Almodovar

As far back as I can remember, I've been self-concious. As I have tried to move away from self-obsession, the culture has increasingly embraced it. Not all of the independents have been co-opted. Pedro certainly has, yet he continues to stay true to his original vision.
I recall seeing films by Scorcese, Almodovar and Jarmusch in the 70s and 80s having no idea who the filmmaker was. By the early 90s, just after Resevoir Dogs came out, I saw a poster of Tarantino in the window of Django's, his name emblazoned across the bottom.
(Nostalgia can be a slippery slope, I'm experiencing a flood of sense memories regarding Django's.)
The fare in those early days of independent cinema was meager in between the feasts. One of those feasts -- a double bill of She's Gotta Have It and Down by Law at the Clinton Street -- still offers a bit of nourishment. Another film, largely forgotten, that I loved: Patti Rocks. Mamet's House of Games was another favorite. Oh, how I loved Almodovar -- the colors, the quirky stories, the awkward and twisted sex. So rich. The themes and situations at once totally alien and yet all too close to me. I lived in Europe from 1985 to 87, ages 17 - 19, experiencing many more situations out of the films of Almodovar and Jarmusch than of Hollywood's.
I suppose I'm blurring the lines between indie, small studio and foreign films in terms of financing, but the heart and soul of the films are akin.
It was while living in Germany, West Germany in those days, that I discovered Fellini. A friend gave me a VHS copy of Amarcord for my 19th birthday. Mike Gallo, a former high school English teacher and writer for a small-town paper in upstate New York, was my sidekick and mentor in those days. It's a long story how he ended up in the Army, but thank goodness he did. He saved me from the philistines. The last time I saw him he was in graduate school in Sacramento. I showed up at his door at 7am in a stolen convertible, drunk and eager to add fuel to my fire. He indulged my escapades in a dive bar, bought me lunch and sent me on my way with a copy of The Ginger Man. Yikes.
Gallo and I were very unpopular at the armed forces movie theaters. We loudly mocked sentimental tripe like The Color Purple and Platoon. Eventually we were 86d after getting caught drinking beer during one of the latter Rockys.
I found a link to Almodovar's site, where he keeps on online journal. I'm so glad he's exalted and appreciated. His films are just as good, if not better than they were when nobody knew who I was talking about as I blathered on about his genius.

John Peirson's book, Spike, Mike, Slackers and Dykes is a good read on the history of independent film in that era.

As I recall those films, the details of the theaters and my companions all spring to life in my memory, shutting out the pain, confusion and hurlyburly of the rest of my life at the time. Many of us have these things that chrystalize our memories so -- my friend Dan Eccles has it with music. He recalls at once the melody and the record jacket or concert. It is in his bones. His fingers move as if on frets and his the lyrics start in the back of his neck.

I leave you with a roll call:
Matt Van Vlack, Clinton Street Theater, Cinema 21, Bleecker St Theater, Spike Lee, Please baby baby please, Sarah Posey, Ara Vallaster, The Red Vic, David Lynch, Koin Cinemas, The Fifth Avenue, Siesta, Matador, Mamet, Sujata Kakar, Mala Noche, The Castro, Drugstore Cowboy, Slackers, Hollywood Shuffle, Tampopo, Sex, lies and videotape, Laws of Gravity, Adam Trese, Roger & me, The Thin Blue Line, Carl Scott, Din Johnson, and many more…

ciao,
nc