![]() Skate Kitchen chronicles a couple of months in the life of Camille (Rachelle Vinberg), a teenager from suburban Long Island who is in awe of a New York City skate crew called Skate Kitchen. But it does so from a more inclusive viewpoint so as to explicitly question such norms. So for better or worse, the film presents skateboarding as a subculture, with its own rules and regulations. ![]() And, sadly, gender and ethnicity are still defining factors in this normative framework. It’s all about how you carry yourself, or so Moselle seems to suggest – from the way you hold your board to where and with whom you skate. No fisheye lenses or accelerated montage techniques here instead, the film celebrates the execution of delicate routines and stylised rituals via long shots and gentle camera movements.īut Skate Kitchen doesn’t shy away from addressing the discomfort, exclusivity and inequality that go hand in hand with some of these refined yet standardised rites of passage. Where conventional videos move hastily from trick to trick and place to place, Skate Kitchen takes its time to approximate skateboarding’s everyday lived experience. ![]() Its warm colour scheme and narrow depth of field likewise advance a visual texture that is unlike most skater-made videos. Skate Kitchen hits the right tone, and might offer one of the richest soundscapes in contemporary cinema. The same goes for other skate classics in fiction film, including Thrashin’ (1986), Grind (2003) and even Gus Van Sant’s Paranoid Park (2007). It’s attuned to the sensory density of skating – a rarity in cinema.Ĭompare with Lords of Dogtown (2005): Stacy Peralta’s celebration of his own legendary SoCal skate crew the Z-Boys at times feels like a compilation of polished music videos from the 1970s (Nazareth, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath), rather than cherishing the sonic quality of skateboarding. From the screeching of polyurethane wheels on asphalt to the tapping of aluminium alloy trucks on polished granite ledges, the film embraces the instantaneously recognisable sonic traces of skateboarders. Skate Kitchen opens with a modernist soundscape, if only to reassure skateboarders that this is a legitimate representation of their culture. The films may be timely in their thematic approach, but what exactly has the world of skateboarding to offer to cinema? Bing Liu’s documentary Minding the Gap bridges the overlooked chasm between skating and family life (including domestic violence and teenage pregnancy) Jonah Hill’s directorial debut Mid90s challenges the often nostalgic outlook on Southern California as the birthplace of skate culture and Crystal Moselle’s Skate Kitchen works towards a more inclusive environment for women and people of colour in skateboarding. Cinema might make itself an ally in this fight.Ģ018 brings three socio-political films on skateboarding. Recently founded queer collectives such as Doyenne, Skateism and Unity are tackling some of its most pressing issues, yet the repercussions of transphobia, racism, bigotry and censorship remain staggering. ![]() Though skateboarding is deservedly praised for channelling activist youth cultures and human rights movements, a haughtily conservative spectre also moves through it. As much as it highlights the elegance of skateboarders on screen, its coming-of-age story is an open critique of contemporary skate culture. Skate Kitchen simultaneously embraces and censures the world of skateboarding.
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