40 Years in the Desert

More on Manufacturing

2007-03-13T16:56:00.000-04:00

Today on IFC TV's film blog, there is a review of the anti-Michael Moore doc, Manufacturing Dissent that I wrote about recently. First, a couple of disclaimers/caveats/what-have-yous:
1. The IFC TV film blog is one of my favorite blogs around. It's combination of snark and links to a variety of fascinating links makes it a daily must-read.
2. I still haven't seen Dissent. But, I'm willing to take the blog's word for its description of it until I do.

The review's overarching theme is one of dismissal. And for many of its examples-- the film's descrying of Moore's desire for money, his failings at Mother Jones-- that seems accurate. But, there are other more disturbing examples of Moore's behavior, such the interview with Roger Smith that wound up on the cutting room floor and faking his mic being cut off at a GM meeting, that the review similarly dismisses. A sample is below:

The slippages and falsehoods amongst Moore's films are unfortunate, but not a stunning revelation in these days of reality show techniques. That Moore's films are manipulative is not a new idea either — back in 1989, when "Roger & Me" made its US premiere at the New York Film Festival, Vincent Canby observed, gleefully, that "Mr. Moore makes no attempt to be fair." We can't speak for everyone, but we've always regarded Moore's work as a series of pragmatically entertaining and blatantly one-sided attempts to inflame a passive liberal population. He may be a blowhard, he may be a provocateur, but we don't think he ever made the claim for being a practitioner of journalistic remove.

Look, I am not pretending to defend the quality of Dissent, a documentary that I have never seen. But, to me, these revelations are stunning. While Moore never claimed objectivity, indeed reveled in his lack thereof, but I do think his work is greatly diminished, if not wholly discredited by outright falsehoods. His work, after all, always seeks to occupy a certain moral high ground over the subjects he attacks. Now, he has lost that. With these revelations, he is not the op-ed journalist his defenders claims he is, but something closer to, well, Geraldo.

The Danger of the Digital Age

2007-03-06T11:16:00.000-05:00

In an AP article on Wired's Web site, John Rogers reports that Universal Pictures, Warner Bros. Entertainment and a company called Digital Cinema Implementation Partners are working on

a new digital film delivery system that, if successful, could give theater operators the flexibility to put a popular movie on an extra screen as quickly as the demand for it arises. At the same time, theater operators could boot out a surprise stinker and even book in for a day or two an art-house film with a small but devoted audience.

Everyone quoted in the article sees this as a boon for the little guy. Art house movies can be booked more economically and with greater flexibility. Imagine how much wider David Lynch's Inland Empire would have been distributed if he didn't have to travel with the prints from city to city like an old-fashioned record promoter (Lynch told me in an interview for the current MovieMaker that digital exhibition would have cut down on his costs tremendously).

These points are valid, I concede that. But, I view this development with greater trepidation. To me, this system could actually benefit the big studio behemoth more than the little-film-that-hopes-to-break-out. With the ability to add a screen without shipping a new print, exhibitors are more likely to elbow the little movie out of the way in favor of the latest blockbuster. In the past and present situation, indies-- the ones lucky enough to guarantee screen space-- could at least rely on screening for the week they had booked at a given theater. Now, they won't even have that comfort.

To me, there are two possible scenarios that could emerge from this and they are not mutually exclusive. The first is that in-demand will ghettoize more and more indies to the small screen, either through set-top delivery or other pay-per-view services or through Web sites like GreenCine. The second is that indie theaters like Landmark will implement this on-demand delivery as well. Then indies and art house flicks will be able to be distributed to more art house chains (in the foreseeable future independent theaters likely won't be able to afford this technology) with greater efficiency. In both scenarios, independent films will be relegated to niche exhibition avenues, making them less likely to cross over. But, perhaps more of them will be able to be screened. One can imagine a scenario where an art house chain used this technology to show several different films on one screen in a given day. The downside: less showings per film. The upside: more films shown.

But, the fear for indies is that art house chains will act like conventional multiplexes and use the technology primarily to privilege the bigger hits, not to give screen time and space to the more obscure titles. I would be hard to imagine a Little Miss Sunshine giving ground to a Kill the Poor.

Look, I'm all for technology that cuts down on costs of exhibition. That can only help everybody-- ticket prices for consumers (though I have my doubts about that) and distribution costs for cash-strapped (and even self-distributing indies). But, I'm just worried that this technology could be used to help those that don't need it at the expense of those who do.

The Silent Choice

2007-03-01T12:50:00.000-05:00

I read an interesting article in Wired about a resurgence-- well, let's call it a renewed interest in niche, arty circles-- in silent cinema.

The article is compelling on its own merits, as it describes the way that the Adelaide Film Festival in Australia is trying to recreate the experience of watching silent cinema, replete with an orchestra.

I think that's a great idea and sounds like a fun evening out. But to me, what prevents us from fully recreating the experience of watching silent cinema is the element of choice. When people initially watched a Chaplin film, they weren't marveling at his decision to forego sound. That's just the way things were. But, for us, when we watch a silent film with an orchestra, we are confronted by the absence of something-- sound-- and we can never remove the fact that we chose to watch a movie without sound, instead of the countless others that have it.

I'm not sure what the point of this is, other than to elucidate the difficulty of trying to experience something-- the Ed Sullivan Show, Elvis, FDR's fireside chats-- from another era in the way that it was meant to be experienced. Sure, we can recreate the details, but not the experience itself.

The Inconvenient Truth About Michael Moore

2007-02-27T13:51:00.000-05:00

I have long been a proponent of Michael Moore's. While his methods are often questionable-- ignoring inconvenient truths and tampering with chronology-- he brings issues (the closing of a GM factory, gun control, etc.) to the forefront that the powers that be would rather be swept under the rug. For that, his films have unquestionable and lasting value. I never bought the "his movies are op-eds, not traditional documentaries" argument. I think that is a self-serving defense (or offense) and anyone exercising intellectual honesty (I might not agree with McCain's politics, but I love that term) would admit that audiences go into a documentary expecting an adherence to the truth. Yes, facts are bent to prove a point. But, outright deception is another matter.

In that vein, this piece in Sunday's New York Times, was profoundly disturbing. It detailed a new documentary about Moore, called Manufacturing Dissent (the film premieres March 10 at SXSW), by a Toronto-based couple. The article describes how the filmmakers, Debbie Melnyk and Rick Caine, were initially firmly pro-Moore, but through the process of discovery in the making of the film, they came to feel much more ambivalent. They discovered what the Times referred to as numerous sins of omission and commission on Moore's part in all of his films.

To me, the most damning example was the fact that Moore had actually interviewed Roger Smith in Roger & Me, but left the interview on the cutting room floor. To me (and, admittedly, without having seen Dissent) this undercuts the very premise of the film. Moore presented himself as a goofy populist, representing the people, as he tried to get an explanation for the closing of the factory, but being thwarted at every turn by the heartless Smith. The fact that Moore actually got a sit down with Smith, while it changes nothing about the destruction of Flint, strikes at the credibility of Moore. Wouldn't anything Smith had to say-- or just the very fact that he agreed to the interview-- have been relevant? Then, why didn't Moore show it? Was it because Smith said something that didn't dovetail with Moore's thesis? Did Moore botch the interview? Or would it simply have interfered with the charming structure of the movie, built on his inability to get to Smith?

I don't want to condemn Moore without hearing his side of the story. But, here's the (possibly most disturbing) thing-- Moore refused to talk to the filmmakers. According to the Times piece, Moore's sister even shoved their cameras out of the way at an event. Moore's films, his persona, his popularity, are predicated on his doggedness at trying to expose those who try to hide their secrets from a victimized public. But, now, Moore appears to be acting just like those that he condemns.

Hopefully, the time will come when the filmmakers can have their sit-down with Moore. And here's betting they won't leave it on the cutting room floor.

The Movie Place Resurrected...Virtually

2007-02-26T12:17:00.000-05:00

Back in December, I wrote a piece for The Reeler, detailing the demise of a neighborhood institution: The Movie Place on 105th St. and Broadway on Manhattan's Upper West Side. The store-- an indie video shop-- was a neighborhhod institution. The New York Times profiled its life and impending death, a cinephiliac kid tried to protest, but it was all in vain. Now, the place is gone. No more can people come in and here the store's owner opine about movies or recommend an offbeat title to fit your mom (like a community doctor, he was).

Well, now Dennis is trying to bring his personal touch, his sensibility to the Web. On his site, he offers his commentary and criticism on some of his favorites. The purpose, he writes is to fulfill the promises to "his legion of fans that his movie advice and commentary will always be available on his website and blog."

A glance at the site is reassuring. His love for and knowledge of film infuses his writings. For example, his review of an obscure Bogie film, In a Lonely Place, offers insights into this forgotten passion project of his hero and how it paved the way for Hollywood's cinematic critiques of itself. His commentary on Harry and Tonto is dotted with personal memories:

"The movie begins on the Upper West side. This is were Harry and his deceased wife raised their children. Harry does not want to go. It is amazing how some things do not change. What is amazing is how much the neighborhood is in the movie. I vividly remember watching them shoot the film, a good chunk of it on 111th and 112th and Broadway. There was an elderly couple who owned the newstand that still exists in the westside of Broadway and 108th street. The husband, Arnold, got himself in the movie and had dialogue with Art Carney. When Harry buys a paper from Arnold, he asks him “who’s Vice President this week?” Arnold replied “who cares”. Of course the day after I saw the film I had to go into Arnold’s store and ask him that very question. I always wondered if Art Carney improvised the exchange because Arnold was no actor."

It reminds me of being in his store. For him, his personal connection nd the film itself are inseparable.

My hope is that with his site, he'll be able to create a virtual community of film lovers the way he did in his store. In the faceless environment of the Web, it will be more difficult, but I'm certainly rooting for him. Creating a film community online-- a real, personal connection based on the love of film, an online neighborhood-- is what people are alwways saying the Web should be about. We'll see. Fingers crossed.

Self-Promotion Alert II

2006-11-27T09:29:00.000-05:00

My first article for The Reeler is up on their site. For those of you not familiar with The Reeler, you should get to know it. Devoted to the NYC film and culture scene, it is an entertainment site with intelligence and wit and utterly devoid of sycophanting. The Q&A is worth checking out, not because of my overall brilliance, but because the subject, Walter Mirisch is an important Hollywood figure. He and his brothers established an independent production company that worked with the studios, primarily UA, becoming a forerunner for Focus, Miramax, etc. He fostered long-standing relationships with Billy Wilder, John Sturges and many others to produce intelligent mainstream hits across all genres. Okay, that's it. If you want to know more, check out the piece.

The Dead Schembechlers

2006-11-15T11:39:00.000-05:00

Earlier this year, while working on a story for Wired, I came across a punk band known as the Dead Schembechlers. The only band spawned from a college football rivalry-- OSU vs. Michigan-- the quartet claims to have emerged from Columbus' "Wolverine hatecore" scene. All four are named Bo, after the hated Schembechler, but dress like their hero, Woody Hayes. The reason, front man Bo Biafra told me, is to "represent the inner conflict in all of mankind because we all have a bit of good and a bit of evil in us." Performing annually on the weekend of the big game in Columbus, the Schembechlers rally the Buckeye faithful with songs like "I Wipe My Ass With Wolverine Fur" and "Bomb Ann Arbor Now." They claim to have been injured almost every year, in post game riots and on stage, as when Biafra bit off the head of a live wolverine during one show and it bit him back. They have inspired loyalty in Columbus and hatred in Ohio with their rants about "the International Wolverine Conspiracy to enslave mankind." Biafra claims that that the Wolverines have never actually beaten the Buckeyes and that those who believe otherwise were placed under mind control. After Maurice Clarett was arrested this summer, he left me a message stating that the former RB, under mind control, had been sent to assassinate the band.

As the band's rants and rage have increased every year, so has their following. This year, they'll be playing at the Newport Music Hall, where luminaries like Elvis Costello have performed. The show will feature a Woody Hayes look-a-like contest. Check out their site for more details about their show and the International Wolverine Conspiracy.

Some people think the Schembechlers are joking, others take them seriously. But, one thing is for sure, in Columbus, when it comes to the Buckeyes, there is no room for kidding. I love the Schembechlers because, whether intentionally or not (I'll let you be the judge), they hold up a fun house mirror to the rabid excesses of the world of college football fandom.

Recently, I interviewed Biafra for Penthouse (on newsstands now). Unfortunately, the piece is not online accessible, but maybe I'll be able to post a pdf on this blog. Yesterday, I saw an interview that Pat Forde did with Biafra for espn.com. I wanted to jump up and down and shout that they had gotten the idea from, but that's unlikely. Really, I'm just happy to see the band get national pub.

Another One Bites the Dust

2006-11-14T20:15:00.000-05:00

Recently I learned the sad news that my favorite book store in Manhattan, Coliseum Books, is going under. They're going to try to last through the holidays, but they're not sure if they'll be able to. The store, which died before, in its original incarnation on 57th street and Broadway, seemed to be successfully revived (God, will this metaphor ever end?) at its second locale on 42nd street across from the north end Bryant Park. For four years I worked on the south end of the park and would often walk through the park on my lunch break to browse through the store.

I'm going to miss Coliseum. The staff is knowledgeable about books of all types and their selection has both breadth and depth. Hopefully, it will have another incarnation, somehow, somewhere. For Coliseum's goodbye in its own words, go to the store's Web site.

But, I don't want this post to be purely an ode. While I am sad that Coliseum is going away, it brings up a larger question-- do independent bookstores serve any purpose? If you believe Slate, the answer is no. Joyce Carol Oates, according to a recent article (I can't recall the publication), loves to browse in the mega book chains.

I, however, would argue that these independent stores are worth preserving. First of all, for the benefit of the customers, each industry needs small book stores to keep them honest. If stores like Coliseum didn't stock obscure titles, the Barnes and Nobles of the world would have no compelling interest to do so and we would lose out. While used and obscure titles are much more readily available via e-tail, there is a culture of literacy, of sheer of books that the Slate article dismisses. There is value to being in a store where the employees know books and love books. On a practical level, they can help you find the right title, even if you can't remember the title or the author. There is nothing more maddening than getting a blank stare from a clerk at Barnes and Noble when you try to describe the book you're looking for. But, on a more intangible level, this atmosphere has value, even if can't be precisely quantified. If atmosphere mean nothing, why would be people value a restaurant's ambience instead of just settling for spartan-looking joints with quality food?

Dana Carvey: Your Show of Shows

2006-11-07T10:47:00.000-05:00

A while ago, a former coworker and I were discussing the amazing, obscure phenomenon that was The Dana Carvey Show. Looking at the imdb page of the short-lived—seven episode—talk show and we realized the incredible talent both in front of and behind the camera.

Listed among the writers were Dave Chappelle and Charlie Kaufman, with Stephen Colbert, Steve Carell, Carvey, and Robert Smigel (the man behind Triumph the Insult Comic Dog) doing doing double duty as writers and performers.

My coworker said that is was the greatest assembled group of talent since Sid Caesar's Your Show of Shows. Now, I wouldn't take it that far. This group doesn't quite match up to Larry Gelbart, Woody Allen and Mel Brooks, but given the subsequent success of so many of them, it's surprising that this phenomenon has gone unnoticed.

I must confess that I have never seen the show (who among us has?), but it seems like an ideal candidate for a DVD release. Who wouldn't add it to their NetFlix queue just for the curiosity factor of seeing an early Carell or Colbert sketch or to find out if Kaufman' surrealist lunacy had bloomed yet. At the very least, you'd think the producers would sneak a few clips onto YouTube and see what the response was like.

Self-Promotion Alert

2006-11-03T17:01:00.000-05:00

Recently, I interviewed AJ Schnack regarding his new documentary, "Kurt Cobain About A Son." The Q&A is really insightful-- not because of my shining brilliance-- but because of what AJ has to say about Kurt and about his aims with the film.

To hoist myself onto my soap box for but a moment, in a climate where everyone is trying to make the sensational out of the ordinary (a botched joke by a humorless senator comes to mind), it is refreshing to see someone take a figure who is inherently sensationalistic-- Kurt Cobain-- and try to demystify him. Rather than tap into the tabloid furor that still exists about Cobain (and has been explored ad nauseum in other films), AJ wants to explore his ordinariness. Or, as he says:

"...the film isn't about the bigness of him, it's about the humanity of him. The film is not about what it was like to write "Smells Like Teen Spirit" or be on the road with Tad in Europe. It's about who this one particular man was. "

Click here to read the rest of the interview.

The Glory of Moyers

2006-09-06T00:04:00.000-04:00

The other day, I was riding along the Hudson River on my bike [A quick aside: for those who don't live in Manhattan, there is perhaps no greater joy on a nice day than riding a bike along the Hudson. The sight of the river-- and its accompanying breeze-- only feet away makes you feel like you're on vacation. The aside is now over.] and listening to Bob Edwards on XM Radio. Edwards was replaying an interview with Bill Moyers from April.

Moyers was nothing short of inspiring. Sure, he's inspiring to journalists for all the obvious reasons-- his uncompromising integrity, willingness to dig for the truth and, let's face it, his ability to survive and thrive for so damn long. But, in a way, some of his comments seemed most inspiring, most apropos for filmmakers, particularly those interested in telling more intimate, human stories. The truth, he said (and I am bitterly disappointed that I don't remember his exact words), is what people don't want exposed; the rest is just publicity. When talking about the power of interviews, he said that the greatest production value, in his opinion, was the human face-- the truths that the wrinkle of a nose, the twitch of an eyebrow, the curl of a lip could impart. Discussing a series of surprisingly popular interviews that conducted years ago with Joseph Campbell called Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth with Bill Moyers, Moyers said that the power of storytelling lay in the ability to see your story in someone else's, implying the ability of stories to serve as a connective tissue, as common ground for people. To this notion I would add that stories impart possibility, by showing its audiences the reality and vitality of a life other than their own.

Sadly, I don't know Moyers as well as I should or would like to, but this interview with Edwards makes me want to know more, definitely makes me want to check out the Campbell transcripts.

Moyers' humanism-- his belief in the truth that comes out of simple human interaction-- is something that can embolden filmmakers and journalists alike.

The Passion of the Docs

2006-07-25T20:33:00.000-04:00

I was thinking recently about an article I wrote for MovieMaker earlier this year called “March of the Indies.” (By the way, is there anything more precious than a writer writing about his own work? I promise that there is a point here and that I am not gazing into a mirror as I type this) In the piece, I wrote that, in the face of the overwhelming, wearing sameness of Hollywood product, indies were making a comeback. But, what I realized the other night is that almost of the films I referred to as crossover hits—March of the Penguins, Mad Hot Ballroom, even smaller scale hits like The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill—were documentaries.

Much has been made of the increasing popularity of documentaries in recent years. The reason that people often site is that it is an unexpected, positive byproduct of reality TV. Much as I hate to credit reality TV for anything, I suppose there is an element of truth to it. But, the larger question is why we are suddenly attracted to the “real.” I do believe that a lot of the credit (or blame, as it were) lies with Hollywood. Movies have become increasingly bigger, louder, more formulaic and, most importantly, harder to relate to. Audiences are looking for something to identify with on screen and they seem to be finding it in the genre of the real. If “real” is in fact a new genre, then reality programming and docs are subsets of it, serving different purposes for their creators, but perhaps not for audiences. Reality programming often seems like nothing more than a cheaper way for networks to create formulaic programming while documentaries are associated with being more personal, serious-minded works. But, for viewers—and filmmakers—perhaps this line has blurred. The work of Morgan Spurlock is a prime example, and I don’t mean that in any sort of negative way. In any case, documentaries and reality TV seem to offer audiences easier access, a way to identify more directly with the material.

But, the question, to get back to documentaries, is why does it seem that more filmmakers are attracted to making documentaries. The reasons, I believe, are many: I’ll list the all in no order of importance:
1. They are cheap to make. True, the same can be said of a low budget fiction film, but it is even more so with a doc.
2. The rules are there are no rules. With documentary still young as a mainstream commercial force, there is no formula (not yet, anyway) for how to tell a story. Look at the different structures for films like Fahrenheit 9/11, March of the Penguins, Super Size Me and Capturing the Friedmans. The formula for Hollywood movies (and to an extent, even fictional indies) is etched in stone, but with doc, as long as you can find a subject that engages an audience, you are free to tell your story any way you like.
3. It is a form that invites you to make a personal film. In fact, that is what the audience expects, even demands, a greater sense of intimacy with the material. Hell, even a studio veteran like Sydney Pollack to make the doc Sketches of Frank Gehry about his friend, the architect. Pollack even shot the thing himself with a little digital camera to ensure a greater connection with his subject.

Documentaries have been a breath of fresh air, offering more original and often more risky products (it doesn’t hurt that they try to entertain as well). It remains to be seen if the studio system will come to view this as a challenge and try to make more personal films or if they will retreat further into a formulaic cocoon.

Could MTV Kill the Movie Star Too?

2006-07-12T20:58:00.000-04:00

A June 27th item in The Hollywood Reporter by Tatiana Siegel caught my interest:

"In a move that signals MTV's commitment to making full-length movies for the smallest of screens, MTV Films production veteran David Gale is segueing to the newly created post of executive vp new media and specialty film content at MTV Networks."

Gale, who oversaw films like Hustle & Flow, Election, Napoleon Dynamite and Murderball, will now be in charge of bringing MTV's narrative presence to the Interney and other new media. As the article suggests, it is ironic that the network that made its name through short-form content-- the music video (remember when they showed those?)-- now looks to lead the mainstream charge in bringing long-form content to media that people associate with shorter segments.

However, it actually makes a lot of sense. MTV caters to a youthful demographic, one that is already comfortable and familiar with viewing content on the Internet, their cell phones, iPods, etc. For them, it would not be such an alien experience to view a 60- or 90-minute program in one of these formats.

I will be interested to see what kinds of content Gale develops for these formats. What type of programming does he (and the higher ups at MTV) think will be appealing in these formats? Will he try to tell different types of stories? Will they have a different visual style? How daring will it be?

If successful, MTV could help blaze a new trail for filmmakers looking to create content in these forms. But, best not to wait for MTV to set the standard for this type of content. Opportunities are better when it's still wide open-- like the Old West.

High Tech Hams

2006-07-05T21:13:00.000-04:00

Satellite radio DJs and programmers offer perhaps the best example to artists and other creative types looking to take advantage of the new technologies of their respective media. Earlier this year I spent the day at XM Studios in Washington D.C on a magazine assignment. On one floor there is a hallway, about a football field in length with roughly a hundred studios on each side. Ironically, with the state of the art technology at their disposal, most DJ/programmers, act as one-person production units. The stripped-down approach and the removal of ratings as the ultimate barometer for success has freed them from the strictures of content and format that plague conventional radio. Each DJ/programmer can program more personal playlists and, as a result, connect more directly with their audience. Who could resist the appeal of Tom Petty or Bob Dylan just sitting down and spinning some of their favorite tunes? These guys are capturing the spirit of the old ham radio operators, only with better equipment. They are channeling radio in its purest form.

Filmmakers could take a page out of their book, looking for ways to use digital technology (and, to beat a dead horse, online distribution) to inspire us to see the form in a new way, to find new ways to tell stories. Or simply to allow us to tell more personal, intimate stories. There are moviemakers who have already done this, but few have taken as wholehearted a leap as the satellite radio folk. True, they work in a corporate structure that provides them the safety net with which to do so, but the way they have embraced technology as a surce of artistic liberation is a strong example for all of us.

Excuse Me While I Howl at the Moon

2006-06-28T00:29:00.000-04:00

After a self-imposed six week hiatus from this space, I have returned. I simply couldn't stay away from you-- whoever you are-- any longer.

Anyway, I've been thinking a great deal lately about the frustrating life of the independent filmmaker. Everyone knows how difficult it is to get your films financed. If you're lucky enough to get your film made, it is equally difficult to get it seen. This is not news. But, even more than that, it is just goddamned hard to get your work in front of the decision makers.

As a magazine writer, this is not the case. Sure, your queries to the New Yorker, The New York Times or Vanity Fair might go unanswered, but in many cases cold pitches will get a response and will even get you assignments. That's because it is part of a magazine editor's job to find quality writers and content for his/her publication. But, it is different with film. As an entertainment lawyer at a DCTV seminar on Monday night so eloquently put it, this is the only business where supply exceeds demand. As a result, xecutives and other decision makers are literally looking for reasons to say no.

Now I don't write this to whine (maybe to vent a little). I really intend this as more of a call to arms. We as independent filmmakers need to find ways to take matters more into our own hands. The tools to do so are already out there. It is no secret that digital technology has made it cheaper than ever to make a film. But, distribution (and exhibition) is still the biggest barrier. Theatrical distribution is hard to attain and self-distribution is often cost (and time) prohibitive. DVD self-distribution has not yet proved profitable.

The hope for a brighter future for independent film, I believe, lies in online distribution. Not to replace theatrical distribution, but to provide an alternate channel-- one that exists totally outside the Hollywood establishment.

You already have the potential to reach anyone. The key is to find a way to jump up and down loud enough and in an interesting enough way to get noticed. The Web has levelled the playing field, providing the means to create any kind of site you like and to reach niche audiences. Reach enough of these niche groups-- knitters, biker chicks, biker chicks who like to knit, whatever-- across the country or across the globe and suddenly you've built a real following. Alex Ferrari and Jorge Rodriguez offer a good model with their short film Broken. They created a Web site to rival any studio's and used the Web's ability to reach niche markets by posting a link to their trailer on indie film sites and sending the link to every online reviewer.

Daniel Myrick's The Strand is, to my knowledge, the first network-style series created strictly for online consumption. Myrick saw the possibilities of the Web years ago when he was working on The Blair Witch Project; it is impossible to imagine the success of that film without the buzz it created through its site, a revolutionary feat at the time. With The Strand, Myrick might be a harbinger yet again by creating and distributing a series without any support from or reliance on the establishment.

To date no filmmaker has turned a profit with content geared for online. But, it will happen-- and soon. I have brought up Roger Corman in this space before. Not because I think his films are works of misunderstood genius, but because he created a model for surviving-- and thriving outside the Hollywood system. He knew that if he exploited a subject or an attitude (think the anarachic feel of Rock N Roll High School) and threw in just the right amount of T&A and/or violence and made it for a certain budget, chances are, he would turn a profit.

We need to apply the Corman model to the Internet. That doesn't necessarily mean exploitation films (though he has suggested to me that all films are, to an extent, exploitative. But, that is a song for a different album). Independent filmmakers need to develop an "Internet aesthetic," to develop a style-- or styles-- that take advantage of the medium. The aesthetic would allow filmmakers to move beyong the bite size viral video (though some of it, I must admit, is fantastic), to create a new type of independent film, tailored for the Internet. Some people argue that only comedy, horror and porn can succeed in grabbing viewers on the 'Net at this point. But, we need to reach audiences across every conceivable genre-- and to invent new ones.

From a budgetary standpoint, these products must be made on the cheap. But this constraint could lead to the development of a kind of guerilla style that could define the work visually and even lead to the creation of a new narrative style. They should be specific as possible, "deep and narrow," as niche audiences are described in the biz, as there are so many audiences starved for stories that speak to them. The need to create shorter content could help us develop a unique, economical narrative. And, as Myrick is hinting at, the Web might be the ideal venue for building a community around episodic programming. The point of this rambling is to say that we should use the possibilites and limitations of the Internet to create an aesthetic that is identifiable to audiences, almost becoming its own genre, with its own set of principles and expectations. In that way, will they attract And since they don't cost much to make, you won't need a huge audience to turn a profit. Since the gap between creation and distribution is much smaller with this form, you can churn out (or as we filmmakers like to say, "craft") work much more quickly, to keep audiences hooked and to become economically viable.

BrightCove, for one, is already offering a user friendly system for online payment for programming. Getting people to pay for online content is still a hurdle, but if filmmakers create product that is unique to the Internet, that takes advantage of the medium, both creatively and economically, this hurdle can be overcome.

In time the the independent film community could even have online studios and TV-style networks for creating and exhibiting truly independent content-- independet in vision and independent from the system.

Yes, I am getting ahead of myself, putting the cart before the horse, counting my chickens...I concede all of that.

But the opportunity is there to create an aesthetic online that is fruitful both artistically and economically.

Maybe someone should come up with a manifesto-- like the notorious Dogme principles-- as a guide. Or maybe Corman should be the guide.

The Grief of Don't Look Now

2006-05-11T21:49:00.001-04:00

I finally saw Don’t Look Now recently and while all the expected elements were there—the labyrinthine creepiness of Venice, the explicit sex scene, the arty take on the supernatural, plus the oddest use of a little person since Leprechaun—but what struck me is that the film is essentially about the absolute powerlessness you feel in the face of grief.

Donald Sutherland’s character’s visions of his daughter’s death right before it happens—through the blotch of red that appears on one of his church slides—and his inability to save her speak to the way you feel when you lose a loved one, particularly in an unexpected way. You torture yourself, thinking there must have been something you could have done to stop it, to save him or her. Sutherland’s visions are a metaphorical expression of this blame directed inward. Ultimately, this approach—blame, Sutherland’s visions—are a futile attempt to gain control over death, over tragedy, to believe that we can actually outsmart death. Julie Christie’s character takes another approach. Her acceptance of the blind woman’s claims that her daughter is, for all intents and purposes, in a better place essentially constitutes clinging to (or buying into) the notion that the death of her daughter is in the name of a higher purpose, that there is some sort of spiritual justice in the end (I’m not saying I don’t believe that. I can only say with great certainty and conviction that I don’t know).

Over the course of the film, Sutherland essentially becomes impotent in the face of this tragedy. His near-death experience in the church, his mistaken belief that his wife has been abducted—these are all an expression of the way that tragedy can take hold of you, can make you believe that doom is constantly around the corner. Ultimately, he is overpowered by death; his own death is foretold, but he can’t see it, he can’t do anything to stop it. He chases the mysterious figure in the red coat, believing it is his dead daughter, only to discover that it is a psychopathic little person and realizes the truth only when it is too late, right before she plunges a knife into his throat. His death, grisly and upsetting when taken merely on face value, mirrors the way that grief can seize you. In this way, his death reminds me of the end of Steven Soderbergh’s Solaris, when George Clooney chooses to remain on the planet with his visions of his dead girlfriend, essentially choosing suicide over letting go of his lost loved one. Both of these characters would rather cling to their pain in order to hold onto the memory of their lost loved ones. As a result, their grief overwhelms them, overpowers them. They choose death over getting on with living.

The VOD Trailblazer: An Interview with Jonathan Marlow

2006-04-23T16:29:00.000-04:00

GreenCine has cemented itself as a staple of the indie film scene. Its blog, the GreenCine Daily, is required reading. Its VOD service defines itself by offering independent and international cinema that is previously unreleased in the United States. Offering non-exclusive deals to filmmakers, GreenCine provides a cost-efficient ways for indie filmmakers to reach an audience. There are surely more lucrative ways to survive and thrive in world of online distribution, but the folks at GreenCine believe they are fulfilling a purpose by allowing these unique voices to be heard.

Jonathan Marlow, GreenCine’s direct of content acquisitions and business development is, in my humble opinion, one of the more forward thinking dudes, in the biz. He sees online technology as a constant and growing source of opportunity—be it VOD, set top boxes, a VOD/DVD hybrid release—for indie filmmakers to reach audiences. I had the opportunity to pick his brain, appropriately via email, about the future of VOD for indie filmmakers and what lies ahead for GreenCine. Below is the transcript. His comments are untouched. Only my long-winded questions have been mercifully cut down.

There are probably more lucrative ways for GreenCine, but you remain committed to indie films. Where does this sense of mission come from?
We have always championed the work of lesser-known filmmakers. In part, this is a reflection of our own interests. We are simply more attracted to these films than the majority of movies that find their way to the multiplex. There is also a larger strategy at work. With our virtually unlimited shelf-space, we can feature titles that bricks-and-mortar locations are unable to offer. I suspect that it is natural for GreenCine to gravitate to these films versus the movies that are available everywhere. Did we choose the independent route or did it choose us? In a sense, the answer can be found somewhere in-between.

GreenCine, to my knowledge, is one of the only, perhaps the only, VOD sites that advertises itself as an exhibitor of independent films that have not previously been released. Do you feel that VOD will soon become a profitable distribution path for indie filmmakers? Aside from the obvious gratification of having one’s work seen, what is the advantage of VOD for the indie filmmaker?
I certainly hope that Video-on-Demand will grow into a lucrative distribution model for individual filmmakers. Currently, it only functions as a modest supplemental component to traditional distribution pathways. The revenues for VOD continues to grow but these figures are presently eclipsed by theatrical and DVD revenues. I suspect that will remain the case for at least the next twelve to eighteen months.

What has the audience been like for these films? Has it been mostly the art house crowd, or has it moved beyond this niche?
It depends on the title, of course. For documentaries and international films in particular, the audience mirrors the typical theatrical audience for these genres (although skewing a bit younger than their offline counterparts).

When I interviewed you for MovieMaker you mentioned the possibility of using VOD, in collaboration with a theatrical release, to create a national release for an art house film. This idea of yours always struck me as visionary, the future of exhibition for art house films. Will you be putting this plan into action anytime soon?
We're still working on it. Every time we get close to launching a true day-and-date title, the producers back-out as the theatrical date approaches. Now that the very visible release of Bubble occurred (along with the public perception that the experiment was a failure), we're not as aggressive about day-and-date. We're doing it with a number of titles with simultaneous DVD and VOD, however. Within a few years, it will likely become a quite normal method for independent film distribution to do a simultaneous theatrical, DVD, VOD and Pay-Per-View TV release. The model won't apply to blockbusters, at least not in the short term, because there is too much money at stake.

Blogs have emerged as a cheap—even free—way to self-publish your own work. For non-commercial artists like poets, this form is a godsend. Is there a cinematic equivalent to the blog?
From the self-publishing standpoint, you could say that sites like IndieFlix and CustomFlix allow filmmakers to distribute DVDs without committing to large replication runs. GreenCine, of course, allows for much the same opportunity from a purely on-demand standpoint. These are all low- to no-cost avenues for distribution.

For decades Roger Corman cornered a lucrative corner of the industry—the exploitation market. He thrived through hundreds of projects by sticking to a simple equation—if he made a movie for a certain amount of money about a certain topic (usually something related to a current issue, mixed with some violence and sex) a certain number of people would see it and he would turn a profit. Who will be the Roger Corman of the Internet? Will a filmmaker emerge who figures out a consistently profitable way to create content specifically for VOD or the ‘Net? Daniel Myrick, the co-creator of The Blair Witch Project has an Internet only serial program, The Strand: Venice CA, which features professional production values. Do you think this model will prove successful?
The model that Roger Corman and William Castle used is as viable today as it was then. Generate more money in admissions than you spent making the film. For typical self-distributed revenues from DVD, VOD and TV, this would conservatively mean spending in the neighborhood of $50K or less to make a feature. Very little money, admittedly. As for serial web-based entertainment, it hasn't happened yet. Perhaps Myrick will make it work. I suspect that we're still a year or two away from a true hit.

If VOD emerges as a viable model, do you think that it will lead filmmakers to create more challenging, less formulaic material, knowing that they could create and distribute their work outside of mainstream channels?
Naturally, we have every expectation that new avenues of distribution will allow for more challenging work. Meanwhile, there are plenty of non-formulaic films being made today, particularly outside of the United States, that simply are not getting distributed in this country. We hope to help these films find their audience by making many of them available on-demand.

A number of companies—Akimbo, Netflix, Disney—are trying to enter the TiVo world. What do you make of all of this? Does GreenCine have any plans to enter the DVR world?
We already work with Akimbo and a number of other companies in the set-top space. For Video-on-Demand to really succeed, we have to reach the so-called "lean back" environment of the living room. Most folks are not interested in watching a feature film on their computer nor are they interested in connecting their computer to their television. There needs to be a bridge. A number of these devices on the market now (and many more yet to arrive) will allow the average consumer to transparently connect a multi-functional box to their home entertainment system.

What is next on the horizon for GreenCine? How do you stay one step ahead of your competition?
Admittedly, we don't spend much time concerning ourselves with our competition. If we did, we would always be attempting to react to their efforts. Instead, we simply remain preoccupied with the needs of our audience.

Talk Ain't Cheap

2006-04-09T14:52:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, in a magazine profile Frances McDormand said that the current slick cinematic style of Hollywood movies—narrative through action, quick scenes all in service of the story—made it difficult to tell women’s stories properly. Women talked to each other, their stories, she argued were driven by talk. (Sadly, I can’t find the article anywhere, so you’ll have to trust me that it exists. Or maybe I dreamed it up. Either way the point that Frances—or the Frances in my head—made stuck with me) From then on I often viewed movies through the lens of that remark and realized that most films—even purported chick flicks—gave women no space to talk.
Nicole Holofcener is a notable exception to this rule. Her films, Walking and Talking, Lovely and Amazing and now Friends with Money, let women talk. She takes issues that would have been tangential in other films—Catherine Keener’s Amelia freaking out because her best friend is getting married in Walking and Talking or Jennifer Aniston’s Olivia in Friends with Money letting her quasi-boyfriend (Scott Caan) take part of her meager housekeeping salary because she has little sense of herself and lets men walk all over her or, in the same film, the resentments between friends that can come from economic disparity—and brings them to the forefront, makes them the subject matter. In her films, the most intimate, revelatory moments often come from conversation. In Lovely and Amazing we learn that Keener’s character, Michelle, a lost soul, constantly talks about her grueling experience in childbirth because it is the only concrete accomplishment she feels she has made. In Friends with Money McDormand’s Jane tells her husband that she has stopped washing her hair and become a borderline rageaholic because, at her age, she no longer believes that life can surprise her. Intimate, freshly observed moments like these can only come from a filmmaker who knows the power of talk.
Holfocener the writer-director is to slick, Hollywood filmmakers what the singer-songwriter is to the rock star. Instead of flashy technique and overwhelming production values, she operates on a smaller, more intimate scale. Like Bob Dylan, whose songs are musically simple, but lyrically rich, Holofcener employs a basic visual style, which brings the focus to her richest creations—her characters and their talk.

Oscar's Nemesis: An Interview with John Wilson, founder of the Razzies

2006-04-06T22:29:00.000-04:00

John Wilson lives a dual life in Hollywood. By day he is a humble trailer maker, helping to convince you to go see the movies Hollywood churns out. By night, he gets his revenge. As founder of the Razzies, he and his merry members— consisting of critics, fans and industry members, many working ironically in PR, they are about 700 strong— have spent the last 26 years (and counting) skewering Hollywood’s worst offenders. Taking place the night before the Oscars each year, the Razzies mock the establishment by handing out its “dishonors” for Worst Film, Worst Actor, etc. The list of nominees and winners are released through the wire services and the Razzies Web site, but the show has never been broadcast, mostly because the stars and the studios would never cooperate in their mockery (Halle Berry, Tom Green and Paul Verhoeven are among the few exceptions). Over the years he has made some enemies in the industry—Sylvester Stallone, to cite, but one example—but that only seems to fuel this Blackwell of bad movies.

I profiled Wilson and the Razzies in the April issue of Penthouse (which, unfortunately, is not online accessible), but found him to have such a sharp and amusing with that I decided to follow up in this space with an email interview. Below is the transcript, edited slightly for length.

The Razzies move beyond a simple skewering of Hollywood's worst into the realm of social satire. Was this always your intention, or did that evolve over time?
I have long thought the RAZZIES® could move beyond mere film criticism and into the realm of social satire. And with Fahrenheit 9/11 giving us the opportunity in 2004, I decided to list President Bush and his minions on our Nominating Ballot just to see what our Voting Members' reaction would be. I was convinced until the final ballots were counted, that Ben Affleck had the inside track for Worst Actor of that year [for Gigli], but he was handily beaten out by Dubya. I got a large number of angry e-mails from supporters of the President after the results were announced (many of them using language I don't remember being used in the Bible).

This year's special category for Most Tiresome Tabloid Targets was concocted in response to the blurring of the lines between celebrities' on-screen and off-screen lives, and between what they do in "private" and what they do to garner publicity for their product. Again, we got a number of angry e-mails defending Tom Cruise, but far more agreeing with our choice.

Do you believe that the Razzies serve a purpose in Hollywood?
In general…our "purpose" is to remind the incredibly over-indulged and self-impressed members of "the Industry" that when they blow it big time, someone is watching and waiting in the wings with a pea shooter to pop their pompous, over-inflated egos.

In our prior conversations, you told me that the Hollywood establishment is, by and large, not amused by the Razzies and that some celebs downright hate it. Why do they care?
Hollywood thrives on relationships. You never know if the guy you slam today will be in a position to do you dirt tomorrow. That being true, "The Biz" is the ultimate "PC Community.” And The RAZZIES® are anything but PC. One some level, I can understand that if you invested $150 million in something like Catwoman and lost your shirt, you'd find it hard to laugh about. But on a basic level, when you bomb as big as that, you can't really ignore it. Even without us out there pointing at you and laughing, everyone knows about it, so why not accept your failure and move on (as Halle Berry so brilliantly did by accepting Worst Actress of 2004 for Catwoman).

Unlike the Oscars, most people don't know what the Razzies ceremony is really like. To me—and I mean this as a compliment—it seems like a cross between camp and community theater. Take me behind the scenes of this year's show. Were any winners consider showing up? Did you try to get Tom Cruise to show up?
While it's true that a good number of those familiar with The RAZZIES® don't know that we put on a ceremony every year, doing so is one of the joys of running the Foundation. Our shows almost always feature deliberately tacky musical numbers, deliciously vicious actual critics' quotes about the nominated films, film-makers and performances, and a tone that clearly resembles all those 537 other movie awards shows, but with the insane twist that we're putting on a show to "dis-honor" WORST Achievements in Film.

This year, I actually made a concerted effort to get three of our "winners" to attend, and in one case, we were turned down after weeks of back-and-forth negotiating. Then, when I returned home after the ceremony, there was a voice mail saying that they had decided at the last minute they did want to attend. As for Jenny McCarthy, everyone I know who has ever worked with her suggested that she would have attended if she were told ahead of time—and I did make every effort I could to do so. I am unclear why she was a "no show," but suspect that her representatives with whom I dealt may not have actually told her about it (which seems to happen a lot with The RAZZIES®).

What is your all-time favorite Razzie moment? Least favorite?
My favorite would have to be when I took to the stage at our Gala 25th ceremonies and announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, Halle Berry!" You could tell from their reaction that many in the audience assumed we were planning some kind of tacky costume joke -- But when they saw the Oscar hoisted over Halle's head in one hand, and her newly "won" RAZZIE® hoisted in the other, their reaction was electric. She brought down the house, got a well-deserved standing ovation, and then proceeded to deliver a seven-minute speech that was perfectly in tone with the rest of our show. Berry managed to be both hilariously self-deprecating and incredibly classy at the same time. Not an easy feat.

My least favorite moment would have to be the first time two nominees ever showed up at our ceremony: The twin body-builders Peter and David Paul (who called themselves The Barbarian Brothers) in 1988. Apparently they were unaware of the nature of our Awards until they arrived at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, and one of them yelled loudly enough that it echoed: "You mean this Award says we suck? Then what the fuck are doin' here?!?!?" Things went downhill from there when The Misters Paul failed to "win"their category, Worst New Star, but proceeded to take over our stage to accept a trophy anyway. When their speech proved less-than-amusing, they became belligerent with our audience, who began throwing popcorn at them to express their disapproval. By the time they left our stage, to a resounding round of loud "boos," the entire show had ground to a halt, and it never recovered. I felt like someone had taken away an entire year's worth of work solely to salve their own egos. To this day I have never bothered to edit—let alone look at—the video coverage of that year's show, our 8th.

Would you mind sharing the anecdote about calling up Madonna's rep to invite her to accept for Body of Evidence?
Madonna deservedly "won" her third Worst Actress RAZZIE® for Body of Evidence, which I recently named as one of the 10 Funniest Bad Movies Ever Made in my book, The Official Razzie Movie Guide. By this time, we'd been around for 14 years, and were well-enough known that I decided to go ahead and call reps for our two top "winners" to invite them to attend. The spokesman for Burt Reynolds (who was that year's Worst Actor for Cop and a Half) sounded as though, had he not been pre-committed to attend a charity event in New York that same night, he might have considered showing up. The spokeswoman for Madonna, though, had a decidedly different attitude. When she realized who I was, and why I was calling, she icily asked: "And what makes you think Madonna would accept an award like that?" At this point, it was clear to me that the conversation wasn't exactly going well, so I blurted out: "Not to put too fine a point on it, but your client did earn this award!"

What was the most memorable reaction you have gotten from a celebrity you have dishonored?
I think my favorite took place months after the "winners" had been announced for 2000. On a press junket for his follow-up film to call-time RAZZIE® champion Battlefield Earth, John Travolta was asked by a reporter from The Calgary Sun for his reaction to the film having "won" a record-tying 7 trophies. "I didn't even know there were such awards," said Travolta. "I have people around me whose job it is to not tell me about such things. They're obviously doing their job." The idea that a star can hire someone to keep them from ever hearing that anyone doesn't like them or their work totally personifies why The RAZZIES® exist, and what they exist to make fun of...

What is your all time favorite bad movie?
I have several, but it depends on how you're defining "favorite." If you're talking about "enjoyably bad," it would probably be between Showgirls (which was clearly going to be a RAZZIE® Contender from the time it was announced that the writer and the director of Basic Instinct were re-teaming to create a "serious drama" about lap dancers in Las Vegas) and Mommie Dearest (a film with every possible credential -- An Oscar® winning star, a top-notch director, and a major studio creating a movie based on an all-time best-selling memoir -- that still managed to be laugh-out-loud funny when it was trying to be dead serious).

Is there an under-appreciated gem of awfulness?
That would be our 1983 Worst Picture "winner" (and the first film ever to receive more nominations than we had categories) Pia Zadora in the title role of Harold Robbins' The Lonely Lady. It beat the record then held by Mommie Dearest when it copped six RAZZIES® from its 11 nominations (it got dual nods for both Worst Supporting Actor and Worst Original Song) and it held the RAZZIE® record until Showgirls came along in 1995. A truly tasteless, trashy exercise in adapting Robbins' truly trashy and tasteless novel, Lonely Lady is now the focus of a serious effort on my part to create the first ever Official RAZZIE® DVD. Out of print on VHS and unavailable for years, this film simply hasn't gotten the disrespect it so richly deserves. I actually had the job of creating Lonely Lady’s entire theatrical release campaign, and as part of the proposed Special Features package for the DVD, I'd love to include scenes that were deleted after I saw it in rough cut, as well as the "Joke Trailer" my client and I created for it to maintain our sanity while working on such an insane project.

What defines a great Razzie movie?
Generally, the bigger the budget (and the bigger the bomb) the better. In choosing our nominees each year, we look at box office, critical response, word-of-mouth and what I call "RAZZIE® Pedigree,” the previous RAZZIE® track record of the people involved in making the film...Personally, I adore the ones that are so awful you can't help laughing at them in all the wrong places...

What was the worst Razzie decision, in your opinion?
Although it garnered us some wonderful publicity when Bill Cosby became the first "winner" ever to ask for his RAZZIE® Awards, I have always felt that Leonard Part 6 was nowhere near as "good a bad movie" as one of that year's other Worst Picture choices, Ryan O'Neal in Norman Mailer's adaptation of his own novel, Tough Guys Don’t Dance, a film that turned out so poorly that, before the critics got the chance to trounce on it, Mailer beat them to the punch by announcing he'd meant it as a comedy all along. This was another film for which I did the theatrical campaign, and everyone at the releasing company was taken totally off-guard by Mailer's decision to essentially deride his own film. The funniest thing was that, taking Mailer's word for it, many film critics actually praised Tough Guys as a brilliant satire of the who-dunnit genre!

How much time do you spend working on the Razzies each year?
With the Web site ( www.razzies.com ) I spend a few hours each day adding additional material, but between the first of the year and the date of the show, it's literally a full-time job...

You don't make money from the Razzies. You even said that it took you away from your wife a bit when your son was born in 1996 (the year of Showgirls). So, what do you get out of it?
It may be hard for many people to understand my putting this many years into something that hasn't yet made me rich, but my compensation comes from knowing that something I created and nurtured has given people all over the world something to laugh about. And in this day and age, we all need more to laugh about. May I come down from my soapbox now??

An Interview with the Director of The Beauty Academy of Kabul

2006-03-18T17:24:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, I was lucky enough to get my hands on a screener of a documentary called The Beauty Academy of Kabul (many thanks to Ken Eisen, the head of Shadow Distribution, who is releasing the film, for that). This fascinating film tells the story of a Western style beauty school that opened in post-Taliban Afghanistan. Called Beauty Without Borders, the program was funded by beauty industry mainstays, Clairol, M.A.C. and Vogue. The cosmetologists, all volunteers, believe that they are saving this society from the outside in. One Afghan-American teacher assuages her guilt for having fled her country by teaching beauty to the women who stayed to fight. The interactions between the Afghan students and the Western teachers in the salon show both the struggle and the possibility of cultural exchange. Ultimately the film offers hope for genuine understanding between our two cultures (as opposed to the Bush administration’s “I’m going to make your life better whether you like it or not” attitude.).

The film opens in New York City at the Angelika on March 24th. Check out The Beauty Academy of Kabul Web site for future screening dates.

I had the opportunity to conduct an email interview with the film’s director, Liz Mermin. Below, is the transcript.

When I heard about the premise of the film—that a Western beauty school comes to post-Taliban Kabul, it almost sounded like one of those curiosities you hear about through viral email. But, of course, the film is so much more than that. What was your process like—of discovering Beauty Without Borders and then deciding you had to make a film about it?
I learned about the school from an article in The New York Times. My first thought was, this is completely insane; my second was, someone must already be making a film on this. Because it was so nutty; because it was about beauty, which obviously lends itself to film; because it offered a sideways entrance into a culture that we were hearing about all the time but usually in the most superficial ways; because it was so controversial, from the perspectives of feminism and imperialism and theories of development. And though it hadn't occurred to me before, the beauty parlor seemed like a perfect way to get to know what average women—in any culture—are thinking, what they care about, how they handle life. And this is how you make people who live far away or in different cultures into people viewers far away can relate to. Which is particularly important in times of war.

So I tracked down the school organizers on the web, left a message for Patricia, the director, and forgot about it for two weeks until she called me back. We talked for an hour, during which time she made a few points that hadn't occurred to me. First, that hairdressing was one of the most practical business opportunities available to women who had been thrown out of school or lost their husbands and had to work at/near home or for whatever reason couldn't do jobs that might be considered more serious or more productive. Second, that beauty was and always had been serious business in Kabul, so this wasn't a Western imposition (one Afghan feminist said, in response to the accusation that it was a superficial project, "what, Afghan women aren't good enough to care about how they look?"). Then I met some of the Afghan-Americans involved in the project, who told me how they'd fled successful careers (journalism, medicine, social work) in Kabul in the 80s, come to the US with young children and very little English, and gone to beauty school, which allowed them to make good lives for themselves and their kids. All this made the project seem significantly less superficial, and in fact revealed a lot of my own prejudices (about hairdressers) to me.

It’s interesting because beauty, makeup, etc. can often be associated with maintaining the status quo sexual politics in the Western world. But, in the film the beauty school serves an empowering role for the Afghan women. Talk about that. Did that surprise you?
That's what I like about it —it really gets into tough questions about feminism. Whether beauty is demeaning or empowering. I think the answer is different for different women: certainly for the women I met in Kabul, it was empowering, if only because it made it that much easier for them to get through the day, you could see the difference in how they carried themselves as the course progressed. In a way hair and makeup became a way of rebelling, of doing their own thing despite what anyone else might think or demand. And of course beyond that, the ability to make money raised their independence from and esteem in the minds of the men in their lives.

The teachers have an almost missionary purpose; they believe that they are spreading democracy through Beauty Without Borders. Were you wary, going into the project, of the possibility of an underlying cultural imperialism in the program? Did you think there was any of this?
Yes, absolutely, I was wary of this (though I'm not sure they thought they were spreading democracy—maybe "freedom?"). But I've also come to think that there's a certain condescension implicit in that kind of fear of cultural imperialism. I just got back from a three month shoot in an outsourcing company in India, and a lot of the same concerns came up there. My feeling is that Afghanistan (like India) is home to many ancient cultures, with far deeper roots than American culture. The women I met in Kabul knew what they liked and what they didn't, and they didn't change their own sense of what was beautiful and what wasn't because of the opinions of the Americans. They still prefer Bollywood to Hollywood, and all the teachers' efforts to get them to use less eyeliner or glitter were lost the moment they left the school. I think the students took what they wanted to from the school and left the rest.

It reminds me of the documentary Promises, about the interaction between Israeli and Palestinian children, in that the relationship between the Western beauty school instructors and the Afhgan students hints at an optimism for the future, despite all the horror and death we know about. Is that my pie-eyed hopefulness or did you feel that way during filming? Did the relationships between these women extend beyond what was filmed?
I know what you mean. And like Promises, there's a terrible power imbalance at the root of the relationship. The Americans get to go home to their relatively comfortable lives at the end, and the Afghans are still in Kabul hoping that the peace holds up and that the world won't forget about them (because God knows they still need help over there). Two of the Afghan-American teachers returned to Kabul after the school closed, but only briefly. One of the American teachers remained, married an Afghan man, opened a beauty salon, and moved the school into a house she rented. She continues to train students to this day. I'll let people who see the film guess which one.

What was your favorite moment in the film?
I'm terrible with favorites. There are a lot of images that I love (thanks to my fabulous camera woman, Lynda Hall). A girl leading goats across an insanely busy street, two women in burkas walking by a banana stand, a glimpse of a huge bunch of balloons going by a mob of women waiting to get into the school, the landscape shots from the top of a destroyed house that belongs to Sima's cousin...I love the scene in Fauzia's salon (a student), with all the children around, where she's smiling beautifully as she tells these horrible stories about her life while cutting a little girl's hair with a giant pair of scissors, because it's so matter of fact, so not how you'd expect someone to talk about tragedy. I love the scene in the interview with Hanifa (a student) when her father keeps interrupting and telling her what to say. And of course there are many priceless and surreal moments with the American teachers, but I don't want to give them away.

What surprised you most during filming?
How the women would laugh when they told about the terrible things they'd been through. How warm and open everyone was and what an incredible sense of humor they had. Somehow I expected that all the humor would have been drained out of them, after all the horror, and that it hadn't was extraordinary and inspiring.

How has the film changed your notion of beauty, if it has?
I am now not ashamed to admit that I spend too much money getting my hair cut. And I am much more tolerant of excessive eyeliner.

Did you ever think about doing a day-and-date release on cable, in theaters and DVD for this film, like with Steven Soderbergh’s Bubble? It seems, in a way, like the subject matter lends itself perfectly to this type of release, that it would be a perfect way for audiences to discover the film, to build momentum through word of mouth.
No, I hadn't—mostly because I'm in the middle of production on another film and don't have time to plan it myself. Also, the rights are tied up in complicated ways. A long story, but suffice it to say that documentary film funding isn't easy and you have to make compromises along the way in terms of rights to get the thing done. But I'll be curious to see how it works for Soderbergh.

What are you working on next?
I just returned from a three month shoot in Chennai (Madras), India, for a documentary about young Indian professionals and how they are taking on or adapting to American corporate culture, and how the presence of corporate culture is changing life in India. It's also about how in so many ways office culture is the same everywhere—depressing to think (if you're not an office person) but it could be the most uniform experience in the world today. Which makes the subtle differences even more interesting. It's another controversial culture clash story, with a lot of surreal moments and some surprising moments that (I hope) will be surprisingly inspiring. Like Beauty Academy, it's for the BBC—I don't know what I'd do without them.

Bollywood at Warp Speed

2006-03-05T15:53:00.000-05:00

This week an Indian filmmaker named Jayaraj apparently set a world record by shooting an entire feature length film (the movie is expected the run 74 minutes) in a startling 2 hours and 14 minutes.

My reaction was a mixture of awe and stupefication. Let's do awed first. Granted, Indian filmmakers are used to cranking out their films quickly. And Jayaraj had the advantage of working on studios and he says that he planned the lighting and the position of the three cameras down to the slightest detail. But still. Even on the low budget and student fare I am used to, the tweaking of lights, the reloading of mags and the lugging of cables just eats up a lot of time. Churning out a feature film in a little longer than it will take to watch the damn thing is something that would make even Roger Corman-- known for dashing off quickies like Little Shop of Horrors in a couple of days-- envious.

Now let's do stupefication. The long days of a shoot can be grueling to say the least. so, to dispense with the whole process in a day holds some appeal. But, to strive for brevity as an end in and of itself seems a bit curious. It would seem to me that the rush and the pressure to achieve the record could easily compromise the product. What if, for example, Jayaraj wasn't getting what he needed from one of the actors on a given take or the camera man missed a cue? Would he sacrifice the quality for the sake of the brevity?

I would love the chance to talk to him about his motivation and about his process during the shoot itself. I would be curious to see how the film, which is apparently based on the Schiavo controversy, plays. Does the energy and adrenaline that Jayaraj says fueled the production enhance the film, give it a energy, a vitality, or compromise it? Or perhaps not affect it at all?

Elegy to the People in White Gloves

2006-02-24T07:58:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about the digital revolution in films these days. When I started film school way back in the late 1990s, digital video was not even a consumer product. Video-- SVHS no less-- was seen as a cheap way to screw up until we were ready for film. Toward the end of film school, as I was doing my short films, DV was starting to take hold, but there was still a certain snobbery towards it. It was simply cheap; there was no aesthetic value to it. But, now films like Personal Velocity and, more recently, Bubble (incidentally, Soderbergh's initial attempt at digital, Full Frontal, was a disaster) show that digital offers an immediacy particular to its medium.

But, of course, the biggest thing about the digital revolution is the way it has democratized the production process. There is no longer a major financial barrier to making a feature film. And now exhibition is catching the digital wave. The day-and-date release of Bubble offers an alternative to the traditional studio model and video-on-demand could emerge as a viable alternative for indie filmmakers (not to link to myself, but I wrote about this in MovieMaker).

But, of course with revolution comes destruction. When I was going through post-production on my films, I would always have to go to the negative cutter-- the person who actually cuts and splices the negative together to conform to your editing decisions. These folks-- with their little razors and white gloves-- connected my film to all others, from Citizen Kane to Just One of the Guys. These people weren't glamorous-- they were tucked into grubby corners of film labs-- but you couldn't make a film without them. But now, with so many movies made on digital, films using a digital intermediary in their post-production process and theaters using digital projection (or starting to), the negative cutters are struggling to survive. Look, the digital revolution is not going to stop for the sake of the people with the white gloves and the razor blades (that makes them sound strangely like terrorists), but if they become extinct like dinosaurs, filmmaking will lose a tiny, obscure, but still romantic part of its history. But, that's revolution, isn't it?

The Gervais Report

2006-02-24T07:46:00.000-05:00

At the risk of sounding like an obsessive fan-ziner, I offer the latest on The Ricky Gervais Show.

Fortunately there will be no waiting period before the next group of episodes. Follow the directions on Ricky's Web site to find out how to get the latest set of shows (they should be available on iTunes as well). The show will no longer be free, but the cost appears to be nominal-- $7 for four episodes, I think. Considering how often I wind up laughing out loud on the the subway or in the gym (people must think I'm insane), it seems worth it.

The last episode of the first group offered shocking news-- Karl has put an end to Monkey News. Actually, I think it's a good idea. Comapred to the freshness and off-the-cuffness (what the hell, let's make up a word) of the rest of the show, this segment had grown a bit stale. Karl seemed to be losing his zest for the chimp tales and Ricky and Steve would spend the whole time trying to prove his stories false-- which we know already. I'm looking forward to seeing what else they can come up with to go along with Karl's Diary.

The Pilkington Effect

2006-02-17T07:34:00.000-05:00

In my previous post about The Ricky Gervais Show, I gave short shrift to the phenomenon that is Karl Pilkington.

The show has developed a huge following, becoming the world’s most downloaded podcast, according to the folks at Guinness. In the process, Pilkington has become a global cult figure of sorts.

In episode three, during a discussion about a reality show where contestants had to eat an animal’s penis, Pilkington said he couldn’t eat an animal’s shlong first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, but, “I could eat a knob at night.” Gervais then called for DJs to loop that quote into a house mix. DJs answered the call, sending in their creations to the show and according to Reuters the quote has become a Google sensation. To top that off, Pilkington paraphernalia is taking off, so buy your T-shirt, mug or wall clock with the world’s most famous perfectly round, bald head on it.

The Awe-Inspiring Drivel of the Ricky Gervais Show

2006-02-13T19:09:00.000-05:00

The Ricky Gervais Show offers the steadiest stream of belly laughs I’ve had since, well, The Office. The podcast consists of Gervais and Stephen Merchant (his co-creator from The Office and Extras) abusing their bizarre producer Karl Pilkington as he offers his bizarre observations on Chinese homeless people, elephants vs. mammoths and population control. Recurring segments include Monkey News (Karl’s “embellished” bits of monkey history and current events) and excerpts from Karl’s diary. But, really Ricky and Steve just like to make fun of Karl and his perfectly round, bald head.

But, the show is more than just drivel about monkeys (thought that is worth its weight in gold). Gervais and Merchant use the podcast format, which is closer to ham radio than structured, formal broadcast, to give listeners an inside look inside their creative process. The show has an off-the-cuff vibe, the opposite of their meticulously crafted TV work. Often they will riff on a news item a listener has emailed them, for example, a bit about a Serbian scientist who wants women to test out his sex machine. Within seconds Gervais and Merchant had crafted a brilliant comic scenario around a sex-crazed doctor who was using the machine to hide the fact that he was really having sex with his subjects. These moments have a fly-on-the-wall feel, as if you are overhearing the two of them at work brainstorming a new idea.

Sadly the first 12-episode season of the show is almost finished. But, they’ll be back with new episodes once Gervais and Merchant finish the second season of Extras. Go to Ricky’s Web site for updates.

Soderbergh Plays with Dolls

2006-02-13T12:07:00.000-05:00

Steven Soderbergh has taken full advantage of the much-documented experimental release of his new film Bubble to create something that would not have seen the light of day if forced to go through the traditional studio channels. The multi-platform strategy creates a national release for what is essentially a specialty product, allowing the film to build an audience in much the way a blog or viral video would on the Internet. As such Soderbergh’s partnership with Mark Cuban’s Magnolia Pictures—there are five more of these films to come—marks an attempt to find a cost-efficient way to allow filmmakers to explore new subjects and methods of storytelling.

The film offers a window into the lives of three people working in a primitive doll factory in a bleak Ohio town. The movie takes some getting used to; the flat, unpolished performances and mundane, seemingly aimless dialogue are not the stuff of slick Hollywood. But, ultimately that is what draws you into this world. The locations like the doll factory, the trailer homes, etc. and the closely observed details—the doll making scenes are strangely riveting—give the story a real grit and specificity.

Some critics have accused Soderbergh of being condescending to his characters and this community. But, I think that is just a knee jerk response to a high profile director exploring a world outside the mainstream. The film’s attitude is neither hip nor ironic and it doesn’t look down on its characters. Soderbergh treats them all with sympathy and gives them room to emerge as well-rounded people, beyond the stock “working class” characterizations that Hollywood typically offers. Soderbergh casts aside what has becomes his signature visual style—handheld camera, jump cuts, etc.—in favor of simple, static setups. On the DVD commentary he says that took this approach because he wanted, as much as possible, for his non-professional actors to forget that they were in a movie. The strategy pays off, as each character offers revealing moments of humanity that allows us to connect with them. The detective (Decker Moody, a real, detective, by the way) has compassion; he is not just a gumshoe. Martha (Debbie Doebereiner) is perhaps the film’s most sympathetic figure, emerging as decent woman for whom an act of rudeness is the last straw. He realization of her crime at the end of film is heartbreaking, as it shatters her sense of self.

The Forgotten Beauty of The Constant Gardener

2006-02-11T19:37:00.000-05:00

I’m no awards maven, but the Academy (and most other official awards bestowers) missed the boat by overlooking The Constant Gardener. The film dares to talk about politics—poverty in Africa and the exploitation of the people by the drug companies. Unlike Crash, it isn’t simply congratulating itself on its liberal beliefs (I’ll comment no further on this, instead I’ll let David Edelstein be my mouthpiece). Fernando Meirelles brings a passion to the story—he’s said that the situation in Kenya parallels the poverty in his native Brazil—and his handheld camera, roving through the streets with Tessa (Rachel Weisz) and later with Justin Quale (Ralph Fiennes), as he navigates the line at a health clinic, help humanize the tragedy. Unlike Syriana, The Constant Gardener is able to marry the political and the personal. The film’s uncovering of the misery in Kenya is inextricably linked to Fiennes’ efforts to learn the truth about his wife, and ultimately, to his discovering his political conscience (at the expense of his life). If we were not engaged emotionally, the film would be little more than an intellectual exercise or political windbaggery.

While we’re at it, a word on Ralph Fiennes. Maybe it’s because the guy is so damned good at playing emotionally constipated (see The English Patient) that people like the folks at the Academy simply take him for granted. Maybe he doesn’t get more attention because he simply doesn’t know how to show off. His performance in Gardener is one of brilliantly calibrated understatement. Fiennes’ reaction when he is interrupted from his gardening by Sandy (Danny Huston), who tells him that his wife has been killed is the type of transcendent moment about which critics love to write (in fact the New York Times did just that). In a closeup, Fiennes wordlessly absorbs this devastating news, his heart breaking. Then, his good breeding kicks in and he thanks his friend, saying, “That can’t have been easy.”

Woody: Alive and Kicking

2006-02-11T11:52:00.000-05:00

I finally saw Match Point this week. Leading up to the movie, all I had been hearing from people was that this was the least Woody Allen-ish movie in years. And this was meant as a compliment. It’s a sign of how far he has fallen—that even his dyed in the wool fans were desperate for him to try something new.

While the movie fits thematically with Woody’s other films (the idea that there is no governing principle or moral order to life is straight out of Crimes and Misdemeanors), as a filmmaker he has finally busted out of the tired mannerisms that had been plaguing his work for at least ten years. There is a merciful absence of nebbishness, no doubt due to the British cast, none of whom try to ape the Wood-man. Gone are the long takes for their own sake. The shots and editing have a rhythm that fits the story. The characters are well drawn and the performances are top-notch. Jonathan Rhys-Meyers makes Chris a compelling figure, even as we grow to revile him. His clumsy commission of his crimes shows a humanity that still exists beneath his cold-bloodedness, making the murders that much more disturbing. Matthew Goode brings a caddish, self-involved charm to the young socialite that Chris longs to be. Scarlett Johansson’s character, Nola, is his most finely drawn female character in years. Where the women in Woody’s recent movies seemed to be there simply as projections of the male characters’ fantasies and nightmares, she is a three-dimensional, flesh in blood figure—sexy, neurotic, passionate, unhinged. The layered, detailed writing, coupled Johansson’s sensual, raw performance (the scene where she berates Chris outside his apartment has real power) makes you forget the staleness of Woody’s recent female creations.

That is not to say the film ranks among Woody’s greater achievements (it is not in the same league as Crimes). It drags in spots—there are too may scenes of Nola and Chris arguing about her pregnancy and of her calling him on his cell phone. As the story moves toward its resolution, there was never really any doubt as to what would happen (granted, Maureen Dowd offhandedly revealed the murder in a parentheses in that day’s column. I supposed I shouldn’t be pissed; the movie had been out a while. But still!)

The scene where Chris kills Nola, while it works, could have been more powerful, more disturbing. What is missing from the scene is Nola’s reaction. When Chris calls to her, I longed to see a close-up of her, as her expression turns from joy to horror as she sees him pointing a shotgun at her. Then he should have cut back to Chris as he fires. Nola is such a vibrant character that not showing her reaction is a glaring omission. To that point, Woody had gone through such pains to make her character one who exists on her own terms, but this little moment undermined all that. And it would have made it more palpable exactly what Chris is doing—killing a woman he loves to preserve his lifestyle.

Of course, this is all nitpicky. And when is the last time that Woody Allen made a film that was even worth nitpicking?