Thursday, June 07, 2007

LA VIE EN ROSEThe Evening Class Interview With Olivier Dahan


Meeting Olivier Dahan, the director of La Vie En Rose, during the film's festival screening at SFIFF50, was at first offputting because he struck me as a classic poseur. With an angled beret and an eyebrow ring, he seemed the stereotypical Frenchman suffering ennui for his art. Further, in all honesty and forthrightness—though I respected the project of La Vie En Rose and am a great admirer of the musical legacy of Edith Piaf—I had reservations about the film, as I outlined in my previous review. Thus, I welcomed the opportunity to voice my reservations directly to the film's creator. Admittedly, it was effortless to compliment Marion Cotillard's stunning Oscar-worthy portrayal of Edith Piaf. I asked if we could discuss his working relationship with Marion. He confirmed that he had her in mind when he conceived the film and I wanted to know what it was about her that convinced him she could be his Piaf?

A few years before Dahan even began thinking of making a movie about Piaf, he had watched Marion Cotillard in another movie and—though he didn't really like the film—he was nonetheless impressed with her performance. She came first to mind when the journey of making the film began even though they didn't meet until long after the writing process. He consciously refrained from meeting her—because he didn't want to meet anyone—until the final draft was completed.


The film depicts three stages of Piaf's life—her early childhood, her late adolescence and then her maturity, as personified by Cotillard. I was curious how Dahan achieved a unified continuity of Piaf's character through the three actresses; if they rehearsed together? But Dahan disclaimed any such unification, professing with a chuckle that there was "total disorder" during the shooting. Sometimes they would shoot a sequence in the morning where Cotillard was in her age makeup only to turn around and wait hours while her makeup was removed so they could shoot a sequence in the afternoon where she was young. Everything was in disorder: both the script and the shooting. There was no interaction between Cotillard and the younger actresses; they never met.

As a trained painter, Dahan claims his approach to filmmaking was painterly, though not in a visual sense as one might understand it; more in a creative sense. I admitted I didn't understand what he meant by that and asked him to clarify. He explained his approach to the film was certainly not pictorial. It couldn't be. For him the camera is much different than brushes on canvas. By a "creative sense" he meant the level of intuition a painter uses when composing a painting. Trying to apply such a level of intuition to making a film proved difficult because—unlike painting—filmmaking is not a solitary activity, many people are involved on set, up to as many as 100-200 people. Trying to get his ideas and his intuitions across to everyone was arduous, made all the more so because he doesn't work with either storyboards or a script on set. While filming, he doesn't even keep a script in his hotel room because he doesn't want reading it to affect the daily filming.

Filmmaking, for Dahan, is similar to performing art in the sense that—if you're doing a play for example—you go out on stage and perform your lines in the one or one and a half hours allotted; there's no stretching a play out for four hours. When he goes on set to shoot a scene, he puts himself in the state of mind that it will be accomplished within a certain amount of performance time. He trusts his intuition to make the best use of that time.


Remaining with the painting analogy, I compared La Vie En Rose to the work of the Impressionists. My favorite scene, rendered in a stylish directorial flourish that could be interpreted as impressionistic and which induced a frisson shiver, was when Edith Piaf—after training with Louis Barrier (Pascal Greggory) for months and having him hone her stylized presentation—is introduced to her first club audience. Instead of having Piaf simply sing her heart out, Dahan elected to score the scene and to focus on the reaction of the audience to her debut performance. Dahan agreed that particular scene could be perceived as impressionistic, as with several other moments and small interstitial sequences throughout the film. When he was writing the script, that particular sequence was the third staging of a Piaf song and rather than bore himself by writing the same kind of scene over and over again with Piaf on stage singing songs, he decided it would be more interesting to find some different angle for the third song. He decided to have her on stage performing but without the literal song.

I asked if it was his intention to structure the narrative of the film through Piaf's eyes recalling her own life in bits and fragments? Is that why her past was accessed so sporadically? He confessed he didn't want to make it too clear. His first idea was to structure the narrative from the point of view of someone who—if not dying—was falling asleep and entering a dream state. In such a state, memories come flooding to the psyche without order and in random association. Piaf says herself in the script, "I've tried to remember some things but other things come instead of what I really want to remember." That's the feeling and the experience he was playing with throughout the film. He was aware that this could be possibly confusing to audiences but confusion was an essential element of Piaf's story.

A slightly different slant on that approach was that the film was seen through "shards shed from the spotty memory of an ailing drug addict", as Dave Hudson pointed out at The Greencine Daily. As a director, these drugged fugue states served Dahan's thematic and creative aims by allowing him the freedom to shift the story away from factual realities. He didn't want to make a biopic in the first place; he wanted to paint a portrait. He might have felt obligated to the facts but the facts were not the reason behind his film.


Dahan refuted the anecdote reported in the press notes that—when the idea of doing a film about Piaf first came to him—he text messaged producer Alain Goldman about wanting to do "a blockbuster". Conceding that he did text message Goldman with the idea (because he doesn't like to talk on the phone); he nonetheless insisted that—if he used the word "blockbuster"—it was merely in jest. I explained that—whether he was joking or not—the reason his alleged comment struck me was because a blockbuster implies a certain accommodation of audience expectation and La Vie En Rose seems intent on thwarting those expectations. Watching the film is a challenge. "I hope so," Dahan smiled. Even if he used the term "blockbuster", he didn't mean it in the standard sense. He meant more to imply that he wanted to make a movie as sophisticated and as simple and accessible as a song. For him that was the key point. "For sure" he wanted the audience to have to work a little bit with him—though "work" is perhaps not an accurate term—he wanted his audience to relax into the film and to feel it, not think it.

In terms of the look of the movie, one of the qualities I most enjoyed was Dahan's replication of photos that I had seen on exhibit when I visited Paris in 2003 and La Môme's life was being celebrated in a fantastic installation at the Hotel del Ville. The night she was being interrogated by the police regarding the murder of Louis Leplée (Gérard Depardieu), for example, seemed lifted right out of the news photographs. Dahan informed me that there is actually another movie about Piaf that focuses exclusively on that sequence of events. For him, replicating those scenes was one of the fun parts of production. Sometimes it was fun to adhere to the real evidence of Piaf's life; other times it was fun to drift away a little bit and mix everything together.


Another aspect of the film that worked for me were the scenes where Piaf selected her own music and how much this inspired her to continue performing despite the physical breakdown of her body. No matter how frail she was, if it was the right song the tenacious spirit of Piaf's creativity impelled her forward. That glimpse of her personality was rewarding. But I was curious why Dahan chose not to show many of her personal relationships? As thrilling as the scene was where Piaf meets Marlene Deitrich, why did he not examine their well-noted friendship further? For the same reasons he gave before, Dahan explained. He wanted to paint a portrait, not make a biopic. His portrait did not require new narrative threads at every juncture. There was also no Yves Montand in the portrait because, for Dahan, Montand didn't reveal anything new about Piaf. Piaf was very important for his creative development but he was not so important to her creative development. Thus, his portrait—which was really a psychological portrait about Piaf's creative development—didn't require Montand or Dietrich any further than the encounter presented. Even though he wrote many more scenes that featured Deitrich, he chose not to include them in the final film because they didn't really reveal anything additional about Piaf. He retained the encounter with Deitrich in the film because it showed how—even though she was already a big star at the time—she deeply admired Deitrich, who was an even bigger star. It was a comment about her state of mind during a certain pinnacle of her success. That was a little more information about her as a person and Dahan thought it was important to reveal that. The scene was important for what it revealed about Piaf, not because of Marlene Deitrich.

La Vie En Rose took nearly three years for Dahan to complete but he's not wanting to rest on laurels. He wants to shoot a new film right away, though this time around he would prefer not to have to write the script. He simply wishes to direct.

Cross-published at Twitch.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

HOSTEL 2The Evening Class Roundtable Interview With Eli Roth (Pt. 2)


Part One of this transcript can be found here. The continuation of this transcript is neither for the spoiler-wary nor the profanity-wary.

/Film: A few of my friends went to Newton North and South.

Roth: I went to South.

/Film: At some point you were going to do a movie on Scavenger Hunt. Can you talk about that?

Roth: Scavenger Hunt was a project I was going to do after Cabin Fever but I got sidetracked with Hostel. It's definitely something I want to do. There was an article on the front page of the New York Times about the Newton school system. These kids from Newton are under such crazy pressure. Where I grew up it was like you have to go to Harvard. You have to be a doctor or lawyer or you're going to be homeless and you're going to be finished. I actually got the fuck out of there. When I decided I wanted to make movies, when I was sawed in half by a chainsaw at my bar mitzvah, people were like, "What the fuck is wrong with this guy?" I was a fuckin' alien growing up there. I don't fit in with these fuckin' people at all who are basically just turning into their parents. The goal is to go to college, go to law school, work in a law firm so you can live in Newton. It's like, "Great! Congratulations! Endgame. You've achieved it. You've become your parents. Well-done."

The pressure there! I remember kids crying when they didn't get 1200-1400 on their SATs and feeling like their life was over. So they started this scavenger hunt—our class started it; the class of 1990—where you'd get a stop sign, get some straws, and we all got into it and we all put in $20. This got so bad over the year because the pressure was so much. These kids had never done anything wrong. I saw the list. It was like: fuck the judges, blow the judges, steal your mom's wedding dress, pop 10 Viagra, and these fuckin' kids did it! Fuck a sophomore, get two guys to hook up, fuck yourself with a dildo in front of the judge wrapped in saran wrap, and they did it! These kids had never done anything wrong and they were like fuckin' Jews Gone Wild. They fuckin' took ecstasy. They fucked themselves with dildos. They were like shitting in parking lots and they all got on videotape and the police got it and all these kids were going to get fuckin' punished and they lawyered their way out of it. Their fuckin' parents were the most powerful lawyers in the most powerful law firms and they were like, "That's not going on your record." They lawyered their way out of it. I talked to the principal in that high school and the kids were called into the principal's office and the kids sent their attorneys who were also their parents [who would say], "My client refuses to answer that question. Honey, don't say a word." You can't write this shit. The principal's like, "I'm sitting there trying to discipline the kid for being on videotapes smashing the school windows, ripping the letters off the high school, but their parents are saying, 'My client refuses to answer that question. Honey, don't say a word." I'm like, this is a movie. This is fuckin' Newton in a nutshell. It's insane. People think I'm crazy but these people are living it, man fulltime.

Groucho Reviews: I want to ask a philosophical question about horror. I understand, I think, the appeal of a scary movie and the horror movie, psychological horror and suspense, but I'm a little at wit's end to describe the appeal of gore, the Fangoria audience and the people who—like [at the premiere screening]—applaud at the gruesome visuals. How do you see the mindset?


Roth: I think that people love a good story and they love a great kill in a movie. We are in this weird post-9/11 world where—if you think about it—I'm 35 but there are kids who were 10, 11, 12 years old when that happened that are now 16, 17, 18. They're growing up with, "You're going to get blown up", terror alert orange, don't travel overseas, every time you fly X-ray your shoes or someone will blow up the plane; that is what they're infused with. Plus the images coming back from Iraq war with a never ending war that—guess who's next in the firing line?—that war is not over and those kids are 17. If I was 17, I'd be fuckin' terrified about like, "Oh, the draft might be coming up." These kids are seeing these images and they're really fuckin' scared. It's no accident. They're flocking to these movies and screaming at the top of their lungs. I get letters through MySpace from soldiers in Iraq that tell me that Hostel is one of the most popular movies in the military base. I wrote this guy, several guys, and I wrote, "Why the fuck would you watch Hostel after what you see in a day?" And they explain it to me: they go out in the field—and this guy told me about a day where they literally during a day went out and saw someone with their face blown off and then at night they watch Hostel and they're terrified. What they said was that—when you're on the battlefield—they're not allowed to be afraid. You can't emotionally respond. You have to tactically respond like a machine. They're seeing these horrible images and they are not allowed to show any fear. That is their job. I think that to a much lesser degree that's how we all are in society; we see these horrible images but—because of our place in society—we're not allowed to show fear. Well, these soldiers go back to the base, they still can't show any fear, but then when they put on Hostel, it says for the next 90 minutes not only are you allowed to be scared, you're encouraged. It is socially acceptable for you to be terrified for this period of time. And they fuckin' let it all out and they all get together and they scream and they tell me that the soldiers are screaming when they watch Hostel. They're terrified of it and they're terrified to watch it and they go back on the battlefield and see real violence. It's like any art form. When you hear a song, it's like, "That's how I'm feeling" and it helps you to unlock that emotion that's inside. To a much lesser degree, I think that's what horror films do; [they] help us deal with real life violence. It's the same function that pro-wrestling serves. Where people are watching the story and they're like going, "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" When Owen Hart fell to his death in that settlement round, the whole fuckin' theater, 27,000 people, went dead silent. It was horrible. When the violence becomes real, we can't take it; but, it's the theatricality, it's the story of it [we can handle]. That's what any art form does—if it's photography, if it's a story you read, if it's a piece of music, or if it's a film—it helps you deal with these emotions. Honestly, kids [who] read fairy tales; Grimms' fairy tales are so violent—it's kids being burnt in ovens, being eaten by monsters—and children hear it and they think, okay, they're thinking that stuff but they feel like they're not crazy. They feel like they're not alone for being scared of it. It makes you feel like you're normal. I think in the movies there are people [who] are terrified of stuff, they're like, "Oh yeah, I'm not the only who's fuckin' freakin' out about this shit."

Groucho Reviews: But for the guy (or the gal) who's not really scared but are giggling and enjoying a gore moment, is that because they're enjoying the craft of it, do you think?

Roth: When people are laughing at funerals, they're not laughing at death; they're laughing because they're uncomfortable. That's when I see it. When people laugh at the gore moments, they know that it's fake and they're nervous and they're uncomfortable and that's how it comes out. And that's okay. I don't think it means any joy in real life. I don't think it means they're sick and sometimes they're enjoying the magic trick and sometimes they're enjoying the reality; but, I think people are caught up in it emotionally and I feel it's like laughing at a funeral.

Popcorn Reel: You have a tremendous legion of horror fans after the first Hostel and other films that you've done, but is there a greater challenge to broaden that audience? From the person that will drive down a highway and stop and look at that gory accident….

Roth: I think that's everyone.

Popcorn Reel: Right. Do you find that there's a greater challenge to build an audience because everybody seems to have that morbid curiosity?


Roth: Oh yeah, yeah. I think that with Hostel I expanded my audience greatly. Hostel did opening weekend almost what Cabin Fever did in its entire run. It was a wonderful feeling to feel like there were a lot more people out there. Then on DVD, Narnia had been out for one week prior and then—[when] Hostel came out—it was outselling at WalMart. I didn't think we'd be allowed to sell Hostel at WalMart. Huge fuckin' displays: "Unrated DVD at WalMart"! Clearly, people don't say no to money. If it makes money, they'll sell it. I'd been told otherwise. I always want to [do] two things. [I] always want to improve myself as a filmmaker. I always want to learn from my mistakes and make a better film. I want to also try things out so I'm not relying on safety nets. I want to experiment with new techniques of storytelling, with new [tonalities], new violence, I want to push myself as a filmmaker to not be afraid and challenge myself and try and do things that are different. I think [Hostel 2] is the first horror movie to be scored by Slovak folk music. I realized that we had that Czechoslovakian Communist pop music and now we have this Slovak folk music. It was great to watch audiences loving it and accepting it and being totally into it. Also, most importantly, I want to appeal to my core audience. I don't want to make a movie that's going to try and widen out. That's where you get into trouble. If you try to make something for everybody—unless you're doing a G-rated or PG-rated movie—the nature of Hostel, Part 2 is that it's for a certain audience and you have to stay true to that audience. If you really do and they respond and they make noise about it and other people will go, "What's everybody talking about?" With Part 1, it was like, "Well now we gotta see it because the horror fans are going crazy for it. What is this movie?" In the way the Saw films got everyone going. "Okay, well everyone's talking about Saw; I gotta see it." That's what you gotta do. You gotta stay true to your core audience. You want to make a film that you hope appeals to everybody but most important it's got to appeal to the audience that you're making it for.

The Evening Class: "New violence" is an intriguing term. I like that you're thinking in terms of visualizing a new violence for your audience. For me you really won me with the Grindhouse: Thanksgiving faux-trailer. It was so outrageous that it demanded respect and I actually came to Hostel 2 with that respect.

Roth: Thank you. I hope you still have it after seeing the film?

The Evening Class: Oh yes.

Roth: I watched Thanksgiving and it was like, "You know what? That little thing we did for $150,000 in two days with no stars or any one take and it was from my heart. It was pure love that made that movie." It was such a dream of mine to make that trailer and it was like The Producers; I went out of my way to make the worst thing possible, the worst acting, the worst dialogue, the worst photography and it wound up being the best reviews of my career. Everyone loved it.

I think that what people respond to in my films is the honesty. They can sense that it's being made by someone who genuinely loves this stuff and is just so fuckin' happy and lucky someone gave me a camera and I'm going to make the most of it. That kind of enthusiasm is the way everybody feels—anyone in this room—"Oh my god, if we got a camera, if we got a chance to direct, we'd just fuckin' go for it!" It lives or dies but you know at the end of the day you just went for it and that's really what I try to do in every scene in the movie. Really try to look at the script, look at the dialog, look at the photography, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but you just gotta give it your all every time. I think that's what people genuinely respond to. So thank you. And it's tough to come up with new ways. The ratings board actually said to me, "Eli, we don't know what to compare this to because we've never seen this in a movie before." I said, "That's what people like about me, is that I do original stuff." People actually enjoy my films because they come out of it going, "Wow, that was different. I've never seen that before. There's a lot of penis in this movie." I said, "Well, yeah, if there's one complaint I got from girls is that there was too much female nudity in [Hostel]." I tried to get males and they cancelled on me for the first one. I was like, "You want to talk about me objectifying women? Okay. Here's women objectifying men. It's in an art class so it's okay to objectify men. There's a nude dude. There you go. Enjoy. He's standing there for women to look at. We're all objectifying him but it's artistic because we're drawing him, right? Ha ha. We're artists, right? So that makes it okay." I was like, "Well, there's scissors and it's there and I said—guys, I'm running out of body parts, what can I tell you?" But they were cool with it.

Groucho Reviews: Is The Box a project that's indefinitely on hold?

Roth: I'm never going to do that. Richard's going to do that. That was a project that I was going to do with Richard Kelly from Donnie Darko, but Rich really wants to do it and it's one of those things where I got so caught up with Hostel and Richard had a great idea for it. I was originally going to direct it but I'm really happy that Richard's going to do it because he's going to do an amazing film out of it.

/Film: Real quick: Is Scavenger Hunt ever going to happen?


Roth: Yeah, it is; but, I can't do everything at once. I realize that there are some filmmakers who can multi-task and I'm not one of those guys. I tried that after Cabin Fever. It doesn't work. I really can do one thing at a time. The toughest thing I did was two things at a time, which was the Grindhouse trailer. I had to schedule that and then act in Quentin's movie, which was a whole thing, and then do the lead prep on Hostel 2, shoot Hostel 2, schedule two extra days to shoot the Grindhouse trailer, I was nuts even for that little tiny two-minute thing to do that on top of the movie. I work 24 hours. When I'm working on a film, I don't want to leave the editing room. I'm there with my editor and he's old, he's in his 60s now. This guy cut Kentucky Fried Movie and Animal House and American Werewolf In London; he's a great editor, George Folsey, but he can only work until 7:30, 8:00, and I'll music edit until midnight or 1:30 and be back in the morning. I love it. And on the weekends I'm there. That's all I do. I'm the guy who's typing up the credits and obsessing over the color. Literally from every word on the page, when we're doing the sound mix, I listen to every sound effect. I'm that nitpickey over every detail with the production design and the color and the lightbulb, this and that, and the sound mixing and the pre-dubbing and color timing. I love every step of the way. I love talking to you guys, and talking to horror fans, and traveling around. I can't do more than one movie at a time. There's just an order and I'll get to it.

/Film: So what's the order of things coming next?

Roth: The order of what's next is sleep. After that, it's anyone's guess. Trailer Trash I'm too excited about. Trailer Trash and Cell. Trailer Trash is great because you can do it in commercial shoots. I can do two or three of the fake trailers, shoot Cell, and then do the other 20 later on.

Cross-published at Twitch.

HOSTEL 2The Evening Class Roundtable Interview With Eli Roth, Pt. 1


Not only is Eli Roth bracingly goodlooking, but he's hella fun. Generously responsive to interest in his latest film Hostel, Part 2, it's difficult to get a question in edgewise; but—at a recent roundtable at San Francisco's Clift Hotel—we did our best. Participating in the roundtable along with myself were Omar Moore of Popcornreel.com, Peter Sciretta of /Film, and Peter Canavese of Grouchoreviews.com. This transcript is neither for the spoiler-wary nor the profanity-wary. While savoring Roth's ebullience, I kept thinking it would be fun to watch him and Guillermo del Toro have a go.

* * *

Roth: I never thought I would do a sequel. Hostel was the one-off movie between movies for me. I'm like, wow, while I'm waiting for my studio film to get greenlit, I'll do this little $3-$4 million [movie]. Maybe no one will pay attention. Maybe they'll come in on a few theaters. Then when it did what it did, I was like, "Fuck! If I'm going to do a sequel, I've got to do it right now and I've got to fuckin' make people feel the way I felt when I came out of Aliens and Road Warrior, when I went, "Holy fuck! They took that shit to the next level. Not only did they top it; it is so much better. It stands on its own. It's a great companion piece. It was exactly what I wanted but it was also totally new and totally different."

It was so satisfying to hear everyone reacting [at the premiere screening] the way I wanted people to react. I got a lot of the [Eli makes the sound of sucking in his breath]. And even when she spills the drink on Roger and he's like, "Goodnight, Beth" people would, "Oooooooooh" [anxiously]. I was like, "Yeah!" Because they paid attention. I really wanted to make it oddly subtle in some ways, like when they're picking out the tools. The bidding montage was so fun watching people go, "What the fuck?" and then it cuts to the woman on the horse and people were like, "No fuckin' way! That is fucked up!" Then when the guy [in the audience] went, "Bitch, please!"

I remember the first screening of Hostel, watching people go fuckin' nuts when they ran over the girls and cut off their fingers, and [with Hostel 2, I was thinking] how can I whip the crowd into that frenzy and give them that adrenalin rush that they want and take them to that dark place of absolute horror and then exhilaration at the end? I needed to have that ending! Look, my competition is fuckin' Pirates 3, Shrek 3, Spidey 3, it's like how are you going to compete with these other movies? It's like I needed the fuckin' ending that people are going to go, "I don't care who's in it. I don't care how big a movie star is. I don't give a fuck what special effects extravaganza you have. Nothing is going to top the end of this movie." I mean, after Spiderman 3, that movie ended and I heard people going, "That sucked." Their kids were going, "That sucked." It's so depressing because I love Raimi; but, you could smell that there were like, "We need more toys." You could fuckin' sniff it out and smell it. With Return of the King you were like, "Aaaah", fuckin' Peter Jackson just got better and better and better. It was awesome. It was so fulfilling. But you can smell when they just want to sell shit. I was like, "I've gotta do a sequel where people come out saying, "I don't care who's in this movie. Nothing's going to top the ending of Hostel, Part 2." It's going to fuckin' bring the house down. I should shut up and let you guys ask questions. I'm sorry. Stop me.

Popcorn Reel: This is the thing that really amazed me—because I didn't see the first—you really pushed the envelope with the R rating. You jumped off the Grand Canyon and landed on the postage stamp of that envelope. No safety net at all here and I applaud you for really pushing it like that. My question is: the MPAA, they're an unusual group, aren't they? How'd you manage to get the scene with Lorna past them?

Roth: Thank you. The Lorna scene was tough. The truth of the matter is, the ratings board are a lot cooler than people think. I thought that documentary [This Film Is Not Yet Rated] was really terrible and completely did not show my experience with them. I said to them, "Look, guys, it's Hostel, Part 2, it's not Happy Feet 2. No one is going to accidentally walk into this film and the people that are there are specifically going back for more of what they liked about the first one." They go, "Well, Eli, we got the most complaints from any movie in years from Hostel." I said, "Guys, here's my question: what else are people going to complain about? I am the movie to complain about because no other movie is going to do this stuff that I'm doing and that's why people like my films." They said, "Well, that's true." And I said, "It's not like they're going to complain about Happy Feet." And they go, "Actually, we did get complaints about Happy Feet." It just goes to show that people will complain about anything. I said, "Guys, let's face it, of course if they're going to complain about Hostel, they're going to complain about Hostel 2 by the very nature of what it is; but, the fans shouldn't be punished for that. People are going to be accurately warned of what they're coming into. I'm not making a secret of what this is. I'm not pretending it's something else. The people that are there are there specifically for this experience" and I was like, "Guys, those are my movie stars. I'm competing with Oceans Thirteen. I don't have George Clooney. I don't have Brad Pitt. I don't have Matt Damon. I have those kills. And if I don't have that, the fans will be pissed and then I'll get strung up." And they said, "You know what? We understand that but let's find the balance. We have a job to do too." I said, "Well, you tell me. What do you think is going too far?" They said, "Well, in this scene we feel that this goes a little bit too much." I said, "Okay, well let me take a look at it." And I go back and I go this, this, this. Maybe we go back and forth. And I said, "Look guys, ultimately I don't want the scene to lose its power. If the scene isn't emotional, then it's just a stupid kill scene. Then it is gratuitous. Then it is just bloody." I was like, "The scene with Heather Matarazzo, what makes that scene horrifying is the look on her face when she's screaming. And that's not graphic violence. That is a performance. Don't punish Heather."


Heather did this movie for that scene. She wanted to. She said, "I want to show everybody what I'm capable of." And she went from being that character that's the nerdy character to there she is, vulnerable, upside down, naked, screaming, begging. Heather took the movie because of that scene. She wanted to do it. Heather was like, "I'm so excited. You want to see me naked!" I'm like, "Heather, I love you! I've got a crush on you!" and she's like, "You mean you're going to cast me as a straight girl and give me a romance with a guy? That's a first!" And I'm like, "Yeaaaah." And she's like, "No one's done that." I'm like, "Heather, you're an amazing actress. I don't think anyone really cares whether you're gay or straight. They love you and they want to see you do a great performance. People weren't thinking of that when you're in the character. It's irrelevant." She's like, "No director since I've come out has ever cast me as a straight person." I'm like, "Heather, I'm casting you because you're a great actor. Not because of who you are or any of that."

And I said to the ratings board, "This is not worse than Apocalypto. Look at Passion of the Christ, there's a lengthy torture scene. City of God. There's intense movies out there and the audience needs something that's not going to be safe. There is an audience for this and let's protect it." And they did. Whereas in Germany they're like, "Take that out. Take that out." In Japan with Hostel 1, they said, "This isn't going into theaters. You have an American buring a Japanese girl's face with a blow torch. Sorry. No argument. No discussion. No appeal. No nothing. Not going in theaters." Ukraine: Not going in theaters. Singapore: Not going in theaters, not even coming out on video. My point of view is that there are other countries where there's not even a negotiation, not even a discussion, it's a government censor board and that's it. While here it's like they'll talk to you and they'll listen and you go back and forth and back and forth and it's a great system. The alternative is we get fuckin' Jesse Helms deciding what goes in and out of movies. I'd rather have a board of people who do this every day that work with filmmakers than some lawmaker that wants to look like they're protecting the community and says, "Take that out." And I understand it because they're reflecting the parents of America. So, yeah, look at the violence on 24. The stuff I did in Hostel was shocking and now it's on 24. People accept it. Look what happens when Janet Jackson shows her nipple. Order in the court! Congress is meeting. They are reflecting America and people go crazy when there's sexual stuff.

I talked about the difference between sadistic violence and revenge violence. I talked about doing realistic violence—like with the kids in the woods being shown off camera, which I know would be upsetting and tough to stomach—versus stylized violence, like the Lorna scene [where] we went full operatic theatrical with that. Because I know that if I had shot that like I shot the Derek Richardson torture, no one would enjoy it; it's too painful. But in order for this scene to work, it's got to be someone acting out this Elizabeth bathery and this is the high roller suite and this is going to be the most stylized, we're going for fuckin' opera. This is operatic. We are fully going for it in the style and the canon. It's horrifying, but I purposely didn't do that and photograph that like a realistic scene, like the kids in the woods, which feels like I wanted to go for something that felt truthfully like an Italian neorealist film from the late 40's, early 50's. That's the mood I wanted in that scene. I explained to them, "Look how I approach every scene." When I knew it was violence with a child, I shot it off camera. Guys in the movie are getting it as bad as girls if not worse and—when there is a scene with a girl—I filmed it in an operatic, cinematic kind of way so at least you're aware it's a scene from a movie. [The ratings board] recognized that and they defended that. They said, "You know what? Eli didn't just randomly approach these scenes; he really thought about it. Let's give him a break."

The Evening Class: Well, respectful of what you've said about Heather, as a gay guy I've got to say her casting was impeccable. Though you say it was not important whether she is a lesbian or not, you did create a lesbian tableau.

Roth: Ooooooh yeah.

The Evening Class: And that pays homage to a longstanding tradition of queer horror. I have to extend personal thanks for that.


Roth: Thank you. There is that odd relationship [between Beth and Axelle that is] one of the parallels [with Hostel] between Derek Richardson and that business man where Derek Richardson has this moment where the guy puts his hand on his knee and Derek reacts and the guy later says, "Look, I understand [why] you reacted. I was like you." I remember being at NYU and there was this guy who had talked about how he was a recovering homosexual. He was in our film class. We were like, "What are you fuckin' talking about, dude?" He's like, "I'm going to do a seminar on recovering homosexuals." So he does a seminar in Greenwich Village and everybody went like, "We gotta see this." This kid Alan, we were friends, I said, "Alan, I don't think it works that way, dude." He was writing scripts where every script was about a guy named Albert who maybe thinks he's gay but then finds Jesus who cures him. [Alan]was like this fascinating dude. There were these guys that came [to the seminar] and they were like, "I was once afflicted with homo-sin-ualilty and I found Jesus and found the correct path" and you're just like, "Whooooaaa!" Later I found out that one of the [recovering Christian homosexuals] had actually stabbed a guy in a bar. I was like, "You poor guys. Go out and have sex; you'll be so much happier." That's what [inspired] that strange relationship [in Hostel] with those characters.

[In Hostel, Part 2] I thought, "Okay, we're going to parallel the girl and, clearly, this woman with Heather. I was like, "Heather, I'm going to give you a great scene and it's going to be this beautiful woman who looks like an opera diva in a bathroom. This is gonna be the scene your fans are going to love. You're going to have a sex scene to end all [sex scenes]." Heather totally went for it. I heard you could only have someone upside down for 30 seconds and Heather took yoga every day until she finally got to where she was upside down for eight minutes at a time. We could only film in three-minute increments, but she was like, "Anything you want, honey. What do you need?" She was in on the casting of the woman, like "I want her." Heather's my girl. I love her. I was like, "Heather, I know people still say the term weiner dog. I know they killed weiner dog in Todd Solondz's film, but we're killing her for real this time." [Welcome to the Dollhouse] was a career-defining moment but [Hostel 2] is going to define the next level of your career. And God bless Heather Matarrazo; she's such a wonderful soul and such a great girl and a great person. She was so there for me. All the girls were terrific but I was so honored to work with [Heather]; I would work with her again in a heartbeat. Just a great person.

Groucho Reviews: One of the things I liked about this sequel is that—instead of panning over—it zooms out. You see more of this world.

Roth: The point of view changes from the storytelling.

Groucho Reviews: How did you develop that stragegy? Do you have in mind a third film?

Roth: No, there's no Hostel 3. I liked Kill Bill, Vol. 1 and Kill Bill, Vol. 2. And I'll tell you why. I fuckin' hate Godfather 3. I wish Spiderman 3 did not exist. I'm still angry there is a Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. I hate it when there's a shitty third movie. I really hate it. If I have that Return of the King inspiration where I go, "Yeah, this would be better than the first two", then I would do it. Right now, Hostel, Part 1 and Hostel, Part 2, that's it. I'm not thinking about it. I'm moving on. I love it as it is as a Part 1 and a Part 2. I'm sure if the film does well the subject will come up but I will put my foot down and stomp and scream and do everything to prevent it unless I thought it was a better film.

But to answer your question about the point of view, the first one was really this descent into hell and we're with the guys. I wanted the audience making decisions with the characters. "Yeah, let's fuckin' fuck that girl in the club. Let's go get those hookers in Amsterdam." He's talking about Slovakia and I heard all these guys in the audience going, "Yeah, do it!" [Hostel] was about people who don't have enough. Nothing's ever enough. They always want a little bit more. The American girls aren't enough, so they go for European girls. The European club girls aren't enough, so they get the hooker; they want the power of paying to do what you want to someone. That's not enough. They go to Slovakia for the Eastern European girls and they get them and they fuck them and it's still not enough. And their fuckin' friend disappears and no one's holding a gun to their head. They could leave and they don't because Jay Hernandez and the guys, they want one more. They want a better story. He's like, "This is the shit we're going to think about." Nothing is enough for anyone and they get fucked and they get tortured and they wind up as the very thing they were making fun of. That's why she said, "You're fuckin' my bitch. You thought you could buy and sell me? Well, I just literally bought and sold your ass." I wanted people making decisions with the characters, going, "I'd do that. I'd do that. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. Maybe it was wrong to think that—because I'm an American—I have superiority and power. Maybe it was wrong to judge another culture and think that I could buy and sell another person. Maybe I feel fuckin' stupid and I'm now left in a foreign country with no subtitles with a guy who I don't really know." They don't really know Jay Hernandez. You don't really like him at that point in the movie. He's kind of a dick and you're stuck with him and slowly he has to win the audience back. Now you're there and he's lost and I wanted people to feel like they got the fuckin' rug yanked out from under them, they don't know where they are with this guy, what the fuck just happened? Who are these people? Everything's fuckin' creepy. That was the fun of that movie; the psycho switch of the protagonist and the abrupt tonal switch.


Well, I can't do that again. If we're going to do Part 2, we're going to take up where we left off. Now we have the advantage or the disadvantage of knowing what's going on. We're not learning the surprise. We learned ultimately when Rick Hoffman, the American business man, explains. I said, "Okay, if we're going to go in, how do I make that work to the film's advantage?" I can't be with the girls slowly learning what's going on. We can now objectively watch the girls fall into the traps with the sense of dread, "Don't do it. Don't do it." In the same way, driving to the factory—which is really my favorite scene now, that and Rick Hoffman, in the first one—when they're driving and she goes, "Do you want more gum?" He goes, "No" and she goes, "Too bad for you" and the audience has just seen his fuckin' buddy get tortured and they're going, "You fuckin' idiot." He's like, "I want to go. I want to go." Even the girls tell him not to go. When he's in the pub, he's like, "I want to go. Take me there." The girls are like, "Sit down, dude, have a drink, c'mon." We know it's because they're not ready and they're cleaning up the rooms; the hotel suite isn't ready yet. But he's like, "No. Take me there. Take me there now" and you're like, "You fuckin' idiot." That's what I wanted with these girls. I wanted to make the girls smarter than the guys and I wanted them to make decisions that people could watch objectively. We'll watch Jay's story. We'll watch the girls' story and let's get into the psychology of these guys. People love that scene with Rick Hoffman, where he's like, "How do you do it? Do you do it fast? Or do it slow?" People have said, "I want to see a whole movie of that guy." Well, me too. I thought, "What if I remake Hostel from his point of view entirely? Literally up to when Jay Hernandez shoots him?" Well, I couldn't do that because we know what happens; but, let's so that psychology, let's see these guys in their home lives and how does the bidding work? What happens when they get there? Let's go [with] them through the minutiae.

And now, okay yeah, the first one was so low budget; we had a little bit more on this one but not much. The average budget is $80 million. Now we can put our money into the next level of the factory and see the bidding war and see the different people and expand the universe; the tattoo parlor and how it works. It was so great to watch the audience with those guys and sharing with them and feeling for them and feeling like, "Oh man, I want people to feel bad for the guys. Don't do it. Don't do it." That sense of dread. It was really great to feel that.

Cross-published at Twitch.

Monday, June 04, 2007

MANUFACTURED LANDSCAPESThe Evening Class Interview With Director Jennifer Baichwal and Photographer Edward Burtynsky


"Which way to go? Some line gets drawn. What line is this? Which way to go? Could be a threshold or a precipice."—Joni Mitchell, "Fiction" from Dog Eat Dog.

Edward Burtynsky is known as one of Canada's most respected photographers. His remarkable photographic depictions of global industrial landscapes are included in the collections of 15 major museums around the world, including the National Gallery of Canada, the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim Museum in New York.


Born in 1955 of Ukrainian heritage in St. Catherines, Ontario, Burtynsky is a graduate of Ryerson University and Niagra College. He links his early exposure to the sites and images of the General Motors plant in his hometown to the development of his photographic work. His imagery explores the intricate link between industry and nature, combining the raw elements of mining, quarrying, shipping, oil production and recycling into eloquent, highly expressive visions that find beauty and humanity in the most unlikely of places.

Jennifer Baichwal was born in Montréal and grew up in Victoria, British Columbia. Her first feature documentary, Let It Come Down: The Life of Paul Bowles, premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 1998 and won a 1999 International Emmy for Best Arts Documentary. The True Meaning of Pictures is a feature length film on the work of Appalachian photographer Shelby Lee Adams. The film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2002 and played at the Sundance Film Festival in 2003.

Manufactured Landscapes is Baichwal's feature length documentary on the world and work of Burtynsky. The film follows Burtynsky to China as he travels the country photographing the evidence and effects of that country's massive industrial revolution. Manufactured Landscapes won the City Award for Best Canadian Feature Film at the 2006 Toronto International Film Festival. The Toronto Film Critics Association then awarded it Best Feature documentary and Best Canadian Film for 2006. The Atlantic Film Festival and Calgary Film Festival both awarded it Best Canadian Film and the Nashville International Film Festival honored the film with the Reel Current Award. At this year's Genie Awards Manufactured Landscapes scored the award for Best Documentary.

When I arrive at the Larsen Associates offices to interview Jennifer Baichwal and Edward Burtynsky for Manufactured Landscapes, Baichwal is calmly knitting a grey blanket and Burtynsky looks a bit worn from the press junket.



* * *

Michael Guillén: Congratulations on a consummately visual film. It's going to be interesting to watch this one generate buzz.

Edward Burtynsky: You think this film has promise in this market?

Guillén: It's hard for me to say being a San Franciscan because we have weird eyes.

Jennifer Baichwal: [Laughs.]

Guillén: But definitely I expect that in the Bay Area audiences are going to fully appreciate Manufactured Landscapes. On second thought, I shouldn't be so tentative. Yes, all around the country this film will be appreciated. I want to believe that the public is becoming more conscious. I have to believe that.

Burtynsky: You have to have hope.

Guillén: I have to have hope and films like Manufactured Landscapes provide a platform by which people can articulate that hope.

Baichwal: That's interesting.

Guillén: One of the film's most compelling structural tensions is that you, Edward, are a still photographer and you, Jennifer, are a moviemaker. [Addressing Jennifer] You approached making your film at a unique angle. You didn't make a film about Edward Burtynsky, you ceded authorship to him, which as Ed's website puts it, "extends the narrative stream" of his photographs. Variety's Peter Debruge has written that you have "deftly use[d] the moving image to reinforce the spirit of Burtynsky's still pictures, expanding the discourse by providing valuable context." You let Edward's photographs speak for themselves. How did the two of you negotiate this approach?




Baichwal: The way that this film happened was a bit convoluted in that I followed [Ed's] work for a long time and an old friend of mine [and one of the film's producers, Daniel Iron] came to me and said, "Someone's come to me with 80 hours of mini-DV footage of Ed on location at different places. Can you look at it and see if you can turn it into a film?" That's how it started. He came to me because he knew I was a big fan of Ed's work. So I looked at this 80 hours of footage and realized I couldn't make a film of that but in a way it was almost a lesson of what not to do; it was great to be able to see that and it was in some ways invaluable footage. It was shot by a photographer named Jeff Powis who followed Ed around and amassed this footage but then didn't know what to do with it or couldn't form it into something and wanted someone to look at it. I said, "What about if we incorporate this stuff"—all the black and white stuff in the film is shot by Jeff—"what if we incorporate this footage into a film and use it as a kind of counterpoint? Use it in a film that begins with the photographs and uses the photographs as a departure point and tries to translate the photographs intelligently into the medium of film?" Ed and I had a meeting about it. He had seen our films before so he knew what those were like. We talked it through. He also wanted something like that.

The biography is a very particular form. I did a biography of the author Paul Bowles, which was basically a film that said it's impossible to make a biography, to do a biography that's not totally reductive. It really is just about being with somebody for long enough that you feel like you know them by the end of the film. That's what we tried to do in that film. I also didn't want to do an artist's portrait because the genre of that type of film is very specific as well and this idea of demystifying the creative process—or all of the clichés that you could fall into in that way—also took away from the power of these photographs. When I first saw them, I was both mesmerized and repulsed simultaneously. I was in this terrible, fascinating place of looking at a beautiful representation—beautiful is not the right word—visually compelling representation of garbage, of something that I was directly in some ways responsible for. I knew from the very beginning that if we were going to make a film it would have to enter into the world of the photographs and for Ed to be the author—as you said—rather than the subject of the film.

Guillén: I very much appreciated the documentary's contemplative movement around Ed's photographs. Case in point: the sequence where Ed's shown setting up a shot, you hear the shutter click, you see the finalized image, and then the camera backs up and the audience realizes they are looking at one of Ed's photographs as displayed in a gallery exhibition with patrons of that gallery evaluating the photograph. That sequence effectively set up two different forms of contemplation. Your photographs, Ed, are deeply contemplative; they require the viewer's participation and you, Jennifer, emulated Ed's contemplative aesthetic. Especially, let's say, in that opening dolly shot where the camera glides along looking at the factory workers, and it goes on and on and on and on until my mind necessarily shifted in order to take this in and I realized I had to….

Baichwal: Be here now.

Guillén: Be here now! Exactly! Forever! [We all erupt into laughter.] That sequence—which is such an incredible way to start this film—reminded me of the closing sequence in Juan Carlos Rulfo's En El Hoyo (In the Pit).

Baichwal: I'd love to look at that. [She writes it down.]

Guillén: That Mexican documentary is likewise a study of a huge multi-tiered freeway construction project being built through the heart of Mexico City, involving thousands and thousands of workers. Rulfo's approach varies in that his documentary begins with a close-up portrait of one team of workers—four or five men whose stories you learn—and then at film's end the camera lifts up out of their specific location and, via helicopter, sweeps the full length of the project for miles and miles and miles, literally taking your breath away with the immensity of the project and the thousands of workers involved. What I find so compelling about Rulfo's coda to his documentary and the gist of your's—and I'm sure you've been asked this five thousand times—is the scale. We have to talk about scale. What is it about the grandiosity of this scale that puts people into a conflicted position—as you've stated, Jennifer—of finding these gargantuan manmade projects aesthetically arresting?


Burtynsky: [Ed references the cover photo of his book on China, which is on the table.] I often shoot—even in this shot here—from an elevated position. Someone has referred to it as "the God's eye view." It's as if you're up, looking down. At first I used to always look for the natural scaffolding—a rooftop or some structure I could get up on—and then I said, "Screw it, I'm just going to rent lifts and get myself there. Then I'm going to imagine myself in the place where it would be most interesting to look at the world." What I find is that when you do get that elevated view [you realize that]—when you're down on the ground level—that mid-distance disappears very quickly and there's no way you can get the sense of this infinite workforce. That's what I wanted to see: this infinite workforce; that there's 400 million Chinese out in the countryside waiting to come into this workforce.

So it's trying to, again, take ideas and to engage them to create tableaux—images that stand in for a larger movement—but, these things are the surrogate of that greater movement because you can't ever show the whole thing; the still image only shows a frame, or you can show a diptych or a panorama but you're still locked to a singular point of view. Film—as in that opening shot—allows you to expand that point of view and take that compression of the view that I took and decompress it and stretch it. [Film] can give you the full force of it and is a great equivalent to the diptych within my book in that it takes the accordion and stretches it out and lets you look at the edge of it versus looking across the peak of it.

Baichwal: But you do the biggest frames? That's also part of your work?


Burtynsky: Yeah. In terms of when someone looks at [my work] and says, "How do you choose your subjects?", when I decide to do something—whether it's a factory or whether it's a mine or whether it's a quarry—[the challenge is] how do you go from the general to the specific? I want to do quarries. Well, there's quarries in every country of the world. How do I arrive [as] to which quarry? So then it's searching for the largest examples. It's in that largesse that I find that scale becomes interesting; that the surreal begins to have a role within the frame; that you can find in these massive operations moments that are almost at the edge of imagination. We never realized that there were worlds like these that we have created.

Guillén: Without question your documentary will be the first glimpse most people have of worlds like these; it was for me. I had no idea anything could be built or conceived on such a scale. That's what's so astounding about this documentary and its emphasis on the work that you're doing, Ed.


Baichwal: And it's the hubris of humanity. That we yearn for that scale. It's almost as if we're trying to make ourselves bigger and bigger and bigger. Something like the Three Gorges Dam is so massive. It's such a monumentally arrogant act to divert nature on such an enormous scale and yet it's the perfect expression of some—what is it?—is it the yearning of humans to be like gods? Is that what it is? We throw things around and completely transform the nature of the planet in our own endeavors as a way of asserting our power? I don't know. I don't know what it is.

Guillén: I come at it through my own background—I was trained in Central American archaeology with a focus on the Maya culture—where one of the main academic themes was the incredible impact this civilization had on its environment and that being possibly one of the reasons for its collapse. Then as someone who led tours through that part of the world and dealt with common misperceptions about the culture, one of the things that always struck me was the romanticized perception of this failed project of civilization and how it was reclaimed by nature as if to compensate for—as you say, Jennifer—human hubris. That makes me look at these massive projects that you've recorded, Ed, and wonder if such a compensation by nature is even possible? Can this hubris ever be reclaimed by nature? Do you think that these massive projects that are literally changing the face of the planet can be reclaimed by the planet, as they were with the Maya? I know that you've talked about geological time, Ed, as a context by which to understand how humans are cutting into geological time and literally changing the shape of the planet in a way that's never been done before.

Burtynsky: I've often pointed out—and I'm not the first person to point it out either—that we are now functioning on the planet as an element, with the force of an element. If you think of elements as water, air or fire, which all have a role in shaping the planet and its atmosphere, we are now an equivalent to that. We can actually change the nature of the planet. We're actually shifting the quality of the air, the quality of the water, and not necessarily in a positive direction, but in a direction. I certainly believe we've now moved clearly out of a moment of naiveté and this kind of belief that there's this endless resource that we'll keep, with our charts moving upwards and Wall Street [being] happy forever. There's a fracture, a fault line, that runs through all of it; we live in a finite world. There's only so much clean water. There's only so much stuff we can shove into the air before it starts to do something to us. There's only so many places where we can find minerals and—once we've hollowed all of them out—now what? We're going to have to mine our dumps for the stuff that we threw out 30-50 years ago to try to get those materials back. Or do we get saved by nano-technology where we create our brand-new materials that are better than what nature provided us? That's a possibility too. I certainly believe that the success of who we are as a species on the planet and what will really kick up our feet out from under us is that ultimately there's just not enough to go around to bring everybody up to a modern North American standard of life—which is varied in itself—but, if you averaged it and brought everybody up to that average, you'd have to determine that we're short a couple of Earths to be able to even [achieve] the level of food quality that we get as a daily intake.


We're at this trajectory where something's got to give. Something's going to give somewhere along this piece somewhere, whether it's in our lifetime or the next generation, but there's going to be a reckoning. As Al Gore puts it, we live in a time of consequence. Ultimately, I sensed—maybe more intuitively 25 years ago when I started on this project—that if I kept working on this idea that at some point—because I understood it—that the planet is a finite resource; there's a finite amount of stuff. But I just never imagined—I thought it would be a couple of hundred years out—I never imagined that in my lifetime we'd start fishing the oceans dry. I can't believe it. If you've ever flown over the Pacific Ocean, you'd think, "How can we fish that dry?" How could we do that? How could salmon stocks be at 10% of what they were? Or the tuna stocks be at 10% of what they were 50 years ago? It's hard to imagine how quickly and how rapidly we've accelerated that degradation. It's even surprised me in looking at this and all of a sudden just saying, "Hey." What's different today is it's wrought larger and it's moving faster than ever before; but, it's not slowing down. Now with China jumping on, India jumping on, we're just slamming on the gas pedal versus "Let's think about this."

Baichwal: I don't think these things will heal themselves. We can't recover without real concerted and very specific effort to stop. I was thinking when we were first getting into this [about] the weeds and their metaphors. What adapts to the new realities. Because there's always something that manages to adapt.

Burtynsky: Cockroaches and weeds?

Baichwal: Exactly. Cockroaches and dandelions; the things that manage to adapt to these new realities. The last scene of the film is in a place where we were on our way back to Beijing when we were not allowed to film at the coal distribution center. We stopped in this suburb that was so devastatingly free of any kind of organic matter whatsoever; a whole field that had nothing in it, no grass, nothing. There were no weeds. There was nothing alive. The earth had nothing organic in it; it was like ash. There was a coal plant belching out smoke in one corner, there were piles of coal, iron ore on the ground, trains taking the coal, and there were lots of apartment buildings. People were living in this environment. It wasn't like we were in some industrial park—whatever that means; I don't know why they're called that—industrial areas where there were no people living. People were living right there. They were walking around and kids were riding bicycles in this field, this wasteland. I thought, "God, this is really the future! This is where we're headed if we don't start thinking more clearly."

Guillén: Ed, I like how you liken humanity unto an elemental force of nature. That addresses a philosophical conundrum I've had for years, which is that—when you talk about nature—you must include human nature and its hubris as nature. That revolves around a sticky wicket that presumes the human species is supposed to survive when, possibly, we might just be a fire that blazes across the face of the planet and alters it until geological time steps back in and recontextualizes our time as a species on the planet.

Burtynsky: Right.

Guillén: That leads me to ask: you with your photography appear not to indict anyone; you seem more to be of witness.

Burtynsky: Yes.

Guillén: And yet there's a tension in the film. D.K. Holm at The Greencine Daily actually suggests the film is schizophrenic because—countering your photographic stance as a mere witness—Jennifer's documentary carries a more incriminative stance emphasizing her concerns, one might say her panic.


Baichwal: Certainly I think—and Ed can answer this too—but I think when Ed first started out, he acknowledges his own implication and he also acknowledges the complexity of this situation. Many environmental discourses are just too polarizing and too simplistic. They just don't move people because you can't be that radical. People are not going to drop everything and go live in a tent somewhere. I think that the acknowledgement of implication—that everything you do affects in some way—when Ed talks about everything being made of oil or the silver in his camera and I think about the dirty process of filmmaking and the chemicals that we use and all of that, even traveling here, our carbon footprint getting on a jet, all of those things, acknowledging them without laying blame and without assuming that there's an easy answer, we try to also do that in the film. We really did. We tried to present the complexity without leading one perspective more than the other. It is true that people working in these factories have more money than they did when they were living in the countryside. They're not necessarily unhappy. There's a hundred people or more waiting to take their job if they stop, if they decide they want to form a union or something and get fired; but, the cumulative effect of being in all of these environments—and my own personal experience of it—was such that I felt that I could not [deny] that we are at a precipice. The symbol of what is happening in China right now—where whole zones are collapsing in an environmental sense, where you can't drink the water anymore, where the earth is polluted—is for me a crisis. I was not trying to be overtly political because that wouldn't honor the photographs, but perhaps my own reaction to being in these places is what colored in some way the way that the film progresses and the way that it ends, which is kind of on a dark note. It's a heavy film.

Guillén: Not to deny that, but, the aesthetic arrest that I experience looking at Ed's photographs and the manner by which you extend his narrative through your documentary and prolong that state of aesthetic arrest is one of mindblowing scale—the immensity, the grandiosity, the largesse, as Ed put it—becomes a means of eloquence and uncomfortable beauty. It's like Job looking into the whirlwind. It's something so powerful in its scale that one is filled with awe. It is, in effect, awe-full, to grasp the source of that word. How can we call it beautiful if we want to survive as a species?

On the other hand—and to your credit, Ed—one of the most tender inflections in your photography and a personal face through which the political pours forth, is in the portrait you took of the old Chinese woman sitting on her front landing beside a pile of e-waste. Though on the complete opposite spectrum of your more characteristic work, that one image spoke volumes. As you stated in your interview with PingMag, Jennifer, facial close-ups "dignify the individual in this completely undignified landscape." Following through on that human accent, I likewise appreciated your interviews of the workers. By contrasting the human and industrial scales, each came into focus through an intriguing comparative tension. This was brought up even within the film where some of the workers you were filming were shown Poloroids of Ed's compositions and one of the workers commented, "This is a very broad view and you lose the detail." But you don't lose the detail. The detail is encoded in the breadth of view. Breadth itself becomes the detail.

Burtynsky: Right.


Baichwal: And the detail is there. If you look in close you see those stories happening. That's why for us we had to always move back and forth between macro and micro, between the wide view and the little detail of the woman's fingers as she's making the circuit breaker. Finding out her name made a huge difference. Just knowing her name—this faceless person, these hands making this circuit breaker—that's what happens when you encounter Ed's photographs. You start with the overwhelming scale and then look in closer to find the hundreds of narrative threads that are all inherently there. Teasing those out, finding those threads and following them, and then coming back to the wide view, and then going back in, the whole rhythm of the film is about going back and forth.

Guillén: Well, I wish I had more time to tease things out today with you two. My final query would be about your upcoming projects. I understand that you, Jennifer, are working on a film about lightning striking people? Another Maya tangent I might toss out is that when lightning hits the ground, it creates a glassy mineral, which the Maya would use as sacred eccentric flints; objects revered as holy.

Baichwal: Really? That's similar to Yoruba mythology where—when lightning strikes—stones are left and these stones are gathered, enshrined and worshipped. Really it's a film about the mystery of randomness. Using being struck by lightning as the arena for examining the intersections of randomness and meaning.

Guillén: When can we expect that film?

Baichwal: Probably next Fall. We'll start editing later this year and be done by the following September.

Guillén: And Ed? Yourself? Now that you've done this incredible work in China, are you focusing anywhere else?


Burtynsky: I'm doing a book wrapping up 15 years of shooting quarries. It's just going to be on quarries. Quarries are near and dear to my heart. My work almost slipped away on me. Between 1985 and when I opened my business in 1990, there's a gap there where I didn't really produce any personal work for a period of five years. I thought I was sunk as an artist because I couldn't ever get out of my own creation as a business; I thought it was just going to eat me alive. Then I was encouraged by some really key people to go out and back into the world. As he put it to me—it was in the kitchen at the business—"You will be doing a great disservice to yourself and the world if you stop making these pictures. You've got to keep making these pictures." He said, "What would you do if the business were off your back and you could just do whatever you wanted to do?" I immediately answered, "I would go and shoot quarries because they've been on my mind for the last four-five years." He said, "Do it. Just go do it. I'll buy 10 of the prints but you've got to make them. You've got to go out and make them."

Guillén: Excellent! Every artist should have such a friend.

Burtynsky: So he snapped me out of an insane period of my life where I was working seven days a week and fourteen hours a day, exhausted. I said, "Fine, I'm going to go make pictures." Then I started researching quarries and then it was that quarry series that really was the beginning of my larger acceptance into the world of art and my larger acceptance internationally as an artist. It was the beginning of the path towards an international presence and towards the ability to become totally self-sustaining as an artist.

Guillén: That's fascinating. Again, as a Mayanist, I would say that when I finally began to appreciate Mayan architecture was after I had finally visited a Mayan quarry. Actually I feel so blessed. I got to go to a quarry where there was a remaining chunk of limestone that had been carved in preparation for use as a stelae that was never removed from its bedrock; a true moment frozen in time. Anyways, we have to stop. I could talk to you two forever.

Burtynsky: Yeah, it was great. And actually great observations regarding the opening sequence. You really understood the authorship and that's one of the first times I've actually heard anybody say that and pick up on that.

* * *

Jim Casper at Lens Culture offers a slideshow on Burtynsky's China with his audio interview with Burtynsky scored in a Parisian cafe:

Burtynsky's videotaped acceptance speech for the 2005 TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) Prize is likewise noteworthy, not the least for TED's assessment that what characterizes Burtynsky's photography is its jolie-laide.

Doug Cummings' Film Journey write-up from the Toronto International first intrigued my interest and Brian Darr's Greencine dispatch from Sundance confirmed it. Likewise Tyee's interview with Burtynsky enrichened my comprehension of the work. Another strong recommendation would be Felix Rebolledos's Offscreen essay on the film wherein he voices the disquieting concern on everyone's minds: "[B]y aesthetizing the imagery does one also anaesthetize it?" Rebolledos allows himself frequent analogies to the insect world; something that I—for some reason—felt compelled to stay away from; perhaps because, as Baichwal suggested, insects will undoubtedly survive far better than humans.

07/24/07 UPDATE: He was responsible for inspiring me to watch this documentary, and now Brian Darr follows through at Hell on Frisco Bay with his own insightful interview with Burtynsky and Baichwald.

08/03/07 UPDATE: Have finally caught up with Acquarello's burnished perspective of this film's "emblematic" usage "of th[e] self-exploitive cycle of construction through destruction." Acquarello's writing is always a pleasure to read.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

BAMAKO—The Greencine Interview With Danny Glover


Since first seeing Abderrahmane Sissako's Bamako at the 2006 Toronto International Film Festival, I've grown even more enamored with this important film. I appreciated the chance to catch it again at the 2007 San Francisco International Film Festival where I had the welcome opportunity to talk with the film's producer and actor Danny Glover. That interview is up at the Greencine main site.

A reminder as well that Franck Garbarz's insightful interview with Sissako can be found on The Evening Class.

Cross-published at Twitch.

Friday, June 01, 2007

2007 HOLEHEAD—SF360 Picks & Opening Night


Along with my earlier entry regarding the line-up at the 4th Annual Another Hole in the Head Film Festival ("Holehead"), SF360 has published my top picks.

Here's a few comments regarding tonight's launch.

More than an exercise in the suspension of disbelief, Simon Cathcart's StagKnight—Holehead's opening night feature—is an exercise in the suspension of disregard. Cathcart has been methodically informing Twitch of each and every development with the film along the way so for those who want to follow that trail The Gommorahizer has encapsulated all that pertinent forcefeeding into one handy post.


I'm sorry to say I didn't find this film as funny—or even as offensive—as others have or as, undoubtedly, others might. In fact, I found it downright lame and couldn't believe it was put in the opening night slot, though I'll grant it is "uniquely stupid" (and with stupidity being so commonplace these days, that's saying something). The burgeoning queer romance between burly 6'10" William (Martin Bayfield) and simping "Steve the Queen" has its moments though the suggestive indignities Steve has to undergo to get his guy seemed a little under the belt (so to speak). But then sexual preference spares no one in this film, least of all the audience.

There is one funny line: "My momma always told me that if it has tires or testicles, you're going to have trouble." I just wish momma had more to say in this darkly-lit, overly broad comedy-horror piece. But mileage varies of course and for those who come out of the Roxie Film Center pumped on paintball, Movieweb has interviewed director Cathcart.

Cross-published on Twitch.

06/09/07 UPDATE: Sara Schieron interviews Blood Car director Alex Orr and his comrades at Reel Girly.

Though he's shifted away from San Francisco to Atlanta, Jay Blodgett is still keeping his finger in the Bay Area pie. Via screeners, he has reviewed nine (count 'em nine) days worth of the Holehead Festival at Life With Movies and Maxxxxx. Methinks he misses us.

ONCE—The SF360 Interview with John Carney, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (and a Personal Aside)

In tandem to my SF360 interview with the creative team of Once, I offer this personal aside:

During the course of my conversation with John Carney, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, I mentioned to Glen that compensation for being a film writer is minor and that the true reward lies in the perks, primarily in meeting the creative agents behind any given film; in the case of Once, Glen Hansard specifically. A couple of years back recovering from a hospitalization and an emotional meltdown, I fled to Paris where—in a moment of divine prescience—I had reserved and paid for an apartment months in advance. I hid out in that apartment raging at the out-of-control forces in my so-called world, licking my wounds and listening to music. One of the albums that soothed me during that stay was Lisa Stansfield's The Moment on which her cover of "Say It To Me Now" spoke to me, spoke for me. Its defiant core of outrage served my state of mind and helped me heal.

So imagine my surprise when in the first few scenes of Once Hansard, the song's creator, belted out a raw angry version via his busker persona. I only knew the song from Stansfield's album so I hadn't made the connection to The Frames or Hansard. "Of course not," Hansard understood, "Who would?" But the perk of being a film writer and talking to you about Once, I explained to him, is that I now get to sit face to face with you to thank you personally for a song that was such a lifeline during a difficult time in my life and that meant so much to me. Hansard was amazed by my connection to his song, turned to Carney and the two of them bantered about how my story confirmed for them something they had just been discussing about the powerful longevity of music and its capacity to reach people over long distances and time.

Aware that "Say It To Me Now" has also been part of Hansard's repertoire for some time, originally recorded on The Frames' second album Fitzcarraldo in fact, I was intrigued by its surfacing in the film all these years later. I asked if he could give me the back story on the song.

"I remember writing the song at the time for my grandmother. My grandmother and my grandfather used to fight continuously. They must have been really deeply in love because they just fought and fought and fought and quite passionately argued all the time. Then my grandmother died and it was one of those strange things where my grandfather just fell apart; but yet you would say they never got on. Do you know what I mean? And yet there must have been all this love. In a way I wrote [the song] for them and, again, just the whole thing about relationships and revenge and the idea that, 'We've split up and you've gone and done the one thing that I would hope you wouldn't have done. You've stuck the knife in and now it's warped.' That's part of the revenge—'Is this what you've waited for? Your chance to even up the score?'—and that's the song. It's in some ways positive; it's like, 'Fuckin' bring it on.' I guess that's what the song says. If you have something to fuckin' say to me, say it now. That's the way I was feeling at the time. 'I can fuckin' take it. I can take the truth but I can't take all the lies.' "


Later that evening I showed up for the screening of Once at the Roxie Film Center where Carney fielded questions from the audience and Glen and Marketa sang a few songs from the film. Imagine my surprise—and delight—when Glen started out their mini-concert by dedicating "Say It To Me Now" to me! Confirming that it's true, then, that for film writers like myself the rewards are in the perks, as well as in the healing.