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Dogtown and Z-Boys
In the early 1970s, a group of young surfers from a tough neighborhood south of Santa Monica took up skateboards and offhandedly changed the world. At least it appears so after watching Dogtown and Z-Boys, a documentary about how twelve "Z-Boys" (including one girl) resuscitated a dead sport and created a lifestyle that spread infectiously to become a worldwide counterculture phenomenon, namely high-flying "vert" (i.e. vertical) skateboarding and punk rock abandon. Director Stacy Peralta, one of the original Z-Boys, and Craig Steyck, the photographer whose publicity first made them famous, would have you believe that with empty pools as their springboard, the clan single-handedly carved a niche that grew into what is now referred to as "extreme sports" (snowboarding seems particularly implicated). Degrees of accuracy aside, the hoard of original footage Peralta and Steyck have access to makes for an engaging portrait of "accidental revolutionaries" whose mythology as expressed by themselves (all but one of the original crew give extensive interviews) and those they influenced (including Henry Rollins, Jeff Ament of Pearl Jam, and Sean Penn, who narrates) is far more entertaining than any evenhanded version could ever hope to be. --Fionn Meade Grateful Dawg
Jerry Garcia was famous as the visionary behind the Grateful Dead, but his musical tastes were broad, and he found a rewarding partnership with mandolinist David Grisman, whose distinctive "Dawg" style fused jazz with bluegrass. At its best, Grateful Dawg celebrates the easy friendship and truly inspired musicianship of Garcia and Grisman through grainy home-movie footage with surprisingly crisp sound. As one of the film's commentators says, Grisman made Garcia tighter as a musician, while Garcia made Grisman looser, and where they met they created an infectious, rootsy style they called Grateful Dawg. The film's many highlights include instrumental versions of "Dawg Waltz," "Shady Grove," and "Arabia," as well as splendid footage from Garcia and Grisman's days in Old & in the Way. The talking heads inserted ham-handedly between and over performances, unfortunately, become repetitious and, finally, downright annoying. But Garcia and Grisman fans will still enjoy the glimpse at a rare musical alchemy. --Anne Hurley
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