The Master Says 365

If you try to please audiences, uncritically accepting their tastes, it can
only mean that you have no respect for them: that you simply want to
collect their money.

Andrei Tarkovsky

The Sights, Sounds and Smells of Morning

We're in Carlsbad, California in order to fulfill Henry's three year obsession with going to Legoland. Today's the big day. I woke up early and took a ride up the coast to Oceanside and back, about sixteen miles. Oceanside is the town at the gates of Camp Pendleton. It was a sensational hour, in the truest sense of the word. I heard reveille and saw some porcine military wives showing up for their day at the beauty college. Along the beach I saw surfers catching the morning breaks and retirees taking their morning strolls. I saw a surf betty shedding her wetsuit in the cab of her truck. I smelled the ocean and the beautiful flowers in bloom everywhere. I heard two motorcycle cops chatting as I climbed a hill past them. I saw other cyclists, Mexican gardeners and a man shoveling sand from the sidewalk back onto the beach. Not a lot of sunshine yet, but a beautiful morning nonetheless.

nc

The Master Says 364

In wilderness is the preservation of the world.

Henry David Thoreau

Freedom

I spent much of Saturday night and yesterday driving to California. I've made that journey south on I-5 many, many times in my life. It's always been a passage filled with reflection and memories of the thoughts of journeys past. All of my life seems to have been plagued with ambition and fear, both of which fuel endless musing and the determined resolutions that are made more easily in transit.
Even with a car full of children there was much time to reflect. Aside from a brief discussion of the possibilities of buying a house in Corbett, there was no talk or thought of the future. It's a strange thing for me to be in the moment, but that's kind of how it went. I marveled for a short while on how my ambition to make films has disappeared. My wife thinks it will return. I'm not so sure. I have a strong idea of why it has left, but I'm not ready to articulate it.
My entire life has been a battle royale of and with all the stories rumbling through me, torturing me to find a way to get them out. Suffering, anxious longing, frustration, neuroses, self-loathing, fragmentation, self-dissemblement - lots and lots of self hyphen terms. And now? Not so much. Leaves me feeling slightly confused and empty, but I'm learning it is something much more positive. And I'm enjoying it. That's part of the reason I've lost interest in telling stories.
When we arrived in Monterey I went for a walk along the beach. It was very sunny and beautiful, but also extremely windy. As I walked along I could see gusts of swirling and driving sand ahead. In the past I would see such tempests as things to avoid and signs that things weren't going well. Yesterday I anticipated entering the petite shamals joyfully with the confidence that the stinging grains of sand would be an experience of elemental, natural life -- the life outside of the mind that I've come to embrace. There is suffering involved at times when pushing my body against itself and the elements, but it cannot compare to the mental anguish I've been suffering for most of my life.

nc

(Signing off as Signore Direttore doesn't feel right these days)

Dismal Outlook for Independent Film

There's a Morgan Spurlock quote floating around indiewood that goes something like, "This isn't where we are going to make our money right now. We can't think about paying our rent, but maybe we can pay our phone bills with filmmaking." What about those of us that have yet to make any money at all from our films? I'm not talking about film-related gigs, but the narrative and doc projects we've been self-financing. Where does that leave us? Way outside in the cold unfriendly world riddled with credit card debt. In my case that debt went from zero percent to three and four percent and now my promotional rates have expired. So for a while I was paying around sixteen percent on a couple of cards. Then it turned out the sixteen percent rates were promotional as well and without missing a payment, the rates on two cards jumped to thirty percent. I have a plan and the means to eliminate this abuse very shortly thankfully, but I know that isn't the case for many others.
I came up at a time that many filmmakers built careers financed by credit cards. Robert Townsend and Alison Anders, most notably. It was also a heady time of ten, fifty and two hundred thousand dollar films getting acquired for millions. I made But A Dream for ten thousand dollars, getting another forty in favors. So far it's been rejected by every top tier festival in this country and abroad. Every rejection email encourages me to continue making films. How? Why? Is that encouragement even responsible? Shouldn't there be an asterisk like with the lottery? This game should not be played for investment purposes. It is for entertainment only.
Skiing, pilates and cycling sound better and better.

Ya mero,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 363

You can observe a lot just by watching.

Yogi Berra

The Importance of Being Earnest

At Portland Center Stage. Thoroughly enjoyable. Laughs and articulate language. Actors with good looks, voices and timing. Oh joy.
Very pleasant night at the theater.

Grazie,
Signore Direttore

My Seeming Life of Leisure

While I am very fortunate and lead a comfortable life, I am not a wealthy man. The areas in my life that seem to be lived on a scale of decadence are balanced by frugality, sacrifice and perhaps even short-sightedness when it comes to personal finance. One thing my wife and I have discovered is that when we both work full-time, our family suffers. Since she makes twice what I make, and likes what she does, she's now the main bread winner. The jobs for which I'm qualified to do other than make films, if I'm even qualified to do that professionally, have a very low net return after paying taxes and babysitters. Not to mention my total lack of connection to that work. I've tried over the years to earn a living in various aspects of the film industry. I really didn't enjoy it. I hate working on commercials and corpo schlock.
So when I'm trying to make films and be a daddy to three small children I feel compromised on both sides much of the time. Whereas now that I've concentrated my focus on home and fit in some cycling and skiing, things are in better balance. One to three hours of hiking or pilates is a complete activity on a daily basis. Getting up to the mountain for a day or two each week, especially when one of my children is with me, feels like a real treat.
With the film stuff, a few hours a few days and one or two full days a week mainly reminds me of how much there is to do rather than accomplishes much. I'm still plugging away, but I've lowered my expectations considerably. And I won't work on more than one project at a time. Nor will I do much of anything entirely on my own anymore.
As my kids grow older and more independent and I get back into my body, things may change, I don't know. But the dream of making it in Hollyweird no longer burns brightly. Nor do I want to scratch and claw through one no-budget project after another. Perhaps a happy medium will emerge in the future. Perhaps not. Either way, I'm going to enjoy my life. My happiness is no longer tethered to success as a filmmaker.

Grazie,
Signore Direttore

Turn On My Heart Light

Do I love making films? No, not really. It's been a colossal struggle. I've labored with the technical side of it, the interpersonal aspect, the financial challenges and the aesthetic demands. Not entirely an uphill battle and certainly not without rewards, but it's been tough. In fact a lot tougher than I realized going through it. I've noticed that while I'm doing something I never feel as if I'm doing enough and then discover later that I did more than plenty. My expectations of myself and others have often been imbalanced and unrealistic. I've gotten much better about such things. Don't get me wrong, there have been great moments that have brought light to my heart and eyes. It does seem like a high price to pay - like dating someone that's a jerk but is pretty and sweet when she wants something. Not a love connection, but your ego holds on for all the wrong reasons.
I feel like DW and MC are the love children of such dysfunctional relations. DW is a mostly healthy child. While MC has some form of fetal alcohol syndrome - lovable but not quite right and certainly challenging to parent. So good things can come out of these relations even though their inception lacked a solid foundation.
So what does make me happy or better yet; what am I happy to do? Lately it's been moving in my body. Cycling on the roads and trails, skiing, running, hiking, doing yoga and pilates. These activities give me great joy before, during and after. I'm not looking so much as to what I'm going to get out of them but what I'm experiencing while doing them. Very unlike filmmaking.
I'm not giving up on making films just yet. I'm going to continue to practice the aforementioned sporting and fitness activities indefinitely while finishing DW and MC. When and if another new project is upon me I will see if my new attitudes allow for a more grounded filmmaking experience. Perhaps it will.
A friend asked how I was affording skiing. Easy. It's a lot cheaper than making films. And for now I'm finding it to be a lot more fun. Maybe I'll switch mentors from Fellini to Warren Miller.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

Fired Up About The Oscars

Let me say it very very LOUD - Danny Boyle is a hack. He's a music video director. I can never forget I'm watching a movie when watching one of his self-conscious creations. I hated Slumdog Millionaire. I knew I was going to hate it, but I really tried based on the recommendation of a friend. Slumdog is a Unicef version of Forrest Gump except it takes itself seriously. It wasn't magical but a load of contrived sentimental rubbish. I mean, what the he'll is it? Melodrama? Fairy tale? Drama? It doesn't know and that makes it shite.
Now on to the smug and no longer attractive Kate Winslet. You won, you droned, now go away. She's awful. And smug. And ugly. In a word -- smugly. That movie was bullshit. Anne Hathaway was far more deserving.
I knew Sean Penn was going to win Best Actor months ago. It was as much of a foregone conclusion as the supporting actor statue going to Hearh Ledger. I have no problem with either of these guys winning. I saw The Life and Times of Harvey Milk doc back in the 80s and My Name Is Sam so there was nothing new there for me. It sucks that so much of America has a big problem with homosexuality. I personally was cheering for Roueke,Langella and Jenkins. Great to see those guys nominated. And very awesome to see my old buddy Mike Shannon nominated. What a brilliant nutjob that guy is.
What the fuck was PSH wearing on his head? Love him, but he needs to go away for awhile. Do a Brando or something. I'm sick of seeing him in five movies a year.
Penelope Cruz is a stunner. Who would have thought she would mature into such a beauiful and talented actress? Not me, but I'm very pleased to see the transformation and the award in her hands.
I don't know if it is ego or true passion, but watching the Academy Awards made me a little hungrier for making movies.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

Sun and Snow

What a lovely combination. I've enjoyed being at high elevations this week on Mountains Hood and Bachelor. Snowshoeing on Sunday and skiing yesterday. I haven't skied in twenty years and I'm not sure why it's been so long now that I've enjoyed it again. Lots of reasons actually, and all well in the past. Looking forward, it will not be more than twenty days before I'm on skis again.
I love Central Oregon. It's a paradise over here. When I was younger I would want to move to wherever I was visiting. I'm largely over that, but being over here always makes me think.
It's especially attractive now that my primary interests in life are my family, cycling, skiing, hiking and being outdoors as often as possible. For so long, film dominated my passion, often compelling me more than even my family. It seems that fire has died down. I think some coals are burning. I'm letting them be. No buckets of water, no piles of paper -- we'll see what happens. I'm quietly stoking the coals regularly seeing Dangerous Writing through and I'm committed to do the same with Made Crooked once DW is finished. I'm not writing anything new and for now I'm not planning on it until I'm inspired to do so. Perhaps inspiration is the domain of amateurs. That's fine with me.
Even though But A Dream has been rejected from five major festivals so far, I was contacted by imbd to submit a title page. That was of some consolation and you can see it via this link.
I'm going for a walk now in the bright sunshine of Sunriver.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

Generation Kill

This HBO mini-series is awesome. I read the book a few years ago and I have to say I liked the show a lot better. Not that the book isn't good, but the actors, writers and directors brought a world that seemed distant on the page up close and personal on the screen. I watched each of the seven parts two to four times this week. It's that good.
I'm really skeptical about David Simon's project set in New Orleans, but after seeing another grand slam from the man I'm getting somewhat optimistic about Treme. Not entirely however as both The Wire and Generation Kill were based on journalistic writing, while Treme is not. I read the script to the pilot and I know one of the cats it's based on. Neither give me much hope.
But if you've finished The Wire and feel lonely and sad, Generation Kill might get feed your good TV jones for another week.

Freaks and Geeks

It took me a long time to get around to the most acclaimed show ever to be canceled after one season on television. It was worth the wait. Which you know if you've seen it. And if you haven't -- believe the hype, this show is fantastic. Perfect, really. I can't think of anything about it that I would change. Except not cancel it.

The Master Says 362

Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.

Barbara Kingsolver

Anne Hathaway Getting Unlovely

Finally saw Rachel Getting Married tonight. What a wonderfully truthful film. I had stayed away from it based on comparisons to Margot at the Wedding, but it wasn't cruel or calculated and therefore not a valid comparison in my opinion. The acting was incredible. Anne Hathaway, who knew? And Debra f*#cking Winger! She knows how to get out of the way. The writing (by Jenny Lumet, daughter of Sidney and ex-wife of my old buddy Bobby Cannavale) and directing (by the great Jonathon Demme) put me right in the room -- I cried, I squirmed, I smiled ... I related.
Good stuff.

Getting Easier

This morning I cycled to my office to meet a camera rental customer. Usually I work out and then go to the office. Lately there have been a few days that I didn't go to the office at all. Today I decided to combine my exercise with transportation. Part of the reason I don't commute by bike is it only takes about twelve minutes to get to my office. Which isn't at all long enough of a training session. Also I need to get around town most days for meetings, kids and other stuff for which I need a car. I also like to get out of my cycling clothes into something more presentable. I know spandex and fleece are part of the everyday wardrobe in Portland, but I can barely put the stuff on to be active let alone sport it in public.
I arrived at the Steel Bridge in about nine minutes so I decided to take a loop on the Riverfront Esplanade. As I descended the ramp to the eastbank esplanade the view of the city and the river captivated me. There was no place on earth I would have rather been at that moment. I forgot about the loop and rode on past OMSI toward Oaks Park on the Springwater Trail. What a beautiful morning.
At some point I turned around and returned to town and my office for my appointment. I did a little yoga to stretch my hamstrings and hips. When the customer came in we caught up as I got him his stuff. It wasn't that hard to say I hadn't been doing much film-wise.
I'm happier on one of my bikes or in the woods or the pool than I am trying to pursue my career as a filmmaker right now. I haven't dropped all of the work, but shifting the singularity of my focus has been difficult for me to accept.
Maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing after all. Which is much easier to say than to practice.

Finding Fellini,
Signore Direttore

Still Not Writing

The past week I've been on my own with three kids. One of whom has been ill, as I have been. We are managing, but it takes a tremendous amount of energy to simply keep up with the day to day without losing my mind. The fickle desires of a three year old girl taken literally will break one's spirit. Staying light and loving isn't my strong suit under the best conditions.
I did see some films this week. Paul Blart Mall Cop and The Wrestler on the big screen. The latter was phenomenal. Bleak, but beautifully so. I don't have much else to say. The film met my every expectation.
I also watched the first season of Mad Men again. I think I liked it better the second/third time through. The subtlety of Pete Cambell and Draper's wife really came through. All of the writing revealed its density with another look. The acting is excellent as well. And the art direction and photography. Is this really television? Can't wait for season two.
Also saw Fassbinder's Gods of the Plague. An early, raw effort that confirms my adoration for the true master of independent film. I think part of the reason I haven't been writing is I have been telling myself I need to write more commercially. It's a result of working so many years without compensation. Seeing a Fassbinder film reminds me of the appeal of telling stories from within my purview. The seduction of the New Orleans project has lost its allure for various reasons. Perhaps I need to step away from that one and try my hand at another script for now. I have so little desire to rewrite the NOLA script. It makes me not want to write at all. It seems that if I think about am idea too much it becomes oppressive rather than ingenious. I've written enough at this point of my life to trust what works for me more. There's no doubt that working more by schedule than inspiration is something I need to explore, but there's no sense in mounting a campaign of misery at the same time. What a relief! Forget the NO project for now. Just like that 70s poster with the soft focus blonde chick on the beach tossing a bird up into the sky - If you love something, let it go. If it comes back ...
One thing that continues to be very positive in my life is fitness. I haven't missed a day on '09 of getting at least 45 minutes of exercise. Even when I've been ill or injured I've found some way of getting my body moving. It feels really good. I do have to remind myself of the incredible task it's been to adopt this new habit and acknowledge that some of the energy I would like to me putting into writing is still being sapped by confirming my daily commitment to training my body. Before long those energies will likely synergize, but I don't think I'm there just yet.
Not only am I changing a habit, which is extremely tough for a middle aged man, but I'm learning and relearning a lot of skills such as mountain biking and swimming. Both skills require a combination of physical strength and stamina with patient technique. Charging up a dirt trail, heart rate maxxing, only to come to a tricky portion of the trail that requires balance and concentration is a good thing for me. Just like the key to swimming laps for 45 minutes comes down to steady breathing. Sure my shoulders and legs are burning, but all I have to do is take the next breath in such a way that allows for the following breath without altering my stroke and before you know it my time in the pool is over for the day. Very chi.

Signore Direttore

Steep Trails, Canoes, Movies and Not Writing

My wife leaves for a work trip to Africa tonight. We spent some time hiking the Ridge Trail in Forest Park. It's a thousand plus foot ascent from the debouch of the St. Johns bridge to the top of the mountain. It was foggy at the bottom. The sun began to cut through it about a third of the way up. Shafts of light hundreds of feet long. Trees hundreds of feet tall. Hearts pounding. Silence.
I didn't think about making movies or the movies I've seen lately. I thought of our family and canoes and moving my body. I saw Gran Torino yesterday. Why bring that up? Nothing to say about that film at all. Not sad or angry that I saw it, but I am perplexed as to how it has garnered any favorable reviews or merit for addressing issues of race in America. I saw it on a very big screen, which is always a pleasure. Let's leave it at that.
Today I saw Frost/Nixon. I enjoyed it. I'd see it again and I recommend it. I went to the movies this evening after not working much this afternoon on a screenplay. Today was the day I met with my writing partner to discuss our progress over the past week on our individual projects. I presented my ideas in all their disorganized glory. I found a big hole in my reasoning of the past two months. It seemed like work. I couldn't escape the conclusion that if this seems like work perhaps I would rather be doing some work that provided a salary and benefits. Benefits of health insurance and the act of doing something of benefit to the world.
But thinking too much about the rest of my life is not that great of an idea. I'm going to stick to thoughts of paddling a canoe on the Willamette this spring.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

I'm-Bare-Assed

A friend of mine quotes a famous friend of hers on her blog as saying that if a resolution doesn't embarrass you, it isn't challenging enough. That resonates strongly with me.
I sat down and contemplated writing scripts in a new manner this afternoon. I began adapting the fitness goal template I created and have been following for two weeks into a goal worksheet for writing. I think it's going to work. Two hours of research or 7 pages of writing four days per week and one four hour review session on Thursdays with my writing partner.
My partner and I plan to write two scripts independently and two scripts in collaboration this year. Four polished ready to pitch scripts in a year doesn't embarrass me - that's an attainable, if somewhat slightly immodest, goal. The embarrassment factor is in the ready to pitch part - I don't want to think of doing that. It embarrasses me. I would rather produce the scripts myself than go through that process. So finishing scripts in order to pitch them rather than self-produce them causes some discomfort.
The other thing I'm embarrassed about is that two of the scripts I plan to write are broad comedies. I don't think of myself as a comedy writer. It makes me feel very self-conscious to announce that I will be writing something intended to make people laugh.
Slow and steady. Seven pages a day. No more, no less. Weird.
I resolved to exercise daily in 2008. I didn't get there, but I kept trying so that by December I was able to close out the year with near perfect consistency in the final weeks. I'm 8 for 8 in 2oo9. Maybe 2oo9 will require some fits and starts with regard to daily writing. That's just fine. The efforts made to change and grow are never wasted.

Ciao
Signore Direttore

Now What?

It's been 2009 for about a week now. The sound edit of DW has resumed. Some visual effects work is in progress. I've met with my partner on the New Orleans project. We were both relieved that the other had not been giving it a lot of thought lately. Not because we're no longer interested, it's just time to write the next draft and see where we are once that's in hand.
How to do that? Well, I think it's pretty simple. Apply ass to chair, open Movie Magic and start typing. The difference being that I don't plan to knock out a draft in a weekend this time. Tomorrow I'm going to sit down and map out a schedule to write this in a timely yet very regular manner. I would rather write for two hours a day two hundred days of 2oo9 than ten hours a day for thirty days of the year, which is a fair estimate of my writing output for oo8.
I'm getting tired of beating the hell out of myself to accomplish something. I get a perverse sort of pleasure from it - not unlike sprinting uphill until I vomit. It's as if I'm not doing anything unless I'm bleeding. Hell bent for leather. Or self-flagellation for idleness and lack of manic productivity.
No mas.
It's the easier softer way or the highway.

¡viva!
Signore Direttore