One question has bothered Martin Ludlow in his decades as a concert and event promoter in Los Angeles. In a city packed with excellent jazz musicians, and a century of history with the genre, why is there no local equivalent of the massive festivals that cities like Montreal, New Orleans or Montreux, Switzerland, have built? One where the music transforms clubs, restaurants and parks across the city for nights on end?

This summer’s inaugural LA Jazz Festival in August will be the biggest push in a generation to build that here. Ludlow’s event — which melds his passion for jazz with the logistics muscle of his former life as a city councilman and labor leader — hopes to draw 250,000 fans across the city for a month of concerts culminating in a stadium-sized show on Dockweiler Beach. It will be one of the largest such events in the world, and the biggest Black-owned fest of its kind.

“This festival is intended to lift up our ancestors that came to this country in bondage, terrorized, brutalized,” Ludlow said outside City Hall on Wednesday. “It’s also about celebrating the end to those last bastions of Jim Crow racism, the days we were denied access to public drinking fountains, public swimming pools and public beaches. From the beginning of this journey, we’ve been very intentional about telling the narrative of that human rights struggle called Jazz.”

Flanked by Mayor Karen Bass, City Council members Heather Hutt, Traci Park and Tim McOsker, and jazz figures including Ray Charles Jr. and Pete Escovedo, Ludlow promised a galvanizing occasion for L.A.’s local jazz scene and the city’s wobbly tourism economy. That jazz scene has welcomed new investments like Blue Note L.A., and lamented beloved clubs like ETA closing.

This festival, however, hopes to be more on a scale with forthcoming mega-events such as the World Cup and the Olympics. The 25-day event in August will sprawl all over the region, with free park concerts in all 15 council districts, and 150 late-night shows at clubs and restaurants across the city. A Caribbean street fair highlighting the African and Latin roots of jazz will hit El Segundo, along with guided tours of historic Black coastal sites like Bruce’s Beach and Inkwell beach.

The fest culminates in a two-day concert on Dockweiler Beach that hopes to draw 40,000 fans a night. While a lineup is still in progress, the scope of Ludlow’s ambition is formidable — the fest will ban fossil fuels from its footprint, and earned a strong vouch from the California Coastal Commission. For decades, the Playboy Jazz Festival (now the Hollywood Bowl Jazz Festival) was the defining event for the music in Los Angeles; this could eclipse it several times over.

“Martin, I’ve been on this 15-year journey with you. Through all of the ups and downs, I’m so excited this is the year,” Mayor Bass said at Wednesday’s event at City Hall debuting the festival. “This is the Los Angeles that will welcome the world. One of the best things we have to offer is all of our culture.”

Ludlow is a colorful figure in Los Angeles politics, a former council member and L.A. County Federation of Labor executive who pleaded guilty to misappropriating funds in 2006. He’s since delved deep into community activism and embarked on a successful third act as a concert and event promoter, throwing socially-conscious events with his firm Bridge Street, which has produced shows for Stevie Wonder, The Revolution, Sheila E and Snoop Dogg along with civic events like the ceremony renaming Obama Boulevard in Los Angeles.

“During this journey, you can only imagine there’s a lot of highs and a lot of lows,” Ludlow said. “When you have those lows, you want a friend that really can lift you up.” He had plenty of them onstage with him Wednesday announcing what could be a new flagship event for jazz in Los Angeles.

Jimpa, 2025.

Written and Directed by Sophie Hyde.
Starring Olivia Colman, John Lithgow, Aud Mason-Hyde, Daniel Henshall, Kate Box, Eamon Farren, Hans Kesting, Zoë Love Smith, Romana Vrede, Deborah Kennedy, Jean Janssens, Frank Sanders, Cody Fern, Tilda Cobham-Hervey, Bryn Chapman, Parish Len, Leo Vincent, and Julian Cruiming.

SYNOPSIS:

Hannah and her non-binary teenager Frances visit her gay grandfather Jimpa in Amsterdam. Frances expresses a desire to stay with their grandfather for a year, challenging Hannah’s parenting beliefs and forcing her to confront past issues.

Both gay activist/somewhat estranged grandfather Jim (certainly a bold performance from John Lithgow that plays to his charismatic strengths) and his non-binary teenager grandchild Frances (Aud Mason-Hyde, the child of writer/director Sophie Hyde, who is evidently telling a personal story here) are complex characters in Jimpa (a combination of the name and grandpa, which fittingly reflects two very distinct ways in which Frances perceives him, perhaps first and foremost as a gay rights fighter more than a family member).

As Frances and parents, Hannah (Olivia Colman) and Harry (Daniel Henshall), visit Jim in Amsterdam, where Frances, much to their chagrin, is thinking about staying for a year with Jimpa to enjoy his enigmatic company and study abroad in a more progressive community, the more frustrating, problematic sides to him become more pronounced. It’s a side of Frances’ parents they warned has always been there, but even after a stroke, the openly flamboyant, provocative, no-filter man can control and captivate an entire room effortlessly.

Jim has had many lovers and has no doubt been an instrumental force in fighting for gay rights. He has also slipped into conservatism and lost sight of the greater picture, insistent that there is no such thing as bisexuality, which, to him, as an idea, negates everything he has fought for. Naturally, Frances very existence as a non-binary individual sexually attracted to women or non-cis men is a challenge to that worldview. Much of that frustration with Jimpa’s stubbornness is reflected in a tremendously nuanced performance from Aud Mason-Hyde, a natural at playing what is unquestionably a multilayered and complicated role, given the circumstances.

There is also an aspect that sees Hannah, a filmmaker clearly standing in for Sophie Hyde here, looking to channel a family history in which Jim came out as gay and left the family when she was 13, into conflict-free art, something that creative collaborators over Zoom advise her isn’t possible. At times, it feels as if Sophie Hyde is executing this film similarly, which isn’t as interested in some of the above clashes as one might be led to believe. Instead, the third act involves a bit of tragedy and some extended wrapping-up that doesn’t seem to address much of what comes before.

The film also primarily wants to be about Frances and their rocky relationship with their Jimpa, but also individual experiences such as discovering aspects of their sexuality, experiencing intimacy for the first time (in numerous unconventional and casual ways that some might deem inappropriate, but then again, it is Europe…), and how living in Amsterdam could provide a more fulfilling and welcoming upbringing. Throughout all of this are vague montage-like flashback glimpses to these characters, replaced by younger actors in a stylistic choice that is substantially empty.

The longer Jimpa goes on, the more it feels overstuffed with plot concepts and thematic ideas that are either discarded or never cohere into anything profound, especially since the focus is scattered all over the place. It’s a film that might have worked better by sticking with the perspective of one of its major characters, rather than ambitiously piling everything into a family affair that doesn’t necessarily resolve, but instead transitions into about 30 minutes of sentimentality.

In some ways, it isn’t tightly coiled enough to prioritize both Frances and Jimpa, shortchanging both of them as complex people. By the time Hannah is having filmmaking epiphanies about how to tell this story, one is likely confounded by this family’s dynamics and has checked out. Jimpa is a story of fascinatingly messy, contradictory LGBTQ stances and character relationships that is far more interesting than it is rewarding.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★

Robert Kojder

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

Two figures will always haunt the human imagination: the woman in ecstasy, and the woman in madness. This enduring fascination may stem as much from the paper-thin line that separates the two states as it does from our deep-seated fear of both. If the devoted nun resembles the raving patient, does that not justify locking them away, protecting ourselves from their unsettling power?

Two recent novels go behind the walls of anchorite and lunatic cells in different centuries and for different purposes, yet wind up demonstrating how women forced by circumstance behind walls influence the lives of others into the future. In “Canticle,” a debut from Janet Rich Edwards, a young woman named Aleys enters religious life in 13th-century Bruges, Belgium, after a Franciscan, Brother Lukas, witnesses her fervor. A series of unfortunate events ultimately lead to her permanent cloister, a tiny cell built into the wall of a cathedral. Paula McLain’s new book, “Skylark,” spans several centuries in Paris, beginning in the 17th when Alouette Voland is sentenced to the Salpetrière asylum after protesting the arrest of her father, an expert fabric dyer, from prison, for the brilliant blue hue he has concocted — actually his daughter’s recipe, which contains dangerous arsenic. Alouette’s attempts to reclaim her work as her own instead of her father’s result in her consignment to Salpêtrière.

While both novels feature terrific and authentic detail about the rough confines Aleys and Alouette endure, the message beneath the descriptions is far more terrifying and authentic: for centuries, the fear of female agency and non-male approaches to power has led to deep trauma, not just for individual women, but for Western civilization itself. For instance, Aleys’s late mother cherished books, even though common people rarely knew how to read and write, let alone owned books. Aleys cherishes the tiny, exquisite psalter her mother inherited from an abbess aunt. Although Aleys’s mother cannot read, she knows the stories of the saints and relishes embroidering them with “goriest” details to keep her children interested. Yet, even as Aleys’s world begins to change with the rise of lay literacy, those lay people are almost entirely men. Women, whether secular or religious, remain forbidden to read, write or tell stories.

Aleys, at first, seems to be on a path toward personal enlightenment. Brother Lukas declares her a Franciscan, convincing his superior, Bishop of Tournai Jaan Metz, that the young woman possesses special spiritual gifts. The Bishop agrees, but insists that since no other Franciscans are female, Aleys must be sent to the nearby Beguines—laywomen who take no vows, live in community, and work to support the church. While Aleys initially finds the Beguines “wanton” due to their “strange rites,” including casual dress and meetings, their charismatic leader, Grand Mistress Sophia Vermeulen, convinces Aleys of the group’s higher purpose.

Aleys later discovers that a beguine named Katrijn Janssens has been secretly translating Latin scripture into Dutch. In the evenings, the women often perform ecstatic dances while someone reads from the “Canticle of Canticles” (also known as the “Song of Songs”). Aleys already has a strong mystical bent, and after some time in the Begijnhof, she supposedly cures a young boy’s illness. Unfortunately, she’s unable to do the same when Sophia becomes sick. Her subsequent eviction from the Beguines leads to her accepting the Bishop’s offer of sanctuary—as an anchorite, destined to live out her days in a tiny stone outcropping. Her only contact with other humans is a slit through which she can hear daily mass, save for Marte, the low-ranking Beguine assigned to deliver her meals and empty her slop bucket.

Meanwhile, Alouette has become an adept of dye recipes. Even though she and other women are able to read, write, and keep ledgerbooks by this date, the complicated and often secret tinctures concocted for fabrics remain the province of men.

Like Aleys, Alouette forms alliances with other women, Sylvine and Marguerite, the latter of whom carefully documents the guards’ abuses in a ledger. These abuses include the murder of inmates’ infants, a fact that galvanizes the pregnant Alouette (the father of her child, Étienne, is a quarryman) into joining a plan for escape through the Paris sewers. The women find refuge in a convent and, ultimately, in a seaside town where some measure of peace awaits them.

It’s a far happier ending than Aleys’s, who is met with a darker fate. That is partly because McLain’s novel doesn’t end with Alouette’s relatively soft landing; “Skylark” continues in 1939 through the perspective of Kristof Larsen, a Dutch psychiatrist in Paris. His relationship with his Jewish neighbors, the Brodskys, grows closer as Nazi power corrupts France. Despite his ties to the resistance, Kristof cannot save the entire family during the 1942 Vélodrome d’Hiver roundup, but he takes responsibility for their 15-year-old daughter Sasha. Along with his compatriot Ursula, they are guided to safety through the same Paris tunnels that sheltered Alouette centuries earlier.

“Skylark” author Paula McLain.

(Simon & Schuster)

The fragile tie between Alouette and Sasha rests in a tiny piece of glass found during the restoration of Notre Dame de Paris after the 2019 fire. A conservator uncovers the shard, which bears an intense blue figure of a skylark — evidence, at least to the reader, that Alouette’s recipe endured, and a symbol of how both she and Sasha escaped. Female creation and resistance, the novel suggests, endure, too.

At first, that seems at odds with Aleys’s tragic fate. “As the crowd parts before her, Aleys sees the path of gray cobblestones receding to the stake. Parchment is piled high at its base. Smaller fires have already been lit, dotting the plaza. They’re burning her words, too. . . ” Yet, it’s no spoiler to reveal that during her long weeks and months as an anchorite, Aleys found the means to slowly and secretly teach Marte, lowliest of the Beguines, how to read and write. “They write words on the sill between them and wipe them off, their palms and feet dark with dust.” Just as Aleys’s mother passed on her passion for books and Alouette pursued her passion for beauty, Marte will carry on a passion for stories.

More important, however, and something that ties “Skylark” to “Canticle,” is that Aleys and Alouette, Marte and Sasha, live on through work done by and with women. Whether it’s a recipe for dye, a hunger for divine knowledge, or the means to freedom, the main characters in both novels believe deeply in women’s full humanity. Aleys acknowledges the contentment of the Beguines, understanding that their communal labors knit their “hopes, their labor, even their disagreements” as “strands in a single weave. Kristof says of Ursula that she “charts her course in full light with eyes wide open, and still she chooses danger. Chooses–over and over–not to surrender.”

It’s true that the authors of these novels live in 21st-century North America, where many people believe in equality even if the full humanity of others is under attack, but neither Edwards nor McLain indulges in anachronisms. Aleys yearns for divine ecstasy but does not come across as a would-be influencer, let alone as a Mother Ann Lee fomenting spiritual revolution; she believes in the church, even if not fully in its leadership, until her end. Alouette and her comrades pursue a different life but do not seek it for everyone, which feels right not just for their era but for their experience of trauma. Even Ursula and Sasha rely on men for their escape, accepting that whoever has the correct experience and expertise should lead the way.

What “Canticle” and “Skylark” get right about their very different heroines and time periods is that change doesn’t happen overnight, nor does it benefit everyone. Aleys teaches Marte to read, but Aleys will suffer for her ideas. Sasha will escape Vichy France, but her family will still die in the concentration camps. Switch the clauses in those sentences around, however, and you’ll be reminded that change can and does happen, one determined woman at a time.

Patrick is a freelance critic and author of the memoir “Life B.”