Like a demented child’s fantasy, Uwe Boll’s Postal fails to comprehend its own corrupt nature. I don’t fully understand or care about the German émigré’s brash confrontations with critics and the hatred leveled against his filmmaking (a petition to get him to retire has been circulating the web in the last few weeks), but the problem with Boll’s latest videogame adaptation for the big screen has less to do with his admittedly crappy direction than its indolent treatment of pertinent ideas.

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BEING BILL PLYMPTON


“It became a morality tale by accident,” Bill Plympton says of his latest animated feature film, Idiots and Angels, which has two more screenings at the Tribeca Film Festival on April 30 and May 3. Regardless of Plympton’s intent, the thematic consequence is right there in the title: Idiots and Angels follows a sadistic gun salesman ignorant to the struggles of those around him—until a pair of angel wings inexplicably grow on his back, and with them comes an emerging sense of responsibility.

Like Plympton’s best works, dialogue is non-existent, replaced by the expressive quirks of his fluid line drawings and abstract comedy. Where quintessential Plympton shorts—such as the Oscar-nominated Guide Dog—express a vivacious, chaotic glee, the new feature contains a relatively contemplative feel.


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