Monsieur Montage

Sundance announced its feature selections last week. For the past few years I've been involved with or friends with a number of films and filmmakers accepted to the holy land of American Independent film. This year I didn't have the remotest connection to any of the selections. A small part of me felt out of the loop being in Portland and somewhat self-reproaching for my lack of progress with my own projects. The shorts haven't been announced yet, but I do know one that got in. I've seen it and it's pretty darn good. The guy that was going to edit Dangerous Writing, that I thought was in the process of editing, is the co-director of said short. So good for him. Honestly. He's going to check out LA and make hay on his Sundance success. I would do the same were I in my mid-20s with a short going up in Park City this winter.
He didn't do any cutting though. And it looks like it's back on me. I've been thinking of re-embracing the art of montage anyway.
I took a look at a new assembly of But A Dream last night. It's a lot more promising than I saw a week or so ago. On the other hand I thought London Calling was close to being finished, but looking at the cut of that yesterday leads me to believe otherwise. I don't know if it's back to the drawing board or not, but it needs more than a few edts to bring it to final cut.
Watching BAD got me to thinking that it's perhaps a bit naive of someone that's been doing this as long as I to discount what an impact editing has on a film. Mostly I think it betrays the impatience inherent in my lingering affliction of having my identity and self-worth tied to my abilities as a filmmaker.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 252

Photography was a license to go wherever I wanted and to do what I wanted to do.

Diane Arbus

The Master Says 251

If I ran my set with fear, I would get 1%, not 100%, of what I get. And there would be no fun in going down the road together. And it should be fun. In work and in life, we're supposed to all get along. We're supposed to have so much fun with our tails wagging. It's supposed to be great living; it's supposed to be fantastic.

David Lynch

The Master Says 250

I'm very often still very much alive for that other being and that other world long after the film is finished.

Daniel Day-Lewis

A Childhood Hero R.I.P

When I was in the second grade I absolutely adored Evel Kneivel. I was thoroughly obsessed with him. There was a whole line of toys that I wanted and asked for for Christmas. My mom warned me that money was tight. Not wanting my mom to feel badly about being broke I waited a few weeks and told her that I didn't really like Evel Kneivel that much anymore. I still got a bunch of stuff for Christmas that year. Both of our deceptions came out and Evel Knievel was forever after part of my own little Oscar Wilde story.

Peter, Steven and Mary Ann

Steven Soderbergh is the hardest working man in show business. My god, what doesn't this guy do? He shoots his movies as Peter Andrews. He edits them as Mary Ann Bernard. So he often works all day wearing many hats - producer, director, writer, DP, camera operator - then he cuts it together at night. All this after going out for dinner with leading man and producing partner George Clooney. The guy is tireless.
I've been watching K Street, a tv show he made a few years ago. I hadn't even heard of it until I came across it in some obscure way. It's pretty good. It's too subtle and raw for network television. James Carville and Mary Matalin play quasi-fictional versions of themselves. They also co-produced with Soderbergh and Clooney. It's all improvised and many Washington politicians and journalists make guest appearances.
Soderbergh is one of the main guys that I've long wanted to emulate in terms of being a very hands-on filmmaker, the kind of guy that does it all. And I can do it all pretty well, not anywhere near as well as him, but better than many of my peers. Recently I gave up on editing and turned a lot of it over to others. They're even slower than I am. I'm not slow, I just put off doing it. But even the few people that I've paid have been super slow about putting assemblies and rough cuts together. Then when I see it, I'm frustrated by it. London Calling has been about five total cuts from final for over a month but I can't get together with that editor for some reason. I'm debating taking it over again, not just LC but all of them. I'm thinking of buying a new MacBookPro and doing it bit by bit on a daily basis instead of surfing sports and other internet distractions. I have a nice editing suite but the minute I go in there, my kids are underfoot pulling stuff off the shelves, climbing into my lap and attacking the keyboard. For some reason they leave me alone when I'm on my laptop. So we'll see. I'm over thinking any of my films are going to be very good, so at this point I just need to experience putting them together and moving on. Maybe I can be more like Steven/Mary Ann afterall.

Potenzialmente,
Signore Editore

The Master Says 249

There is a certain combination of anarchy and discipline in the way I work.

Robert De Niro

Cinco

My daughter Maisie turned five today. Our home was filled with sweet little girls this evening. I'm so so very grateful and proud. My heart is full.

¡viva!
nc

The Master Says 248

Life is an unanswered question, but let's still believe in the dignity and importance of the question.

Tennessee Williams

I'm Not There ... I'm In Your Head

You know when you're watching television or a movie -- you see pretty pictures, you hear the opening chords of a great song and for a moment you're like wow this Iggy Pop song is on tv. Then you realize it's a commercial for a gigantic insurance corporation or some other such exploitation. That's how I felt in the opening acts of I'm Not There. I'm not accusing Haynes of commercializing Dylan. I'm sure he wants the film to make money, but it's not busting any blocks so far due in large part to Haynes making the film he wanted to make, which I admire greatly. Okay so he's not selling anything, but it still feels a if it's capitalizing on Dylan's music. That Haynes is exploiting the allure of Dylan the man and the power of his music to exercise his own intellect.
Which results in some fine filmmaking to be sure. He thoroughly breaks the mold on bio-pic conventions. Nearly masterfully from a technical standpoint. The film looks great as it transitions from one palette to the next and back again. Haynes heavily quotes two of my favorite films, 8 1/2 and McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Haynes is an ardent recreator of classic films. Far From Heaven was a replica of the look and tone of Douglas Sirk's 50s melodramas. Like Tarantino, his re-imaginations are imprinted from the outside, lacking a real pulse of their own. This is especially true with regard to Fellini. Fellini made films from his heart, Haynes makes them from his head. In 8 1/2, the passionate dreaminess of the externalization of Guido's inner life is sublime. It's absorbing. The beautiful surfaces leading inward much like the beauty of a cathedral leads the faithful into both the building and themselves. This does not happen in I'm Not There. Which is part of the point, I realize, but for me it's also a major impediment to giving myself to the film.
As far as the acting goes, Cate Blanchett as Jude-Dylan performs many moments splendidly, but overall there's a disconnectedness to her characterization that is more of a distraction than a revelation that Dylan is not there. That's really it, I think. Haynes says, "Hey, Dylan isn't Dylan. He's not there in the way we project." Which makes him a passive character. Passive characters can be quite problematic if you want the story to move forward. I'm not sure six characters standing in for one passive uber-character makes it any easier. Christian Bale plays Jack-Dylan well. As does Heath Ledger perform Robbie-Dylan. The young kid playing Woody-Dylan is uneven, but hey he's a kid. I liked Ben Whishaw as Rimbaud-Dylan the best. Richard Gere as Billy the Kid-Dylan was all wrong. I liked the look and feel of the sequence but Gere is too much the polished pretty leading man to convey the depth of what Haynes is trying to say. Julianne Moore never vexes me more than in collaboration with Haynes. Her part was like Waiting For Guffman but without a sense of humor. As CoCo, Michelle Williams was just blah, she's a pretty good actress usually and she's certainly cute, but she's just not sexy enough to carry off an Edie Sedgwick-type role.
While I'm on some of the little things that bothered me, there are some period prop and wardrobe errors that distracted me. Like the Ray-Ban logo on the Wayfarers that Jude-Dylan wears. That logo didn't appear on Wayfarers until the 90s. The stiff, unseasoned clothing on some of the extras early on took me out of the film as well.
There's no doubt that Haynes is very smart and this film is perhaps his most intelligent. And in spite of my criticisms I don't think this is a bad film or a missed opportunity. It's Haynes's vision and it's fully realized. I just didn't happen to connect to it as much as I liked how it looked and some of its ideas.

Dalla mia testa ed il mio cuore,
Signore Direttore

Composite Preview

A preview of Lumberjack Storytime

Folk Wisdom 036

A thankful heart is not only the greatest virtue, but the parent of all the other virtues.

Cicero

Thanks Giving 2oo7

Dashing off a list of all that I am grateful for doesn't come easy for me. There are many things of course seemingly requiring little thought. However I don't do much with little thought. So for nearly every expression of gratitude for a person, place or thing in my life an "even though" or other contracting modification rears its ugly head.
I've heard it said that an attitude of gratitude is one of the sure ways to work through life's challenges. Since that attitude is not my prevalent way of being I think I'm somehow absolved from working toward it. I don't like baby steps. I'm resistant as is evident by my blathering lead-in to a simple list.
I suppose first off I'm grateful to be alive. That goes for any of us, but I've definitely pushed the limits of my mortality. Thinking back on my life, the expression "you don't get here from there" couldn't be more appropriate.
Next off I'm grateful for my wife and children. From each I receive love in ways that I feel ill equipped to accept let alone reciprocate. Being a father and a husband present very real challenges that ultimately can't be avoided, manipulated or responded to with anger. I thank them for their patience in letting me learn how to love and care for them as a husband and a parent. Here's a very real case of the gift being in the giving for as I go through my children's various stages of development with them I learn of my own developmental deficiencies and heal in the process.
I'm extremely grateful for my son's new school and his new teacher. Miss I is one of the most fully realized human beings I have ever met. Finding her in our lives is a graceful joy.
Next I want to thank my many friends far and wide that have helped me understand the world and myself to the extent that I do. So many people have encouraged and supported me. So many have listened to my whining, my genius and my bullshit. I especially want to thank those that have stuck to their principles and have thus helped me develop and respect my own.
I'm grateful to live in a city such as Portland. That I've been able to come back home to create a new life and new memories with my family.
I'm grateful for my daughter's wonderful school and teachers.
I'm grateful for all the wonderful people we've met through our children and for the little friends of our children.
I'm grateful for my love of writing and storytelling.
I'm grateful for my ability to make films and for my love of directing actors. I'm grateful to have had the experience of making so many films with so many wonderful people. I'm grateful for all those that continue to help me make more films in spite of not having seen the last thing they helped me with.
I'm grateful for the diverse natural beauty of Oregon and the Pacific Northwest.
I'm grateful for our home. For its beauty and its strength. For its memories. For its versatility. For its value and the security it provides. For its height and its windows all around allowing us a clear 360 view in spite of its being in a dense urban neighborhood. I'm grateful for the three mature cedars in our parking strip providing us privacy and protection from the East wind as well as a habitat for squirrels and birds, giving us a view onto our own private forest.
I'm grateful for all of our material wealth and comfort. For the many tools for making films. For our cars. And bicycles. Our books. For my watch that I bought the day before Thanksgiving in 1986. It's been with me a long time, through thick and thin. I'm glad I had the vanity and foresight to buy it. I reasoned at the time that I would easily go through $625 worth of Timex', Casios and Swatches before a Rolex would give out. I'm grateful I have been able to hold onto it.
I'm also thankful for the debt that has allowed us to enjoy some of the above in a more expedient manner than otherwise possible.
I'm grateful for the experience of travel and of living in so many interesting places in the world: Germany, San Francisco, Mexico, New York City ...
I'm grateful for my experience as an acting coach. For all the friends I met in doing that and for the joy and challenges of running a studio for five years.
I'm grateful for the internet and the ease of communication it provides.
I'm grateful for my first set of orange Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias, my first information superhighway. As I'm thankful for my life-long love of books, reading and learning.
I'm grateful for all the music, film and art that touches me deeply and for all that simply entertains me.
I'm grateful that I can grow and change. For P and all the help and guidance he's provided.
I'm grateful to my family for giving me life and for teaching me how not to live. As I'm grateful that they keep their distance now.
I'm grateful for this blog and its readers. For the record it provides, but more importantly for the challenge of getting my thoughts and experiences out of my head on a regular basis. There is often magic in it. So thanks for reading.

Grazie,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 247

Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: it must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.

William Faulkner

Folk Wisdom 035

When you do all the talking you only learn what you already know.

The Master Says 246

Self-interest is but the survival of the animal in us. Humanity only begins for man with self-surrender.

Henri-Frédéric Amiel

Stills from Recent Shoots

October Moore as Clio in Clio Tells His Story



Tara Piccolo and Christy Hernquist in a workshop scene for Back To Baghdad

More Than A Car Crash

We all want to look at a car crash. I'm not sure what we're looking for. Do we want to see that everyone is safe? Are we hoping for evidence of the vulnerable unpredictability of our mortality? Do we want to see real life instead of television? Do we even know why we look or is it some sort of reflex?
I've seen some gruesome things while rubbernecking. As well as some astonishing things like a guy with his feet in the air and his upper body inside of the car that just hit him as he was walking across West Burnside. He crashed head first through the windshield and was suspended for almost an hour while firemen and paramedics prepared to remove him. He walked away from it with a few scratches on his face.
I don't know if it's another bad Brian DePalma film, but Redacted bombed at the box office this weekend. My suspicions are that Iraq is a wreck that we don't want to look at anymore. I've been reading Riverbend, a blog by an Iraqi woman. I link to it under All Things Human.
Some of the things she writes stab me in the heart. She avers that the continual gaffes by the U.S. are actually strategic policy made to look like incompetency. It's the one thing she says with which I disagree. Sadly, I can pretty much guarantee that our Iraq policies and their implementation are plainly incompetent.
I recall one of this blog's reader talking about "the mission". I wonder; is "the mission" about dividing a people along sectarian lines that coexisted peacefully prior to the war? Is the tolerance of masked border guards and militiamen a result of the valiant and heroic effort by the soldiers that carried out "the mission" of occupying a country that was invaded under false pretenses and contrary to international consensus? Before anyone gets their panties in a patriotic twist, please read Riverbend. Take a walk in her shoes. Lower your eyes from the masked militiamen with her instead of looking away from the living hell that we've created in her country.
I'm disgusted by our role in Iraq. As I'm disgusted at our unwillingness to look at it. Perhaps the greatest thing about the electronic hyper-connectivity of the 21st century is that we can no longer exist in the vacuum of fatuous ideology. If only we can take a break from celebrity gossip and other pornographic tripe and exercise our empathy from time to time.

Cantando nella nerezza,
Signore Direttore

Maybe I'm Getting Soft

The softness I speak of is my growing inability to laugh off nihilistic violence in movies that claim to offer something more than a genre film. A lot of people are singing the praises of No Country For Old Men. I, too, have some high opinions of the film, but I take issue with comments such as "indisputably great". Foremost on my mind is the fact that I found little humor or wit in the film as I thought I might based on the interview with the Coens I listened to yesterday. There was a time that I laughed at wicked violence in films. Often it was a lone laugh in a crowded theater such as the scene in the Scorcese Cape Fear remake where Robert DeNiro bites off Illeana Douglas's cheek. Or the ear scene in Reservoir Dogs. I even went as Mr. Blonde for Halloween that year, carrying a blood stained rubber ear that I took out of my pocket to talk to during the course of the night. But in the dark of the theater last night I found myself shuddering at the moment of impact most of the time things got violent. The Coen Brothers are good at letting you know just about exactly what's coming yet somehow they add a distinctly quiet suspense to it and then they hit you with what you saw coming all along. Bam! It's visceral.
I admire the quiet in this film. It's part of what makes those suspenseful moments work so well. Hardly any music. No goofy sound design. Technically, this film is a formalist's wet dream. The photography, the editing, the sound design and the production design, including wardrobe and squib effects and especially Bardem's hair, are all brilliant. Overall the writing is excellent but there are some crucial gaps regarding the money. Maybe. They may be gaps or they may underscore my suspicion that the gaps are meant to let us know that what we think this film is about isn't what it's about. I'll get to that later. Another thing that might be minor, but no error however small seems minor in a film as well-crafted as this one. Anyway there's a reference that's anachronistic to the period of the film that happens in the third act that I can't ignore.
I also admire the acting a lot. Javier Bardem is someone else -- he's just out there in a way that we don't need too talk much about. Josh Brolin is a movie star. I love that guy. He was by far the best thing in American Gangster. And I wanted to be with him every second in No Country, even though he wouldn't really let us get close to him. Even Tommy Lee Jones manages to not be so Tommy Lee Jones, though I think the film would be better if someone else played his role. I won't spoil anything, but when he's sitting at the kitchen table late in the movie I recommend listening closely. You have to because what he says might be the key to what this movie is about. As I've said, what you think it's about turns out to not be what it's about. I can't rightly say with any certainty because I didn't listen closely to Tommy. I've learned over the years to throw his lines away, because he never does. (An aside to Tommy Lee Jones: Mr. Jones, I know you probably don't give a rat's ass what a nobody like me has to say and your five million or so you banked off of this film is more money than I'm likely to see in my lifetime, but I'll say it anyway: sometimes it's what isn't said in a film that speaks the loudest.) That's the reason I think he was miscast. And it's part of the reason that I think this very good film isn't a great film. I'd like to see it again. I have a feeling or maybe just a fond hope the Coen's knew exactly what they were doing, but I can't help but doubt it just a little. It's the anachronistic bit about green hair and bones in noses I mentioned earlier that undoes their credibility. Because as the film suddenly shifts to a decidedly more literary telling in the third act I need things to be as tight as a drum for it to work. My ear says that drum needs some tuning. Then again nobody ever accused me of having perfect pitch.

Cantando nella nerezza,
Signore Direttore

Real Americans

Writing the title of this post made me reflect on the absurdity of arrogant racist and patriotic paradigms in the United States. Not just because most of us are from somewhere else or that there are a lot of people on both continents in this hemisphere that have the right to call themselves Americans. Because most of us shouldn't be throwing stones. It brings to mind an indelible moment in my life. I was in the fourth grade. My mom was married to an outlaw biker and we lived in a trailer in Scappoose at the end of Smith Road where the asphalt stopped and turned to gravel. We shot our guns from the side of the mobile home into a mound of dirt. I stole Marlboro's from the drawer in the kitchen where Grubby kept his carton. Just down the road, there was house and barn that seemed forever covered in mud. I had a Huffy bmx bike that was always getting flat tires. When my bike was up and running I rode down the hill past the muddy house to the Turner's where I lost my front tooth or to other kids' houses that weren't covered in mud. When I had a flat I would walk down and play with the kids that lived in the muddy house, but always felt superior to them. Because they had a huge cow tied up in the barn that didn't have any doors or a floor. Because there was always mud everywhere. Because they seemed like little muddy urchins. I gave them Marlboros and we smoked while slogging around in the mud. One not-so-beautiful Saturday morning my mom and step-dad got into one of their brutal fights. One thing led to another and soon my mother was running down the road. She collapsed in the middle of the road in front of the muddy family's house. Paramedics came. The sheriff. It was a big scene. My mom regained consciousness. I don't remember much else. But one day not long after that I was riding my bike down the rode and as I was passing the muddy house, the dad came out onto the porch. The kids hid behind him. He told me he didn't want me coming around there anymore. He told me I was trouble. I didn't really care about not going there anymore. And I didn't know anything about irony. But I was very surprised that he of all people, a guy that lived in mud up to his ankles, thought I wasn't good enough to play with his kids.
I didn't sit down to write about that proud moment of my past and I'm a bit short on time now. What I've had in mind are the millions of Americans out there skulking around the parking lots of fast food restaurants wearing dirty slippers and tank-tops with strange little bruises and sores all over their bodies and with little brown nubs for teeth. All those people that are either gigantically obese or thin but flabby living in trailer parks and cheap motels watching hours of television, drinking gallons of soda pop. I am thinking about those racist and patriotic Americans thinking that they're too good to play with their neighbors, living hopeless lives where the asphalt runs out.
Come to think of it, my step-dad Grubby was a Native-American, though he may have been a real American, he didn't exude earthy joy and compassion any more than the rest of us.

Chilled,
Signore Direttore

Those Iconoclastic Coens

Just listened to a podcast interview with the Coen Brothers by Creative Screenwriting editor Jeff Goldsmith. Lots of questions about outlining, beginning, middle and end plotting, research, writing habits. The blanket answer: "We don't do that. We nap. We don't work too hard. We take long lunches." Writer's block?: "If we get stuck with something, we put it aside and work on something else." How's does co-directing work? "Distinctions between what we each do are artificial whether it's writing, directing or editing." What is your process for writing an adaptation?: "We didn't know or realize we were tapping into Homer with Oh Brother Where Art Though until we were well into it." Theme? Joel: "That scene was taken from the novel. (Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men) Ethan: "Theme?" Goldsmith: "Let's move on. You guys have always had a bit of the macabre mixed with humor, but violence in this film is more brutal and doesn't seem to be tongue in cheek." "Really, I thought it was pretty humorous. People laugh. I don't know why. It's visual. It's absurd. There's something funny about it."

If you listen to the podcast you might find my quotes may not be transcript accurate. I just jotted my impressions down from memory.

Starving for a long lunch,
Signore Direttore

Revisiting Odets, Mackendrick and January oo7

I'm rereading Alexander Mackendrick's book on filmmaking. The main thing that sticks with me is his discussion of the opening scene in Sweet Smell of Success. Except the only thing that sticks with me is that it's something really poignant about making sure all the characters in a scene need something from one another. I still haven't gotten to that elusive wisdom in my rereading. But I am struck by some other discoveries as I reread On Film-Making. Mackendrick learned a lot from working with Clifford Odets, who rewrote Ernest Lehman's original script. While reading I came across a quote from Odets urging actors to play heavy dialogue fast. It seemed a good thing to share on the blog, but I had a feeling I'd shared it before. So I did search this blog for Odets and sure enough Playing It Fast (and Sappy) popped up.
What's interesting about reading something from the past, even just this past January, is how much I've learned. I don't say that in a boastful manner, especially since a lot of what I've learned is how much I've needed to learn to get somewhere in the vicinity of competent. I'm glad I write from where I'm at at any given time for it gives me a better perspective later on. For instance I was talking about trying to shoot Klepto in an operatic manner a la Sergio Leone. I have to laugh about that bit of pretense. I haven't seen Klepto on a big screen, but Leone it is not. In fact I should revisit it now that I've been reminded of that intention to learn where it fails to achieve that kind of scale. I think part of it has to do with the use of long lenses, something I didn't have the resources for with Klepto. Another thing with Klepto was that the main lesson seemed to be about working with a hostess tray in traffic and on an unexpectedly sunny day. We got going the morning of the shoot and I realized for the first time that my brand new ten thousand dollar camera package was hanging off the side of a truck. Just as Chris relieved my anxiety by handling the driving very well, I realized that the route I had meticulously planned for the driving sequences put the camera rig between the actors and the big bright sun, casting a very distinct shadow on Chris's shoulder. I also learned that we needed more batteries and P2 cards for the HVX if we were to shoot run and gun efficiently. So even though the film is not the film I hoped it would be it served its purpose of getting us familiar with the camera and testing us under fire, so to speak, in some new situations. And it's a finished project. I need some of those. One of these days I'll get to see it on a bigger screen in the dark which is how all films that don't depend on rapid-cutting eye candy want to be seen.
What else did I find interesting in the old post? The whole 35mm adapter debate which I've avoided this year. I think I'm at a place where making things look pretty is less a priority than making things work on a storytelling and performance level. I'm working with editors on two films that I directed that were shot on Super16. Both are beautiful. Both were very expensive to make. Both have problems. When I was in Maine last year, one of the hot-shot DPs up there called the HVX "film school in a box". And it is. You get an image that isn't distracting like DV can be that's closer to what a film camera can do for you like variable frame rates and the P2 media works kind of like film in that you don't want to just let the camera run like people do with tape. You can shoot a lot of stuff for cheap once you have the camera and P2 cards. When you shoot a lot, you learn a lot of lessons.
The other main thing that caught my attention was the corporate gig that I did. It paid very well and I was able to pay off a large chunk of my camera package nearly right out of the box. I did quite a lot of work on commercial projects as a technician last Winter and Spring. I thought that might be the way I would go. As it's turned out, I've moved decidedly away from doing anything like that, ever. It's helped me deepen my focus on the stories I am committed to telling and it's brought me much much closer to my family, especially my son. At first I felt the void of the activity of freelance work and wondered what would fill it. I didn't have to wait long before a major crisis in my son's young life came along that demanded my full attention. Being there for him has fulfilled me in ways that I believe will prove to be more lasting than anything else I could have done. Reading where I was at at the beginning of 2007 underscores just how much I value my development as a filmmaker and as a father.
I'm off to do some letter recognition teaching at my daughter's school.

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

Farmer's Market Gossip

Rumor has it that the The Pumpkin Patch's proud new owner is Gus Van Sant. Nothing scandalous about it, but it strikes me as very strange. He's been seen in Los Angeles wearing a t-shirt advertising his new venture.

Believe it or not,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 245

I think you start to prepare the minute you read something.

Sean Penn

Joy Division You Cunt

Last night in the dark of Fox Tower theater number ten things happened for me that don't happen as often as I'd like. But when they do, I'm a happy man. During the first thirty or forty minutes of Anton Corbijn's Control there were at least four times that I was close to exclaiming aloud, "This is brilliant." My foot was tapping away during the music scenes and my entire being was engaged throughout. Control is not a passive experience, even in its excruciating quiet moments. Sam Riley is fucking fantastic. He'll get nominated for a BAFTA and should do for an AMPAS Oscar as well, but American Gangster will probably suck up two of the nominations for the pedestrian work of Denzel and R. Crowe. That's the last I'll sully this post with negativity regarding Hollywood.
So yeah, Riley was top notch. I'll see anything that this guy is in until further notice. Not a moment that his performance didn't entrance and delight me. How many times have you read such lofty goo-goo here at FF? To top it off, he sang all the Ian Curtis songs for the film. I really liked what Joaquin did with Johnny Cash and his songs in Walk the Line, but I wouldn't buy the recordings. Here's another one of those unique reactions to a film, I want the soundtrack if it includes the cast performances. I own the soundtrack to very few films: Collections of Ennio Morricone and Nino Rota (can't go wrong with the compositions from Leone, Fellini and The Godfather), Buffalo 66(Vinny made more off of the soundtrack than the movie, and rightfully so. Prog-rock and Sinatra, anyone?), Grease (I could say for my kids, but that wouldn't be entirely true), Traffic (Really disliked the film overall, but the music was genius), Jesus's Son (Samantha Morton is in that, too) and the Vietnamese film Three Seasons (I can listen to it over and over, check it out). There are few that I'd like to add. Maybe some Lalo Shifrin. Most stuff like John Williams or Henry Mancini I don't want to hear out of context. That's another thing about the film, it makes me digress. It fills me with interest in all the things that intrigue me.
Samantha Morton is solid as always. Her role is pretty narrow in its focus, but she makes you feel the ordinary pain of losing someone on a daily basis. She isn't some cipher that gets left in fame's wake. Her on-screen rival for Ian's love is played by Alexandra Maria Lara. Corbijn and the actors navigate the love triangle beautifully. Like Ian Curtis, you never know who has your heart. Lara played Hitler's secretary in Downfall, another gripping film.
I want to see the Joe Strummer biopic playing at Cinema 21, but I chose Control last night because it seemed more worthy of the big screen. Velvety blacks, creamy whites -- oh the joys of black and white. It made me want to shoot a film in black and white. Which brings me to another unique movie-going experience regarding Control - I wish I had made the film. I admire the experience of making it as well as its making.

Rispettoso,
Signore Direttore

34th NW Film Festival Poster Boy

Informing Ourselves To Death

I don't plan on joining the Luddites any time soon, but I am doing some research on the ill effects of electronic media. I read a respected essay by the late Neil Postman. You all know how much I like quotes, aphorisms and bits from history. There's some gooduns in the essay. Here's a nice slice of historical irony for you:

The Benedictine monks who invented the mechanical clock in the 12th and 13th centuries believed that such a clock would provide a precise regularity to the seven periods of devotion they were required to observe during the course of the day. As a matter of fact, it did. But what the monks did not realize is that the clock is not merely a means of keeping track of the hours but also of synchronizing and controlling the actions of men. And so, by the middle of the 14th century, the clock had moved outside the walls of the monastery, and brought a new and precise regularity to the life of the workman and the merchant. The mechanical clock made possible the idea of regular production, regular working hours, and a standardized product. Without the clock, capitalism would have been quite impossible. And so, here is a great paradox: the clock was invented by men who wanted to devote themselves more rigorously to God; and it ended as the technology of greatest use to men who wished to devote themselves to the accumulation of money. Technology always has unforeseen consequences, and it is not always clear, at the beginning, who or what will win, and who or what will lose.

¡viva!
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 244

In order to be a great writer person must have a built-in, shock-proof crap detector.

Ernest Hemingway

The Master Says 243

Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.

Claude Monet

American Letdown

Saw American Gangster last night. Pretty lame. Not bad or horrible or unwatchable, but disappointing all the same. Like if you go on a date with your friend's kind of cute cousin that's in town and she throws up in your car; that's a bum deal. If, on the other hand, she is really funny and turns out to be a good kisser; that's a very good date. But if you somehow manage to land a date with a Victoria's Secret model and she neither vomits in your car nor is very funny but lets you kiss her but doesn't kiss you back, then the date was a letdown. I would rather go out with my friend's cousin anytime.
My long-winded metaphor is actually pretty apt, for American Gangster is very long on exposition. My favorite bit is talking about how pretty the wife is. And they kind of need to tell us she's very beautiful four or five times because the actress is nothing special to look at.
Based on a true story is not always a good thing for a film. I would have rather watched a 25th anniversary release of Scarface on the big screen last night. Staying however true to the facts they did in AG crippled the film for me. Nicholas Pileggi wrote it, and he's done well with stories adapted from real life before, namely Goodfellas. Of course that was Scorcese and this was Ridley Scott. I'm not a fan of Ridley Scott directing anything of substance. He's a surface man, great with trifles like Black Hawk Down and Blade Runner. Don't get your knickers in a twist about my calling Blade Runner a trifle. Admit it, it's a tour de force of a visual confection, but it is not a powerful story by any means.
Denzel Washington was Denzel. He's an amazing presence on the screen, but I never forget who I'm looking at. And Russell Crowe, even though he's a multi-millionaire and a reputedly arrogant prick, I still want to give him a hug and say keep trying little fella. Ruby Dee has a moment of power, but mostly serves as window dressing like the rest of the huge cast.
We saw it at Lloyd Cinemas at 10:30pm. There were a number of gangsters and wannabes in the audience. Some Portland Police were stationed in the lobby of the theater. This being liberal and progressive Portland, of course. Wouldn't want the darkies to get riled and bring a ruckus. Anyway the cheering for the particularly brutal beatings and killings was chilling.
It's because of that type of reaction coupled with the lack of artistic merit that makes me feel that not only do I wish I hadn't seen this film, I would prefer that it was never produced.
By the way, I like going to films with an urban crowd. Purple Rain was an interactive experience that puts dorky Rocky Horror midnight romps to shame. My favorite was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Tiger in downtown Brooklyn. In the end when she was walking slowly up those steep steps and the film was all quiet and solemn, someone in the audience shouted, "Why don't you just fly your ass up there, bitch?"

Ciao,
Signore Direttore

Light and Shadow 012 - Corot

Media Heresy

We attended a meeting at my son's new school this morning. Being a Waldorf school, the school discourages computers, television and video games in the home. This attracts families that readily reject electronic media. While I see the wisdom and the attraction of such a paradigm, it strikes me as a form of willful ignorance. Certainly there is a lot of emptiness in much media. There is a lot of violence and commercial manipulation as well. There are also many instances where discriminatory perspectives are perpetuated, especially when it comes to the objectification of women. All the more reason to practice discernment rather than avoidance. How does avoiding something as invasive and omnipresent as media further understanding of the world we live in? Isn't it a bit naive to think that one can be media free in an urban environment?
Last year we went to a forum of parents of young children on media. Most of the parents in attendance were of the no tv household type. I didn't really know why they were there. To toot their own horns? It seems to me that refusing any form of electronic form of media in your home is a form of moral laziness and hypocrisy akin to pious church attendance. If going to church gives one the strength to weather life's moral dilemmas on a daily basis that's wonderful. But my experience is that many church goers thinks it buys them some clemency. It's a band-aid of sorts. Like they don't have to worry about things because they go to church. We don't do media so why is little Billy pretending that stick is a g-u-n?
He must have learned it at school.
Or maybe there's a thing going on called the collective unconscious.
I heard a wonderful story today about a little girl that was never allowed to watch Star Wars but all of chums at school told her all about it. So she played Star Wars for a few years without ever seeing it. Finally she was allowed to see the film and she was totally disappointed because she didn't feel like they got it right. Her imagination took the archetypes and made them her own. Which says a lot about the little girl as well as George Lucas.
What do I know about it all anyway? I make films that deal with incest, alcoholism, madness, inappropriate relationships, moral bankruptcy and other decadence. I spent the last week writing a mixed martial arts treatment for a notorious Republican lobbyist that is running a nascent film production company from prison. If the Rudolf Steiner folk only knew that such a wolf was in their midst.


From a glass house,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 242

What the public criticizes in you, cultivate. It is you.

Jean Cocteau

The Master Says 241

If you can't annoy somebody with what you write, I think there's little point in writing.

Kingsley Amis

Two Things I Already Knew

An appointment was canceled at the last minute today so I went to the movies. I did a sneaky double feature -- two first-run movies for the price of one. I wanted to see Michael Clayton again. And I was right in doing so as it was as good the second time around. I said as much the other day in my post Not So Pretty As You Please. A couple of scenes seemed slowed by my foreknowledge, but overall I was maybe even more interested in the film. The scene between Clooney and Wilkinson on the street in Tribeca is amazing. Were I still teaching acting I would assign that scene. Hell, I might even shoot it as an exercise. It was interesting to watch and see where Gilroy played his hand, especially since there's an elliptical flash-forward scene. Like did he slip stuff in knowing we might not notice it the first time around. Not so much. He steered well clear of clever. And Tilda Swinton, once you know what she's doing, is even better. Anyway it's a solid film, one worth seeing and then seeing again. So that's one of the things I already knew.
I saved the second viewing of Michael Clayton for dessert. I suffered through the liver and onions of my entree first aka The Darjeeling Limited. I've surmised in this blog that I think I might hate theater. I might just have to admit that to myself and save my whining and my money. As a side note, my friend David Millstone issued a call for help on finding monologues for some upcoming auditions. He asks what roles we might like to pay $75 to see him play. Taking nothing from David, but I wanted to leave a comment stating that I don't want to pay $75 to see him in any play, though I would gladly pay $20 for a movie ticket, a soda and some popcorn to see him in a film. I didn't leave that comment as such a thing might be misinterpreted in a blog which a lot of theater people read.
Getting back to my horrid entree, it might take Wes Anderson casting Millstone for me to sit through another of his films. It's torture. It's all surface. I like his high-key art direction -- it's super cool. Entirely too cool. It's a movie about luggage meant to be a metaphor for emotional baggage that remains a movie about luggage. None of it rings true; the unifying element is self-consciousness. All it does is draw attention to itself while underscoring the monochromatic, shallow and very mannered storytelling. The opening short film with Natalie Portman and Jason Schwarzman was awful. I read somewhere recently that she regrets a scene she'd done in the past year because it was in poor taste. I couldn't help but wonder if this was it. I've had many interactions with Waris, the dude that plays the head steward. He's cold, smug and obsessed with the surface of things. I never liked him much and it didn't seem at all surprising that Anderson cast him. I'll bet they love each other. I'm willing to temper my piss taking by saying that I'm sorry Owen Wilson is so troubled that he tried to off himself. Unfortunately, I don't think I want to watch a film with him in it again. Honestly. I can see why Anderson loves Wilson. He hammers away at his assigned single note in earnest from titles to end credits. Ultimately, and like all of Anderson's films, it's an affected film about disaffected people, and no cast in the world could save it. It was all I could do not to sigh and moan and groan. Especially at all the musical slow-motion interludes. At one point I flipped the bird at the screen. I kept it low, but I had to do it. So that's it, I'm not seeing another Wes Anderson film or a film starring Owen Wilson.*** And the trouble is I already knew all of this going in.

Not as grumpy as I sound,
Signore Direttore

***Unless David Millstone or another of my friends is in it.

The Master Says 240

It's difficult to talk about these songs in depth, that's why they're songs.

Eric Clapton

Movie Star Chambermaid Gossip

Jennifer Aniston and Woody Harrelson are in town to make a film called Management.







According to sources Aniston is very down to earth. Yet rumor has it that her assistants make being down to earth all the easier. Jennifer mentioned that she didn't care for the headboards on the beds in her suite at the Heathman. Just like that they were replaced, even on the beds she's not sleeping in. She reportedly smokes one Merit Ultra Light 100 daily, you know those cigarettes that are long and skinny like the stick on a Tootsie pop. Ashtrays are conveniently placed throughout the suite so she can dispose of her tiny little ashes wherever she likes. While Miss Aniston is away on set all ashtrays are emptied and polished. The open pack of cigarettes is replaced with a fresh pack.

Mr. Harrelson on the other hand seems to live as a truly down to earth Portlander. His contract states that he is to receive no VIP treatment whatsoever. Which might include maid service as his room looks as if it were a freshman dorm. Scattered amidst the detritus is a large amount of cannabis sativa, covering several tables. Woody had a bike delivered to the hotel on his day off. He took a ride around town and out the Spring Water Corridor. His dietary needs are somewhat more demanding than his housekeeping needs. Harrelson maintains a strict diet of raw foods.

Downright Tawdry,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 239

At bottom, I am always making the same film, to the extent that what arouses my curiosity, what interests me definitively, what unlatches my inspiration, is that, each time, I am telling the story of characters in quest of themselves, in search of a more authentic source of life, of conduct, of behavior,that will more closely relate to the true roots of their individuality.

Federico Fellini

Not So Pretty As You Please

Saw Michael Clayton this weekend. Tight bit of writing and acting. Tom Wilkinson was stellar. As was Tilda Swinton and Sidney Pollack. Clooney was mostly Clooney -- solid, smart and handsome. He took great advantage of a very well-written character. They all showed their warts and their ordinary human frailties. Enough credit can't be given to Tony Gilroy, screenwriter and first time director (in his 50s!). Actors usually bring as much humanity to their characters as Hollywood allows, in this case I feel they were more than met halfway. Clooney's Clayton seemed to have the deck stacked against him from without and while I'm tempted to say he didn't pull it off in the same subtle ways as Swinton and Wilkinson, perhaps he did all the more so. This film almost demands a second viewing. The first time for oh-so-rare entertainment, the second to better see just how well-crafted the film is.

Impressed,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 238

My films are not born from logic but from love.

Federico Fellini

Waxing Ozu

The Japanese studio, Shochiku, that produced Ozu's films has opened a theme park of sorts. Ozu sits near the Mitchell on short sticks directing a scene from Tokyo Story.

The Master Says 237

I'm not sure it's not better to suffer than not to suffer. I think that in order to really are about yourself, and particularly someone else, you've got to experience suffering and really understand what it is to suffer, so that you hurt and understand what it is to hurt.

Krzysztof Keislowski

The Master Says 236

Anger and depression and sorrow are beautiful things in a story, but they're like poison to the filmmaker or artist. They're like a vise grip on creativity. If you're in that grip, you can hardly get out of bed, much less experience the flow of creativity and ideas. You must have clarity to create.

David Lynch

The Master Says 235

I am open to what is irrational. I open doors to intuition, because rationality is really death. Nothing that happens makes sense anyway.

Jeanne Moreau

Don't Believe The Rose City Hype

I've been exposed to a few things in the past couple of days that could lead to deeper cynicism. For the record I hope I've made it clear that I don't want to be a cynic. However. Let's just let that contraction have a sentence all to its own.
We went to see Caberet last night. Ho hum. Wade McCollum was so weak. My goodness. He was completely self-absorbed, focused on showing us what was going on with his character interspersed with sexing things up in the most unimaginative ways. One more tweak of his nipples might have had me audibly groan. When he wasn't grabbing one of the girls or fondling himself he was standing in the shadows twirling his moustache. He seemed completely preoccupied with showing what he was about rather than supporting his fellow actors and inviting the audience into the show. His mic wasn't working in the opening scene. Rather than buck up and belt it out, he stayed pretty quiet relying on being lewd and wink-wink. It would take a lot for me to see a show that this guy is in again.
Oh look the stage is rotating again! Yay, I love how it slowly turns to reveal nothing much getting exciting over. Wait for it, here comes another lifeless scene with the lifeless dweeb playing Cliff at the rooming house. Storm Large was fine as Sally Bowles. Her singing was powerful, but a bit clean and polished for her as well as Sally. Her dialect slid a bit, but that didn't bother me so much. The Kit Kat girls were fine, could have done with more of them singing and dancing and less of them standing around acting the general debauchery of Weimar. The Kit Kat boys were straight out of gay strip club, substituting gyrating buff bodies for nuance, charm and talent. Ick. The ending left me cold. Wade's intense indicating that he was smacked out and the whole listening to Hitler on the radio thing was pretty anticlimactic.
After that we went to a release party for a music video. Let me say that the director and many of her friends are wonderful people. A pleasure to see and be around. There were a number of douchebags from the local film scene there. The good thing is that I've avoided many of them for such a long time, that we're basically strangers. Whenever I'm poised to be introduced or re-introduced, I slip away. And then Portland is so small that everyone assumes everybody knows one another so introductions are rarely made. I usually stand in the presence of new faces for several minutes waiting for an introduction. When I want to meet someone I more often than not have to introduce myself. Anyway, the video was on par with some of my more mediocre productions. Things I rarely show to people let alone host a party to present. There's part of me that envies the apparent humility to put stuff out there that's so-so.
Many years ago I was struggling to become an artist, concentrating primarily on painting. I took a few art history and design classes at City College. I was friends with a number of artists. To earn a living and to distract myself, I was working in nightclubs. I was doing a lot of drinking and taking ecstasy and acid often. There were always three or four women rotating in and out of my life. It took a lot of energy to maintain my own version of Wiemar. I was successful in some regards, but ultimately a failure in the pursuit of becoming an artist on a day to day basis. One hungover morning I was describing an art installation at the club to an artist friend of mine over the phone. I really wanted to justify my debauchery to him by showing him that I was in a creative milieu at the club. He listened to me blather on for awhile and then he said in a very kind and even tone: "Neal, you're an interesting guy, but when you try to talk about art you're completely full of shit." And I was. His reproach caused me to shut up until I learned what I was talking about. Not completely of course, but it was a big step toward having some respect and humility with regard to art.
I know a guy that I would like to take to task in a similar manner. In spite of being a pretty sweet guy he sounds like a moronic poseur most of the time he opens his mouth. Somebody said about him once that it seems like he looks up the biggest word he can find in the dictionary every morning and then goes around using it in the wrong context all day. Anyway he now has a job running a campaign for someone seeking public office. I can't help but think that anybody that would believe this guy's bullshit is not someone I for whom I would cast my vote. In the event that others do elect this candidate, it's likely that Monsiuer Malaprop will earn a job as communications director in the city government.
I'm considering moving to rural Washington State with all the nonsense I've encountered lately with my son's school and the school district, the hype for mediocre theater and the likelihood of one of the most deficient communicators I know of being gainfully employed by we the taxpayers as such. Not to mention that my property taxes spiked 11.5 percent to $7000 this year and another bicyclist was run over by a large truck.

Just Another Sucker,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 234

The most realistic blood I've seen is when Marlon Brando gets beat up in On The Waterfront.

George A. Romero

Some Sincere Questions

What was the long-term result of the global student demonstrations of the sixties?
(It seems to me that the most lasting effect was unabashed branding and commercial exploitation of youth culture.)

Does the near disappearance of existential angst as a theme in film and literature mean that we don't feel its effects as much?

Why aren't there more people of color in Portland given its reputation for progressive politics and culture? Are racial minorities non-progressive? Why aren't they flocking to our monochromatic rainbow-in-waiting?

Why do so many Americans actually think that all of creation happened in the past ten thousand years? (If you think this is a joke, please reconsider.) What forces have conspired to move further from a scientific view of the natural world and more towards the mythological during the past century?

Why do we cling to an education system designed to promote conformity and rote learning?

Truly Curious,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 233

Nobody can rip anybody off. When somebody takes something that they've seen and makes their own thing it's flattering. Nothing is original, it's all adaptation.

Robert Altman

Urgency! Poignancy! - Where have you gone?

I recently read some old posts in my blog from Spring of '06. I was really working through some stuff. While I'm sure I still have mucho stuff to work through, things don't feel as desperate somehow. It's tempting to think that I can't be as creative if I'm not feeling things with the same intensity. I have a feeling that the old saying about still waters may contain some measure of truth. I could easily measure this by my output. In 2005 and 2006 I shot two shorts and a feature. In 2007 I've shot five shorts and a feature and I actually finished one of the shorts as well as closing in on final cuts of a few others. In spite of this record of achievement I feel as if I'm not doing anything. Perhaps it is a product of my insecurities, or it may be a sort of confusion brought on by being largely free from the habit of years of angst-ridden self-loathing.
I directed a short the other night. There were a lot of things that I liked about it. There were a few things about which I was less certain. I didn't have ready answers and I didn't feel like creating any egotistical theatrics to try to effect change or absolve myself from responsibility. I've learned that whatever happens on a production is my responsibility. I may not knock the light over or be the actor unable to perform a required scene, but I am responsible for dealing with those eventualities. Let it be noted that no lights were knocked over nor was our actress unable to perform the other night. Anyway I'm more and more comfortable with that responsibility. I'm also acutely aware how difficult it is to make a good film of any length. Since I've come to understand that, I've simultaneously realized that it isn't a reflection on me if a film doesn't succeed. Maybe that's a chicken and egg type of thing - I'm not sure what came first.
Earlier in the day of our night shoot on Thursday I got an email informing me that Klepto wasn't accepted by the NW Film & Video Festival. There was a moment on set that evening when I didn't like what I was seeing and felt at a loss to correct it that the rejection came briefly to mind. A moment in which I summarily questioned my ability as a filmmaker. Then it passed and on we went.
I think I'm moving away from seeking answers and started to focus more on asking questions. The results just aren't up to me.

Letting Go,
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 232

You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you've got something to say.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

In Your Eyes

This was the exact blaster I got in 1980. I used it to tape hip-hop off of KBOO on Saturday nights. Otherwise it was tuned into KGON. At the time 92.3 FM played AC/DC and Rush as well as Blondie and Joan Jett. I was into all of the above.



John Cusack turned 45 the other day. I heard it on the radio. The other announcer shouted, "Lloyd frickin Dobler is 45!?!" It is kind of hard to believe. Say Anything was on the other end of the 80s, but it tells the story of the era very well. When I lived in NY there was a time that I hung out with Ione Skye a lot. I always wanted to find a way to tell her how much I loved Say Anything, but saying things simply and directly used to be almost impossible for me.

¡viva!
Signore Direttore

Clio tells His Story

I'm making a short film this week called something like the title of this post. October Moore is going to tell the story of the first time I made out with a girl. She's going to dress in period costume - circa 1980 - and tell the story in the first person. The memory is not a particularly fond one. It's not humiliating or anything, just one of those haunting yet unspectacular moments that you keep to yourself. It will be interesting to hear the story from a woman. And if any residual shame produces a laugh, I will be pleased.



This project just kind of came together. I had been contemplating potential scenarios to work on with October for a couple of weeks. I saw a compelling little neo-Nouvelle Vague short from Matthew Lessner last week that inspired me to think in non-narrative terms. Then I listened to an interview with Peter Greenaway that prompted some thoughts. I wouldn't say that this short was inspired directly by either of the former filmmakers, but they made me think outside of the dramatic narrative box that I do much of my conceptualizing within.

Il Nuovo Onda
Signore Direttore

Red Desert Absentee

Forgive me father for I have cinned! I didn't keep my plans to go see Red Desert last night at the Film Center. I would have had to go by myself as nobody wanted to go. But that's no excuse, in fact it probably would have been better to see it alone. I even had free passes. I've only seen it on VHS. Who knows when I'll get another chance to see it on a big screen. Dios mio! My penance is my missed opportunity.

Molto addolorarsi,
Signore Direttore

Into The Wild

I really liked this movie. I'm not going to say a lot about it. It's very visual and highly stylized at points, sometimes to great effect, other times to distraction. Some reviewers assert it's light on character development. I disagree. If he was going to follow some bullshit arc he would would have followed his wilderness experience with something mainstream. He would have been like the old guy book-ending Saving Private Ryan. Thank God Sean Penn is not a disciple of Spielberg.
Here's an excerpt from an article in Daily Press about Emile Hirsch's on-set experience with Spicoli: "One of the first days, Sean was absolutely relentless, having me climb up this hill," Hirsch recalls. "A crew guy tried to throw me some rope, and Sean was like, 'Don't throw him rope, you're trying to help him? Don't do that, no way!' And the rope disappeared. I went, 'Ohhhh, man.' That's when it dawned on me just how incredibly hard this was going to be. I had a conversation with a guy who had been in the Army," Hirsch continues. "I asked him about his experiences in boot camp, on the first couple of days, and he goes, 'Just look at it this way. You pushed it really far today and you're still here. Which means you can go even farther tomorrow. ... And as all the chaos is going on, keep your eye on one little thing, one little detail that you think is beautiful. ... And every so often you pick out that little thing, and that will be your peace."
Pretty good advice for even the most mundane of life's challenges. Anyway there are some very wonderful performances throughout by the supporting cast. Vince Vaughan didn't irk me for once. Katherine Keener whom I once adored and have since cringed through most of her scenes in films is adorable once more. And Hal Holbrook. Wow.
Taking nothing from the mesmerizing job Emile Hirsch accomplished, the star of the show is the open road and the wild. It really stirred the romantic in me. The things I paid attention to in the film alerted me to my own limitations now and in the past. That's all I'm going to say about that.
There was a fleeting moment in the film where all the idealistic Walden zeal got me to reject the idea of making films. Just this flash that I could not only give it up, but that it would be a good thing. So much stuff. Which was all the more on my mind as I spent a good part of yesterday going through film-related gear and papers. For better or worse, the talk in the end of needing others with whom to share our love salvaged my filmmaking career.
I'm not sure I share my love through the lens just yet or even that I'm working on it very directly. I'm open to it, that's for sure. It would be much easier to head off into the unforgiving physical wilderness than venture into the wilderness of my own heart. That's pretty much the point of Penn's film.

¡coraje!
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 231

The best stories don't come from "good vs. bad" but from "good vs. good.

Leo Tolstoy

Chain (Change) Step MARCH!

I always thought it was chain step march. It's the step in marching where you do a little shuffle in order to get back in step with everyone else. For the first time since I was in basic training way back in 1985 I questioned whether it might be change step. I Googled it and found that yes indeed I had misunderstood the garbled commands of drill sergeants for over twenty years.
I was watching Altman's 3 Women the other night as I noted in a post earlier this week. There's a quiet little moment where Sissy Spacek follows two twins away from their place of work. It's a very deep frame, the characters occupying less than a third of the screen. I noticed the twins were in step and Sissy was close behind them but out of step with them. As I said to myself, Oh she's out of step with the twins, the very moment I finished the thought, Sissy did a little skip step and fell into step with the twins. By this time they were very deep in the frame, just tiny. It was magic.

An Altman Fan,
Signore Direttore

Soda | Pop

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Notes from Imsomnia

Perhaps insomnia is a bit strong, but it is very unusual for me not to fall asleep within a few minutes of lights out. I took a nap yesterday afternoon. One of those deep sleeps that granted me a feeling of being fully rested. Later in the evening I watched a bit of the Packers-Bears game, played a video game with my son and then watched Altman's 3 Women. One would think that the slow, uneventful film would bring on slumber. It didn't, though please don't think the description of being slow and uneventful is a negative criticism. I really like 3 Women. I've watched it a few times in the past couple of months. It's subtle. Because it is so slow and reflective of its desert setting it would be easy to ignore the details. It's kind of like the way we bound through life. We overlook and subsume all the little details of our lives , giving much of our attention to the big events of the day or week. We just try to get through the dish washing and the getting dressed kind of stuff we do. We sleepwalk through our relationships, telling ourselves we can't think about that right now as we have to get ready for the next thing in our days. We blindly accept the twisted ways in which we cope with our deficiencies. 3 Women is a film that doesn't offer any easy answers or judgments. It simply allows us to observe the lives of three lonely women.
I didn't really think these things while I was watching the film. A little maybe. I was absorbed by the details of their behaviors. And I was interested in the fluid camera work. I liked the way it discovered the scenes. There were a lot of zooms hidden in the panning and dollying. They were much more subtle than in Nashville. A film scholar could probably write a thesis on the evolution of the use of the zoom lens in Altman's films of the 70s. One of the opening shots is so stunning. It pans across the therapy pool full of residents and thier caregivers at a desert geriatric facility, covering a lot of ground. I found myself focusing on a subject in the frame thinking the camera operator must be using them to motivate the move only to find the camera gently let them go and a new point of interest command my attention. The shot finally lands on Sissy Spacek and pushes into her watching the action from behind glass, revealing that what we just saw is her POV. One that we share and also view through glass. Wonderfully subtle.
One of the main themes of the film is the co-option of one character's life by another. I am fascinated by such explorations of identity and the desire to become someone else through close observation, imitation and voyeurism. It's something I've explored in almost all of my films and scripts. I know its sources in my personal life, but I won't be sharing them here. I'm reading a wonderful little book written by David Lynch. He writes the seven or eight years he spent making Eraserhead was perhaps the make or break trial of his filmmaking life. His father and brother were urging him to quit. Nearly everything in the world was telling him to give up. He read one line in the Bible that told him what Eraserhead was all about. He then simply states that he won't ever tell anybody what that passage was. Lynch's calm resolution to keep his influences private inspires me to explore my own ideas of privacy when it comes to inspiration.
Failing to fall asleep after watching 3 Women, I read the NY Times Magazine article on Todd Haynes and the making of I'm Not There. Contemplating the world of Todd Haynes fills me with a lot of conflict. I've been acquainted with a couple of people that are close to him, prompting me to feel close to him though I'm well aware that it's an illusion. A few years ago I was trying to help a friend of Todd's workshop his script. I liked the guy and I loved his script. I was in the process of moving to town and shedding a lot of ego. Of course before I could shed the ego it had to build to ugly proportions and I think that guy caught the brunt of it. We had an ugly falling out over unclear expectations. I acted like an angry jerk. I've since apologized but it's clear I broke his trust beyond repair. I found out from a mutual friend that one of the reasons the guy was being so vague about a commitment to work on his script together had a lot to do with advice he got from Todd not to give me any interest in the film. I felt the resentment I've been holding onto for the past three years slip away while reading the article. I realized that it wasn't at all personal. And that I've got a lot more to gain by paying attention to the process of a filmmaker like Haynes than holding onto a resentment for giving advice that I too might have given to a friend in a similar situation.
I recommend the article and I look forward to seeing I'm Not There. Something else came to me while reading about the making of the film. Haynes and the editor Jay Rabinowitz absorbed as much Dylan through image and music that they could. I think about the making of my last film and how so much of our energy was put into coordinating the production and the craft of filmmaking. Granted that project was conceived and produced in less than three months. I want to make sure that I allow more time to explore the storytelling aspects of my next film. I also want to develop relationships with people that are like-minded regarding the storytelling aspects of the film. I want to work with true collaborators rather than people that are just trying to get more technical experience. That includes actors. I don't know too many actors that can get beyond their process and think about the film as a whole. It may be the case that some of the actors I've worked with so far are more than capable of that but I may not have invited such a dialogue. I do know that I've often asserted a strong role as the author of the film. Perhaps that has prevented people from feeling their voice is welcome. Again the last two films were made in such a rush it's hard to tell. I'm also gaining experience and will likely be able to maintain my role as author with a more inclusive feel as I continue to make films. I do think it's an important step to take the time to find people to work with that really bring a lot to the process. Some of the people that I've already worked with will meet that challenge. It's also on me to hire people that know more than I do and learn from them.
I really admire my friend Neil Kopp. He never apologizes for not being able to pay the crews on some of the films he produces. And he doesn't take just anybody. He's always very supportive of my films and has expressed interest in producing a film with me in the near future. I only hope that he's not too busy. One of the things that is great about Neil is that he wants to be what he is - a producer. So many of us have not so hidden agendas.

¡viva!
Signore Direttore

Ghosts of Celilo

My father and I drove through the Columbia Gorge to see his mother in Pendleton at least once a year throughout my childhood. He told me stories of visiting the Celilo fishing village as a young boy. When I stayed at my maternal grandparent's house in the Summer I often slept on a sofa in their basement party room under a photo of the fishing platforms on Celilo Falls. (My Greek grandfather was fascinated with Native Americans. He claimed to have ridden with Geronimo's gang, a family fable that one of my aunts assumed to be true and shared with her class. She was sent home for her dishonesty. Getting one of his children into hot water didn't dissuade him from sticking to his story.)
As I grow older and have resettled in my home state, my appreciation for the cultural and natural history of the Northwest increases. I was excited to see Marv Ross's play Ghosts of Celilo. It has been described as magical. Much has been publicized about the ten year process of its creation in collaboration with Natives. I was nervous about it being a musical, but I quieted my anxiety with hopes of Native song and dance. I thought that the pageantry of Native music and legend would serve to abstract much in the same way hearing a Mass in Latin serves the soul and distracts the intellect from the trite tales of Christian legends.
Marv Ross has a claim to fame with a soft-rock hit with a group called Quarterflash that was big in the early 80s. Much to my disappointment the music reflected the playwright's lite FM roots more than anyone else seems to recognize. I found the literal qualities of the writing and the music almost unbearable. Much was made of the mystery of the ghosts, but the exposition killed all the potential drama of discovery. The beauty of the sets in the opening scene were cheapened with a cheesy Star Wars style superimposed prelude. Worse yet the snippy bickering of the ghosts: Well who are you? You didn't! Yes I did! No you didn't! Okay not that base, but very close. Things didn't improve much from there. Most of the play centered in an Indian school run by opportunistic white Christians. There was a moment in the last scene of the first act where the Native American child actors sang and danced. One girl in particular experienced a touch of Lorca's duende. I also appreciated the bits of cultural history sprinkled throughout the first act. As we sat in the beautiful little banquettes in the Newmark Theatre during intermission I almost suggested leaving, but it wasn't that bad.
The second act has received praise for its brisk pacing. Admittedly it moved along in a more dramatic fashion, but a surprise romance almost made me audibly groan. I mostly checked out as I couldn't get Pocahontas out of my head.
Thankfully I was given comps for the show. I would have been outraged if I had paid for it. As it was I just grew closer to being convinced that I truly hate theater.
I truly hope that someone celebrates the wonderful story of Celilo in a more elegant rendition. Perhaps film would be a more poetic medium.

¡Viva la cinema!
Signore Direttore

The Master Says 230

Have you learned lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who braced themselves against you, and disputed the passage with you?

Walt Whitman

Skateboarding

My son has been complaining for awhile about not having a skateboard. When I was a kid you bought skateboards at skate shops. The boards they sold at Fred Meyer were GrenTecs - total pieces of garbage closer in resemblance to a roller skate than a skateboard. I can't say why I didn't rush out to buy him a skateboard but it might have had something to do with my own fear of never being particularly good nor committed to it. Yet I must be all things to all people, so when around skateboarders I feel insecure. Even at forty. I'm not big on self-acceptance or mortality. I still secretly believe I'll get around to being good at skating, playing electric guitar and other mostly adolescent pursuits.
I know a lot of old school skaters, some of whom own shops, so I took Henry over to Rebel Skates to look at some boards. I ended up buying him a nice set up and a long board for myself. I've wanted a long board for a long time, but I didn't want to be an old guy that sucked. Now I have a perfect excuse as I'm just doing it for my son.
So we've been skating almost everyday. It feels really good to roll around. I've even gone without him - early this morning I had to go to a meeting near my house so I skated. As I slalomed down this hill I was wondering what the hell am I doing? If I wipe out it's going to hurt like hell. My son has fallen tens of times already. He tried to skate the grom bowl at Pier Park and fell on his ass over and over until I taught him to slide on his knee pads. He takes a beating every time we skate and yet has no soreness the next day. He thinks I'm an awesome skater and wants to see me to skate the full pipe at Pier. I try to tell him that as a skater you got to know your limits and skate within them until you feel ready to try to the next challenge. One more thing where baby steps are the way to go.
When I was an acting teacher I talked a lot about feeling one's feet under them. I should have had people stand on skateboards in the studio because I got to tell you, feeling your feet under you takes on a whole new meaning.

Feeling my feet on pressed maple,
Signore Direttore

Folk Wisdom 034

A man of courage is also full of faith.

Cicero