THE BACK ROW MANIFESTO by Tom Hall

The End.

twhalliii — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 12:21:51 GMT

This week I received an email from my friends at indieWIRE alerting me that this blog, which I have been writing off and on for seven years, was being discontinued as a part of an upgrade of the indieWIRE blogging network. Fair enough; it's rarely updated, draws low readership because of the infrequency of its publication, it is not really a part of the new indieWIRE blog community hierarchy (which is focused on news gathering and reportage) and it's not, nor has it ever been, a professional blog. I've never made a single dollar blogging (not that I'm proud of that *ha*) but when indieWIRE allowed me to launch a blog back in 2004, that was never the point. Things change and that's how it should be. I am forever grateful to indieWIRE for giving me a platform for all of these years. Not only was it a fair decision to discontinue the original Back Row Manifesto, but beyond that, indieWIRE has promised to archive the blog, which, incredibly generous.

So, before I go any further, a huge THANK YOU to everyone at indieWIRE for having me. It was an honor to be a microscopic piece of the family for all these years and I wish the site nothing but continued success.

As for me, well, for some reason, I’ve decided to keep it going at my own domain, http://backrowmanifesto.com. So far, so good; I feel much more free there, able to say whatever I want without worrying so much about the industry (or anyone, really) taking much notice. It’s also a very simple design, vertical, a nice template to focus on images and words, a literal clean slate. To get started, I’m going to replicate my favorite pieces and a few recent posts from the indieWIRE version of the blog, in the hopes it will give me a good foundation for the future and let me figure out how to execute my preferences using this platform. Think of it as a “Greatest Hits” collection to help christen the new place. After that, business as usual.

I hope you'll join me at the new Back Row Manifesto.

Goodbye, indieWIRE. It's been lovely...

The 2011 New York Film Festival | Lost In The Dark: ONCE UPON A TIME IN ANATOLIA

twhalliii — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 16:13:42 GMT

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia, the latest film from Turkish auteur Nuri Bilge Ceylan, opens with a shot of an obscured pane of glass, a dirty window leaking light and motion onto its greasy surface. Focus pulls us past the hazy façade and inside the kitchen of an auto repair shop; three men sit together, enjoying a joke and eating some dinner. Outside, a dog barks, drawing one of the men outside with a plate of bones. As the dog enjoys his treat, storm clouds gather overhead, threatening. The sense of dread is palpable; despite the good humor, nothing good will come of this. And nothing does.

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia is a remarkable film and, in my estimation, a contender to be remembered as a masterpiece, the second contender I have seen at this year's New York Film Festival. 'Masterpiece' is a word I do not use lightly, and one I reserve for films that have shaken me to my core and displayed a depth of artistry and feeling that is incredibly rare. Yes, we live in an age of hyperbole and yes, the thrill of the new can sometimes overwhelm our ability to recognize what will last, but there is something about Ceylan's work that transcends. Here, and not for the first time, Ceylan's incredible gifts as an image maker are put to the service of a complex, multifaceted story that is surprising for the simplicity of its premise and the vast richness of its execution.

Like the filthy glass of the opening shot, the men who populate Ceylan’s latest film are external surfaces betrayed by the complexity that escapes from within them, unconsciously and with tremendous force. Masculinity has always been a crucial subject for Ceylan; from the impossibility of male communication in Distant, to the callous, violent sexual vanity on display in Climates, to the corruption of the individual by his duty that sets the fates in motion in Three Monkeys, Ceylan has always understood the emasculating brutality of power and the impact it has on the lives of men who desire and feel bound to its tropes.

After its ominous prologue, the film continues with the first in a series of expansive widescreen shots of the Turkish countryside; from a distance, we see the headlights of cars as they wind their way along the narrow road. Soon, they arrive at their destination and their purpose becomes clear; there has been a murder and the police, coroner and prosecutor are accompanying the confessed killers in search of the body. Told over the course of a single night and morning, Once Upon A Time In Anatolia spends its time in search of both a body and something far more intangible: the nature of masculinity and its corruption.

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia is bursting with examples that range from the haunting to the hilarious, the mystical to the mundane. In one fleeting but prescient moment, lightning reveals ancient faces carved in the rock, frightening totems of forgotten men who once populated the now barren landscape; in another, the prosecutor, describing the scene of the crime, compares the face of murder victim to that of Clark Gable before a flood of (clearly anticipated) compliments come flooding back his way, bringing a blush to his cheek. Each of the men in Ceylan’s party seemingly want to be someone else, want to be free from the ties that bind them.

This might seem a simplification, but gratefully, Ceylan is far too gifted a filmmaker to simply lay his cards on the table. Instead, Once Upon A Time In Anatolia is sculpted magnificently by the passing of time, by desire. As the night moves forward, into the gloaming of the pre-dawn hours, the disorientation of the search manifests itself in a small village where the party seeks respite. Here, the mayor of the town welcomes the men, allowing his beautiful daughter to serve them tea during an unexpected blackout; as the men drift in and out of sleep, ghosts begin to appear and the daughter begins to haunt their dreams. This loosening of time and its disorienting effect on the party allows them to begin opening up to one another, to begin making confessions, to transform their relationships. It is a bravura sequence, full of hallucination and feeling, that sends the film hurtling toward its heartbreaking conclusion.

Once Upon A Time In Anatolia

Structurally, Ceylan has filled his film with rhyming moments and symbolic images and gestures, none more important than the windows that constantly frame and disconnect people from one another. A pane of glass is a potent symbol for a filmmaker (and, in Ceylan’s case, a photographer) seeking to capture the complexity of life from one side of a lens, and Ceylan uses the divisive power of the window as a way to restrain his characters to hold them back from reaching what they truly want. The film’s final shot brings it home in an immensely moving way; as the coroner looks out the window of his operating room, he watches a mother and her young son walking down a path. Children play in a schoolyard and the boy seeks to pull away and join in the fun. A reversal of the film’s opening shot, the camera generously pulls us in, but the action offers another thought; a sense of loss, of regret and what may be to come.

Like all great art, Once Upon A Time In Anatolia seems to be operating on a million levels all at once; the film clearly deals with class, with the corrupting power and self-delusion of authority, with urban and rural cultural expectations, with the narrow distance between a murderer and a man whose narcissism causes a death of its own. Ceylan has made great films before; perhaps, like me, you feel he has made them exclusively. But with each new movie, his mastery of the form seems to expand, enriching his cinema with an otherworldly, poetic power that I find absolutely gripping. Once Upon A Time In Anatolia stands alongside the finest work in contemporary cinema, a thrilling example of a director in full command of his copious gifts.

The 2011 New York Film Festival | Beasts Of Burden: THE TURIN HORSE

twhalliii — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 05:40:56 GMT

The Turin Horse, the latest masterpiece from the Hungarian director Béla Tarr, begins with a black screen and a narrator’s voice recalling a famous anecdote about Friedrich Nietzsche’s nervous breakdown; On January 3, 1889, the philosopher witnessed a coachman beating a carriage horse. The beating was violent and drew a crowd and Nietzsche, overcome by the scene, ran to the aid of the horse, throwing his arms around the animal’s neck and breaking into wild sobs. It was a tipping point for the philosopher, who never recovered his sanity or the lucidity of his writing. But, as Tarr notes, no one knows what became of the horse.

The Turin Horse proposes an answer of sorts, but it is also and perhaps instead a statement on the suffering of others that is at once as profoundly moving as it is formally rigorous. And although the film does feature a horse, a beautiful animal whose vulnerable physicality dominates every scene in which it appears, the anecdote that begins the film may not necessarily relate to the animal alone, but to the human beings who, in concert with the horse, suffer at the hands of a relentlessly unforgiving universe. This is a movie that openly grieves for the state of the world, yet instead of echoing Nietzsche’s sob, Tarr refuses to flinch; better to articulate the depth of his anguished proposal than collapse under the weight of it.

The Turin Horse

The Turin Horse exposes a visceral emptiness at the heart of human relationships; the world depicted in the film is defined by economic poverty, the cruel obligations of family, a brutal natural environment (gale force winds rage for almost the entire story), and, crucially, a collapse of community. Ohlsdorfer (János Derzsi) and his dutiful daughter (Erika Bók) live in a stone farmhouse around which there seems to be no farm at all, just a barn that houses the titular horse. Pinned down by the aforementioned wind storm, the days go by, six in all, and the daily routines of their lives are repeated; dressing, a shot of pálinka, the gathering of water from the well, the cleaning of the horse barn, the boiling and eating of potatoes, undressing and, finally, sleep, which seems to provide a merciful respite from waking life. But as each day goes by, things slowly, perceptibly deteriorate; the wind won’t stop and the horse refuses to eat or take water, slowly starving itself to death. As the horse goes, so go the family’s fortunes. Or does the horse, sensing the end, wither away in empathy with the family’s inevitable collapse?

The Turin Horse

Two crucial moments bring an even deeper sense of foreboding; a neighbor named Bernhard (Tarr regular Mihály Kormos) arrives to borrow some pálinka and launches into a diatribe about the moral and social collapse of the nearby town. “It’s all been degraded,” he says, implying that the economy of human activity has been reduced to a set of transactions that are beneath contempt. This is, of course, deeply connected to the ideas of Nietzsche himself, and Bernhard's speech could have easily been pulled directly from the backbone of Nietzsche's early philosophy, which saw him arguing against a European culture descending into degradation and decadence. Ohlsdorfer dismisses Bernhard's argument as nonsense, but it's pretty clear where Tarr stands; soon after the speech, as if to prove the point, a truckload of gypsies (the film's word, not mine), full of wild physicality and anarchic energy that contrasts deeply with the deteriorating conditions on the farm, arrive and drink from the family well. Ohlsdorfer chases them off with an axe, but not before his daughter receives the gift of a holy book in exchange for the water. The next morning, having read a few passages from the book the night before, she discovers the well is dry, the end of the family’s water supply. This action, the introduction of a sort of Christian mysticism to the film's narrative, only reinforces its Nietzschean perspective. In his book The Gay Science, Nietzsche wrote:

"We Europeans confront a world of tremendous ruins. A few things are still towering, much looks decayed and uncanny, while most things already lie on the ground... The church is this city of destruction...An edifice like Christianity that had been built so carefully over such a long period--it was the last construction of the Romans!--naturally could not have been destroyed all at once. All kinds of earthquakes had to shake it, all kinds of spirits that bore, dig, gnaw and moisten have had to help..."

Ohlsdorfer decides to abandon the farm soon after; the family grabs their small cart, packs it up, tethers the horse behind the cart and sets off up the hill, a reversal of the shot where the gypsies arrive. Suddenly, the impossibility of the journey realized, the family turns back home, their humiliation complete. And always, the wind tears at everything, whipping up dust and dead leaves, punishing any attempts at progress.

The Turin Horse

As always, Tarr’s stunningly photographed long takes will test some viewers' ability to pay continuous attention, but they are, for those who care to look, absolutely audacious and thrilling. It is the use of the camera and the modulation of light that brings cinematic meaning Tarr's use of repetition. The changes to the family's daily routines allow for subtle changes to the way in which they are depicted and, as things slowly turn for the worse, the film itself becomes more and more claustrophobic; where lanterns used to throw patches of light across the actors faces, the screen slowly begins to dissolve into darkness, a darkness which also echoes the condition of the family and the horse. Ultimately, the animal's silent suffering registers with the greatest effect; daily visits from Ohlsdorfer and his daughter provide the only light to the otherwise shuttered barn. But there is power in action as well; the movie’s opening sequence, a bravura take of the horse pulling a carriage through the unforgiving wind, is breathtaking. Like any of Tarr’s films, a patient commitment to the cumulative power of his storytelling technique is a must. Those who give themselves over to Tarr’s vision will be rewarded with a rich, deeply moving story, a movie of incredibly mastery and power that ranks among the director’s finest works.

The 2011 New York Film Festival | Interview: Frederick Wiseman, CRAZY HORSE

twhalliii — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 09:46:52 GMT

Created over a career that spans six decades, Frederick Wiseman’s brand of non-fiction filmmaking is notable for both its breadth of subject and its disciplined style; no interviews, no narration, just a strict mandate to capture human interactions and then craft them into dramatic stories in the editing suite. If you were looking for a map of human activity in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, you could do much worse than looking at Wiseman’s portraits of our social institutions. His new film Crazy Horse played at this year’s New York and Toronto Film Festivals, which is where we met to discuss the film and his career.

frederick Wiseman (photo by John Ewing)

BRM: To begin, I’m interested to know how you got involved with The Crazy Horse nightclub. I know you’ve made a lot of films in Paris and have spent some time there; what attracted you about that institution or made you want to address it?

Frederick Wiseman: A couple of things really. I’m interested in dance; if you count Boxing Gym, which is at least in part a dance movie, this is the fourth dance movie I’ve made. Ballet, La Danse, Boxing Gym and now Crazy Horse. It’s also another excuse to stay in Paris and that’s not an incidental reason, but in terms of the films that I’ve done, a lot of my films, in one way or another, have a particular emphasis on aspects of the body. Obviously, any movie is about the body; the monastery movie I made Essene is in part about the denial of the body, Hospital and Near Death are about the wasting of the body through illness, disease and ultimately death, Domestic Violence I &II are about the abuse of the body, Boxing Gym is about controlled violence toward the body, Maneuver, Basic Training and Missile, the three military films, are about the body in the service of the state, used to protect the interest of the state, Model is about the aestheticization of the body to sell commercial products, The Store is about the adornment of the body-- so, in an abstract way, the various uses of the body is a theme that cuts across a lot of movies. Crazy Horse is at least in part about the eroticization of the body in order to make money.

BRM: Yes, and that’s a real, political thing. In a lot of the films you mentioned just now, there is a very intense political subtext. Even though the films do not set out to beat you over the head with politics or make specific points--

Wiseman: No, I hope not--

BRM:--no, not at all. But you mentioned that the films have this recognition of violence underneath them. In Crazy Horse, there is a lot of fragmentation of the women and their bodies and the way we look at them.

Wiseman: Exactly.

BRM: So I’m wondering, what do you know going into this situation about how you will articulate this subtext?

Wiseman: Well, I don’t know going in, because I have no idea what I’m going to find. I was at The Crazy Horse twice before the shooting started, so the themes of the movie emerged as a consequence of the period of editing. In this case, it was a year. But, there’s an advantage you have in doing movies about plays or dances that you don’t have in ordinary films; in a performance movie like La Danse or Ballet, there are going to be rehearsals, and then there are going to be performances. So, you can shoot the same thing, pretty much done the same way, a number of times and in a number of ways. Whereas, if you take a movie like Welfare, you see an interesting sequence going on, you have one shot to get it and you have to think about the cut aways and the wide shots, while at the same time shooting it to make the content clear. That’s not true in these performance or dance movies. What I tried to do during the course of the shooting was to accumulate sequences I was interested in, shot in as many different ways as possible, so I would have choices in the editing room. For example, there’s a sequence in the movie called Baby Buns; The Crazy Horse is open seven night a week, two shows a night, except Saturday, which is three shows--fifteen shows a week. So, you can shoot Baby Buns one time as a wide shot, one time from the left hand side of the stage, another night from the right, another night of just close-ups, etc. so that six months later when you’re in the editing room and you want to make a sequence out of Baby Buns, you can do it and you can cut it as if it was staged for a movie that way, even though it wasn’t. Because the event is a repetitive one, you can create choices for yourself.

Crazy Horse

BRM: And that performative aspect is different in so many ways from what people traditionally think of with a lot of your films.

Wiseman: And correctly, because in most of the film, that opportunity doesn’t exist. The only film that that exists in prior to the dance films was Meat, and I’m not making any comparisons between an abattoir and a ballet company, but with 3000 head of cattle and 1500 sheep killed every day, you had the opportunity to follow that process and shoot it different ways.

BRM: Is there something about France or Paris in particular that draws you to their creative community?

Wiseman: I don’t think it’s about their creative community per se; I was a student in Paris years ago and it was great and the food’s good. It’s a beautiful place to live, I like walking around there, I have a lot of friends there. I’m not the sole person to think this way (laughs). In a cultural sense, its no different than living in New York; in New York you have a great choice of music, theater and dance. The same in Paris. It’s a comfortable place to live and it's small; it’s only 2,000,000 people. And it’s beautiful, the center of the city is similar to the way it was a long time ago and they have the good sense to keep it that way. So, it’s fun.

BRM: Do you feel you have an outsider’s perspective there that you don’t have in the U.S.?

Wiseman: That’s an interesting question. It’s complicated by what you mean by “outsider.” When I went to a welfare center in New York or a public housing project in Chicago, I was an outsider because the experiences of the clients of those places were not my experience, either as a child or an adult. On the other hand, everyone was speaking the same language and the references--cultural, political, sports, movies, music-- you assume, correctly or incorrectly, that in your own society, you understand the cultural cues. In France, and my French is good but far from perfect, there’s always the risk that I’m going to misinterpret a cultural cue-- not that there isn’t a risk of misinterpreting something in America too, that’s certainly the case. But it’s a greater risk when you’re working outside of the culture you grew up in because you take it for granted, and maybe it’s pretentious, but you can deceive yourself into thinking you understand your own culture better. I’m more cautious about making judgements, but that caution comes up more in the editing than the shooting, because in the shooting, you have to make up your mind very quickly. Often, if you miss the first 30 seconds, you miss the basic aspect of the encounter from which the rest of the sequence unfolds. I don’t think being an outsider has been a problem, more that you have to be aware of that and deal with it.

BRM: It’s tough to say your films are objective; you’re making choices and omitting information just like anyone else in order to tell a story. But people tend to draw strong conclusions from your films based on what they bring to the experience. Your films have a very steady perspective; I’m wondering how that impacts your access to a place like The Crazy Horse or other institutions you are trying to approach. Once they go back and look at your work, do you run into roadblocks from potential subjects over how they experience your previous films?

Wiseman: I always present the person or institution that I am interested in a list and description of my previous films and tell them that I can make any of these films available to them. In the case of The Crazy Horse, both the dancers and the administration saw La Comédie-Française and La Danse, some of them watched Welfare, there were five or six films circulating among the 50 or 60 people working at The Crazy Horse. It’s very important to me to make that offer and I always hope people will take me up on it. Often, I make the offer and people don’t ask for anything. I want them to, because I want the process and the way I work to be transparent. I don’t want someone to say to me after working on a film for a year “You didn’t tell me there was no narration!” or “I thought I was going to be interviewed!” I also make that clear in a letter that I write before the shooting starts; although I don’t form a legal contract, I always write a letter in advance summarizing my understanding of our situation. The letter says basically that it’s a maximum period of ten weeks, we have to have access to everything that is going on, if there is a sequence someone doesn’t want shot, all they have to do is say no and that’s the end of it, that I have complete editorial control, that the film will be shown on Public television and theatrically, it may be shown in other countries, I own the rights in perpetuity, etc. I try to anticipate anything that might subsequently be an issue, and then I ask them to either acknowledge receipt of it or sign a copy of it and send it back to me. So, in effect its a contract where all of the potential divisive issues have been resolved.

BRM: Once you’ve started, I guess you’re alive to the moments as they are happening; I’m wondering about how surprise works in your filmmaking. With this film, were there surprises that were bigger than most of your films? How do you integrate that sense of surprise into your process?

Wiseman: Well, there’s always surprise because when I start, I basically know nothing about these places. In some ways I feel I know nothing about them in the end, too. In a sense, the shooting of the film is the research. I’m always surprised because I like to think I’m learning something. One of the interesting things for me, coming out of the experience of being at The Crazy Horse, is what constitutes eroticism and sensuality? For some people, the rehearsals may be more erotic than the performances, because in the rehearsals, the women act more naturally; there’s no makeup, they have halters on, they’re not wearing wigs-- they’re just a group of attractive women dancing and rehearsing. In the show, it’s more performance oriented, often multiple women have the same makeup and clothing, and so it’s less personal. It may be more aesthetic in the formal sense-- there isn’t much lighting in the rehearsals. But much of the film is asking, in an abstract way, what is beauty, what is eroticism, how do women maintain their beauty, etc.

BRM: And interestingly here, the decision makers, on the creative side anyway, are primarily men, which sets up a real question about the dynamics of power here. Also, It was surprising to see how seriously they take this work; you think of cabaret or striptease as being “low culture,” but here, the subjects treat their work as “high culture.”

Wiseman: The choreographer Philippe Decouflé is a very famous choreographer, not in the classical ballet world, but popular dance and he has his own modern dance company. He has a very good sense of humor; he was the choreographer for the French Winter Olympics. He’s a very accomplished man and the choreography in the film reflects that. It’s not Swan Lake, but it’s technically complicated and imaginative.

BRM: And he’s got a rival, in a way, which again, was a surprise to see the institution giving the keys to the super fan and allowing him to subvert Decouflé in a lot of ways. When you see something like that going on, does the hair on your neck stand up?

Wiseman: Well, my big ears do prick up. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure whether it was going to be good for the film or not, but I concluded it would be. Some of the scenes between them, with their different styles of expression, provide some of the important aspects of the structure of the film.

BRM: What about the decision not to go outside of the club? In any of your films--

Wiseman: Right, it doesn’t happen in any of my films. In Welfare we don’t visit people in welfare hotels or in welfare apartments. My films are about the place; it’s usually one building or a very limited geographical area. These limitations serve the same function for me as the lines do on a tennis court. In other, words, what takes place in the geographical space of the building is good. Anything outside? Out of bounds.

BRM: Can you talk a little bit about your appreciation of dance? What draws you to dance as a form?

Wiseman: I’ve been a ballet fan for years. When I was in law school, I used to go in to New York City and go see the New York City Ballet in the 1950’s. I’ve been in New York a lot over the years-- I was teaching a class in New York, have friends in New York-- so I’ve been to the ballet a lot. In 1995, I made La Comédie-Française and was in Paris for about six months, so I started going to the ballet in France. And for the reasons I stated earlier, I wanted to make another movie in France, so I got in touch with the Paris Opera Ballet, went to see them and again, they said yes right away. That was one of the great experiences of my life making that film. The Crazy Horse idea came up by chance; I was having dinner with a French friend and she said “have you thought about making a movie about a Parisian nightclub?” and I said “Yeah, but I haven’t gotten around to it,” and she said “Decouflé is doing a new show at the Crazy Horse, maybe they’d be interested?” So, the next night we went to The Crazy Horse.

Crazy Horse

BRM: What was that experience like for you?

Wiseman: Well, I had been to The Crazy Horse once before, in 1957 with my father-in-law and I hadn’t been back. I did see the potential filmic value when I went back to see the show, so I went in the next day and they said okay.

BRM: They use a lot of cinematic techniques in the show itself. It’s a very cinematic show. How much did you draw from that when you were making decisions during the shoot?

Wiseman: Some of the sequences in the film are me filming the movies that are a part of the show. Sometimes you don’t know if its a silhouette shot of the dancers behind the screen or a movie that’s being projected for the audience at the club. I knew when I saw the show that this could have great potential value for the movie I wanted to make, but i didn’t have any idea specifically of how I wanted to use it.

BRM: Can you talk about the decision to break up the performances in the editing? When you’re cutting the film, there’s got to some really tough decisions about how you’re going to assemble these sequences without violating the spirit of the pieces being performed.

Wiseman: Well, it’s very hard. In a sense, it’s harder to do it with that kind of performance than with dialogue--

BRM: Absolutely. You’d think talking would be bracketed by the natural flow of conversation--

Wiseman: Yes, you can edit a talking sequence so that it appears that it took place the way you’re seeing it in the movie. It doesn’t make any difference that the three and a half minutes of dialogue in the film came from 40 minutes of rushes that come from 50 minutes of real time. But here, unlike the ballet where an act may be 45 minutes or an hour, the acts at The Crazy Horse are four or five minutes, a couple of them maybe six minutes tops. So, it’s a question of not only finding a place where you can cut into the music, but also finding a place where you can cut into the movement so that, without suggesting you’re seeing the whole number, it doesn’t violate the spirit of the number. That was not easy, and it was further complicated by the fact, and in a problem that doesn’t exist in a non-performance film, where you have so much music. In a talk film, you can cut from one conversation or one scene to another, as long as they’ve got a visual or thematic connection. But it’s very difficult to cross fade music, because the music at the end of one scene can really screw up the new music in the next scene. One of the issues in the editing is to find little transition shots so that the music of the sequence that is finishing can fade out and you don’t have to cut-- it’s terrible when you cut music abruptly. It either has to end naturally or you have to fade it so it appears to end naturally and then you need a pause, not more than a second or two, before you can begin to fade in music for the next sequence. It’s an interesting problem, and because the sequences are shorter, it was more of a problem on Crazy Horse.

BRM: Can you talk a little bit about your work process? I mean filming, editing, film festivals, starting again, shooting editing. I assume you’re making every decision on these films--

Wiseman: Yes.

BRM: -- so, maybe this is not an interesting question, but your work schedule must be outrageous.

Wiseman: Well, it is outrageous. I have a knack for picking places that are open all the time. At The Crazy Horse, we’d shoot a thirteen hour day. So, it’s a long day and after shooting, we’d have to watch rushes. One of the things I like about making movies like this is that it makes demands of every aspect of your being. You’ve got to stay in shape because it’s a sport; if you’re not in shape, you can’t run around with the equipment all day and be reasonably alert to make choices and get the quality you need. It’s often, depending on the subject matter, very emotionally demanding; in a movie like Near Death or Hospital, I mean, making movies is a decent defense but you’re seeing some pretty difficult situations. And, intellectually speaking, working like this is extremely stimulating because you have to think your way through the experience in order to make the choices that make the movie. The movie is made up of hundreds of thousands of choices. During the shooting, there’s no time for analysis; you have to act instinctively and one of the reasons you shoot a lot of film is, it’s better to shoot and be wrong than not shoot and say “Oh shit, I missed it.” I always err on the side of shooting to much, because I’d rather get the sequence. All of these sequences are found sequences. You’d have to be a genius writer to invent some of these sequences, but if you’re lucky enough to be there when they happen and to recognize them for what they are, you can use them in order to construct the film. So much of making these movies is not about filming and film technique per se, it has to do with asking yourself and answering for yourself the question “why?” Why are these words being used? Why is this person moving his head one way or the other? Why is he asking for a cigarette at this point? Why isn’t he looking someone in the ye? Why did she walk away?

BRM: Do you allow yourself emotional involvement in all of this?

Wiseman: I try not to. The work is so demanding, it’s not a serious problem. There’s the joke about not crossing the line when you’re making a movie about a modeling agency or The Crazy Horse, but it’s completely unprofessional. I found myself in some movies, like Hospital, Near Death, Welfare or Public Housing or Titticut Follies, of being extremely moved and emotionally involved, but because you’re there to make a film and the equipment is a kind of defense, it’s not as if you’re there just watching; you’re there to make a movie. So, you can’t indulge personal feelings. You don’t have time, even if you wanted to. And you also know you can’t intervene.

Titicut Follies

BRM: A final question, completely different topic. You’re kind of a pioneer of self-distribution. One of things that’s fascinating now, with video-on-demand and the internet, is that filmmakers now have a real chance to put out there own movies and create strategies to control their own content. You’ve done an amazing job over the course of your career of setting up a business around your work. How has that impacted your ability to make films and are you passionate about the control you retain over your films?

Wiseman: To answer the last part first, I am passionate. I own the rights to all of my movies. A couple of the French movies, I have a French partner, but otherwise, I own them. I’ve done that from the beginning. I have complete control over my own work. I set up my own distribution company in 1971 really because I had no alternative. I got screwed so badly by Grove Press on the first two movies I did, Titicut Follies and High School; they made money on them and I never saw any money and I had to sue Grove Press. I figured there is 100% margin of error, so if mistakes are made from then on they would be my mistakes and if money came in, I got to keep it. My distribution company has been in existence now for 40 years and one person has run it for me for the last 30. She’s terrific, it’s her and one assistant and the two of them run it. Originally, it was a production company but that’s just a matter of making a budget and getting permission; she does the budgets now and I get the permissions. That aspect is not that demanding. But it was originally 16mm, then video and now DVD. I was late getting my movies out in America on DVD because nobody made me an offer and I thought it was going to be a real hassle and I just avoided doing it. Then we just decided it was time, let’s get them out and it’s been fantastically successful. I got offered peanuts by some of the big DVD distribution companies, I mean, it was such a minuscule, pitiful offer, I couldn’t take it seriously. So, for a minimal investment on our part, it’s been extremely successful and it’s all internet. I was never much of a techie and I didn’t understand the viral nature of it, but my God, it was terrific. We put out a small internet press release, bloggers and people who are interested in movies started to write about it, we had a website and the orders started coming in and they’re still coming in. I’m going to do the same thing on VOD now.

BRM: Has this empowered your filmmaking in any way?

Wiseman: Well, it’s made it possible for me to eat (laughs). I’ve always enjoyed being independent, but its made my independence possible because it’s harder to raise money now than it was twenty years ago. There isn’t as much money around for this stuff and there are more people who want to make movies. A lot of people assume I have a very easy time raising money and it’s murderous.

BRM: Thank you very much for you time.

Wiseman: It was a very good interview. Thank you very much.

The 2011 New York Film Festival | Collective Destiny: LE HAVRE

twhalliii — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 16:22:45 GMT

Aki Kaurismäki is the cinema’s hardest working modernist, a director for whom a commitment to a particular aesthetic universe and a singular style has provided an incredibly fertile landscape in which to explore a variety of stories. Typically, Kaurismäki dabbles in darkly comic, noirish tales of heartbreak and triumph that are distinguished by their flat, presentational performances and gorgeous, painterly compositions. And, equally typically, the Finnish director aims his satirical eye at the Scandinavian cultures, focusing on the working class underbelly of those proudly inclusive nations. But in his surprisingly charming new film Le Havre, Kaurismäki heads to the titular port city in France to explore something bigger than his usual concerns; the shared interests and alliances between working class people and Europe’s ever-expanding immigrant communities.

Le Havre

Le Havre is the story of Marcel Marx (André Wilms), a shoeshine working the streets of the city by day and enjoying the stability of a long, happy marriage to Arletty (Kati Outinen, who fans will remember from The Man Without A Past) by night. During one of his lunch breaks, Marcel encounters Idrissa (Blondin Miguel), an undocumented migrant boy from Francophone Africa who escaped the clutches of local authorities when the shipping container in which he and his family were stowed away was mistakenly delivered to Le Havre instead of England. Marcel soon offers Idrissa shelter from local law enforcement, lead by detective Monet (Jean-Pierre Daroussin, who is pure Kaurismaäki; noir, deadpan and hilarious), whose search for the missing boy will lead him to Marcel’s doorstep. But with Arletty in the hospital and Idrissa having a mind of his own, Marcel begins to depend on his small community of friends-- the owner of the local boulangerie, the café proprietress and the local green grocer-- to help him meet his familial obligations while searching for a way to reunite Idrissa with his family in England. The resulting solution is so hilarious, so perfectly Kaurismäki, I will refrain from spilling the beans here. Needless to say, happy endings are indeed possible and seemingly pre-determined by fate and the power of miracles.

Like most of Kaurismäki’s films, every frame of Le Havre is beautifully designed and stripped to its essentials, allowing the sumptuous lighting to give the movie a classic sensibility. It is this modernist aesthetic, and here I mean modernist in the literal sense, that allows Kaurismäki’s irony the space to resonate; there may be no shoeshine in the history of movies with such a beautiful collection of mid-century objects. The analogue clocks on the walls, the rotary telephones, the period vases that hold a single flower, the furniture, the appliances-- Kaurismäki’s world is completely, wonderfully anomalous to contemporary life without being “period” in any true sense of the word. The cinematography and lighting design, created once again by longtime Kaurismäki cinematographer Timo Salminen, could come straight out of, say, Rudolph Maté’s D.O.A, but they also carry a painterly warmth that would not be out of the place in the work of Edward Hopper. It is a treat to see these choices put in service of the lives of working people, whose lives, dilemmas and passions are heightened by their location within Kaurismäki’s dramatic universe.

Le Havre

But Le Havre is about more than simply inserting everyday life into a specific aesthetic universe; it is also about politics, about community and responsibility, about the need for Europeans to embrace the changing faces of their societies. The film, which premiered at Cannes this year, comes at a frightening time for European politics; arriving in the midst of economic trouble in the eurozone countries (a group to which Finland and France both belong), with austerity measures clashing with immigration laws and cultural assimilation and with the looming threat of continued political violence like the tragic attacks in Norway this past summer, Le Havre is a much more daring film than its warm surfaces may suggest. It is a bold statement in many ways, a deeply ironic distillation of cultures in crisis. By placing this story in the midst of a working class community, by aligning the interests of immigrants and natives against the authorities and making an argument for a humanist approach to cultural identity, Kaurismäki shows the just how deep his particular brand of satire can cut. Le Havre is a savvy play for hearts and minds, a daring piece of art, expertly made, that understands what is at stake for Europe but which, in the tradition of the best gallows humor, still finds a way to smile in spite of it all.

The 2011 New York Film Festival | The Walking Cure: THE LONELIEST PLANET/ PATIENCE (AFTER SEBALD)

twhalliii — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 05:33:33 GMT

The relationship of the individual to the physical world is one of the (my?) great modern dilemmas; how we move in the world, how we find solitude and contemplative space in the age of the internet, how we find the room to unpack what is inside of us-- these are questions that plague me on a regular basis. Part of it is clearly my character, but I’ve never been able to clear the decks and find a comfortable balance between my deepest inner desire (the ability to find quiet and just think and be, as obnoxiously self-serving as that sounds) and the pleasure of social stimuli (which, family and friends aside, finds me tracking the ideas, opinions, activities and lives of hundreds of people using social media). If anything, cinema has become my compromise, a form that allows me both a sense of social and critical engagement while also allowing me the chance to retreat within myself and explore my feelings through the dramatic power of movies.

I find the dissonance between my “real” and my “cinematic” selves to be deeply troubling, if only because in my own imagination, the person I think I am and want to be, is more likely the person sitting in a dark room, staring at a screen, mind racing and heart pounding, than it is the man who is working through his days in the service of his tangible loves and obligations. I have not wholly retreated into a fantasy world, and I take great pleasure in so much of my life, but if I am true to myself, my deep affinity for movies is tethered to the fact that they offer me the space to be who I want to be with myself, they allow my mind the space to move between thoughts and feelings, responses and desires and they never ask me what I am thinking or feeling; engaging with movies allows me to just be. That said, maybe I am not who I think I am.

Two films at this year’s New York Film Festival have knocked me for a loop by directly engaging this dilemma as their subject; both Julia Loktev’s brilliant The Lonliest Planet and Grant Gee’s deeply engaging Patience (After Sebald) focus on the act of walking, of setting out and moving, to create a transformative space for their characters and subjects. That each film does so while creating a deeply cinematic experience for the viewer only doubles their power for me.

The Loneliest Planet begins with a rhythmic sound-- resembling old, battered bed springs under the stress of violent coitus-- against a black screen before revealing the naked torso of Nica (Hani Furstenberg), freezing and soapy, standing erect in a rustic shower, awaiting a rinse which soon arrives at the hands of her fiancée, Alex (Gael Garcia Bernal). A general sense of disorientation continues as we slowly learn that Nica and Alex are traveling together, walking from place to place, before landing a guide named Dato (Bidzina Gudjabidze) to escort them through the Caucasus mountains of Georgia. But as the group walks further and further from Dato’s village, Loktev cultivates a sense of dread and vulnerability before a terrifying moment brings about an unexpected reaction from Nica and Alex, transforming not only their relationship but the viewer’s position in relation to the film itself.

The Loneliest Planet

Loktev is a filmmaker of great gifts, using the frame to establish the dynamics of emotion and power (in the interpersonal sense) with an elegant sense of geometry; during their long, often silent hike, the characters are presented in varying degrees of focus, close-up and bokeh, pulling the viewer toward one character and away from another, giving one primacy on the screen while another defers, always against the staggeringly beautiful backdrop of the grass-covered mountains and valleys. Nature serves neither to humble nor augment the emotional give and take of the film, but rather to establish a figurative grid through which the characters walk. It is through the act of walking through space, together and alone, that the drama of the film plays itself out, every gesture and expression the natural result of a quiet, introspective journey that gets fleshed out once the movement stops and the characters set up camp for the night.

In one of my favorite shots in the film, Nica is wrapped in a foil blanket and warming herself next to the campfire. Just behind her, Dato’s pup tent echoes the triangular shape of her seated body, while further back, a remorseful Alex offers another geometric rhyme, smaller, less meaningful, but still present. I was reminded (coincidentally?) of Cézanne’s painting Bathers at Rest, where the angular positions and shapes of the bodies and the features of the landscape become rhymes, full of weight, depth and light. So too with The Loneliest Planet, which uses composition in the service of relationships and unspoken emotions. Loktev’s film is thrilling because of the way she portrays introspection, but also how the faces, bodies and gestures of her characters convey so much more than words ever could. I found the film to be one of the most compelling movies I’ve seen in a long time; a rigorously constructed story of the way love can accidentally fall apart before reassembling itself in a new, diminished way, told without a single false note being struck and with a thrilling simplicity, utilizing the cinema in the service of the sublime.

Grant Gee’s Patience (After Sebald) is an essay film that tracks the meaning and reverberations of W.G. Sebald’s book The Rings Of Saturn, a nearly unclassifiable text that is equal parts travelogue, memoir, fiction, photographic essay and autobiography, all carefully filtered through a singular literary intelligence. I need to state this right off the bat, lest I be accused of not being intellectually honest; I consider the essay film to be among the highest forms of filmmaking, one which lays the tools of moviemaking bare, dissecting images and ideas by utilizing them on themselves. The master of this form, Chris Marker, is among our greatest living filmmakers; his use of all of the weapons that movies can provide, his manipulation of images, narration, politics, history and sound, has created a body of work where each film feels like an excavation through layers of time and meaning and into a recognition of the subjective fluidity of experience. This might also describe the work of W.G, Sebald, who used the pages of the book, and The Rings Of Saturn in particular, as a form of excavation of feeling and history. But whereas late capitalism provides Marker with the conditions against which his own dreams revolt, Sebald is haunted by the Holocaust, a tragedy perpetrated by his countrymen that must remain oblique, in the margins, lest it overpower everything else he seeks to describe. Gee captures Sebald’s anguished relationship to history in the book with the same grace Sebald himself does; here, mass violence pushes its way in and out of the story, but somehow, always seems present.

For Sebald, his titular planet provided a perfect framework; triumphant having just finished writing a book, Sebald sets out for a long series of walks through eastern England (Norfolk and Suffolk to be precise). The Rings Of Saturn describes the walk in detail, not just the external world that Sebald discovers in the English countryside, but the internal world that is stirred by the images and history he encounters, each thought a ring moving outward from another thought, a single story told in concentric ideas, always shifting as his feet move across the ground.

Gee’s film takes Sebald’s text and draws it into the realm of the cinema, but not in a literal way (thankfully); instead of merely reproducing Sebald’s walk and ideas, Gee himself gets, well, Sebaldian, allowing the author’s admirers and colleagues to comment on the book while the text, that is, the film, presents a cinematic representation of the intersection of Sebald’s book and the modern transformation of the landscape he describes. Patience becomes another of the rings of Sebald’s Saturn, a document of change that re-shapes our understanding of the book.

Patience (After Sebald)

This is not to say that Gee is as personal in his creation as Sebald was in his own; the film does not seek to present a single perspective about Sebald’s book. Instead, and I think more interestingly, Gee’s film works as a form of criticism, an essay about a book that embraces the differences of the literary and cinematic forms while walking the line between documentary and fiction, much like its subject. The film is heavy with literary interpretation and a knowledge of the book would be of great benefit to the viewer, but I don’t think it is necessary; what is necessary is an interest in engaging a serious effort to describe an inner world. I deeply appreciated the film’s commitment to seriousness, to the text, the physical nature of books and to the ideas the run through them. Fluff this is not. Still, for film fans who love to read and love to luxuriate in the meaningful questions that artists like Sebald seek to ask of us, I think Gee has done an outstanding job of creating a moving, visually striking film, one that inspired me to dream of my own solitary walks as a possible solution to the overwhelming problems of modern living.

For those interested in learning more about Sebald, this interview on KCRW’s Bookworm, which aired less than a week before Sebald’s untimely death in December of 2001, is a great place to start.

On Vacation

twhalliii — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 14:54:50 GMT

Should make it official: This blog on summer vacation. Soul searching in progress. I'll be back by September for The Toronto International Film Festival, The New York Film Festival and various and sundry other film events. There may be an update or two in between, primarily to link to forthcoming reviews and interviews I will be publishing over at Hammer To Nail. In the meantime, enjoy the summer and see you soon...

On Woody In Cannes

twhalliii — Wed, 11 May 2011 06:05:25 GMT

Positive reviews are pouring in from Cannes for Woody Allen's Midnight In Paris, which opens the world's greatest film festival today. As a long time admirer of Allen's work ( I count Annie Hall and Manhattan as two major inspirations of my dream of living in New York City), I am so happy to hear that the film is getting some great reviews. I make it a point to see as many of his films in a theater as is possible, usually trekking up to the Lincoln Plaza cinemas to catch the film with the older, tony Upper West Side crowd. In fact, that theater is where I have seen so many of Allen's recent films (Vicky Cristina Barcelona, You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger, Match Point etc.), which I guess is ironic given than, since I have been going to Manhattan to seek my Woody Allen fix, Allen himself has left America behind for the more appreciative (and financially interested) shores of various European nations. England, for a while, then Spain, now France and next up, Italy. Will Allen ever head to Germany or Austria? Now that is a movie I'd die to see.

I am not an Allen apologist; I have written before about his fading powers as a filmmaker, primarily driven, in my opinion, by his refusal to deal with the issues and anxieties that define his own generation. As I said back in 2005:

"...Allen as a filmmaker has always hovered outside the boundaries of trends and popular tastes. His work invariably celebrates old time jazz music and nostalgia for old movies and old time morality. But his stories have begun to focus on younger and younger characters, for whom these tastes and ideas are undeniably false. Compare a film like the forthcoming Saraband, made by Allen’s idol, Swedish master Ingmar Bergman, to a film like Anything Else. Bergman’s characters and stories reflect the age and wisdom he himself has accumulated, and his stories tell the truth by refusing to pander to unknown, younger tastes. Of course, what is missing from Allen’s recent body of work is an inkling of understanding of the day-to-day experience of the generation upon which his characters are based. Woody doesn’t know the urban 35-and-under crowd anymore than Bergman might... Instead of attempting to address the concerns and issues that no longer confront him, those of the 30 something crowd (upon which he built his greatest films when he was in his 30’s and 40’s), he should translate his interest in infidelity, tragedy, and comedy to the situations and experiences of his own life...Allen would be better served by turning his eye in the direction he was headed in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s. Crimes and Misdemeanors is a film by an artist in his 50’s, the work of a great director dealing with older actors and issues of mortality in a truthful way. Husbands and Wives, featuring amazing performances from Sydney Pollack and Judy Davis, addresses the concerns of the 40-and-over divorced set, and those midlife crises feel real. These films are filled with truthful stories and characters Allen clearly knows well, and they seem to reflect a real understanding of the values being examined."

I'm not sure Woody has moved any further toward my suggestions (why should he listen to me?); he's spent the better part of the intervening years applying his old models and forms to the lives of a younger generation, characters who feel like an older man's fantasy of what real young people might actually be like. All of that said, every film stands alone, and there are relative successes peppered in with some of the lesser films. One thing that bodes well for the new film is the renewed focus on nostalgia as a complicating factor in the life of his protagonist; from the outside looking in, Midnight In Paris inspires me to think of Alice or The Purple Rose Of Cairo, two of Allen's saddest and perhaps most whimsical films. Allen has always known how fantasy and nostalgia can be punishing, even when using it himself to celebrate an earlier cinema, an earlier sense of magic.

Cannes is one of the only places on earth where everyone believes in the cinema as seriously and as passionately as I do. Cannes is the spiritual home for all cinephiles, the one place that doesn't just celebrate the art of film, it exalts it to a religious scale; the values of Cannes, where the World Premiere screenings of serious films are treated with the same pomp and circumstance as a coronation, are impossible to replicate anywhere else. It is the most important film festival in the world because it refuses to budge from its tradition of treating serious films with a ridiculous glitz that is beyond even the most lavish Hollywood premiere, treating the art of film with a pure, historical context that creates a grand narrative that spans decades. I fucking love it and dream of somehow returning one day.

In the meantime, I am very excited for Midnight In Paris. I love that city. I want to move there one day. Maybe Woody can inspire the same desire in me with this film that Manhattan inspired in my teenage self. Here's the trailer. See you on the Upper West Side...

On Blogging

twhalliii — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 07:47:18 GMT

I've been blogging here since 2004. The Back Row Manifesto is coming up on its seventh (!!!) birthday and I have been facing a real crisis with it. On the one hand, I love and am honored to have a voice and a place to write my thoughts. On the other hand, as social media has grown in my life, I am finding it much easier to say things quickly and in real-time without the idea of blogging crossing my mind. My iPhone has become so much more important to me than my laptop for interacting with the online world; the idea of sitting down and taking the time to write and think has come to seem...cumbersome. Which is, y'know, crazy. Especially since, in private, all I seem to desire is a return to a slower, more thoughtful life in every way; reading, writing, film viewing, interacting with people in the real world. If someone would have told me in 2004 that in seven years I would be looking back fondly on the slow, patient times when blogging was starting, I probably would have laughed. Then, it seemed to be the cutting edge of immediacy. Today? Slooowwww.

Things change; everyone now instantly Tweets their thoughts on films and my desire to read online film criticism has been all but eliminated by the dissonance between the immediacy my scrolling feed and the (generally speaking) lack of thoughtful writing and criticism about the quality and content of movies. With the door opened by the movement of film trades to a competitive online space, there is a ton of thinking and passion around the "state" and "business" of films and filmmaking, but the qualities of the films themselves seems to be further brushed to the fringes of the conversation. Do I miss writing about movies? Sure, but I also miss the quality of the conversation about them. Not that I am any great shakes as a film thinker, but as the conversation seems to have shifted, my interest in participating has dwindled significantly.

Also, as my life as a programmer (and father) has changed, I feel less and less "safe" writing here. The independent film world is a small community filled with wonderful people, but I am finding myself growing more and more disgruntled with the state of the union, with the festival world and online film journalism and film criticism and the ebb and flow of snark and competitiveness... As much as I would love to write a cri de coeur about my feelings, I also still love so much about the films themselves that I am afraid to express the specifics of my personal disillusionment for fear of alienating folks and creating problems for myself as someone who sees his entire future spent thinking about and curating movies. So, if you're wondering why the blog has been such slow going these past few months, the answer is that I've been busy with the Sarasota Film Festival and have not been in a position to write about films, but also, given the state of the world, I just feel like I am not sure what to say anymore.

So, to quote Arthur Russell, I am going to start calling out of context; screw the conversation, popularity be damned, I guess I just need to stick to my own vision and do what makes me happy. So, this is me committing to doing that for a while to see where it leads me.

My plans for the spring include drooling over Cannes with my annual sense of covetous envy, attending BAM CinemaFEST in support of so many films that I truly love that will be playing there, an appreciation of the amazing work being done over at Factory25, and soon, playing catch-up on some trailers that I want the world to love as much as I do. I want to get back in the swing and to use this space as a vehicle for thinking again, on my own terms. That plan is now under way... I hope you'll endure the navel gazing and stick with me.

Kids In America

twhalliii — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 06:51:59 GMT

KIm Wilde --Kids in America from IT Computer Guy on Vimeo.

Yuck

twhalliii — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 06:07:00 GMT

*swoon*

Love them.

Oh, NSFW if you work in a stuffy office.

Yuck - Holing Out from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yuck - Rubber from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yuck - The Base Of A Dream Is Empty from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yuck - Georgia from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yu(c)k - Automatic from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yu(c)k - Weakend from Yuck on Vimeo.

Yu(c)k - Daughter from Yuck on Vimeo.

Sundance 2011 | The Obligatory Trend Piece

twhalliii — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 16:43:15 GMT

What to make of The 2011 Sundance Film Festival? Following one of the most critically successful years in the festival’s history, a year that saw Blue Valentine , Winter’s Bone , The Kids Are Alright , I Am Love , Animal Kingdom, Enter The Void, Please Give, A Film Unfinished, Gasland , Restrepo, Exit Through The Gift Shop , Waste Land , Last Train Home, The Oath, The Tillman Story and many others find tremendous acclaim, 2011 always had its work cut out for it. I was only able to see 35 feature films at Sundance and I missed many crucial entries, so I can’t make any grand statements about the critical or commercial aspirations of the movies in the festival as a whole (lest they be taken worth a grain of salt), but 2011 feels to me the year the recession came home to roost. The scaled back financing and production of independent films in 2009 and 2010 seems to have driven filmmakers to utilize a more modest scale; only a handful of narrative and non-fiction films at the festival seemed willing to risk it all in order to execute large, ambitious ideas. Many of the films seemed small and intimate, without the grand aspirations of previous years. Of course, this theory is ironic if only because Sundance’s submissions were at their highest ever, which indicates a proliferation of work and, to be honest, a real concern for me about the state of independent film at the moment.

But why worry? If 2011 marks the line in the sand for independent film financing in a recession driven investment climate, it also marked the complete opposite in the distribution world; a return to the glory days of pure, unadulterated content speculation. While few films seemed to capture the collective imaginations of audiences, that didn’t prevent distributors from diving in head first into the marketplace and bringing home one of the largest hauls of movies in the festival’s history. As deal after deal was announced over the course of the festival, a simultaneous feeling of relief and head-scratching bewilderment settled over Park City. After reading pieces on “new distribution models” to the point of nausea over the past two years, it was nice to see that the one thing exactly no one was talking about at Sundance this year was self-distribution; everyone smelled the blood in the water and, in many cases, got a distribution deal out of the ensuing frenzy. Content continues to reign supreme and, after looking at a strong year at the indie box office for last year’s films, reasonable, level-headed deals were popping up all over Sundance; a filmmaking community that had given up (for the most part) on the idea of a traditional distribution model was suddenly at the center of a new indie economic boom.

All of which leaves me to wonder about next year, about the pressure on these modest films to perform across multiple platforms, about the implicit faith of distributors and buyers in Sundance’s curation process and about what that all means for the next eleven months in the film festival world. If buyers can find their way to smaller festivals and if festival programmers (like me) can work hard to find some hidden gems lurking at the margins, it might be a time when deals get done all over the place; if this year’s buying spree proves anything, it at once cements the dominance of the Sundance Film Festival as the premiere market festival in the US and, given many of the films that sold, raises my eyebrows; if the rest of us can get our shit together, we have a very strong chance to redefine the distributor’s buying process by working on the slew of films that are still out there, waiting to be picked up. This feels like a real opportunity to me, a year when young and emerging talent has been given a shot to see what it can do in the marketplace; if the American film festival community can continue to discover and nurture new work, maybe we’ll find our own place in the process. Maybe January in Park City isn’t the end of the cycle for these films, but the starting line in a race that, suddenly, we all have a chance to win.

Sundance 2011 | The Glamour Of Sundance? Waiting!

twhalliii — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 12:24:54 GMT

Some photos from Sundance. Captures my experience in a way no celebrity red carpet shots can... Sundance is all about waiting. Waiting and waiting. And waiting...

The day starts at 7:40 AM with a nice walk and wait at the bus stop. One of the best feelings at Sundance is the recognition that the pair of lights in the distance have materialized into the bus you actually need.

The bus ride leads to the Press and Industry (P&I) tent, located in the parking lot just across from the Holiday Village Cinemas. Situated in a strip mall next to an Albertson's Fresh Market grocery store, the P&I Tent is, movie theaters aside, the place where P&I attendees spend most of their time, waiting in line for movies. The tent is equipped with a great WiFi connection but, unlike the Yarrow Hotel of old, no place to actually sit down and write. So, instead of using time spent waiting to get some work done, the Tent is pretty much a bust. It also is a little noxious, with gassy P&I delegates filling the place with all sorts of foul humors that stay trapped under the plastic roof and combine to produce a very unique smell. I like to think of the P&I tent as something Temple Grandin might have designed if she wanted to punish delegates while herding them efficiently into the movie theaters.

Out of the line, into the theaters to face down the screenwash while you wait for the movie to start. This looping piece of video changes every year and I love what Sundance does with them. They always give me a lot to look at and allow me to play mental games. This year's screenwash referenced moves that played at past festivals, combining to form the snowflake logo at the heart of this year's campaign. It is a nice way to kill time in the theater prior to the movies. You can't help but look at it.

Park City rests at roughly 7,000 feet above sea level. The air is thin and it takes a few days to get acclimated. So, when the city founders decided to build the downtown on a giant hill, itself in a valley surrounded by other hills, it was probably a choice made specifically to say "fuck you" to out of towners. This set of stairs, leading from Main St to Ontario Ave in downtown Park City, was the equivalent of getting the wind knocked out of you by a punch to the gut. I took this picture as I literally waited 5 minutes to catch my breath after the climb. The price of socializing at Sundance can be steep. Literally.

One of the benefits of having a P&I badge is that it allows you to visit the Eccles for the first screening of each day. You get to watch some of the most popular films at the festival with a real audience instead of being cloistered solely with the P&I crowd. This year's process was a huge success for an early bird like me and a GREAT benefit. When I was headed in to see Tom McCarthy's excellent Win Win, I ducked into the ticket holders tent for a quick view. This is about 50% of the tent at 8:40 in the morning. As a programmer, I can't help but be insanely jealous to see 1300 people show up for a movie at 9:00 AM. Every morning I went, weekend or weekday, the tent was packed with people waiting to see a movie. Seriously envious.

The view inside the Eccles. This is about 9:00 AM again. Couldn't get the balcony in this shot; not a great picture, but again, massive envy. Waiting for the movie to start. Again.

I'll be wrapping up my Sundance experience very soon... finally, time and a place to write... you'll just have to wait for it...

All photos were grabbed on the run on my phone, so apologies for the lack of professionalism...

Sundance 2011 | En Route. Literally.

twhalliii — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 07:23:52 GMT

On the flight to Salt Lake City from my home in New York City, and having my first experience with in-flight WiFi, which, you know, revelatory. Headed to Park City and to Sundance for what I think is my tenth or eleventh trip to the festival. I have always enjoyed Sundance; I think the programmers do a tremendous job culling a lineup of state of the art American independent film from what has become an absolute avalanche of submissions. I like the way the cold weather and public transportation tend to bring people together, giving the event, which is otherwise pretty spread out around Park City, a sense of community and small town energy. I know people tend to see the festival as a celebrity cluster fuck or an orgy of sponsors, gifting and privilege, but unless you’re operating a camera for Entertainment Tonight or something, I just don’t think that perception is reality for 99.99% of attendees. It really is the finest showcase for independent American movies that we have and the staff should be proud that they have maintained the important sense of discovery that drives so much interest and growth in film culture. If you doubt the impact of Sundance on the film festival universe, I encourage you to watch the lineups of major and regional film festivals from here on in; Sundance movies will be everywhere.

This year’s festival is particularly exciting for me because it is the year where I feel that, finally, my own work and collaboration as a programmer has come home to roost; there are at least a dozen films playing at the festival that were made by directors and producers whose previous films have played at my own Sarasota Film Festival; Erica Dunton, Michael Tully, Andrew Rossi, Todd Rohal, Peter Richardson, Azazel Jacobs, Kelly Reichardt, David Sington, Madeleine Olnek, Joe Swanberg and on and on. I am not only excited for these filmmakers to step into (or, in many cases, back into) the Sundance spotlight, but their validation in having their new films selected for Sundance is also empowering for a programmer like me who is hopeful that my own little event has and can continue to play a role in supporting the good work of these artists. It is the same feeling programmers get when the films they show win awards or box office recognition; a sense of pride and ownership that you somehow got it right, that your own festival contributed to the life of an important film in some small but meaningful way.

My schedule is already a shambles (too many films to see and things to do) and I think I have every hour of the next ten days roughly scheduled, but there is a long list of films I am very much looking forward to seeing. I will be writing when I can; I know myself and I know that I want to make time to write, but sometimes, it is very hard to meet al of my obligations. Still, I hope I can find the time. If you’re interested, check back often or add me to your RSS and I’ll do my best to offer my opinions when I can. In the meantime, it’s time to use the in-flight WiFi to the fullest which, for me, means listening to public radio. I remain who I am...

Sarasota Film Festival Deadline Is... Now!

twhalliii — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 15:44:26 GMT

Okay filmmakers, my very own Sarasota Film Festival regular submission deadline is this Friday, January 7. The late deadline is next Friday, January 14. We're very eager to discover new work and would love to see your movie. Here's the official version:

Submit Now: The 13th Annual Sarasota Film Festival

The Sarasota Film Festival, which takes place April 7-17th on Florida’s pristine southern Gulf Coast, is now accepting entries for its 2011 edition. The Sarasota Film Festival is the largest festival by attendance in the southeastern United States, and always features a broad and diverse selection of new cinema, including narratives, documentaries and short films, from the US and around the globe. The festival has a number of competitive sections, including documentary and international narrative competitions, as well as an Independent Visions Competition specifically for low budget films by emerging American directors.

Some of the festival’s award winners in 2010 included THE OATH, GASLAND, TINY FURNITURE, WINTER’S BONE, A BRAND NEW LIFE and COLD WEATHER.

Press and industry guests in recent years have included representatives from IFC Films, Sony Pictures Classics, Film Movement, First Run Features, Fortissimo Films, BAMcinematek, Film Desk, GQ Magazine, Vanity Fair, USA Today, Indiewire, Variety, Filmmaker Magazine, The Huffington Post, Hammer To Nail, and others.

Submissions for 2011 are now being accepted through January 15th via Withoutabox, and can be submitted here.

For more information, visit www.sarasotafilmfestival.com or email info@sarasotafilmfestival.com

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #1 Queer and Patti Smith at Sarasota

twhalliii — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 13:03:34 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

Obligatory Repetitive Introduction
In the past, in lieu of ranking movies and being held hostage by the dissonance between the film release calendar and my own experience of the ebb and flow of filmgoing, I have listed my favorite cinematic experiences of the year. I want to get back to that; as the way in which I get to watch movies and talk about them continues to diversify, as the idea of cinematic experience expands to multiple devices, formats, cities, communities, I think this list is here to stay. The age of the theatrical release calendar is dead for me; we’re living in a new time, where the movies can be found in every area of life, from online conversations to your home entertainment system, the back of a car seat to a projection screen at a restaurant, your phone to a portable tablet. So, I am going back to my old model, probably for good; over the next ten days, I’ll be posting my Top 10 Cinematic Experiences of 2010. Not necessarily films (although sometimes), these are the experiences that defined my year in film culture. Subjectivity alert!

1. Queer and Patti Smith at Sarasota

Our Queer Program (designed by Rachel Dengiz, Olive Productions)

Is it self serving to make the number one cinematic experience of my year an event that I worked on? I hope not; working on the Sarasota Film Festival is what defines my career, it is the most meaningful contribution I make to cinema (take that for what it is worth) and I spend countless hours working and fretting over the details of the event. And, even more than all of that, this year was incredibly special; I was privileged to work with Steve Buscemi, Oren Moverman, Wren Arthur and the team at Olive Productions to present a staged reading of Queer, Moverman’s adaptation of the early novels of William S. Burroughs. The cast? Buscemi directed and performed as Burroughs, Stanley Tucci read stage directions and played a couple of small roles, Ben Foster played Allerton, the object of Burrough’s desire, Lisa Joyce was Burrough’s wife Joan, and John Ventimiglia performed as various denizens of the expat bar scene in Mexico. The location? A small, 130 seat black box theater on the edge of downtown Sarasota. Before the reading began? Patti Smith walked on stage to say a few words of remembrance for Burroughs, and her honest, heartfelt tribute to the writer set the stage for a great evening.

Queer at Sarasota: (L to R): Stanley Tucci, Lisa Joyce, Steve Buscemi, Ben Foster, John Ventimiglia (photo by Mollie Grady)

It was an event I was extremely proud to have helped organize and it was a flawless reading; the crowd was riveted by the story and performances and everyone seemed to really enjoy the experience. How could they not? It’s not every day you get to see that group of people on stage together, debuting a new work. And yet, in the grand scheme of the festival world, it didn’t really make any waves, which might be for the best; Sarasota continues to fly a little bit under the radar which is at once frustrating for me and probably for the best. The festival continues to be very special to me, and the intimacy we can achieve is only possible by keeping things, well, special. The up-close and personal experience of Queer was bested the following night when Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye serenaded the attendees at our festival’s President’s Dinner by strolling table to table and singing Beneath The Southern Cross. Everyone was awestruck, a feeling that carried over to the Late Night Party, where Patti and Lenny played a 70 minute acoustic set in a very small room, with a less than desirable sound system, and blew the crowd away.

Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye at The Sarasota Film Festival (photo by Mollie Grady)

Sarasota remains the cinematic love of my life. The program is a pure collaboration between Holly Herrick and me and that relationship remains, my family aside, one of the most important in my life. I love my job, I love my colleagues, I love the work, I am proud of the results. It never gets old. My relationships and passions are what makes it all worth doing. I’m honored to be able to work on what I love; it is a luxury I never take for granted. Onward to 2011.

You Shoulda' Been There: Patti Smith at The Sarasota Film Festival

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty
#8 Otherwise Unavailable
#7 The Social Network at NYFF
#6 The Home Consumer, Finally
#5 And Everything Is Going Fine... At Slamdance
#4. Post Mortem at The New York Film Festival
#3. Greenberg at Burns Court
#2. Blue Valentine at Sundance

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #2 Blue Valentine at Sundance

twhalliii — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 12:38:30 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

2. Blue Valentine at Sundance

No moviegoing experience in 2010 came close to the electricity of seeing Derek Cianfrance’s Blue Valentine at Sundance this past January. Unfortunately, or perhaps amazingly, that experience happened at the very start of the year; nothing in the intervening months has had the same impact on me as a film viewer. I loved a lot of movies this year and had a great time watching many, many films, but there was something about Blue Valentine that connected with me. Bad break-ups? Regrets? The overwhelming desire to be needed by someone? The inability to stop making things worse when I am trying to make them better? Blue Valentine describes a very specific type of romantic experience; the immature, pathological attempt to convince someone who has given up on you to give things one more chance, to convince them of the possibility of change, to try to rebuild a broken relationship on the idea of how things should be, on how real your feelings are, on a shared history that grows ever distant in the rear view mirror of real life.

No one is doing better work on screen than Michelle Williams. No one.

I’ve certainly been there. I haven’t always been the best partner, the best lover, the best possible friend. I carry around my own regrets inside of me and I see my present day actions, from arguments and frustrations to joys and celebrations, as a continuum of lessons learned. The experience of personal history is a deeply private thing, so loaded with context and change that it is probably indescribable, so to see a film that examines the fabric of a relationship in this way, this honestly and deeply, was beyond my wildest fantasies. In the internet age, every movie receives a backlash; some critics and filmgoers don’t buy into the film’s structure, it’s on-the-nose transitions between the past and the present, it’s overriding sense of sadness. Take this, from A.O. Scott’s review this past week, which makes the (I believe fatal) mistake of focusing on form over feeling:

“Cindy and Dean remain, for all their sustained agony and flickering joy, something less than completely realized human beings. Mr. Cianfrance’s ingenious chronological gimmick, coupled with his anxious, clumsy plotting, leaves them without enough oxygen to burst into breathing, loving life. A recent German film called Everyone Else directed by Maren Ade (and released in the United States this year), shows, with minimal embellishment and absolute honesty, how potentially fatal fissures begin to develop within a young couple’s relationship. Blue Valentine mystifies the emotional logic that Ms. Ade presents with bracing clarity and leaves its audience, along with poor Cindy and Dean, in a muddle of hurt feelings and vague disappointments.”

Despite my agreement with the assessment of the amazing Everyone Else (and my own vague disappointment with making a comparison between two films as if both could not be great at what they do) I couldn’t disagree more with the premise here; the narrative strategy of Blue Valentine is to keep us close to the emotional reality of Dean and Cindy as their relationship dissolves. If we’re honest with ourselves, who among us is an articulate advocate for their own feelings at the moment when everything seems to be falling apart? To expect the film to use the couple’s slow crawl toward divorce as nimbly as a young couple who is dating (ala Everyone Else), a couple without nearly the same history and baggage, is a little bit like when people with pets want to compare notes with me about being a father; yes, I’m sure going home every five hours to walk your dog is a drain, but really, you have no idea. What makes Everyone Else work as a film is precisely the lack of gravity in the relationship; the emotional explosions of Everyone Else are juxtaposed against the couple’s ability to break apart and reassemble moment to moment, feeling to feeling. Blue Valentine works in the opposite way, utilizing the depth of the couple’s long-term romantic connection as the source of tragedy for the relationship’s slow, terrible dissolution. Both films feel real, both valuable, terrific cinema, and neither should be used to diminish the other.

It's All Downhill From Here...

Writing about the film at Sundance, I said:

“Who hasn’t stood broken hearted, in the arms of the one you love, desperately aware that it’s all over?... I had plenty of conversations with younger, otherwise thoughtful friends and colleagues who dismissed the film for one reason or another (“The more I think about it, the more I’m souring on it,” one told me), but I look at that reaction as a sort of optimistic line in the sand; one day, maybe not long from now, maybe years down the road, you’re going to be staring down the end of a relationship, suddenly and shockingly aware that every word, every gesture, every action is inadequate to repair the damage of every previous word, gesture and action. You’ll open your mouth to say something, to provide yourself some closure, and maybe you’ll remember this; the movie was real all along. It’s just that your experience of love wasn’t.”

Ryan Gosling kills it in this role. Again.

In the intervening months, as the film was slapped with an NC-17 which was subsequently repealed, Blue Valentine became something of a cause for me, a movie that I felt demanded to be seen by a wide audience. As it now has started making its way into the marketplace, I hope it catches fire. Today's indieWIRE report gives me hope:

"Nearly a year after its debut at the Sundance Film Festival, The Weinstein Company finally released Derek Cianfrance’s Michelle Williams-Ryan Gosling relationship drama Blue Valentine, and the results suggested it was well worth the wait. Coming off a controversial NC-17 rating, and subsequent appeal to the MPAA, which reversed itself to give the film an R rating, “Valentine” debuted on 4 screens to a not-so-blue $180,066. That made for an excellent $45,017 per-theater-average, making “Valentine” one of only eight 2010 limited releases to debut to $40,000+ PTAs (the others were “Black Swan,” “The King’s Speech,” “The Fighter,” “The Kids Are All Right,” “127 Hours,” “The Ghost Writer,” and “Cyrus”). The film will expand significantly January 14th."

I hope audiences and awards organizations wake up and recognize what we have here; I think this movie is unlike anything that’s been made in America in a long, long time. When you feel something as deeply as I felt watching Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling breaking into pieces, you just don’t forget it. Blue Valentine forever.

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #3 Greenberg at Burns Court

twhalliii — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 10:27:55 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

3. Greenberg at The Burns Court Cinemas

There are strains of thinking among some critics and many members of the moviegoing public that go something like this:

I am going to the movies to enjoy myself, to be entertained by characters and stories that are fun and moving, escapist extensions of the social sphere in which I live.

I am going to the movies to be moved and uplifted, to find stories that show me a world outside of my own experience but which I find accessible and which provides a sense of moral uplift, a happy ending, catharsis.

Nothing wrong with that. Most people do not attend the movies to explore the narrative storytelling style of this filmmaker or that, the acting technique of this actor or that, and most do not care to examine movies as pieces of art. Most don’t like to leave a film with a feeling despair. Ask almost anyone what they think about a movie and, like anything else, they will answer with a general statement of affinity or distaste; “I liked it!” or “I didn’t like it...” The pause as they read your face (“Is it safe to give this person my opinion? Do they share my opinion? Am I right about this movie? Will I offend them?”) tells you all you need to know about their confidence in their assessment.

As much as people deride critics for the perceived gulf between a professional’s understanding of the art of film (which varies wildly between critics) and popular taste (which, generally speaking, does not vary much at all), having an in-depth conversation about movies with anyone, even if we only examine and compare our “feelings” about a film and put aside the complexity of critical language, is almost impossible. More and more frequently, thinking about movies at all, not our experience of them but our critical thinking about them, is boiled down to whether or not we have the capacity to read a film, to look at it on multiple levels; craft, story, performance, theme, cinematography, philosophy, politics, aesthetics. The better we can read a movie, examining it while experiencing it, the better, I believe, our personal ability to find enjoyment in having our minds, our opinions and our tastes challenged.

Which is not to reject the role of the personal in our assessment of which films we like or do not like. If anything, my own critical approach to movies is tied directly to my life, to my experience of movies and going to the movies. To pretend otherwise, to say that the values and tastes I apply to my thinking about films are somehow irrelevant to my assessment of them seems dishonest to me. This annoys a lot of people, but I can’t help it; it is who I am. While others are drawn to academic language or the idea of objectivity in their analysis of a movie, I am drawn to the model of the memoir and essay; no work of criticism of any kind has felt more right to me than Philip Lopate’s Totally, Tenderly, Tragically, a book I cherish not only for its great writing, but for giving me permission to unapologetically think about movies through the lens of my own experience (and inspiration to try to be half the writer that Lopate is.) Which is to say that, for me, film criticism is a form of self-reflection. I don’t believe that movies don’t make an argument or that what they say and how they say it is somehow subjective, but my thinking about movies is framed by who I am, the boundaries of my own experience and beliefs, and to deny that fact is useless.

In March, I walked into The Burns Court Cinema in Sarasota, a small, shocking pink cinderblock building with crummy projection and worse sound, to watch Greenberg, Noah Baumbach’s much-derided portrait of an curmudgeonly forty-something man named Roger Greenberg (Ben Stiller) who finds a modicum of consolation in his confused feelings for a young woman named Florence Mar (Greta Gerwig). When the lights came up, the older audience began grumbling and I don't think it ever stopped; Greenberg never really caught on with audiences. Despite all of the chatter against the film and all of the arguments I read where people complained that they couldn’t like the film because they thought Greenberg was a jerk, I loved the movie and I completely related to Stiller's character, unable to grow up, trapped in his tastes, his personal history and the choices for which he was wholly unprepared as a young man having shaped the rest of his life.

No movie has described my generation in this way, aging and torn, disgruntled with the state of things and our own powerlessness to shape the culture, finding refuge in an underground state of existence, helpless against the corporate world we’ve always hated, nostalgic for a time when we could feel hopeful. With a healthy dose of self-hatred that manifests itself in lashing out at any possibility of happiness and suddenly, Greenberg was describing something real, a character I felt I knew; complicated, problematic, troubled. Throw in Greta Gerwig’s honest, natural performance as Florence Mar (one of my favorite performances of the year) and the evocative cinematography by Harris Savides (calling to mind the 1970’s Los Angeles landscapes and light in Hal Ashby’s Shampoo and Robert Altman’s The Long Goodbye) and I couldn’t help but be moved by the film.

Greenberg

As I looked around at the vitriol being spewed against the movie, I realized that so much of it felt like an extension of a generational critique that has been going on for decades; no one likes my generation except for, maybe, my generation (and maybe not even us.). We don’t generally share the values of the selfish "Boomers" that came before us or the earnest so-called “Millenials” who followed us. So, when I heard so many of them critiquing the film by saying how much they hated Stiller’s Greenberg, how they resented being asked to spend time with an unlikable character, I took it personally. Don’t think it was a trend? First, the Millenials:

“To be fair, Stiller is not the only problem with Greenberg. The character, developed by screenwriters Baumbach and Jennifer Jason Leigh, is, at his finest moments, awkwardly charming. At his worst moments, Greenberg is an insensitive, overly critical, overgrown teenage boy who seems to judge everyone in his life and reject all criticism of himself.” -- Rachel Charatan, Tufts Daily

“Noticeably uncomfortable at an eight-year-old's birthday party complete with parents, but nonchalant at a teenage rage despite being in his forties, Greenberg lacks the protagonist characteristics with which audiences seek to identify. Greenberg, becoming increasingly puerile throughout the film, tailspins while the audience expectantly awaits the redemption and reformation of character that sadly never comes.
 Greenberg is a wasteful, weak, and wandering film that lacks structure and a worthwhile title character. Chalk this one up as a scrawl that reeks of egoism and self-indulgence. “-- Reid Huyssen, The New Hampshire

How about the critics?

“Despite their age difference and wildly contrasting temperaments, the two begin a tentative romance, but since Greenberg treats Florence with roughly the same consideration and respect that Hitler showed to Poland, any sort of happy ending looks as if it’ll be exceedingly hard-won...but it’s still impossible to buy (or stomach) her continuing interest in him after, for example, he abruptly ends a date by saying, “That’s the stupidest anecdote I’ve ever heard,” and walking out the door. Maybe people that pathetic really exist, but I don’t care to see them celebrated.” --Mike D’Angelo, Las Vegas Weekly

“A.O. Scott in the New York Times calls Roger a "walking challenge to the Hollywood axiom that a movie's protagonist must be likable." He should have waited until the box office figures come in, which are pretty anemic-looking, but let's say he's right and that Roger is interesting without being likable. I don't find him so, but I'm willing to grant that others will. Still, I'm inclined to think that such interest as there is is not so much in him as it is in the shadowy presence of the therapeutic culture, of which he is the creature. He is forever saying things like, "I'm not one of those preening L.A. people who expects everything to be about them" when, as we instantly realize, that's exactly what he is. But the potentiality for humor in such self-ignorance is, in my view, strictly limited.”-- James Bowman, The American Spectator

So, y’know, unlikeable.

Ultimately, what made me rank Greenberg in the top three of my cinematic experiences this year was not only that I really liked the movie, but because of the galvanizing impact it had on my self-confidence, my belief in my own taste, in the way I read films and how much I love and depend on life, experience and empathy to guide me. I think most of the world got Greenberg all wrong, I think many people refused an honest reading of what the film is about in favor of making a personal judgement about a character, about what they “like.” If there wasn’t a reasonable conversation to be had about the movie in most instances, well, Greenberg reminded me that the best that I can do is be honest with myself.

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #4 Post Mortem At The New York Film Festival

twhalliii — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 13:05:45 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

4. Post Mortem At The New York Film Festival

My passionate hatred of pathological self-interest and macho vanity has no greater champion than the Chilean director Pablo Larraín, whose 2008 film Tony Manero set the standard for defining the deep, darkly comic connection between personal narcissism and a culture of political violence. The way in which these two concepts, state violence and a personal, murderous pathology, are mirrored and rhymed in Larraín’s films resonates deeply for me. 2010 featured countless examples; the head-stomping spittle and anger of the Tea Party, the permissive culture surrounding the bullying of young people, the granting of credibility and a platform to the murderer of women’s health care provider, the calls for the extra-judicial murder of Wikileaks’ Julian Assange, the public support of state-sponsored torture, and on and on. All of that violence an echo of a societal acquiescence to the violence carried out in the name of the our collective “best interest,” all of it invariably tied to the political self-interest of a powerful few.

Chile itself, with its own 9/11 and history of political violence against its own people, provides a potent example of not only the extremes of these parallels, but of a vibrant cinema that is not afraid to confront the nation’s political legacy head-on. 2010 saw Patricio Guzmán deliver another knock-out documentary on the subject of violence and national identity with his extraordinary Nostalgia For The Light (my review here) and Pablo Larraín delivering a knock-out punch with Post Mortem which, for my money, is one of the most devastating films in recent years. In writing about the movie in September at the New York Film Festival, I said:

“Post Mortem maintains the grainy, 16mm texture of Tony Manero and extends that film’s exploration of the equation between masculine ego and political murder; both Tony and Mario wear their private dreams and fantasies as indifferent accessories to the terrifying upheaval that surrounds them, an extension of the permissive disregard for human life that engulfs the Chilean social order and seems to destroy the possibility for rational engagement. Which is not to say that the indescribable, deeply personal violence that takes place in both films is somehow legitimized by the collapse of democratic values, but more that the character’s violence is nothing more than a pathetic echo of the same totalitarian impulse that ripped the nation apart. Larraín draws his equations with sly staging and pitch back humor, using the frame to constantly diminish Mario’s stature and isolate him in his surroundings (this time, eschewing the handheld, prowling intimacy of Tony Manero for a fixed camera and some beautiful framing), and utilizing the sound design to keep us close to Mario’s experience of being almost completely outside of the history exploding around him; when the army arrives at Nancy’s house, Mario is in his own shower, blissfully unaware of the chaos that rages just outside of the frame. Castro’s Mario is a quiet, otherwise anonymous man who does what he is told and experiences his deepest feelings in a state of private suppression, able to eat a constant stream of shit from his superiors and his circumstances until, broken hearted by a quid pro quo transaction that destroys his romantic idealism, he simply snaps.”

Seeing this film in September, just ahead of the midterm elections, was an electric experience for me. But one moment truly lingers, a truly galvanizing scene at the center of the film when Mario and his colleagues at the mortuary are brought in by the army to perform an autopsy on the deposed President Salvadore Allende, the symbol of democratic reform, lying dead from a gunshot wound to the head. The team sucks it up and does the job, but some line is crossed inside of them, inside of Mario, inside of me. It was one of the most important moments I had at the cinema this year, a reminder that passivity is consent.

Pablo Larraín at The New York Film Festival

A final word on the film, again from September...

“Post Mortem exists at the intersection of personal, professional and political destruction on a grand dramatic scale that seems to be something straight out of a Kafkan nightmare. And so, while small, meagre Mario gets his revenge upon the woman who broke his heart, the machines of war carry on around him, as indifferent to his solitude as he is to their devastation. The silent contract is sanctioned.”

Post Mortem - Trailer Oficial (HD) from Fabula on Vimeo.

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty
#8 Otherwise Unavailable
#7 The Social Network at NYFF
#6 The Home Consumer, Finally
#5 And Everything Is Going Fine... At Slamdance

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #5 And Everything is Going Fine... At Slamdance

twhalliii — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 08:49:49 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

5. And Everything Is Going Fine... At Slamdance

This past January, I climbed a frigid, crowded Main St. in Park City, UT, leaning against the wind and toward the Treasure Mountain Inn. I was early, so I grabbed a mug of what passes for beer in Utah; it was cold and, thankfully, tasty and despite the altitude, had no effect at all on my sobriety. I caught a glimpse of some friends and colleagues, payed my bill and headed toward the Slamdance screening room for the first public screening of And Everything Is Going Fine..., Steven Soderberg’s poignant portrait of the actor and monologist Spalding Gray.

The moment the movie started (an empty chair on stage, a single microphone on a desk, the low-res image pure nostalgia for the home video of my youth), I was transported back in time to the moment when I first discovered Spalding Gray’s work; the late 1980’s, High School, when I saw a faded copy of Swimming To Cambodia on a rented VHS tape that had been procured by the father of my good friend. In that brief, opening moment, when I saw that empty chair, wiggling in all of its stuttering VHS glory, I remembered the thrill of discovering the man through his monologues, this amazingly intimate form of storytelling, a form that reached its apotheosis in Spalding Gray. I remembered thinking how perfect his name was, given his gray-haired appearance and his New England pedigree, and I was suddenly ashamed to have made such a trite observation. And then Gray started talking, and I was snapped back into the Treasure Mountain Inn, the movie holding me in suspension between my fond memories of Gray’s work, his autobiographical approach to storytelling and the melancholy I felt knowing that he was gone.

And Everything Is Going Fine...

For me, And Everything Is Going Fine... is an essential piece in the rising tide of amazing docu-fiction; a blend of biography, autobiography, exaggeration and humility, all of them combining to mark the chronology of Gray’s life and, in the best tradition of autobiography, avoiding his death. The film uses Gray’s own words-- monologues, interviews, public appearances-- to allow him to tell his own life story which, as fans know, was always the subject of his deeply personal, confessional work. Gray’s career also traversed the rise and development of video recording, and the film carries the texture of the years by switching between different source material; the flickering of the VHS tape giving way to more polished digital and film formats. In a way, And Everything Is Going Fine... operates as a form of time travel, the chance to connect again with a lost friend you’ll never see again. I cherished every second of it.

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty
#8 Otherwise Unavailable
#7 The Social Network at NYFF
#6 The Home Consumer, Finally

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #6 The Home Consumer, Finally

twhalliii — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 09:50:38 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

6. The Home Consumer, Finally: PS3, Netflix Streaming, VOD & Blu-ray at Home

On December 25th, 2009, I was handed big box, wrapped in traditional paper, from under the family Christmas Tree (which itself had been mounted and decorated with great skill by my Jewish stepfather, naturally.) The box was heavy and, despite my age, I was actually excited to be opening it. A glance at the tag on the present; a gift from my wife. I tore into the paper like a rabid four year old and beheld the gift I was dreaming of; a 160 GB Sony Playstation 3. A huge smile was pasted onto my face and, as I kissed my wife in gratitude, I began looking forward to installing the system to home theater and getting connected to the future of cinema*.

As excited as I was to finally get my hands on the device, I severely underestimated the impact it would have on my movie viewing rituals; my PS3 has become the hub of my cinephilia, a device that delivers amazingly crisp image and sound quality with Blu-ray, an excellent up-conversion of standard DVDs and, after a few months of using a DVD disc to access Netflix, a fully integrated Netflix application that allows me to play their available movies instantly to my TV. Throw in my cable box, which offers HD movies through Video On Demand (VOD), especially the IFC and Magnolia model that features many films on VOD weeks ahead of their theatrical release, and my Netflix DVD service, which delivers Blu-ray discs right to my door, all of this on top of my professional obligation to watch hundreds of submissions a year, well, I think we’ve reached “peak film”.

Hello, Master: My Sexy Machine

This is not an advertisement for Sony or their device (I chose the PS3 over the XBox and the Wii precisely because of the Blu-ray capability), but more a statement that, having been following the new distribution patterns for movies for years, with one eye as a programmer who has been challenged by these changes and the other as a consumer and parent who is finding less and less time (and money) to get my ass out of the house and into a movie theater, 2010 is the year I moved solidly into the home consumer column. I find the change staggering given the history of the business, so I thought it might be worthwhile to trace my own history to see how I finally arrived here.

In 1997, I was hired by IFC (and Bravo, back when they were a couple) as their Manager of New Media. In addition to participating in the oversight of the design and direction of the company websites, I was tasked (literally on my first day on the job) with what was a new project; creating content packages for the emerging Cable Modem market. The strategy was smart; all of the networks’ cable television clients were launching a new product, Broadband internet, that would revolutionize access to the internet. These cable companies, echoing the model of then web behemoth AOL, all wanted to become the “hub” of their customer’s online experience; all of them were building content-rich launch pages, where customers would log into the broadband service and be offered branded content, controlled by the cable company, that would also be housed on the cable provider’s broadband “system”.

IFC, working through the channel sales office, was making a smart bet on that strategy; bundle high speed online content into network carriage agreements, get the brand in front of eyeballs, and be first. My job was to create that content and deliver it to the cable broadband operators; we went local, creating video and “chat” rich events at local film festivals, streaming films at high speed (our first, Lance Weiler and Stefan Avalos’ The Last Broadcast, was probably one of the first feature films ever streamed on high-speed internet in this country, although I can’t be sure) and doing streaming simulcasts of network films when possible.

Soon after, there was a rush to launch online film companies; Atom Films emerged as an early leader in this area, and we at IFC had moved into streaming “bonus content” for the network’s TV programs, including John Pierson’s Split Screen** and the legendary Greg The Bunny, while also collecting “new media” rights for short films as well. All of them being filtered through the broadband network, all of it being housed by cable operators.

In other words, cable providers were thinking like cable TV providers. It’s not a surprise, but if you look around today, you’ll see a graveyard full of “home page hub” strategies, short film streaming companies and cable company broadband launch pages. Cable companies are almost completely absent from branded content delivery online (although many of them now control multi-platform networks and content) now. What has been staggering is how fast things have changed due to the fact that control has shifted, value has shifted, the experience has shifted to smaller, more nimble companies (Netflix and YouTube being the prime, opposite, examples) who are following two revolutionary changes in high speed internet delivery; tools for user generated content, which has empowered everyone, from filmmakers to the proud owners of cats to democratic revolutionaries all over the world, to become content providers and companies who have built content delivery systems without the expense of having to actually build physical networks; Netflix piggybacking an open, net neutral internet has allowed the company to explode and content delivery will never be the same.

As a consumer and an industry professional, these thirteen years mark a staggering change, a road full of missed opportunities for some, opportunities taken by others and a truly amazing show of power by you and me, the end users who have, somehow, found a way to both join the conversation, create work and enjoy the work of others in ways that never seemed possible before. When I look at my two year old boy, I realize that he will never know a world without Blu-ray, without VOD, without streaming to a 50” HDTV and frankly, I get a little conflicted. I loved my VHS, my Atari 2600, my walks to the video store to pick out which tapes I would bring home to watch, but I also love my vinyl records and my pictures taken on a film camera. I can have my own memories and he will have his, but I’ll always be watching to see what comes next. I’m too invested now, too amazed by how far it has all come, how quickly, how well. Consider me converted.

*I will not mention my addiction to FIFA10 and FIFA11 video games here. That’s another story altogether.

**Feel free to ask my friend Janet Pierson about our early meetings regarding new media rights for Split Screen; it’s a wonder she’s so kind to me to this day...

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty
#8 Otherwise Unavailable
#7 The Social Network at NYFF

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #7 The Social Network At The NYFF

twhalliii — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 05:58:51 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

7. The Social Network At The New York Film Festival

This one seems like a no brainer; one of the most celebrated films of the year, David Fincher’s The Social Network screened for the first time for the press and industry at the New York Film Festival. It was a relatively unique situation for me; a big Hollywood movie, about a subject that couldn’t be more timely, premiering in an art house environment with the creative team in attendance. The NYFF has done this in the past, but it is rare to get a movie this big that hasn’t played Venice or Cannes or Toronto; it was a real coup for the Film Society to be the organization that launched this movie into the world. If the team behind the movie were looking to build critical word of mouth, they could hardly have made a smarter decision. How excited were the press to see this movie? Here is the view from my position in line at 8:10 AM on the morning of the screening (and I was near the front of the line, which continued on around the corner):

The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

From the moment the movie screened, the press (for the most part) has been enamored with The Social Network and for good reason; I found it to be among the best movies I saw all year.

But in analyzing my own feelings about the film (not my critical reading of the movie but literally my feelings about the film,) I think part of the reason I enjoyed The Social Network so much is not completely dependent upon the content of the movie itself (although, that too) but is instead based upon what the movie was and when a saw it; coming near the end of a month-long run of festival screenings, many days filled with five or six screenings featuring challenging international films, heartfelt documentaries and smaller independent features, The Social Network was a bolt from the blue; sharp, fast and distinctly American in its cynicism, subject and execution, it felt like a movie for our culture, for our time, for, well, me. I still love international cinema and powerful non-fiction, but there is also something hardwired inside of me that responds to the Hollywood tradition, the social issue movie, the grand themes executed with precision yet rendered accessible on the level of pure entertainment. Maybe I give too much credit to movies that hit the sweet spot and access that part of my own experience and brain, but I can’t help myself. I was knocked out by The Social Network; right movie, right place, right time.

The New York Film Festival remains my personal favorite event. Do they have issues? Sure; the programming process is imperfect (I'll say it again, the non-fiction programming is generally below par and the selection committee, filled with critics and not programmers, very publicly declined Sofia Coppola's Somewhere and, among the strangest decisions in the history of film programming, did not select Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan, which is set at Lincoln Center, is terrific fun, and would have made a vastly superior Closing Night film to Hereafter) but it's all understandable; The NYFF shows the movies I love, in a theater I love, surrounded by familiar faces, inspiring debate and blowing up my (admittedly cloistered) Twitter feed. This year’s Top Ten Experiences features two films from the festival (one more to come... what could it be?), and I can’t sing its praises enough. Another wonderful autumn in New York...

The Social Network Team (L to R): Aaron Sorkin, Jesse Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield, Justin Timberlake, David Fincher

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty
#8 Otherwise Unavailable

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #8 Otherwise Unavailable

twhalliii — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 11:48:56 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

8. Otherwise Unavailable: Cold Water at BAM

Olivier Assayas’ work continues to grow in esteem in this country, and this autumn saw another retrospective of the director’s work at BAM. Of all of the Assayas films that are not available on DVD in this country (and there are waaay too many), Cold Water remains my favorite; I try to catch the scratchy print that plays in repertory here as many times as I can. This autumn presented me two chances, and I took them both. The first time, I peeled myself away from family time and went alone to a late evening screening. Perfect. The second time, I took a friend, a filmmaker whose own work has much in common with the story presented in Cold Water. She had never seen the movie, and I took a few moments throughout the screening to look over at her, gauging her interest.

I Confess: I Have A Crush On Cold Water

When the lights came up, we talked about the movie for several minutes and I was really pleased that she liked it as much as I did. This experience made me think about all of the films that I love that are just not available to be seen outside of the theatrical environment. Movies like Samira Makhmalbaf’s The Apple, which, for my money, is a masterpiece, Arnaud Desplechin’s Léo: Playing In The Company Of Men, or say, the first five or so of Assayas’ films; as much as the digital revolution has changed the way we view movies (and more on that in an upcoming post-- I’m all for that change), still, the revolution has fallen short by not eliminating region coding, geographic rights management or changing the economics of putting out high quality (or, god forbid, Blu Ray) transfers of great foreign films in the USA.

Praise where it is due; Criterion, IFC Films and Oscilloscope can only do so much; there seems to be no market for the hard-to-see stuff outside of the hard work of programmers at repertory film houses like BAM, MoMA, The Film Society Of Lincoln Center, Anthology, The IFC Center and Film Forum. As much as the well intentioned film archivists among us strive to preserve our cinematic history, I can’t help but feeling that we’re already losing access to international cinema in an age when it should be easier than ever to see these movies. Yes, yes, I could just buy a region free DVD player and be thankful that the English have much better taste than most Americans and shut up, but all it does is make me more thankful for the art houses of NYC, who are doing the hard work of keeping small, foreign films alive in a world where instant access to everything sometimes means that the important things get forgotten. Save the art house, expand access to well-transferred foreign films on DVD; if we don’t preserve modern cinema, who will?

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!
#9 Jury Duty

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #9 Jury Duty

twhalliii — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 11:31:20 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

9. Jury Duty: River Run, Philadelphia, New Orleans and DOCNYC

I started working in independent film in 1997; I was hired to work in New Media at IFC and Bravo, covering film festivals and exhibiting film in the high speed online world. That means, if you count a two year hiatus in the early 2000’s, I have worked in the New York City film world for roughly thirteen years or so; 2010 marks the first time I was ever invited to serve on the jury at another film festival. Not that I minded and I am not complaining, but what surprised me most was how an initial jury invitation from the very good people at the River Run Film Festival turned me from a jury virgin to serving on no less than four film festival juries this year. When it rains...

One of the reasons this was a great experience for me was that I got to see how many other festivals operate in terms of their guest services, film choices, pass process, projection and operations; I can honestly say that most of these events were doing great work, their priorities were excellent and, given the state of non-profit and film festival funding in this country, were doing their best to show top quality work to audiences literally starved for choice at the movies. It was incredibly heartening to see so many people working at film festivals, creatively scrambling to make their events great, always putting the films front and center and always engaging within their respective communities. If nothing else, a film festival is a near-perfect vehicle for showcasing the power of storytelling to bring people together in dialogue with ideas and artists. These events all understood the power they were harnessing.

Winston-Salem, NC. Home of The River Run International Film Festival

So, it did come as a surprise to me when, writing an innocuous piece on the Filmmaker Magazine blog welcoming filmmakers to IFP Film Week, my thoughts came under assault from a battery of comments claiming collusion among film festivals to only show certain films, reject others, etc. Here is a nice sample of the opinions in the comments:

"The biggest problem for new filmmakers is that film festivals, like everything else in American entertainment culture, have become markets and markets driven by sales agents, high-profile broadcasters and distributors. If everything falls in place and you get extremely lucky, there is still a chance to succeed. But if you look around the festival circuit, the same films play at all the best fests. It is hard to be heard. Factor in the ease with which somebody can make a good-looking but unsubstantial film due to the technology, and you've got a real mess."-- Helmut

"Among independent filmmakers, there is the pervasive feeling that favoritism is rampant in the selection process at film festivals. This belief is having a negative effect on filmmakers, spawning cynicism and alienation, and weakening our community. Some dismiss this charge as merely the "losers" engaging in sour grapes whining. I don't think this is true, not for most. I have attended nearly 20 film festivals so far this year, listened and talked to numerous programmers and festival directors, and of course filmmakers, and I believe there is a significant problem with bias and favoritism -- not at every festival, but certainly at too many. This elephant needs the spotlight of discussion." -- Stewart Nusbaumer

Which, whoa. Having worked in festivals for years and years, I can tell you that there is a major disconnect between these representations and reality. There is more on this blog post coming in the future, so I won't steal the thunder of that piece, but needless to say, having worked at several film festivals and now having spent the heart of my year serving on other festival juries, there are really great events out there who only want to do what is best for filmmakers and the audience. I found that to be very heartening; no cynicism, it was a great experience and an honor to serve. I learned a ton, and there is nothing more important to me. My 2011 is wide open at this point. (*shameless pandering*)

Previously
#10 Twitter! Argh!

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004

My Top Ten Cinematic Experiences of 2010 | #10 Twitter! Argh!

twhalliii — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 11:05:53 GMT

Note: For a complete list of my favorite films of 2010, please visit my wholly deficient list over at criticWIRE.

In the past, in lieu of ranking movies and being held hostage by the dissonance between the film release calendar and my own experience of the ebb and flow of filmgoing, I have listed my favorite cinematic experiences of the year. I want to get back to that; as the way in which I get to watch movies and talk about them continues to diversify, as the idea of cinematic experience expands to multiple devices, formats, cities, communities, I think this list is here to stay. The age of the theatrical release calendar is dead for me; we’re living in a new time, where the movies can be found in every area of life, from online conversations to your home entertainment system, the back of a car seat to a projection screen at a restaurant, your phone to a portable tablet. So, I am going back to my old model, probably for good; over the next ten days, I’ll be posting my Top 10 Cinematic Experiences of 2010. Not necessarily films (although sometimes), these are the experiences that defined my year in film culture. Subjectivity alert!

10. Twitter! Argh!
Nasty battles in the comment sections of blogs linger on, but that's so 2009; for better and mostly for worse, 2010 was the year Twitter took over the film conversation. No trend, no tool, nothing at all dominated my attention more than Twitter; diving head first into the zeitgeist as it scrolls before me in real time is one of the most addicting, problematic experiences of the year. I have gotten almost all of my film news from Twitter, I have been outraged by the ideas of some, shaken my head at the angry back and forth of others, but always, addictively fascinated by the non-stop flow of information and ideas. I follow your links, click on your pictures, dig through your re-Tweeted chains of communication, Tweet and re-Tweet my own thoughts and experiences, scroll through your hashtags, dance around memes. I can't stop. It feels like it has always been here.

In 2011, I think I may need to spend some time away from Twitter; it seems to literally be driving me crazy. I’m always afraid I’ll miss something, fearful of not following the right people, always checking back in, keeping TweetDeck running full steam with Growl notifications popping up in the right hand corner of my computer screen, literally reading everything, all the time. I feel like a junkie, loathing the experience but always needing to know what the hell is going on, always checking, always connected. I hate it. I really hate it. But I love it. I have to stop. But how?

Memory Lane

Best Of The Decade
Top 10 of 2009
Top 10 of 2008
Top 10 of 2007
Top 10 of 2006
Top 10 of 2005
Top 10 of 2004