by Francesca McCaffery

 John Maloof and his brother were raised working at outdoor flea markets and swap meets with their father…From a very  early age, John Maloof could spot a deal. When working on a book about the history of Chicago, he attended an Auction at a small auctioneer’s store, sitting quietly in the back, and bidded a mere $780 for a box containing over 25,000 negatives shot by an unknown, female photographer. A savvy veteran of these auctions, and now a real estate agent and local historian, he was looking for photos and negatives of old-time Chicago, he was hoping to get a little lucky. He ended up purchasing, for even less money, tens of thousands of more negs and rolls of film, as well as most of her rmaining personal possessions from storage, from another buyer. All of these images had been taken by a woman named Vivian Maier.

 As his life and work on the Chicago book took over, Maloof ended up simply  stashing away the old boxes in a closet for a long while. Dusting them off one day, hunting again for some random,  still images of Chicago, he began to discover some of the most insightful, gorgeous and timely images of street photography he had ever seen. Entranced by the glorious, black and white stills, and in possession of a sophisticated artistic instinct and taste,  he then set about to find out, exactly, just who this Vivian Maeir woman  really was.

Through meticulous research of the items and letters of hers that he had also purchased, he began the tremendous process of discovery: Maloof first started his search online, finding absolutely nothing. Being a self-proclaimed “obsessive kind of person,” Maloof tracked down a family that knew Maier well- who had in fact, had employed her. As their nanny.

 During this same period, Maloof also begun further scanning several of the thousands of negatives he had (there were much, much fewer printed images of paper- and those were mostly damaged) and started sending them to art historians and museums, to see if he could somehow arrange a show, or gallery representation or opening.

 He was, much to his great disappointment, systematically turned down by the art world. Maloof then set upon his newfound mission to bring Maier’s incredible photographs to the world on his own. Through actual live interviews with Maier’s now fully grown “charges,” we learn that the adults who employed her did not realize she was a serious photographer, but the children certainly did: They were dragged around to “bad” sections of town, docks, poor areas, were Maier somehow had the quiet charisma to elicit the most beguiling self-portraits from total and complete strangers. (The close-up portraits are especially, staggeringly impressive and moving.)

 Maeir also lived and worked as a nanny in New York City, and this is where her photography comes into a thrilling, full, mature bloom: There are images of  ecstatic children, bums, glorious street scenes of all stripe, decaying urban landscapes and building fronts, tired businessmen, well-dressed dames, cops: All injected with incredible, dry bits of humor, gorgeous composition and highly intuitive, natural lighting. There is also her incredible ability to capture the explicit poignancy and miracle of the moment- the true gift of any street photographer.

 Naturally, as more of Maier’s now grown  “children” are candidly interviewed by Maloof (and his co-director and co-writer, Charlie Siskel) we realize there was a sad, haunting darkness in her a nature, and an obvious trauma from her past, that had prevented her from fully connecting with her art, and with other people, in general. As she aged, she also grew increasingly eccentric, and some of the charge’s tales turn increasingly disturbing. (Interestingly, though, it was three former young boys she cared for, who as grown men, took it upon themselves to rent her an apartment , supporting her after she retired.)

 The interviews do make up the bulk of the film, as it always amazing to us to pick apart what composes the interior life of someone life- the ultimate in coulda-woulda- shoulda scenarios…But there is just enough of her work shown, in essence, to whet your appetite for more investigation into the actual images and her work, itself.

I have heard much controversy over Maloof appropriating these images and reaping the financial benefit…(Well before this film’s notoriety, he had made her a “star” already on the internet and print media with his incredible discovery) But honestly- I have to completely disagree: This “mission’ of John Maloof’s, may, in fact, eventually leave him a very wealthy man, (Maier’s prints are on sale and being collected by celebrities and collectors world-wide) but the extraordinary richness of Vivian Maier’s work, one can safely say, would not be known to us without his dedication and obsessive nature. Vivian Maier’s work is probably on par with that of  Diane Arbus and Robert Frank. Hopefully, she will be soon accepted by the art establishment just as she is by the mainstream media. This is a wonderful, inspiring film, especially if your inner-artist is dying to make a splash on the canvas, screen or page. One is left with the feeling that a person truly owes it to the world to show it what you’ve got- and that’s no mean feat for a small, wonderful film like this. Go see it- it opens March 28th in selected cities.

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By Francesca McCaffery

Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac: Vol 2, picks right up where Nymphomaniac, Vol 1 left off: the Young Joe (Stacy Martin) is in the midst of her relationship with her once long lost true love, Jerôme (Shia LaBeouf). (Here is my review on Vol 1 here.)

The problem is, the sexually rapacious Joe had, in her own words, “Lost all feeling in my cunt.” Her genuine fillings for Jerome have left her unable to enjoy sexual intercourse with Jerôme. They keep trying unsuccessfully to get Joe off, until finally, an exhausted Jerôme declares that she’s like a wild animal, and well, he needs some “help with the feeding.”

Permitting her to seek out others so she may seek the satisfaction she so craves, the young Joe suddenly, in the next scene, morphs into the 50-year old Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg, who has been narrating since Volume 1) now sleepily pushing a baby stroller through a park, an infant boy asleep inside.  The scenes also cut back to the present, with Joe talking and hashing over incredible and risqué life story to Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard), whom we also learn some very interesting, though none too surprising, personal information about.

 Von Trier is indicating, in no small way, that Joe is not into, or going to, change: This is who she is, for better or worse. And it doesn’t take her long, through some strange word-of-mouth that I cannot fathom, for her to find the sadomasochistic K. K has a basement sort of office, where women wait sometimes for hours on end just to be (very) badly ministered by him. And this is no 50 Shades of Grey light BDSM, no sir: This is brutal, if not for the raw nature of the emotions, or lack thereof, on display. (K is also played by none other by Jamie Bell, of Billy Elliot fame, adding to the delicious weirdness and sterility of it all.)  When an almost near fatal occurrence happens when she is off to one of her appointments with K, Jerôme threatens to leave with her son, never seeing her again, if she continues.

From here, the film veers into a strange, almost hallucinatory silly sort of strata, wherein Joe takes on a completely different, and rather criminal, profession, and decades seem to pass before our eyes: At first, I thought this ridiculous, but really, I feel von Trier was hoping to show that it really did not matter what the hell Joe did for a living: Her self-loathing was seeping into every, single aspect of her life, now even her “career.”. L (Willem Dafoe-always a pleasure to see) plays her new, shifty-eyed boss. She even meets and starts an affair with a teenage girl (Mia Goth- startling-looking and a lovely, natural actress) she is ordered by L to “recruit.” This also struck me, at first, as ludicrous, until you realize that she is experiencing love for the second time around, finally and strangely, in a maternal sense.

I am not going to give more away, because this film definitely needs to be experienced without forethought or preconception: All I will say is, I thought this second piece to the grand Volume 1 was an enormous let-down, until- I was on the train going home from the screening. The last scene of the film came back to me then, I realized, I felt it all at once. This is what will happen to you if you cannot connect, he seems to be suggesting: Intimacy itself will feel like the ultimate invasion, preventing you from EVER having a substantial relationship. Joe not only hates herself, but everyone else around her.

Nymphomaniac, (both brilliant films togther)  is about an individual carving something out of an endless need, never finding fulfillment, never even coming close to it, and-in the end- literally ending what could be the only chance for a true emotional connection.

 “Fill all my holes” is a phrase desperately whispered by Joe in both films. Just as the line “The secret ingredient to sex is love” is spoken in Vol 1 by one of Joe’s childhood friends, without any irony at all, so, as well, is this one: Joe is begging others to do for her what she cannot. This is not a cultural critique, but a beautiful, astonishing and brutal character study of addiction and pain, one that just may teach you a thing or two about yourself. As I said in my review of Volume 1: Forget all the sex, if it’s “real,” CGI’d, or not. Just go and see Nymphomaniac Vol 2 for the way it will shake you to your very core.  

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