‘The Big Fix’ review: BP’s disaster in the Gulf of Mexico

The scathing documentary “The Big Fix” investigates questions of corporate negligence and political corruption surrounding last year’s Deepwater Horizon oil spill and its lingering aftereffects on the Gulf Coast.

Even before the devastating spill off the coast of Louisiana, BP — the British company that operated the Deepwater Horizon — had racked up numerous safety violations, as well as deadly explosions and ruptured pipelines in Texas and Alaska. Filmmakers Josh and Rebecca Tickell, however, have more than one villain in their sights. Branching out from the April 2010 spill, they paint a portrait of a political system so corrupted by the oil and gas industry that it has rendered Louisiana less a state in our union than an “oil colony.”

BP chose not to represent its side of the story — the company declined to be interviewed for the film. Instead, “The Big Fix” presents a compelling array of damning testimony from EPA officials, journalists, scientists and politicians as well as emotional scenes of distraught residents, a number, like Rebecca Tickell, experiencing troubling physical symptoms in the wake of the disaster.

— Mindy Farabee

“The Big Fix.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 29 minutes. At AMC Loews Broadway 4, Santa Monica.

With “Dragonslayer,” director Tristan Patterson brings a gentle lyricism to an aimless year following Orange County skateboarder Josh “Skreech” Sandoval.

A semi-professional, Sandoval spends much of his time drinking, smoking pot and alternately placing in and flubbing competitions. “I don’t win,” he informs the camera, just before explaining to a young fan he’s only now come back from a spell that left him too depressed to skate. Perennially broke and occasionally homeless, at one point, Sandoval’s happy just to pitch his tent in a friend’s backyard.

As the film, divided into 11 impressionistic chapters, progresses, now and again, he will visit with his infant son; mostly he hangs out, on the road, in the skate park or drained pool or with his new girlfriend. Before shooting “Dragonslayer,” Patterson worked as a screenwriter, and his documentary debut carries the imprint of experimental narrative filmmaking à la Gus Van Sant.

Weaving Flip cam footage logged by Sandoval and company with shimmering scenes of bonfires, drive-ins and road trips shot with moody elegance by cinematographer Eric Koretz, a youth culture backdropped by the crumbling edge of California is rendered with punk rock energy and grace.

“Dragonslayer.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 14 minutes. At the Downtown Independent, Los Angeles.

The new documentary “Dzi Croquettes” brings to mind San Francisco’s legendary gender-bending Cockettes, a collection of drag performers who made no effort to hide their more masculine attributes. But the Dzi Croquettes, a 1970s-era troupe whose members also celebrated their bodies while clad in glitter and spangles, were a much bigger deal.

Lennie Dale, a virtuoso Broadway dancer and émigré to Brazil, founded the 13-member group in 1973. Their productions were lavish explosions of creativity and imagination that had wide audience appeal. More significantly, the group flourished at a time of extreme repression under a harsh military dictatorship; Brazil’s government shut them down only to be persuaded to let the show go on.

For “Dzi Croquettes” director Tatiana Issa, daughter of the group’s set designer, and her co-director/executive producer Raphael Alvarez have rounded up the five surviving Croquettes, their backstage colleagues and a raft of Brazilian stars to speak to the group’s lasting impact. The filmmakers also interviewed choreographer Ron Lewis and Liza Minnelli, both close friends and admirers of the late Dale.

The extensive performance footage illustrates just how electrifying these entertainers were. Dzi Croquettes transcended camp with inspired artistry and achieved moments of poignancy amid much exhilaration. “Dzi Croquettes” is both a tribute and a terrific entertainment.

— Kevin Thomas

“Dzi Croquettes.” No MPAA rating. In Portuguese and English with English subtitles. Running time: 1 hour, 38 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood.

“The Greening of Whitney Brown” is a kind of reverse-fairy tale about a spoiled Philadelphia middle school student (Sammi Hanratty) forced to ditch the limelight and the lattes when her affluent father (Aidan Quinn) loses his job — and everything along with it.

But a worst-nightmare move to the sticks and into the farmhouse owned by her dad’s estranged father (Kris Kristofferson) proves a much-needed reality check as Whitney reorders priorities, befriends a genial horse named Bob, bonds with her long-lost grandpa, and learns to live a popularity- and cellphone-free life.

After a grating start, the movie, directed by Peter Odiorne from a script by Gail Gilchriest (“My Dog Skip”), finds its way into warmer, more likable territory. That is, until it flies off the rails in a third act so devoid of logic it could have been concocted on the moon.

Still, Hanratty, who evokes Lindsay Lohan in her Disney heyday, manages to hold together the bubbly silliness. She deftly works her way through such a wide array of behaviors and comic bits (her run-in with an archaic pay phone is a stitch) that it’s actually sort of amazing. Brooke Shields is also on hand in a nice turn as Whitney’s equitable mom.

— Gary Goldstein

“The Greening of Whitney Brown.” MPAA Rating: PG for brief mild language. Running time: 1 hour, 27 minutes. At Vintage Cinemas Exchange 8, Glendale.

Danish-born actress and filmmaker Dina Rosenmeier attempts to square her mother Jessie’s seemingly obsessive need to aid the world’s underprivileged children — while regularly leaving her own six kids back home — in the stirring, if inconclusive documentary “A Journey in My Mother’s Footsteps.”

Jessie Rosenmeier, 75 when this film was made, is dubbed here “The Mother Teresa of Modern Times” for her four-decade devotion to the welfare and international adoption of children in such countries as Kenya, Haiti, Korea and, especially, India. Dina travels across the last, revisiting the orphanages and foundations in Kolkata, Chennai, New Delhi and Mumbai where Jessie made her mark. En route, the writer-director explores her prospects for motherhood and even a potential adoption, which furthers her understanding of Jessie’s humanitarian impulses.

Jessie, who joins Dina on-camera in Mumbai, explains how her passion for helping the destitute began after her third child died at birth, which connects at least a few dots. But the deeper implications — Jessie’s desire for escape, her volunteerism’s true emotional and financial toll on her family — are largely skirted here, even throughout Dina’s various chats with her supportive father.

That none of Dina’s siblings is interviewed here about their extraordinary mother may speak volumes.

— Gary Goldstein

“A Journey in My Mother’s Footsteps.” No MPAA rating. In English and Danish with English subtitles. At Running time: 1 hour, 17 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood.

“Killing Bono” whips up a frenzied mix of musical jealousy, wishful stardom and farcical lucklessness into a movie too slippery to hold onto. Inspired by the memoir of Irish music journalist Neil McCormick, who as an aspiring musician watched his schoolmates become U2 while he toiled away in failing bands, the movie grafts onto Neil’s story the dramatic notion that he prevented his guitar-playing brother Ivan from being part of the original U2 lineup in order to keep the sibs together.

That familial twist of fate is heartbreaking enough without screenwriters Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais (who penned the much-better band saga “The Commitments”) piling on rock-’n’-roll clichés. It doesn’t help matters that director Nick Hamm subscribes to the over-excitedly gestural school of guiding actors, which saps any potential loser charm from leads Ben Barnes (as Neil) and Robert Sheehan (Ivan) and instead makes them seem like spinning tops.

The quiet marvel, though, is Martin McCann’s portrayal of Paul/Bono, which only confirms how much suggestion trumps imitation when playing a familiar icon.

— Robert Abele

“Killing Bono.” MPAA rating: R for pervasive language, some sexuality/nudity and drug use. Running time: 1 hour, 54 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood and Laemmle’s Town Center 5, Encino.

The new documentary “Limelight” convincingly makes the case that one-time New York night-life impresario Peter Gatien was wrongly accused of involvement with the sale of drugs from his string of clubs in the 1990s. But the film, directed by Billy Corben and produced by Gatien’s daughter Jen, also feels wildly one-sided and ultimately myopic in its focus on the man’s legal woes.

The rise of pansexual, hedonistic club culture is a tantalizing backdrop to the story, and the most startling moments in “Limelight” are the home videos of clubbing in its prime, with enormous crowds packed shoulder-to-shoulder onto Gatien’s dance floors. In the end though, the film is simply an exhibit for the defense, an attempt at exoneration, and doesn’t even really attempt to give a full portrait of Gatien as a person.

It never looks to answer why, amid all his protestations of what hard work it was running nightclubs (and from the look of it, it was), he remained in the business. Was there anything in it for him besides money? Was he drawn to the glamour, did he like being the distant ringleader, enjoy seeing others have a good time? If all you know about Peter Gatien going in to “Limelight” is that he is a nightclub owner with legal issues, that’s about all you’ll know coming out.

— Mark Olsen

“Limelight.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood.

Angela Garcia Combs, writer-director of the graceless mother-daughter drama “Nothing Special,” has created a lackluster lead role for real-life daughter Julia Garcia Combs in Louise, an L.A. insurance underwriter who has trouble finishing a sentence but can somehow knock out a complex deal with a pair of big-time studio heads. Louise also talks to herself a lot — she has imaginary chats with Oprah Winfrey and Barbara Walters — but is tongue-tied around the cute actor-bartender she likes. Ah, the irony.

Louise’s self-esteem issues, we assume, are due to a long-suffering relationship with her bi-polar mother, May (Karen Black), who has moved in with her after being evicted from Section 8 housing. May is crazier than not, causing endless annoyance and embarrassment for Angela wherever they go (beware the supermarket!). In the clunkiest of many clunky scenes, May even punches out Angela’s flinty, feminist boss — and surrogate mom — Catherine (Barbara Bain). On Mother’s Day, no less. Ah, the irony.

Badly paced, ineptly written and filled with superfluous moments, the film is further hindered by awkward performances: Julia Garcia Combs is self-conscious and unengaging, the scenery-chewing Black (“I am more than my diagnosis!”) rarely hits a convincing note, and Bain always seems to be fighting her better instincts. Nothing special, indeed.

— Gary Goldstein

“Nothing Special.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 39 minutes. At Laemmle’s Music Hall 3, Beverly Hills.

Writer-director Alexandre Rockwell, maker of humane comedies like Sundance prize-winner “In the Soup,” was one of the early leading lights of the American independent filmmaking scene, but he has long struggled to maintain his footing as a filmmaker. With “Pete Smalls Is Dead,” he is still stumbling.

A former screenwriter (Peter Dinklage) has his dog taken by loan sharks, and he returns to Los Angeles for the promise of quick money to help an old friend (Mark Boone Jr.) bury someone they both once knew. The film has a mangy, oddball energy when it focuses on the fractured friendship between Dinklage and Boone, as even the sight gag of the oversize Boone and smaller Dinklage riding on a moped has a startling amount of mileage to it. Lots of familiar faces pop up in small roles — Steve Buscemi, Seymour Cassel and others — while Theresa Wayman of local L.A. band Warpaint makes a big impression in a small roll as a laconic femme fatale.

Many of the film’s storytelling beats seems drawn perhaps a little too closely from “The Long Goodbye,” Raymond Chandler’s elegiac detective novel adapted into a classic by Robert Altman. Rockwell’s film might have been better off dropping its rueful, sour-grapes satire on Hollywood altogether, as it just feels artificial and forced.

— Mark Olsen

“Pete Smalls Is Dead.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 37 minutes. At Laemmle’s Monica 4-Plex, Santa Monica.

An appreciation for news-gathering in extreme conditions, Martyn Burke’s documentary “Under Fire: Journalists in Combat” brings a heightened sense of psychological cost to the work of war correspondents, whose jobs have become increasingly dangerous. (Two reporters were killed in the Great War, whereas 900 have died in the last two decades.)

Using a mix of interviews and subject-relevant combat footage, Burke drives home the traumatic nature of the gig — how it creates adrenaline junkies, ruins personal relationships and often leads to crippling PTSD. Because his interviewees are professional witnesses, their firsthand accounts and the feelings they engendered are brutally vivid — and lead to more than one on-camera breakdown — although Burke’s decision to have some read from their published memoirs, and the occasionally overblown score, create the film’s only distancing effects.

Still, there are many disturbing stories: videographer Jon Steele’s Sarajevo encounter with a sniper-shot child, former AP bureau chief (and bullet wound victim) Ian Stewart’s harrowing experiences in West Africa and Sunday Times of London reporter Christina Lamb’s realization during a Taliban firefight that she’d had more combat experience than the soldiers around her.

But it’s Canadian photographer Paul Watson’s detailed telling of how he captured his controversial Pulitzer Prize-winning 1994 photograph of a dead American soldier dragged through Mogadishu — and the crushing guilt it led to — that might be hardest to forget.

— Robert Abele

“Under Fire: Journalists in Combat.” No MPAA rating. Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes. At Laemmle’s Sunset 5, West Hollywood.