Flip it, toss it, weave it, share it.
Or maybe just fuck it.
It has been the same for so many years, people just think it is the way it is. And always will be. They think this is the natural order. We can’t even really see an alternative because the here and now is both our expectation, our past and our present reality. It is not that we’ve given up; we’ve forgotten how to imagine the alternative. Once certain things get established, they find a rhythm, and their momentum becomes our lives’ beat too.
I am thinking about cinema, our cinema ecosystem, the festivals and state of things, but in that little pool, I see a universe — the cosmos in a cup of coffee. In the micro, the macro, and the same again in reverse, all the way down, up, and sideways.
Things often get launched for a reason; there’s a problem to solve or a need to fill — or at least it is wise to make sure what you launch accomplishes something more than just its launch itself (although that does seem to satisfy many). The launch of new entities works best when someone somewhere recognizes that people aren’t getting what they want and they do something about it, but even that is not enough to keep it all going. As time goes on, as those needs gets filled, as the customers or communities grow more satisfied, the original motivation becomes secondary to the events’ or companies’ ongoing existence. The goal becomes survival and the original utility vanishes. Mao got a lot wrong, particularly when it came to this phenomenon, but he was correct to recognize that we always need a revolution within the revolution. That’s the real problem. Just don’t try to solve for it the way he did.
Perhaps, most would disagree with me on the heels of Indie Film’s most recent Oscar triumph, that now is the time for a revolution within the the indie film space, but now is the time. And how! When I look around at all we have built, all that we have grown accustomed to, the behaviors we have adopted, and the processes we use, I think we have to go back to “go”. Let’s not mistake another exception as the example we need that is all okay. It is not. Sean Baker’s many acceptance speeches are cries of desperation. We have to act now before it is too late.
I have had other commitments recently that kept me from participating in the start of the year film festivals, markets, and get togethers. News sites, newsletters, and social media kept me “informed” though. Summations and roundups shaped my perspectives. What is the state of things? What are the challenges? Where are the solutions?
We are not lacking in those that want to tell us such things. If they can’t provide solutions, they can still tell us how it is. This isn’t news though; we’ve created a blanket to make us feel all cozy. Is any of it reality anymore or are we one nation under a groove, a community locked into the group think, imprisoning us into a false construct of what our world and art and business is or even ever could be?
I decided to go to film school when my anger at the movies coming from the studios became too great for me to contain. I felt that punk rock and grassroots politics had demonstrated that once you felt mad as hell, others did too. I was confident that in trying to better satisfy my own tastes would lead me to a larger community, and in those days it did. And besides, I knew NYC was going to be a fun place for a man in his twenties. Off I went, and I couldn’t have asked for things to go better.
I have always been trying to understand why some of us find opportunity and others don’t, but by the time I was not yet forty, I had witnessed enough to have drawers of stories and observations of the ebbs and flows of the film business, filled with heartbreak, crushed dreams, exhilarating breakthroughs and the everyday challenge of keeping on keeping on. As rarefied a life that each filmworker has, the day in and day out is blessed with a poetry that brings me a delight even when it may be miserable in the usual markers.
I had been fortunate enough to see Sean Baker’s PRINCE OF BROADWAY at the Woodstock Film Festival when I was on the jury. We gave it a prize. I went home to NYC and started a free screening series because I knew films and filmmakers like that weren’t getting the attention they deserved — but I felt that if we gave them exposure, if they could keep making movies somehow, screening them on the big screen, something might happen. One of might even win an Oscar — or five. We started the series at Goldcrest and then ultimately moved it to Lincoln Center. Every screening always sold out. My dream was that they’d be series like that across the land, but when I left NYC, the series soon died out.
Some things should live a lot longer than they do, but they don’t if someone isn’t willing to do the work. Other things should die much faster than they do, but they hang on just because the momentum is in their favor. Maybe we have to get better at recognizing what should live and what should die.
I once ended a relationship without much style or grace because I realized I was in the holiday season again and the year before I had said to myself if I could just get through this holiday season, I would end the relationship. But I hadn’t. I was in another year in the same spot I was the year prior. I hadn’t moved on. Obviously, there was enough in that relationship that kept me stuck; I thought I needed the eggs. But seeing time slip by and feeling the same thing again, I knew I needed an abrupt change and I yanked the damn band-aid.
It has been close to forty years that I have toiled in the indie film coal mines. Film festival after film festival. Film festival round-up after film festival round-up. Award season after award season. Hope for something better. Hope that things will change. Hope for opportunity. Hope for film. It doesn’t really change. Evolution has always been too slow for me. What about you?
We have a drink, a smoke, a chat. We bitch and rant. We dream. But here we are. Same as it ever was. We are in a routine. A rut. When the holiday season comes around again, is this where will be? Do we think we need the eggs, when it is in fact something else? Is it time to pull off the band-aid and be willing to accept the consequences? Time to break up with the way things are? Maybe that’s the ticket…
I don’t want to be a buzz kill on the eve after such a high, but the same held true when EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE, NOMADLAND, MOONLIGHT or so on and so on and so on won too. Indie kicks ass and nobody cares. It is not where the money is. Or enough money is. It is not the business we are in. Even if we love it so.
The irony of calling this thing “Indie Film” is that it independence more of a dream than it has ever been the truth. We craft our work from an existing system, for an existing system. We rely on the supports but proclaim we did it on our own and despite the circumstances.
When my frustration over the cinema I was being served became too great, I decided I was going to learn how to cook the sort of meal that might satisfy me. I built my own restaurant, and I went to work in the ones others who liked the same sort of food as me built too. I tried out some new flavors, embraced new methods, but when the holidays come around, I still feel like I did the year before and the year before that.
How and when do we get to the place that we are willing to break up with the entire system? Ending things is not a conclusion, but more of a transformation. Caterpillar, you are really a butterfly and it is time to fly away with us. We create so many origin tales and as a result we are pretty good at starting things. I am still hungry to know more about ending things. And by that I mean, beginning new things. One of the hardest things I did with my life was get divorced. I didn’t want to, but it was one of the best things I ever did too. Otherwise I would never have found the better life that I now have, the one better suited for who I am, for who I am still working to be. Why are we settling for this system, when we aren’t happy being here really?
I was probably six or seven when I fell for The Beatles and all that I imagined they were. Three, four, five lads from a working-class town, just doing what they loved despite the circumstances, blossoming into something bigger than jesus – or so they said. If you play it, they will come. Imagine. A working-class hero is something to be. But you are still fucking peasants as far as you can see. And you know how that story ends.
In my early twenties, it was now The Minutemen, and I wanted to jam econo. Just make it like a job, but one that wasn’t bullshit, one that was doing the thing you loved. Make it, stay alive, and then make it again. Who needs stadiums if you can fill the living room? How did I get distracted from that fantasy? For years I had a consistent and modest income. We had a band and we knew how to tour. We had a method that worked and although we weren’t ever going to get rich, they couldn’t take the fun from us. That was enough for a real win, but it got even better. Others came along. They saw how it was done. They found ways it could work for them. And they started bands of their own. Whether it was the Velvet Underground or the Sex Pistols, if you came to the show, you wanted a band of your own.
Maybe what I was doing in those career years five through fifteen, was thinking I was making movies but what I was really doing was starting bands – bands of filmworkers. I was teaching them to fish. And when we sold the store I went and got lost. I thought the job was to make movies and not distribute guitars — but what did I know?
In my travels, a friend mentioned what sounded like a mythical place – a town by the sea where all the great musicians from the decades before all went, and instead of pursuing the career, they lived their life and would just get together and jam in the local pubs. All the greats doing what they loved just because it was what they loved. Singing, strumming, banging on the drum.
Is there a bar over yonder where in making a movie with friends and family can help new artists find their voice and rhythm? If we forget about the festivals and the markets, the awards races and the state of the industry and just focus on the work we love, can we create such a mythical place here on earth? Is it time to rip off the band-aid and get closer to the world I want? Can I find my favorite pub, have a pint, and swear off needing any eggs?
And for those that are bewildered by the “needing the eggs” reference, it comes from the overtold joke: A guy goes to see a psychiatrist and says he’s there because his wife thinks she is a chicken. The shrink asks why he doesn’t break up with her. The guy says…
Last year, at the age of 67, I made my first feature film. I'd joined an acting class to be a better director of actors, and fell so head-over-heels in love with every member of my class that I wrote a film with great custom-built speaking parts for each of them. I wrote it, directed it, produced it with two of the stars (one of whom let us use her beautiful home as our location), edited it, and composed and performed all the music.
In a world where I'd written and published tons of books, hit the New York Times bestseller list twice, written for TV and film, and blah blah blah, making this black comedy about dysfunctional robber baron families was some of the most fun I've ever had, and probably ever will.
And to top it all off, it's a reeeeeally fun film, with a ton of heart, some serious chops from all involved, and a crowd-pleasing grand finale for those of us who AREN'T in love with ruthless kleptocracy and bottomless greed.
If I could just do that every year, I would die a happy camper. Which is to say, you are PREACHIN' TO THE CHOIR, BABY!!!
Now the trick is to get this little movie -- which nobody but me ever expected to show outside of Portland, and our circle of friends -- out into the world. This is the learning-by-doing phase, where folks like you and Jon Reiss and Carole Dean and Kinema are making all the difference. Which is to say, thank you thank you THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!!!
Funny how we land in the same place having gotten there from such a different place. A bit older than you, and a woman, and a director/writer, excluded from the club for so long, this industry always seemed like quicksand. All those years as you thrived, and so many did, I could barely pry open tiny doors, mostly to have them slammed back at me. And now, I have finally having made my first indie feature. Navigating the downward swirl has always been the job for me and in a funny way, though I know so much has changed for those who have been inside for all the years that I have been outside, it kinda feels the same. I'm eager to make this work, to find the way, to give voice to the stories of humanity. Thank you for your excellent voice. We need you.