthur run a country when he cannot control his own home, let alone himself?

The dichotomy of the historical Arthur—allegedly a great Welsh warrior, or maybe, a powerful Dark Ages Britannia king—would echo into the future of a soon-to-be budding British empire. Whether or not Arthur was of Roman, Welsh, or early Britannia stripes, one wonders if, possibly, that is missing the mark. The time of chivalry, romantic love, and unshakeable loyalty to one’s cause had come in the 12^th to the 14^th century. Heroes would be bred and foisted onto a public who clamored for meaning in a world previously hollow and loveless. Again, one also wonders if the only truth in this life is that the more things change, the more they remain the same. The choice, one ponders, is yours.

In Boorman’s film of the Arthurian legend, Merlin offers a sword to the Chosen One, and Arthur becomes that very leader that is either sought or rejected depending upon one’s point of view. Suffice to say, that Boorman does a rather powerful job of not only exposing the humanity inside Arthur’s mythic interior soul, but his external actions, as well. Perhaps, a leader always needs a strangely astute wizard next to one’s shadow. Indeed, who is the Magic Man of yore? Is it Merlin, the man with supernatural visions and power, a power that seemed to fade away as the Dark Ages led to the Renaissance era, or was it Arthur, who contained the one secret hidden bit of magic that all souls appear to seek? In the end, it is not our minds that fail us, but our hearts. Alas, we return to the darkness from whence we came.

Had he even existed? Or, was this Charismatic Guru in our imagination? Bread crumbs in the forest to another peak, another deep look inside what makes magic, and what makes something worth seeing in a strange and secret place? Is it a place one goes to escape time? Or, was it to find hidden magic in the forest of lost truth?

- Randy Ray

• Excalibur: Amazon / NetFlix
• Previously on Hidden Flick: Intermission Parts IV & V

Inevitably, during our various existential journeys, we seek another earth, another space to explore, we wander amidst the gloom, and ponder it all, and face the reality that some one, some thing, controls our fate. The prospects of what we want to be are somehow always clouded by the ghosts of what we were, right? To change all of that is to see the world through a child’s eyes, a kid-like point of view, eh?

Talihina Sky. Kings of Leon. Final edition—#15, 75 in total—of season 5.

The documentary appears so innocent at first, even in light of the current drunken events which have played out as the band has seemingly imploded due to the abnormal rigors of success and the ever-dangerous life spent on the road, traversing from clubs to big marquee gigs in arenas and, gasp, stadiums. Yes, they may be back, even before Oasis, but does anyone venture to hold their breath? Watch this film, and decide for yourself.

I first saw the quartet in a small theatre several years back, and one could see and hear and feel the passion coming forth from the stage. What was ironic was that I stated in a show review, for either a site or a magazine, I don’t recall, and who really cares, that I felt the band was ready for bigger and more expansive venues. I didn’t really know how that would happen, and no one was more surprised than me that it really DID happen—the Kings of Leon became an arena rock staple, while garnering a fairly large fan base.

Enter Talihina Sky, a film made in almost a glorified home movie way at first glance. And, yet, there is something even more powerful going on here. The piece mixes footage of the Kings of Leon on and off the road and back home with a story of three brothers and one cousin and one band that reaches the peak of their little existence, and gazes down into the abyss, while also looking back into their past in Oklahoma and Tennessee.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The documentary, premiered at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival, and helmed by first-time director Stephen C. Mitchell, does an admirable job of juxtaposing the Followills rise to superstardom while showing their roots in searing fashion—they were raised in pretty much impoverished circumstances by parents whose Pentecostal beliefs left a deep spiritual tattoo on the soul. But Mitchell doesn’t do a very good job of showing why the band got hot, or how their music impacts their audience. He lets the backstory BE the story, and that is a very dangerous thing when all you’ve got is a family reunion and some jack ass drinking whiskey out of a bottle in one hand, while sucking back red wine in the other. What is also apparent is that the Kings of Leon cannot handle either their newfound fame, or the deranged element that appears to hang on the fringe of their backstory. Yeah, family is great and important, but when it reminds one of what can’t be, instead of what can, well…doors work both ways, my friend.

All of this is my normal way of saying that there are some pretty heavy hidden truths in this bit of celluloid, and I don’t believe in delivering the metaphysical road map to you on some sort of silver platter. See the film. You’ll see why enlightenment is always in the eye of the beholder, and the concepts of heaven and hell are not to be entertained when one is sucking their truth from a bottle. Turn the camera off when you’ve had ten too many drinks or four too many bong hits. Who wants to hear yet another tool espousing on what did and didn’t go right in one’s life, when every other band is making negative 50 bucks playing dive bars, while the Kings of Leon had a shot to do so much more, but took what was given, and shat on it. Rock music ain’t the problem, kids. Your parents are. Run; run as far as you can from that ghost of a past that is so haunting and wrong. But, don’t blame the devil. He is in the mirror, man.

Up above on the surface, one dwells in the sense of self-importance, inner ambition, outer rage, in betwixt some sort of answer hiding in many questions. Meanwhile, in the deep expanse of our inner space, the place where peace needs to inevitably reside, nothing seems to matter quite like that—as the universe expands outwards, inevitably to disappear, or, quite contrarily, to contract back into the Big Crunch, seeking nothing, pulling all that it once was into a singular focal point—life serves no purpose whatsoever other than to see what can endure…and what cannot. And what can endure is the human spirit, so why bankrupt it with preconceived notions of the Divine and Sacred? Find your own bliss; find that way that opens doors to possibilities, instead of retreating back to the old choices of prior generations. Another ghost, brother? No, thanks.

- Randy Ray

• Talihina Sky: Amazon (Pre-Order)

Hidden Flick – Season 5:

Set 1: Another Life, Brother, Oshare Can You See, The Ocean Learns to Sway > And the Wave Rolled Back, Rock ‘n’ Roll Drive-In, Part 2>The Tale of the Two Films > AL, B Reprise*

Intermission

Intermission: Part IV – The Hit Man>Intermission: Part V – The Caan Man>

Set 2: The Magic Man > The Mountains in the Mind > A Thousand Barefoot Children > Land > Air > Sea

Encore: Another Ghost, Brother

In our special holiday edition of Hidden Flick, we ponder a film that was made by a comedian as he directed, produced and co-wrote a rather appropriate little statement about family, and the odd path one takes to define its elusive nature, whether through biology or other societal constraints. We sift through the evidence, as always, and we ponder that person of disinterest, that chap that no one bothers to notice sitting in a weird way in the corner laughing away, always laughing.

Ahhh, yes, the wayward comedian in our midst.

Born Joseph Levitch in Newark, New Jersey in 1926, the young Jewish comedian would become Jerry Lewis, team up with Dean Martin as one half of the Beatles of comedy, and ultimately become a solo act that has been unmatched for pure longevity, philanthropy and artistic vigor.

Lewis was at the height of popularity and fame with Martin, but when he extended his wings, and spread out into helming his own films, he found a direction that had been mined by Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, but never quite in the same way as Lewis. Actually, the hapless auteur has never been taken seriously by critics because of the alleged juvenile nature of his work. However, when one sees his films back-to-back, and notices the pristine design, the careful link between scenes, and the way that his films were bereft of filler, the truth slowly hits home. Not only was Lewis a Grand Master of Gags, he had a great gift for letting a scene play out as visual poetry. Was he as good as Keaton? Hmmm… Was he as good as Chaplin? No. Chaplin was the Hendrix of his art, and remains alone on top of the cinematic mountain.

But Lewis etched new and clever scenes on the esoteric cinematic canvas, and when he wasn’t re-inventing what an actor could do on screen, he was writing, producing, and directing numerous little gems of comedic genius. Lewis segued brilliantly—his films spun cartoon-like sequences together by interlacing skits with abstract characterizations, melded with some sort of weird plot often crucial to a hidden agenda, but, alas, was only an apparatus so the great artist could roll from one gag to another, underlining everything with the sense that THAT little guy making all the mistakes, that skinny freakish Buddha in Dork Attire, is really where it’s at. That little guy is humble and true to his nature. Jerry Lewis’s characters are so human that one almost needs to turn away, lest one recognizes thyself in a moment of surreal self-recognition.

Which is to say that Lewis’s canon is filled with the Wretched Divine—our human family is filled with alleged losers, and why not laugh with such creatures, instead of mocking them?

Ostensibly, The Family Jewels is a film about a little girl who inherits $30 million dollars. The will states that she needs to find an adult family caretaker from amongst six living uncles. Hence, her loyal and amiable chauffeur, played by Lewis, takes her around the country to visit each potential father figure, all six also played in inimitable fashion by the incomparable comedian, each character fully-formed with more than a touch of the vaudevillian absurd, and the only link is the pinky ring that the ultra-cool Lewis always seemed to wear like a gentle mobster.

The young lady is played by Donna Butterworth, who matches Lewis step by step on the long journey on the road to find that perfect father, that man who will help guide her through life’s little challenges. Instead, the chauffeur is the only constant, the only figure able to impress her with any sense of love and compassion, while each of her uncles has some sort of fatal flaw.

Humility reigns supreme in this film about one of the possible answers to the great question we surely face around the holidays—what is family? What does it mean to choose one’s own family, and what does it mean to be genetically-linked to quite a different definition of family? Jerry Lewis was many things, but he was never one to tell you what something means, or how it appears to him. Like any great artist, Lewis gave examples—in his case, visual examples often wrapped up with some funny gimmick, a choice bit of wardrobe, facial tick, or a the shtick that just seems to work. Jerry Lewis never got the critical recognition he deserved because, ironically, his art appeared so artless, while also reminding pretty much all of us searching for the definition of family that we are all human, make innumerable mistakes, and we can only sit down at the table and celebrate what we have, what we have earned, what we have found to be the truth, with others gathered from the road of our dreams, gathered together to share the lives we choose.

And, hey, if that isn’t what family is, I don’t know.

- Randy Ray

• The Family Jewels: Amazon / NetFlix
• Previously on Hidden Flick: Trapped In Paradise

- for those who have gone on ahead and for those left behind…

Reeling in the soft reverie of life, one gets caught up in what one should do and what one really must do. Feeling the pulse of everyday existence is not the same as actually having the nerve to seize its primal essence. Sometimes, a film can point the way towards that hidden fact, but, normally, a cinema patron is looking for escapism, not enlightenment.

Trapped within the heavy atmosphere of a samurai- and warrior-laden celluloid landscape, there lurk many other beacons of light amidst the Japanese film archives. Almost hidden, but not quite, is a masterpiece of quiet Buddha-like simplicity wrapped up in an honest bit of deception. And so we walk amongst the years, floating away into this edition of Hidden Flick, a life-affirming and character-driven tale of love and honor.

Banshun (or, Late Spring, as it is known in English), directed with cinematic poetry by the great Yasujiro Ozu, centers upon the poignant story of a widower living with his single daughter, and the role that responsibility, tradition, and commitment play in their lives. Much of the film’s richness comes from the performances by Chishu Ryu as the father, and Setsuko Hara as his daughter. She wants to take care of her father, in the wake of his wife’s and her mother’s passing, and she is also not willing to begin her own family. Meanwhile, the father feels that the daughter is missing her opportunities while tending to the alleged duties of his needs. Ultimately, it is a choice we must all face—“who is part of our family?” Indeed, when the question should actually be “who is not?”

But it is Ozu who towers over the film, shedding a soft light on the dynamic interplay between character and humanity, depth and nuance, youth and age, and the subtle themes of immortality and mortality—“do it now,” whispers the dawn; “remember the dawn,” echoes the coming of eve. Spiraling within this timeless frame of tradition and familial love is the hidden wisdom that one’s life isn’t swept along by the extroverted waves of fate, but held together by one’s will through introspective acts of courage. A magician can show how to perform a sleight-of-hand trick. But a true magician can quietly display the artistic mastery of a form, and one is awestruck by its mystery. That was Ozu’s gift.

Super falling star wraps itself around one, until it no longer feels the need to control, to tend to, to make content and filled with security; security, that word again, super falling star—it swells until no longer seen; out of mind, it slowly walks again. To and fro, one is. Simplistic deception no longer exists; one is caught up in a new linear path forward.

The warm swell of experiential existence roots us to a place that one embraces for a fleeting moment. And left with memories that cannot be buried or brought forward, one’s presence is left indelibly marked in the soul of another being as ethereal time rolls over and back into its own place, its own memory of what was and what could be.

- Randy Ray

• Banshun: Amazon / NetFlix
• Previously on Hidden Flick: The Ocean Learns To Sway

And that sound you hear isn’t a bowl of mashed potatoes splattered against the wall, or a brandy bottle breaking in the back alley, or even a dessert cart wheeled off the balcony. No, that’s the sound of the Great Beast Itself. Yep—the traditional Thanksgiving Turkey.

We skipped this particular edition last year, but brought the behemoth back in 2011. So get your forks, spoons, and knives out (hell, dig out the snow shovel, too), and get ready for this look at a turkey of the cinematic flavor with a look at Trapped in Paradise. The 1994 holiday film starred Nicolas Cage, Jon Lovitz and Dana Carvey. Ostensibly, a warm-hearted comedy with a fair dash of mild drama and some old-fashioned romance thrown in for good measure, the film was also a flop at the box office, while being scorned by the critics. Which, of course, is all just fine within the realm of Hidden Flick.

What is a successful film, anyway? Who really cares if you go to see something and the rows are not lined with patrons? Does it matter if your film did not make back its budget? Well, yeah, sure, on that last point, but one wonders why something can be made, and yet, still be shown in some fashion years later. I ponder that because so many films that I’ve seen that had any semblance of an idea worth mentioning are way too far out of the mainstream to even whisper in the same breath as various alleged blockbusters. We live in a capitalist society, and films are made to create revenue, which, in turn, will drive the business of other films to be made, and so on and so on. Furthermore (did I just say ‘Furthermore’? What is this—law school?), films are made to entertain so one can forget the problems of the day for 90 to 120 minutes. In the end, it’s also not just all about money and the no-brainer ‘let’s blow stuff up’ aspect. People want to ESCAPE.

So escape you shall when you enter the fictional wintry town called Paradise in this little hidden and very dorky film written and directed by George Gallo, about the spirit of the holidays, forgiveness, redemption, a few chuckles, a charismatic Richard Jenkins performance (later to make an impression in T.V.’s Six Feet Under as the deceased patriarch), a weird Mickey Rourke imitation from Dana Carvey, some sarcastic cracks from Lovitz that play well on occasion, and, of course, Cage, who shamelessly allows his talent to often play characters that combine a bit of sharp wit and misplaced intelligence. Cage is usually strong when he is given some semblance of a goal. In this film, he has a goal—albeit one via a contrived and simple plot, but nonetheless, the de rigueur ‘warm-hearted holiday-induced’ goal—and he achieves that goal. He finds love and sanity. May we all find those elusive twin qualities amidst our own sound shenanigans. Meanwhile, I’ll vanish back into my hiatus for a bit longer, and wish you all a Happy Holiday season.

- Randy Ray

• Trapped In Paradise: Amazon.com / NetFlix
• Previously on HT: Hidden Turkey – Cabin Boy

Through five seasons of Hidden Flick, encompassing 75 editions, I searched for obscure films that may be of interest to the cinematically obtuse observer. Along the way, I also found that to seek what was hidden underneath the surface of things can often create another search, another adventure, another truth, and another, and another, ad infinitum.

In this special edition of our little column that could, outside of time and space and any particular season (hey, I’m supposed to be on hiatus, so shhh…), we take a look at not just one, but two films that have recently hit the streets on DVD. One is an intoxicating—literally, in some cases—look at the hidden relationship between humans and plants, and the other explores the hidden zone between reality and cyber space with those who live a vast majority of their life on the net. So, we awake from our Hidden Flick hibernation for a brief look at two documentaries worth checking out for their secret knowledge about some unknown person/place/thing, but should in some odd way. After all, to walk through the Dark Forest of the Great Unknown is the first step towards destroying fear and ignorance (he writes in some sort of wacky George Lucas/Clone Wars way, but, man, after 75 editions, I can quote the Bearded Skywalker even if he almost killed Star Wars).

Our first film, Amazonia: Healing with Sacred Plants was directed by Miguel Heded Abraham, and produced and narrated by Alberto Villoldo, who is a psychologist, medical anthropologist and author. What is also quite apparent is that Villoldo knows a great deal about shamanic healing methods, which appear to be very real within the depths of the Amazon. He has studied in that region for two-plus decades, and during his travels, he has witnessed and experienced the profound healing power of the shamans who practice these rituals, specifically those who toil and transform along Peru’s Madre de Dios River.

And I use the word rituals with the utmost respect, as the film details in an eloquent way how the vine of the souls, known as Ayahuasca, illuminated by the shamans, brings truth, enlightenment and a powerful healing agent not found anywhere else on this planet. What is most telling about the passages contained within the film is that healers who live in this region truly believe, trust, practice and reap stunning benefits from this medicinal knowledge. And if there has been anything I have been trying to do with writing about all of these hidden flicks it is that I have been subconsciously searching for hidden wisdom that can guide one beyond any normal man-made path. This film details one way.

Our second film, When Strangers Click: Five Stories from the Internet was directed by Robert Kenner, Oscar-nominated director of Food, Inc. Whereas, I am a silent man, who respects solitude, privacy, and the ethereal echoes of a distant mysterious force to educate the soul, I must admit that I was absolutely spellbound by a film about sharing space, literally cyber space, with someone—indeed, some stranger one has never even met.

The documentary is not some lazy ‘talking heads’ work detailing bland and ordinary stories of love lost and found on the Internet. Instead, it offers unique subjects who have locked into a more lasting love online; in some cases, with complete strangers; in others, not so much, but who all fell in love, and the net has had profound results as anyone living in the early 21st century can attest. The film delivers in a most unexpectedly surprising way—reeling off one sweet twist after another, as the silent passion enfolds.

Bliss ain’t always at the bar; often, it can be found while someone is alone at home, and their future significant other, some soul lost in cyber space, finds them online. Or, in the case of our initial film about the healing power of shamans and the use of Ayahuasca, the vine of the souls, one only needs to head towards the Amazon, the land of the Seeing Eye Shaman, and find that the power of wisdom can also come in a quite hidden fashion that is right out there in the open. One just needs to go and search for the elusive answers.

- Randy Ray is on Hidden Flick hiatus; in the meantime, hey, Happy Holidays, and for further healing, please e-mail Shapiro and thank him for the Phish 11/22/97 SBD bliss.

• Amazonia – Healing With The Sacred Plants: Amazon
• When Strangers Click – Five Stories from the Internet: HBO
• Previously: Hidden Flick – Season 5

Hidden on the outskirts of town is another nether region, another place where mystery resides within riddles, a place so obscure and strange that one is tempted to call it the Twilight Zone, or the foggy sections of space best left unexplored, or uninhabited. Cars race by with their excited cinematic travelers, eager to drive through the gates. We dig a little deeper into the shadows, ponder the sights, ingest the sounds, eat a pizza slice or two, gulp a soda, catch some clips, and find that this isn’t exactly a foreign place at all, but instead, a friendly little gathering place we call the Rock ‘n’ Roll Drive-In.

The intriguing location has four screens playing eight films each night. At its central hub is a circular snack bar/munchie haven for the ADD-adled, socially-minded sections of the crowd; the key meeting place for cats after a long week of dodging assignments, phone calls and text messages, and a sane hang out to get away from it all. And thus, rolling our cars into view, we begin our special edition of Hidden Flick in this wondrous locale, which is lacking in neither a blitzkrieg of colorful imagery, nor thunderous volume. Films shown are not really hidden at all; some are borderline classics, but what distinguishes this edition is the hidden nature of the drive-in itself—there are no signposts to get there. One just travels along on a cinematic road looking for gold, and suddenly, here we are.

Each screen has a name plastered on a large neon sign at its particular entrance designating its distinct vibe. Screen #1 is labeled After Elvis Only Keith. This screen, on this specifically warm and wonderful evening, is showing the Paris Olympia Theatre appearance of the Rolling Stones on their 2003 tour, which appears in the four-DVD box set, Four Flicks. It is an intimate and intense performance, as the band roars through rare and more familiar material in a venue which harkens back to the band’s 1960s origins.

Playing on the screen after that is a film from a band celebrating its 20th anniversary in 2011. Clutch Live at the 9:30 is a driving piece of purpose from a band that has never attempted to change with the times. Instead, they appear much more willing to pound their audiences into raw submission with a formidable sound, along with some truly powerful lyrics voiced by vocalist/guitarist, Neil Fallon. Suffice to say, their drummer, Jean-Paul Gaster, also comes across well in the film, while, perhaps, being a respectful and rightful heir to the hallowed percussion throne of Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham.

On Screen #2, its neon entrance sign reading Busy Being Born, the Flaming Lips’ feature debut, Christmas on Mars plays in a rather surreal way that is languid, mysterious and occasionally quite exhilaratingly weird; you know—your typical Lips’ experience. The true power of the film isn’t its rich black and white cinematography, its intriguing characterizations, story, or sets, but the ethereal and ambient soundtrack, which is worth seeking out on its own accord just to hear the band stripped of its excess and focusing on its essence—tunes cascade over and above the pulse of rhythm, resting ‘neath the surface.

Playing with the Mars freak show is Bob Dylan’s Hard Rain, a bootleg DVD from his May 23, 1976 performance at Hughes Stadium at the Colorado State University in Fort Collins. Dylan was in the midst of his Rolling Thunder tour, and the performance is especially incendiary, despite, perfectly ironic and symbolically, it taking place in a hard, driving rain, which only serves to strengthen the protean resolve of the icon and his sprawling band of musical guitar gunslingers, rogues, aging poets, gorgeous balladeers, sexy violinists, hipster icons and spirited troubadours.

Screen #3 has a neon entrance sign that says REY IS A JEDI as the T had burned out, and no one had taken the time to replace the lead bulb. Didn’t matter. This was the screen that showed random footage from various Phish performances. On this night, someone had spliced together a rather madcap combination of heady footage, which included Phish’s Mike’s Song from 12/31/95, The Flatbed Jam from August 1996’s Clifford Ball, Sand > Quadrophonic Toppling from 12/31/99’s Big Cypress millennium gig, Piper Guy Forget from 10/1/00, the Waves > David Bowie and Tower Jam passages from 2003’s IT DVD, and then an exploratory version of The Moma Dance from the 2004 Brooklyn DVD. All in all, the cumulative footage had a powerful impact, featuring fascinating sequences of imaginative improvisation by the beloved kings of everything good and weird and collaborative and just plain fun.

Trey’s DVD filmed at the Warfield Theatre in San Francisco on May 31, 2003 followed, and features another rather explosive collaboration. This time, it was Anastasio and Carlos Santana. Trey’s band was fairly hot on this night, evidenced by their ability to play it straight, stay in the pocket on a tight jam, and cut completely loose elsewhere. What is significant about this show is how easily Santana found a way to work within a template that Anastasio appeared to be toying with on a nightly basis. These moments underline the true magic of what a musician can do, even when the alleged rules have been thrown out, and one is making things up on the fly—drug-enhanced, or otherwise.

Recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee Alice Cooper and his band are celebrated in the first film on Screen #4, which had a neon entrance sign that read: Discipline and Danger. I have no idea what that means. Good to See You Again, Alice Cooper, was filmed on the 1973 Billion Dollar Babies tour, and includes taut and toxic performances by the original classic Cooper lineup—guitarists Michael Bruce and Glen Buxton, bassist Dennis Dunaway, drummer Neal Smith, and, of course, Vincent Furnier aka Alice, himself, on lead vocals and a-case-of-Budweiser-cans-per-day-I-shit-you-not. Yes, there is cheese throughout this film, but, hey, this IS a drive-in, and it is rock ‘n’ roll, man.

Led Zeppelin’s January 9, 1970 Royal Albert Hall performance in London closes the proceedings on Screen #4 appropriately enough. It is group leader, producer and guitarist Jimmy Page’s 26th birthday and he, along with his three extraordinarily talented bandmates are in their early prime as they rip through their growing repertoire which gives credence to the definition of the chemistry that Page always insisted the band had: the four musicians in union almost always created a dynamic and ethereal ‘fifth element’.

And that element was alive and well, not only at the Royal Albert Hall in 1970, but here, on this gorgeous and intoxicating night on the four screens at our hidden drive-in out past the city limits, deep in the middle of nowhere. Hidden on the outskirts of town is another nether region, another place where mystery resides within riddles, a place so obscure and strange that one is tempted to call it the Twilight Zone, or the foggy sections of space best left unexplored, or uninhabited. Cars race by with their excited cinematic travelers, eager to drive through the gates. We dig a little deeper into the shadows, ponder the sights, ingest the sounds, eat a pizza slice or two, gulp a soda, catch some clips and find that this isn’t exactly a foreign place at all, but instead, a friendly little gathering place.

As the scene faded from view, I looked back and saw an enormous tree near the entrance of the obscure place. Somehow, in my excitement at discovering such a weird and wonderful establishment, I missed its totem-like power as I drove through the entrance several hours earlier. The tree was massive, and stood as a monument to something real and true, but there was very little life left on its long and gangly branches. However, the fact that what was there was so extraordinarily beautiful made the tree even more powerful, large, and magical. I didn’t see the bareness, just the potential beauty and life in the small, new buds that were present and waiting to expand outwards in full bloom. Indeed, it is an appropriate gateway to many things, including the Rock ‘n’ Roll Drive-In.

- Randy Ray

• Previously on Hidden Flick: Rock ‘n’ Roll Drive-In Pt. 1

Taking into account everything known about our planet, one would be hard-pressed to really sit down and try to explain it all, let alone understand what it has been through, and where it is going. Suffice to say, humans may not be a part of that Great Master Plan, after all, but one is optimistically hoping that there has been a purpose, a reason, a goal in mind. Otherwise, why get up in the morning? Why do anything at all? Why evolve?

Indeed. As we head into our descent towards the end of Season 5, we ponder a film that has been recently released about just those very concepts—flight, progress, abandonment. All hope is not gone, but the better phrase (or question, in this case) may be: is the idea of “hope” something created by humans to take flight through the bleakness of existence?

And I write all of that not out of any sense of pending doom—hey, like an automobile, once off the lot, the depreciation really starts to kick in—but out of a sense that what is happening around the planet Earth is NOT a part of some master plan. Instead, it is the Great Inevitable, as one will see in this week’s Hidden Flick, Vanishing of the Bees.

Directed by George Langworthy and Maryam Henein, and narrated by the actress Ellen Page, this sobering documentary explores the recent disappearance of honeybees from their hives. This phenomenon, which originally came to public attention in France in the mid-90s, hit America several years later, and is now a worldwide issue. I hesitate to use the word “problem,” because even that word, with its heavy and perplexing connotations, does not do justice to the hive departures, does not in any way describe its true essence.

It isn’t just that bees are vanishing. It isn’t even that beekeepers throughout the world are losing their source of revenue. What the film accurately hits upon is that one-third of our food consumption is impacted by the mysterious end, in many cases, of the hive. What is even more troubling is that there are no traces of dead bees. They just left, abandoning their hives; the queen and their children that remain cannot function without these bees.

That sense of abandonment, so prevalent in American culture in our post-9/11 society, gets more clarity, more definition when the film describes the Colony Collapse Disorder concept. Like the Mayans, the bees appear to be vanishing without a trace, never to return, and when that departure is solidified, and the honeybee is completely absent from our world and its sensitive ecosystem, well, then…all hope WILL be gone.

- Randy Ray

• Vanishing of the Bees: Amazon / NetFlix
• Previously on HT: Never Cry Wolf, Sin Nombre

The path is clear though no eyes can see…the course laid down long before…and so with Gods and men, the sheep remain inside their pen…though many times they’ve seen the way to leave…

What is most striking about this concept is how the man chooses to follow his path; although, he has several opportunities to change his course within the realm of the odd time machine which rests at the center of this rather clever, brilliant, and horrifying tale of man’s survival instincts.

There is only the next step, leading one ever onwards, as the battle between the forces of light and dark, time and space, and the notion that a film, a Cinema Show, has to progress in a linear fashion with images that tell you exactly what is going on are discarded by the God of Time Travelers who can determine WHEN they are, but not WHO they are.

Yeah. Right there. Whoop. An incredible opportunity. A gift. Hey, Rael, supper’s ready.

So…what have we got here, thus far? Mirrors and unwashed bastards and circumstantial events and an alternate temporal universe and tragic wisdom and two round holes of binoculars, and, always, ALWAYS, that clever, brilliant sense of a horrifying tale of man’s survival instincts…

Ahhh…but we get ahead of ourselves, don’t we? There must be some misunderstanding, there must be some mistake…I went to the places…I rang your house…jumped in my car…I went round there…still don’t believe it…he was just leaving…there must be some misunderstanding…

Los Cronocrímenes shimmers ‘neath a silver series of clouds that neither judge or abdicate its hollowed throne, and one is left breathless at the mysterious truth dancing amongst the stars on the outer rim of its sinister credo: we will do what it takes to get by, and we will find a way to move forward, and we will one day look in the mirror, and that blood, that very blood coming from another source, is really all our own. Wandering in the Garden of our Dreams, we hear the Piper, feel the cool bite of the Seven Below, witness the Return, come fumbling back onto the streets—the Lamb heads up Broadway.

To walk away from time or towards time—that is the question…that is the mirror.

Stand up to the blow that fate has struck upon you; make the most of all you still have coming to you, whispers the trees and the clock spins once again…another life, brother.

• Los Cronocrímenes: Amazon / NetFlix
• Previously on Hidden Flick: Season 4

- Randy Ray