Saturday, December 16, 2006

PAN'S LABYRINTH—Landmark Embarcadero Q&A With Director Guillermo Del Toro


Graham Leggat, Executive Director of the San Francisco Film Society, introduced Guillermo Del Toro following the Embarcadero Landmark screening of Pan's Labyrinth. As with my interview with him, Del Toro is not a man to censor himself and his comments get into the film in detail so those who are offended by such language or equally by spoilers might best skip this write-up until they've had a chance to see the movie.

To get the ball rolling, Leggat referenced Mark Kermode's interview with Del Toro in the December issue of Sight & Sound, wherein Del Toro talked about Clive Barker, the writer responsible for the Hellraiser series of films, who had written of "a deep place touched only by monsters." In that interview Del Toro went on to speak about how a deep part of him had been touched and transformed by monsters. Leggat asked him to amplify.

Del Toro complied: "In the Barker story ["The Skins of the Fathers"] he actually literally means it because it's a woman who has intercourse with monsters. I love monsters and I think fantasy is the last refuge of spirituality in this time because we have essentially [gone] through the '50s and '60s and '70s, and all the iconoclastic taking down of—rightfully—disgusting institutions; but, anything that was erected after that essentially was or has become as hollow as those institutions. So we took down all the crap and we erected new crap. [Laughter.] We erected every boring, materialistic sort-of-reality t.v. shit to drive us on. I believe that in this age one of the few moments where I can feel like a child and can feel spiritually uplifted is through fantasy. I really believe in monsters in the way that a Baptist would receive Jesus. …Monsters were invented by primitive man to explain—first of all—nature. Then as they became socially more complex they started inventing monsters to talk about the things that scared them about themselves and eventually it's psychological. Monsters have a direct tap into spirituality and consciousness. I feel that I have an intimate, almost religious, contact with fantasy creatures."

Leggat noted that in an anti-fascist fairytale such as Pan's Labyrinth, or even in many of the classic fairy tales, there's a tension between innocence and brutality. Referencing back to the Sight & Sound interview, he noted Del Toro's comment that he can't feel the magic without the brutality of realism. Leggat queried if that was tied up with Del Toro's description of the monster inside?

"The origin of the fairy tale," Del Toro answered, "is an oral tradition. Normally what would happen is cobblers and tailors traveling from town to town would stay at homes and charge a warm bed and a meal and then the whole family would sit around the cobbler or the tailor and they would tell a story, many times about a cobbler and a tailor in a fairy tale. That's why they figure so prominently in fairy tales. They had to entertain the whole family, children and adults, so they talked about contexts that felt alive and contemporary at that time. They talked about famine. They talked about war, pestilence, and they peppered [the stories] with incredibly brutal moments either to entertain the adults or to scare the children shitless [laughter] and into behaving. So there [are] two kinds of fantastic tales: one is extremely repressive, pro-establishment, and tells the children don't go out at night, obey your parents, don't be ambitious, and this kind of thing; and then there is the other one, which is absolutely insane and brutal. But all of them were peppered with really dark, incredibly almost Freudian, elements. I felt that they had been [whitewashed] and sweetened and taken beyond recognition into being Disneyfied, if you would. I wanted to recuperate the brutality because I believe that without a context of horror then the magic is meaningless. If all you're going to have is little elves singing happily all the fucking time…. [Laughter and applause.] The fact is my fantasy has always been absolutely non-liberating. It has helped me deal with the real world but I never imagined myself singing to little bluebirds or chipmunks or stuff like that. The way I see fantasy is not a way to escape reality but to articulate reality. To use those elements to learn your way around the world and I believe that fantasy is a way to create parable, to talk about big truths but in a way not married to outcome, or married to a political outcome, an immediate outcome. Darkness is necessary in those cases to bring forth … this movie, if it worked with you—because a movie, I keep saying, is like a blind date, y'know?—if it worked with you, if it tickled you in the right places, then the movie hopefully transported you to a vulnerable place where you can be a kid again. Now we, as adults, in order to be shocked by the horror like a kid and experience the wonderful like a kid, I have to push your buttons and they're hidden under layers and layers of social fat. I have to push really hard like deep tissue massage…. When I was learning how to be a draftsman and opened one of the early books about how to draw with a pencil, the first thing they set up was that—in order to create the illusion of volume—you need darkness and light and that's exactly what this fable is [about]."

Alluding to Del Toro's infamous refusal to direct The Chronicles of Narnia perhaps for these very reasons, Leggat wondered if Del Toro found the extreme world of anime more compelling than, say, Harry Potter?

"The Narnia thing," Del Toro quickly responded, "is because I'm a lapsed Catholic and I didn't want the fucking lion to resurrect." [Laughter and applause.] "Why bother? Also, I loved the books when I was growing up and at that time I was jerking off behind the altar. Some of the anime I love. A lot of the anime I don't. The Harry Potter movies, for me, the books—which I read before seeing the movies—they were really beautiful books and the first time I saw the first and second movies they were almost so healthy that they looked like a yogurt commercial. They looked so healthy, I thought, 'Is this the same book that had this Charles Dickens orphan living with his relatives?' I didn't really recognize him that much."

Leggat then opened the conversation up to questions from the audience. One young fellow, gracefully acknowledging first Del Toro's Golden Globes nomination and inducing a deserved round of applause, then queried if Takashi Miike was a direct influence on Pan's Labyrinth?


"No," Del Toro denied, and then inquired if the young man meant the scene where Mercedes slashed Vidal's mouth? "They do it in many cultures and in Britain this is called the 'Chelsea smile.' If you're a traitor, they do the Chelsea smile to you. What I wanted … both in Devil's Backbone and in this one there is a moment where the character … I'm very interested in the proto-fascist to look really sleek. This guy [has] shiny boots, beautiful hair, [is] incredibly well-spoken; he's a gentleman, right? He can bash and kill and all that but when his wife leaves the room, he gets up from the chair. I was interested in him starting to look on the outside the way he looks on the inside and the same was true in Devil's Backbone. So I did the half-Chelsea on him because I wanted to prove several things. I needed that shot where he's sewing himself because it's a character moment. That shows you what type of guy this guy is. He shines his own boots. He fixes his own watch. And he sews himself up. This man is unstoppable. He's not going to stop. He's going to keep going. And then I want him to drink the drink, hurt, and what does he do? He pours another one! It's defining the character. It's a moment that's larger than life that turns him into the Big Bad Wolf. The fairy tales needs Little Red Riding Hood and it does need the Big Bad Wolf. That was not Takashi Miike; that was the half-Chelsea smile.

Actually, the young fellow corrected, that wasn't what he had in mind. He was wondering if Miike's Yôkai daisensô / The Great Yokai War (2005) was an influence on Pan's Labyrinth?

Again Del Toro denied a connection. "I love Miike. I saw The Great Yokai War about two months ago because there was going to be a scene in Hellboy 2 originally that had Yokai ghosts, which budget-wise has been eliminated now. Somebody said, 'Oh, you should check Miike's version of the Yokai wars'; but, I didn't see it during the shoot of Pan's Labyrinth. I like his movies. Audition scared the fuck out of me. That moving bag haunted me for ages and the sawing of the foot lives in my memory. I really love his sensibility but he's done so many movies and I've only seen probably 10 of them. So I have—what?—65 to see?"

One young woman wondered about Del Toro's research methodology, what he had read to prepare for this movie, and if there were possible allusions to the Little Mermaid fairytale?


"I've been collecting fairy tales all my life," Del Toro responded, "I have—I don't know—maybe 200 volumes. A few of them are original printings from the Victorian era illustrated by Edmund Dulac, Kay Nielsen, Arthur Rackham and the like. I am actually an avid collector of original art by Kay Nielsen. I've always been interested in reading the compilations and treatises about fairy lore. I've always found them a little dogmatic. It seems like they have a thesis to prove—either a psychosexual or social—and they go by it. I have enjoyed Angela Carter. I have enjoyed Bruno Bettelheim. I have enjoyed everyone. But the one book that became incredibly important in this movie was a book called The Science of Fairytales, which is a late Victorian book that has a prologue by A.A. Milne, the author of Winnie the Pooh. The book is an incredibly [scholastic], incredibly amusing but thorough inventory of how fairytales came to be, how the fantastic tale came to be, in all the cultures, not only Europe. It does a very unprejudiced inventory, sort of the way Joseph Campbell does it later in his books but far more open, far more light. I encourage you to seek it and you know what? If you can Google it, you can download it, because it's free to print on the Internet. I always browse in used book stores and I get nose and ear infections. I found the book and I bought it and I read it and then I found it on the Internet. It's a beautiful book. There is another book that I love that, for example, Mike Mignola also uses a lot in his comic books called Passport to the Supernatural by Bernhardt J. Hurwood. Those two books have a similar spirit in that, after reading them, you want to read everything that was [quoted]. Hurwood quotes everything from oral tradition, Plotinius' writings, he quotes a great 17th century book by Don Augustin Camlet about vampirism that talks about microscopic vampires and all [those] kind of things. The movie quotes everything because I wanted to have the story feel like an ancient fairy tale. It has homages to Wizard of Oz with the red shoes. I quoted exactly the Alice in Wonderland dress. I quoted C.S. Lewis—without the lion resurrection. I quoted Hans Christian Anderson also in the spirit. Anderson and [Oscar] Wilde have a really incredibly strange and moving sort of S&M thing going on. I'm not exactly able to pinpoint it but it's disturbing and moving and spiritual and, rather than try to explain it, I love it and assimilate it. Hans Christian Anderson was also whipping himself into submission for his desires—Wilde was a little more free—and what I think is the idea of sacrifice comes from him. I actually quote verbatim Charles Dickens' David Copperfield when the stepfather says, 'It's the other hand, Ofelia', which I think is chapter 3 of David Copperfield when he meets his step-father the first time. At the end her seeing this wonderful world is an exact quote of "Little Matchbook Girl" by Hans Christian Anderson and so on and so forth." Del Toro repeated the title of the two main literary influences on the film: The Science of Fairy Tales and Passport to the Supernatural. "I recommend like Oprah," he grinned, which roused a rush of laughter from his audience.

Another fellow noted that Del Toro is one of the only directors who actually shows children dying. In Mimic Del Toro actually shows the children being killed, though in Pan's Labyrinth he pulled back a bit and didn't actually show Ofelia's murder.

"No, actually I show the shooting," Del Toro qualified. "The violence in the movie is deliberately dosified and calculated. I was in favor of the structure of the movie. We live in a completely hypocritical world where we can bombard entire cities [but hurting children—in concept—is taboo]. We can eat the meat but we can't kill the cow. We don't mind the fucking package in the supermarket but we would be unable to kill the cow. It's the same in the world. We are raising these antiseptic fucking little brats to feel nothing, to shield them from pain, to shield them from imperfection, shield them from anything, and they grow up to be 35 year olds with the mind and the spiritual potency of a four-year-old kid. I find a movie like Free Willy much more obscene where they tell you, 'Oh, if you swim next to a fucking killer whale, he's going to be your friend. He won't chew your fucking legs and spit your intestines out.' [Laughter.] I find that kids are far more intelligent, far more sophisticated, than we give them credit for. We are brutal with children in the real world, allow brutality to exist towards children by the church, by society, by everything, but we shield them in the stories. I find that impossible to conceal. The way we treat them, the way we have laid out the world is so fucked up. We pass our hang-ups. We pass the crap from generation to generation but we want to make the fiction clean. The most truly liberating aspects are the ones that we overprotect. We can bomb the fuck out of Iraq but we won't tell our children about Winnie the Pooh bleeding. It's insane to me. Children in fiction—especially adult fiction—they're just another character in the same way that [on] my set a child actor is just another actor. I don't come in and say [coddling], 'Listen, my darling, that is a rubber man." I take them through the steps and, like another actor, with respect.

"There was a scientist in the mid 20th century, a brilliant crazy guy who actually invented ice ships for Churchill for World War II (and they were working). He was very interested in education. He said something brilliant. He said, 'Children should be treated like ambassadors from a more advanced culture who are here to teach us things instead of us trying to teach them our pathetic, stupid way of seeing the world.' I think it's hypocritical to do this. If I were doing a movie for 8-year olds and all of a sudden cut the throat of the two main children, I would say, 'Well, I'm as sick as fuck.' But this is for adults. So it's fine."

The same fellow had a follow-up question regarding Del Toro's brave depiction of the Faun as ambiguously evil, redeemed by film's end.


"The Faun is more ancient than Western culture," Del Toro reminded. "The Faun is not a trickster as Campbell would pose it. The Faun is definitely a neutral character. He was a benign faun. 'Pan' is only in English. [The original film title is El Laberinto del Fauno, The Faun's Labyrinth.] If he was Pan the girl would be in deep shit. [Laughter.] Believe me, that girl would be walking sideways by the time Pan would be done with her. No, he's a faun. The Faun, in its original conception, is a character that is neutral. He cares for the woods but he can destroy it, he can kill. It's a character that is neutral in that sense, like nature. The idea was that this character is there just to guide her through the process. He doesn't have an investment [in] the outcome of the tests. One of the things I tried to do with him is the more the tests advance, the younger and more beautiful he becomes. Towards the end he's actually—the way I was directing him, I was telling him—he's like a glam rock star. As a director I told him, 'You have to move differently, be more sensual, be more beautiful, because it was important for me that [Ofelia] rejects him, not only when he looks bad, but when he looks the best she also says no. [She's] going to follow [her] gut. The three tests are a decoy. The real test is how she goes through them. If at the end the last test is supposedly, 'Give me the baby', if she turns the baby in that's not passing the test. If you notice in the movie one of the things I tried to do is the Faun is played by the same guy who plays the Pale Man because to me its two incarnations of the same character putting her through paces to see how she will react and seeing if she will learn from her disobedience and not lose the capability to disobey what she feels is wrong. Meaning she can disobey and it's great but then again at the end she's not intimidated by her mistake. She still disobeys the Faun [when he says], 'Give me the baby.' If you notice, the two fairies who are the Red and the Blue that are eaten by the Pale Man in the banquet hall, they come back at the end and circle around her so they were never really eaten."

Asked if the fascist character—though sleek and great looking—exhibits self-hatred through the nuance of cutting his own throat in the mirror when he's shaving, Del Toro confirmed that was his intent. "When you create fascists, when you create characters, these are not by any means intended to be Dostoevskian three-dimensional fully-fledged psychological portraits. These are types. These are characters that I hope are great but they are type characters. You cannot nuance both the story and fuck up with the story and fuck up with the characters; you're taking two legs out of a chair. Something's going to fall. I like to screw up with one leg and keep the others firmly planted in the genre or in the tradition. [Capítan Vidal], what I was thinking of him, is it's a character that the only thing he needs to have is flaws and reasons to be the way he is. Now this is a guy who was raised by a general. Whose only legacy is a broken watch to tell him, 'You're going to be like me. Tell my son how a man dies.' You can imagine the educational process of that father. It's not exactly fantastic and the guy even lies about his father's watch, that's how intimidated and how bad he feels about his own career, which is he's a captain in the military police hunting ragtag guerilla bands in the mountains while his father was a legendary general. This guy hates himself more than he hates anybody else. To me the fascist creates a whole legend, a whole construction, through his legacy because he's worried about leaving a memory that will live forever. It's his legacy and his construction that are fragile. On the other hand, the girl who is not worried about anything really leaves a legacy and lives forever in my mind in the movie. Kierkegaard said the reign of the tyrant ends with his death; the reign of the martyr starts with his. [This is] the difference. Look at the way the two characters physically die. The girl dies after going exactly to the place she wants to go, in her heart, and for me that's real. The captain, the last thing they tell him is, 'He'll never know your name' and he's completely destroyed. Everything that he believed in was that fragile. These people are like that. They live in another world. When you live in Spain long enough and, trust me, there's still a shitload of right wingers in Spain that miss Franco, they wish the Generalisimo would come back! These guys believe what he did. [Vidal] says, 'I want a new, clean Spain for my child to be born in." He really is doing these things [he perceives] to inhuman people. The Marquis de Sade used to say, 'I can understand the crime of passion. I can understand somebody murdering somebody in the heat of the emotion. But what I cannot understand, and what I cannot condone, is murder for ideas and laws. That someone can coldly, calculatedly, say that this law or this idea allows me to kill you.' This is what happens when you dehumanize somebody. When that guy becomes a Black guy, a Jew, a Muslim, whatever idea you want that allows you to kill him, you are relinquishing your own decision. You are relinquishing your own choice. You're making it impersonal. [The fascists] do that, killing [others] 'for the good of Spain.' When I was [on] the radio in Spain with this movie a guy called and said, 'Why do the fascists always have to be the bad guys in the civil war movies?' [Laughter.] I said to the guy, 'Listen, Sir, where I come from the word fascist has pretty bad connotations but if you know of any charming fascists and would like to bring them to the radio, please feel free to do it.'

"Everything in the movie tries to do parallels with things in the real world. There are two keys; one in the fantasy world, one in the real world. There are two daggers; the dagger that she hides and the dagger that she [finds]. The geometry of the dining room of the Pale Man and the geometry of the dining room of the captain are exactly the same. My idea is that these things are things that the girl catches on the fly and uses them to construct her imagination. And that is me. The Pale Man is the church. He has the stigmata. He puts the eyes in there. He devours children. [Laughter.] I was in Jesuit school. I'm not going to be a forgiving man. But the idea is these are things that feed into the angst of the girl and she's building her own little world with that or coding it like that. By the way, most of the violence in the movie is either based on oral accounts that I have read on things that happened during the civil war. In the case, for example, of the dialogue of the priest where he says God [cares little] about their bodies, he has already saved their souls. That's verbatim what a priest used to say in a concentration camp for Republicans when he brought communion. He used to say, 'Confess, my children, because God doesn't care about your bodies; he's already saved your souls.' And if that's not a motherfucker, I don't know what is. [Laughter.]"


An elderly gentleman asked Del Toro what inspired the character's name Ofelia?

Del Toro responded, "Ofelia is such a beautiful name for a tragic heroine. It may be too high-falutin' the idea that—like in Hamlet—she's an innocent heroine manipulated by so many factions and ultimately meeting a tragic end. Of course [Ofelia] doesn't die in the water but I love the idea of someone who is ultimately innocent [where] nefarious things are happening. Ofelia is a girl that is being told—like we are all told at a certain age—how to behave and what is expected of her. What dress she should wear. How she should behave like a lady. What she should do to regain her kingdom, and so forth. All these things in this case she's strong enough in her will to disregard."

One Hellboy fan complimented Del Toro for his expert comic adaptation. He wanted to know what fans could expect from Hellboy 2?

"I love comic books," Del Toro admitted, "and I grew up in a household where I was reading. My father was a middle class guy and one of the first things he did when he came into money was—he heard it was prestigious to have a library—so he went and bought four encyclopedias. Just by the way they looked, frankly. He bought one that was a Family Health encyclopedia where I learned the word 'fallopian tubes' [laughter]. The other one was an encyclopedia of art, which I read also entirely and so forth. But other than for those books that my father had, another was an anthology of world literature for young readers where I discovered my first Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens, Victor Hugo, all those in there. At the same time I was reading those things in my father's incredibly abundant library, I was discovering comic books. To me Degas, Renoir, Monet, Manet, Gaugin, Edvard Munch are in equal value as Bernie Wrightson, Richard Corbin, Arthur Suydam, Jack Kirby, I didn't care. I just felt they were equally powerful. When people say, 'We see that you do your personal films and then you do the American movies' I say, 'No. To me Hellboy's personal.' It's autobiographical, frankly. He's born the same day I was born. He was born October 9, 1944 and I was born October 9, 1964. Many details of [Hellboy's] courtship with Liz, are details in the courtship with my wife. I believe that the ideal love story is finding a fire girl and being fire proof. The idea, like in Pan's Labyrinth, at the end of the day the fable is about choice. How you are who you choose to become. Not who you are born like or where you are born. I was born in a small city in Mexico where it was impossible to make films let alone fantastic films. When I got up in my first day of screenwriting class and I declared I wanted to do fantastic movies, I became immediately the town idiot. I believe that with will and hard work you end up bending the world a little bit to live in it. If the first [Hellboy] was the love story, [Hellboy 2] is the first year of marriage. What happens after they kiss fantastically and they live [happily] ever after? Somebody has to wash the socks and take the garbage out. Then it's all wrapped in an adventure about the real world destroying fantasy. How we have absolutely prostituted and ground it into the ground, destroyed fantasy, to build malls and highways. That's the story. The fantasy creatures rebel against the human and Hellboy has to choose which side he's [on]."

A woman complimented Del Toro on showing the scariness of the fairy people, that he didn't clean it up, that Ofelia fucked up but accepted her mistakes and moved on. She was impressed by Ofelia's bravery. That she went into the labyrinth without any fear. The woman said she was engaged by the dark beauty of the film all the way.

Del Toro thanked her and added, "The movie is autobiographical. I explored my entire home town through the sewers. [Laughter.] I went with two or three friends with flashlights and—over the course of three years—we crisscrossed the town through the sewers. I was never afraid. I saw monsters when I was a child. They were probably lucid dreams but I saw creatures. I believed they were real. I was in the Society for the Virgin Mary and we used to do oratory contests in the catacombs of a Catholic church in Mexico, which is equal to having a pyramid built in the center of San Francisco, a Catholic church that had catacombs, and we used to go there, praise the Virgin Mary, and when the priest would turn around we would open the crypts to see if there were bones in them. I was never really afraid. I was curious more than afraid and I think that children are like that. It's curiousity. The Celtic culture I wanted to take through Spain because they are rich and powerful as a culture and as a mythology before moving off to the northern lands. It's seldom used in Spanish films."

Del Toro then thanked everyone for coming and asked that, if we loved the movie as much as he hoped we did, to please—because it's a small movie—go out to the rooftops and shout it out to the world.

Cross-published at Twitch.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

PAN'S LABYRINTH (2006)—The Evening Class Interview With Guillermo Del Toro

I may have been too hasty choosing my 10 favorite interviews of 2006. Meeting Guillermo Del Toro at the Ritz Carlton for a brief chat about his latest film Pan's Labyrinth has rendered that list obsolete. Without question, Del Toro has been one of the individuals I have most wanted to talk with all year. I didn't have access at Toronto and wasn't able to attend San Diego's Comicon as originally planned and so the opportunity to hook up today felt very much like a gift for the holiday season. Guillermo is friendly, down-to-earth and charmingly cusses a blue streak. Not for the prudish nor the spoiler-wary.

* * *

Michael Guillén: First and foremost, congratulations on winning the San Francisco Film Critics Circle award for Best Foreign Language film earlier this week.

Guillermo Del Toro: I love it.

Guillén: As well as comparable accolades and nominations across the board, including the recently-announced Golden Globe nomination for Best Foreign Language Film.

Del Toro: It's just fantastic.

MG: …and well-deserved. Pan's Labyrinth is certainly my favorite movie of the year.

Del Toro: Fuckin' A!

Guillén: Foreign-language, whatever, it is my favorite movie of the year; a truly visionary piece.

Del Toro: Thank you.

Guillén: I first saw Pan's Labyrinth at the Elgin Theater during the Toronto International where you and Ivana Baquero introduced the film, then again here in San Francisco, and will be seeing it again this evening at the San Francisco Film Society screening.

Del Toro: You're going to see it again tonight?

Guillén: Yes.

Del Toro: That's great. Because I think one of the things the movie has, hopefully, is every time you see it there's little details that surface.

Guillén: That's what I've noticed so far; it's rich in detail. Pan's Labyrinth is textured with redemptive transgression. Can you speak to why doing the wrong thing ends up being so right?

Del Toro: I love the way you put it. There's a song by Rufus Wainwright—"Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk" it's called, I think—and it says, "Why is it that everything I like is a little bad for me?" Instinct will guide you more than intellect towards what's right for you and actually more naturally right. Disobedience is one of the strongest signals of your conscience of what is right and what is wrong. When you disobey in an intelligent way, you disobey in a natural way, it turns out to be more beneficial than blind obedience. Blind obedience castrates, negates, hides, and destroys what makes us human. On the other hand, instinct and disobedience will always point you in a direction that should be natural, should be organic to the world. So I think that disobedience is a virtue and blind obedience is a sin.

Guillén: Why do you eroticize cruelty? Your villains are thrillingly virile. First, Eduardo Noriega in The Devil's Backbone; now, Sergi López in Pan's Labyrinth. You've made it near to impossible for me—a queer-identified male—to trust a handsome stud! [Guillermo laughs.] At the least you have revealed to me that—if I'm going to go out on the town tonight—I really would rather leave Dr. Jekyll in the lab and go out with fucking Mr. Hyde. [Guillermo laughs again.]

Del Toro: Well, it's the revenge of the guy who grew up being a chubby, not-very-attractive guy. That's the revenge of the nerd. One of the dangers of fascism and one of the dangers of true evil in our world—which I believe exists—is that it's very attractive. That it is incredibly attractive in a way that most people negate. Most people make their villains ugly and nasty and I think, no, fascism has a whole concept of design, and a whole concept of uniforms and set design that made it attractive to the weak-willed. I tried to make Sergi López like all politicians that are truly evil—well-dressed, well-groomed, well-spoken, gets up from his chair when a lady enters the room, gets up from his chair when a lady leaves the room. I'd much rather be with a slob that is cool. It's very rarely that when somebody is that worried about the outward appearance, there's something truly truly wrong within. The opposite is often true. When people aren't comfortable just being in their normal level, just being—I don't have a cool pair of shoes, I don't have a cool pair of pants, but I'm all right—that's actually a sign of comfort, that something's at peace within. Extremes are incredibly powerful in cinema and the fact that this 11-year-old girl is much more comfortable in her skin than this fascist that hates himself so much that he slits his own throat in the mirror and negates his father's watch and does these crazy things, that gives the girl power and gives the other guy the illusion of power and the choice of cruelty. Choice is key in what we are. You choose to be destructive or you choose to be all encompassing and love-giving. Each choice defines who we are, no matter what the reason behind it is, because everybody values the reason behind the act, or the idea behind the act more than the reason. The idea behind the act, they value it more than the act these days.

Guillén: The contrast between the two is profound in this film. In your fantastic Guardian interview with Mark Kermode you contrasted the curvilinear, uterine design and the fallopian color palette of Ofelia's fantasy world against the colorless right angles of the fascist world. That comment reminded me of the Austrian painter Hundertwasser who has a line I've long loved: "The straight line is godless."

Del Toro: I agree. What a great line! Who said that?

Guillén: Hundertwasser.

Del Toro: Oh fuck. Can you write it down for me?

Guillén: Sure.

Del Toro: Thank you. The straight lines are an obsession with perfection and perfection is unattainable. Perfection is a conceit. Perfection actually lies in fully loving the defect. I think that's perfection. It's like what the guy says in Hellboy, he says, "We like people for their qualities; we love them for their defects." It's true in life. It's the same. I remember that one of the first reactions that the critics had to Edvard Munch's paintings was that they were technically flawed and "ugly to look at." They were saying, "He not only is a bad painter, he chooses to paint only disgusting subjects." And you go, "What the hell are you talking about?" Humanity is like that. Humanity should be flawed and imperfect and fucked up and loved because of that, not in spite of that, because of that. I remember also the Marquis de Sade who used to say a beautiful line; he said, "I understand murder for passion." He said, "I not only understand it, but I condone it. What I don't understand is murder for an idea. Or for a law. That is perverse." To kill somebody because he broke an idea or he broke a law? I agree with him. When we send somebody to the electric chair because he killed one person but we give a purple heart to somebody because he killed dozens for the "right" idea—patriotism, liberty, democracy, whatever the fuck you want to invent—I find it completely perverse.

Guillén: It borders on the insane. All of your previous films have a fairly prevalent and overt use of Catholic imagery, but Pan's Labyrinth almost completely avoids it, and yet your friend Iñarrítu said this is probably your most Catholic film.

Del Toro: He said that, yes.

Guillén: Is the omission of visible Catholic detail just a coincidence? Or was the church's position and sympathies with the Francoists during the civil war something you considered as you planned out the symbolic strategy of the film?

Del Toro: When I was researching the movie The Devil's Backbone, I found the absolutely horrifying—not only complicity—but participation of the Church in the entire fascist movement in Spain. The words that the priest speaks at the table in Pan's Labyrinth are taken verbatim from a speech a priest used to give to the Republican prisoners in a fascist concentration camp. He would come to give them communion and he would say before he left, "Remember, my sons, you should confess what you know because God doesn't care what happens to your bodies; he already saved your souls." This is taken verbatim from that speech. The Pale Man represents the Church for me, y'know? He represents fascism and the Church eating the children when they have a perversely abundant banquet in front of them. There is almost a hunger to eat innocence. A hunger to eat purity. I didn't want to avoid it, but I did not seek Catholic imagery. Nevertheless, I understand that redemption by blood and the rebirth by sacrifice is a Catholic conceit. So I accept it without any problems because I think that sexuality and religion come from your imprint in an early age. Whatever arouses your spirit or arouses your body at an early age, that's what is going to arouse it the rest of your life. Everything will be subordinate to that. It's a personal choice and it's a personal experience. I don't shame myself about being a lapsed Catholic and so if that cosmology appears in my movies, I'm fine with it.

Guillén: When I was a student of the mythologist Joseph Campbell, he taught me that it was—in some ways—inappropriate the way kids in the '60s went gaga over Eastern mysticism. They could learn from it. They could enjoy it. But it wasn't really their path no matter how much they wanted it to be and they would always deep down at heart be Christians needing to resolve spiritual issues in a Christian way. Their template—or as you say imprint—had been set.

Del Toro: They will always be a Western man looking at the East. Where your feet stand does not limit your gaze but it does limit what perspective you judge it from.

Guillén: Your orientation.

Del Toro: I can read all the fucking books about Taoism I want; I'll still be a Catholic boy reading them. There's no way of avoiding that.

Guillén: Another thematic image that I kept picking up from Pan's Labyrinth involves the relationship between Ofelia and Mercedes. First, you have the stelae in the middle of the labyrinth with the sculpted image of the faun/father, the girl and the baby; then you have Ofelia holding her baby brother; then Ofelia is killed and you have Mercedes holding Ofelia's baby brother. These three images were equivalent for me and served as symbolic substitutes for each other, insinuating a parallel structure between Ofelia and Mercedes. Moreso than between Ofelia and her mother.

Del Toro: You're absofuckinglutely right!! I'm amazed and happy. You win the prize. You're the only fucking guy that has noticed that! I thank you very much. The idea for me is that you're born with a mother and then you find another on the way. You are born with a brother and you find another one on your way. You fabricate your family as you grow up. Mercedes is the future of Ofelia if Ofelia chose to stop believing. Ofelia asks Mercedes, "Do you believe in fairies?" And Mercedes says, "I used to when I was a child. I used to believe many things that I don't believe in any more." That's why the attraction is so strong. They see each other in each other. They see their strength. Mercedes loves the purity of this girl and Ofelia instinctively knows the nature of this woman. They form a mother and daughter bond. That's why it's so tragic for me that Mercedes cries for Ofelia at the end because for Mercedes the girl died but we know she didn't. That is very Catholic. Ofelia is in a better place within herself. She may objectively cease to exist but this is where I think the epilog of the movie is incredibly important and moving. If you die and your legacy is one little flower blooming in a dry tree, that's enough of a legacy for me. And that's a magical legacy. If she had not done the things she did, the tree would have never bloomed, but, because she did them, there is a little flower blooming. On the other hand, she dies at peace. She dies at peace with what she did. She's the only character in the film who decides not to enact any violence. Not to take any lives. Even the doctor takes a life. But the only one who chooses "I will not take any life because I own only mine", that's the character that survives, spiritually. The fascist dies the loneliest death you could ever experience and the girl … [I'm reminded] of the quote by Kierkegaard that said, "The tyrant's rule ends with his death. The martyr's rule begins with it." It is the legacy—no matter how small it is—that makes Ofelia survive that episode. The movie is like a Rorschach test where, if you view it and you don't believe, you'll view the movie as, "Oh, it was all in her head." If you view it as a believer, you'll see clearly where I stand, which is it is real. My last image in the movie is an objective little white flower blooming in a dead tree with the bug watching it. So….

Guillén: I'm glad to hear you say that. This is the dispute going on among people who have seen your film. Was Ofelia in her fantasy world? Was it a real world? I keep saying such questions pose a false dichotomy.

Del Toro: Yes, of course. And it's intimate. If the movie works as a piece of storytelling, as a piece of artistic creation, it should tell something different to everyone. It should be a matter of personal discussion. Now objectively, the way I structured it, there are three clues in the movie that tell you where I stand. I stand in that it's real. The most important clues are the flower at the end, and the fact that there's no way other than the chalk door to get from the attic to the Captain's office.

Guillén: Yes, and again referring back to the dynamic of their dyad, Mercedes notices the chalk door; they aren't just in Ofelia's imagination.

Del Toro: Objectively, those two clues tell you it's real. The third clue is she's running away from her stepfather, she reaches a dead end, by the time he shows up she's not there. Because the walls open for her. So sorry, there are clues that tell you where I stand and I stand by the fantasy. Those are objective things if you want. The film is a Rorschach test of where people stand.

Guillén: In your interview with Will Lawrence for The Telegraph you stated: "There is a moment in everyone's life when they have the chance to be immortal, not literally, but like at the moment they don't give a fuck about death—then they're immortal." Could you talk a little more about that? I thought that was a fascinating comment.

Del Toro: Here's the deal. My father was kidnapped in 1997. He was objectively kept hostage for 72 days, right? The first day you think you're going to die. The second day you're absolutely certain you won't survive. The third day you cry at the drop of a hat because you think this is hell and this and that. And then there comes a point in which you realize that you are made prisoner along with him. You are also a hostage of the hostage situation. There is a moment in which you have to will yourself to be free because you are. You say, "If it is true that he is a prisoner, it is also true I am not." There's a moment where you start functioning again. You have to will it.

People think that when they talk about immortality, they talk about immortality in the most pejorative terms. A guy who lives 180 years or 1000 years, that's immortality? It isn't. It's physically impossible. I don't believe in it. But I believe in a form of immortality which is: if you think of your life as a long laundry list of things to do, which is I have to wipe my ass, brush my teeth, change my clothes, get laid, experience oral sex, all this stuff, you have to do it. You have to go through your check list, right? One of them, it says: dying. Why should one of them be more important than the rest? The moment it ceases to be important—your death, not other people's death; I really have a tough time with somebody dying because of the love I feel for them—but in my personal life dying is as unimportant as changing my shoes and my socks or brushing my teeth. It's just another thing I have to do. It's part of the laundry list. So at that moment you become somewhat immortal, which means you're immune to death. That is in Pan's Labyrinth actually. If people watch it carefully, the precise wording of the faun's words to the girl is: "You have to pass three tests before the full moon shines in the sky. We have to make sure that your spirit is intact and not become mortal." That's the real purpose of the tests. It's not if she gets the dagger and she gets the key, those are the mechanics of the test, mechanics which she can then proceed to fault. She can flunk the tests. The mechanics of the test she succeeds in. She believes in herself. She does what she thinks is right. She fucks up here and there but—when the real test come, when she is cornered with no other options but to either kill or give her own life—she chooses to put her own life at risk rather than the kid's. That's a real test. That's what makes her immortal. That's what makes her that she has not become a mortal. So in the movie all the tests are a misdirection and you actually go back and watch the movie and realize that my thesis is that the Faun is the Pale Man in another guise. He's the trickster in another guise. So is the Faun. And the proof of that in the movie is that at the end when she goes and rejoins her father and her mother and the baby in the other world, the fairies that the Pale Man ate are all around her. The same fairies. I coded them in three colors—green, blue and red—so when they reappear you could know, "Oh, those are the green, blue and red fairies."

Guillén: I'll watch for that tonight.

Del Toro: Watch for it tonight! The great thing about the movie, the beauty about the movie is that you can watch it many many times and every time you'll find a new little layer and a new little detail.

Guillén: Well, I wish I had the chance for multiple interviews like I've had the chance for multiple viewings of Pan's Labyrinth. But I need to wrap up. Thank you so much.

Del Toro: Thank you. It's been a pleasure.

Cross-posted at Twitch. My thanks to Todd Brown at Twitch and David Lowery at Drifting for their suggested queries.

12/20/06 UPDATE: SF Bay Guardian's Johnny Ray Huston understands that "children mean resistance" in Del Toro's films and, in an insightful comparison to Bong Joon-Ho's The Host, notes: "Both Bong and Del Toro measure the sins of the world against a girl's heroism, and while they've learned about the power of spectacle from Steven Spielberg, they haven't swallowed his saccharine formulas—or pursued his nationalist and reactionary political tendencies."

12/30/06 UPDATE: Sara Schieron's Bay Guardian interview with Del Toro covers eggs, ghost sightings, lucid dreaming, Catholicism, the "supranatural," uterine imagery and more.

01/01/07 UPDATE: Dave Hudson does a masterful job of updating the critical response at The Greencine Daily. Also, Del Toro, Iñarrítu and Cuaron on Charlie Rose via Twitch.

02/21/07 UPDATE: The condensed (and censored) version of this interview published by Entertainment Today has gone up on line.

02/23/07 UPDATE: I'm beginning to wonder if there's anyone who hasn't interviewed Guillermo del Toro? Or more importantly, if he will ever exhaust the wealth of stories that he seems to possess? Part one of Canfield's recent interview at Twitch is of particular note because of its mention of a book that Guillermo wrote on Alfred Hitchcock, allegedly published in Spanish by the University of Guadalajara Press, and never translated into English. I would love to read what he says about Hitch!

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

ASIA SHOCK—Codys-San Francisco Bookstore Appearance By Author Patrick Galloway


Patrick Galloway, author of the Stonebridge Press Stray Dogs & Lone Wolves: The Samurai Film Handbook, has followed up that celebration of Japan's unique samurai genre with his next Stonebridge publication Asia Shock: Horror and Dark Cinema from Japan, Korea, Hong Kong, & Thailand, wherein he takes on Asian masters of suspense, the supernatural, exploitation, and good old, bone-chilling, blood-curdling fear! Galloway's adventures into the world of dark cinema will delight newbies and devotees alike. He offers viewing tips, genre/cultural overviews, extensive reviews, highlights, and screenshots, covering everything from Nakagawa's classic Ghost of Yotsuya to Oldboy, Pulse, and Another Heaven.

I'm in the middle of reading this entertaining and informative page-turner and wanted to shout out that Patrick will be reading from Asia Shock and presenting a series of film clips this coming Friday, December 15, 7:00 p.m. at Cody's Bookstore in San Francisco, 2 Stockton Street at Market (415-773-0444). For those of you foolish enough to miss this welcome event, I will be there to capture the Q&A and to interview Patrick afterwards. Stay tuned!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

SFFCC AWARDS


My thanks to Dierdre Kennedy at Terry Hines & Associates for forwarding this press release:

The San Francisco Film Critics Circle has named Todd Fields’ emotionally astute Little Children as its Best Picture of 2006, the group announced Monday. Best director honors went to Paul Greengrass, who touched a dramatic nerve in his trenchant study of lost innocence in the uncompromising United 93.

The group, which includes twenty-three film critics from around the Bay Area, also picked Borat star Sacha Baron Cohen as Best Actor for his uproarious portrayal as an impulsive Kazakhstani reporter crossing the U.S. in search of the pulse of mainstream America.

Best Actress honors went to Helen Mirren for her spot-on turn as the stoic Queen Elizabeth II, the contemporary royal for whom a stiff upper lip is the order of the day.

Jackie Earle Haley won Best Supporting Actor for his role in Little Children as conflicted pedophile Ronald James McGorvey. Babel star Adriana Barraza was named Best Supporting Actress for her poignant portrayal of a Mexican nanny caught between a rock and a hard spot.

Best Original Screenplay honors went to Rian Johnson’s richly-textured Brick while Best Adapted Screenplay was awarded to Todd Field and Tom Perrotta’s prickly Little Children.

Best Documentary was awarded to Davis Guggenheim’s An Inconvenient Truth in which Al Gore strikes a pose in his quest to profile the frightening state of global warming and the harsh reality of Earth’s questionable future. Best Foreign Language Film honors went to Guillermo del Toro’s brutal yet fanciful Pan’s Labyrinth.

A Special Citation honoring the late member Arthur Lazere went to the Romanian tragicomedy The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, a heartbreaking tale of biological betrayal and healthcare system indifference.

The group’s Marlon Riggs Award, honoring a Bay Area filmmaker or individual who represents courage and innovation in the world of cinema, was awarded to Stephen Salmons, co-founder and artistic director of the S.F. Silent Film Festival, for recognizing a neglected audience for silent movies and creating what is now, in its 11th year, the nation's largest annual silent-cinema showcase.

More from Susan Gerhard at SF360.

Monday, December 11, 2006

SNLYPTO

Andy Horbal over at No More Marriages! has me adding -lypto onto everything! Which is my way of entitling Saturday Night Live's movie trailer recut for Apocalypto, accessible on YouTube. Funnylypto!

REEL TALK—The Evening Class Interview With Alison Bailes


Alison Bailes was born in the United Kingdom and grew up in Ascot, Berkshire. She attended Oxford University where she got a BA degree in French and German Literature. At Oxford, she also received a half-blue in rowing. Since moving to the United States in 1989, Alison has worked at a number of TV stations, always focusing on the film world.

She started out at CNN working for their daily entertainment news show Showbiz Today. Then she worked for Ha!—one of the original comedy channels—for a brief period as a fact-checker on a game show. In 1990 she moved to VH1, where she went from associate producer to senior producer of the weekly film magazine show Flix. In 1996 Alison started At The Angelika for IFC. Besides writing and producing this program, she also served as host. This became At The IFC Center when IFC took over the former Waverly Cinema in the West Village. At The IFC Center was a monthly look at the independent film scene with interviews with actors and directors. Since July 2006, Alison has been co-hosting a Saturday morning talk show with Jeffrey Lyons called Reel Talk for NBC.

Alison also attends and reports from the major film festivals around the world. She does live hosting of the Cannes Film Festival in France as well as reporting from the Sundance, South By Southwest, LA and NY film festivals.

* * *

Michael Guillén: Alison, you received a B.A. in French and German literature from Oxford. What precipitated the shift from literature to film coverage?

Alsion Bailes: There's not much you can do with a B.A. in foreign language, frankly. I was always a film fan. I found myself living in the States and I just wanted to get into … y'know, just sort of my hobby versus my school career, I guess. I always loved films.

MG: Why, when you decided to cover film, did you elect to go on-air rather than in print?

Bailes: Well, I didn't. I started off as a t.v. producer. I was covering films. I worked for six years at VH1 producing a show they had there called Flix, which was a movie preview show. It wasn't really a review show. We did interviews. It was more of just a preview of upcoming films. I produced that for about six years and then I realized that I really wasn't so interested in Hollywood films so I got the job at IFC. We were looking for a host for that show, which I was to produce, and by one of those long stories I ended up hosting that show.

MG: What are the essential distinctions between on-air and print? Can you identify any distinguishing factors?

Bailes: I suppose it depends on the publication, but I think in print, obviously, you get a little bit more respect. There's reasons for that. When you write for television, we never have a lot of time so you have to reduce everything to concise—sometimes glossing over things—that's my problem with t.v.; I feel we never have enough time to get into the nuts and bolts of the film, why certain things work, why others [don't]. What I'm told is that when people turn on television and they see a reviewer, they just want to know thumbs up or thumbs down. They just want to know good-bad, should they go or shouldn't they go, and I'm not sure that there's so much interest in the nuances of a film. My problem is often that I've seen a film but it's not a great film; but, you can't say that. People want to just know if they should go see it or not. I think that's really the problem on t.v. You're forced to do everything in a short amount of time, make it simple, and get the message across. You can't afford to dwell on the intricacies of a film.

MG: So you're forced to play the consumer advocate and help people decide whether to put their money down on a film or not?

Bailes: Yeah, I think so. You hope that people will find your opinions valid enough that they just want to know if you liked it or not rather than whether the film had good performances but a weak script or something. People often just don't care about that. We're told that a lot. Like on the show I do now with Jeffrey Lyons, we don't have a rating system and I think people would rather we did so they wouldn't have to sit and listen to us! [Laughs.] They'd rather just know if we've given it four stars or two thumbs up or what have you.

MG: Admittedly, one of the reasons I'm intrigued by all this is I've been offered an opportunity to do on-air film reviewing and your expressed reservations are exactly why I'm ambivalent about accepting that offer.

Bailes: The critic that I most respect and admire is A.O. Scott who writes in the New York Times. I often read his reviews after we've done our t.v. bit on movies and I often agree with him but I also often feel that he manages to get across all the points that I didn't have time for or I forgot to say. Because when you do it on t.v., we really don't have a lot of time. We just do it once through and as long as no one really messes up, that's it. We do it once. It's done. It's not like we rehearse it over and over until we have it pitch perfect.

MG: That was one of the questions I was going to ask you, is how much rehearsal goes into the pieces? Do you screen questions with your guests beforehand so they have a sense of how the interview will run?

Bailes: No. Occasionally you'll meet someone who wants to approve the questions beforehand. That happened with Sacha Baron Cohen for Borat, you have to submit questions for him. But no, no, no, you never do that, with interviews no, you just go for it.

MG: That's interesting about Sacha. I'm a contributing writer to a Toronto-based film site called Twitch and earlier this year at the Toronto International Film Festival where Sacha made an appearance with the screening of Borat, there had been some talk about the Twitch writers being plants in the audience to ask Sacha (as Borat) pre-written questions. It ended up not happening but it was an interesting proposal.

Bailes: Well, Borat is an act, so that makes sense that he would want to rehearse stuff.

MG: In terms of choosing the movies that you review, how did that work at IFC and how does it work now at Reel Talk with Jeffrey Lyons? Do you and Jeffrey have pow wows to decide what to cover?

Bailes: With Jeffrey Lyons it's a weekly show and there's probably—I don't know—between six and ten movies that open every week and that's like between the big ones and the obscure indies. So we do six a week. Generally, we do all the big ones. Often a film like Saw 3 is not on view for critics so, right there, [we] wouldn't do that. So it's pretty obvious. There's no real discussion of what we do. It's like which movies are coming out that are going to screen for the critics. Now and then I'll see an independent film or a foreign film or something that I really like and I'll go to the producer and I'll say, "We have to do this. Can we please do this in the show?" and he'll find a space for it.

MG: Is this quite different for you to be working for a producer rather than producing the show yourself?

Bailes: No, I love it. He gets to do all the things I hated to do. He gets to do the things like timing out the show, he talks to a lot of the publicists—although I do that too—no, no, I'm very happy doing what I do now. But it was neat to produce the IFC show too. I'd sit in the editing room with the editor and we'd create the packages and I do miss that a bit because that's very creative. I miss that. But I'm so busy that I haven't had much time to miss it, to be honest. And I like the writing. I'm sitting here right now trying to come up with my ten best films of the year and I'm mulling that over. I enjoy the writing.

MG: Among those ten, by any chance is The Queen on that list?

Bailes: It actually isn't, no. I thought The Queen was good but not great. I've got too many. I've got like 15 without The Queen and I'm trying to get it down to 10. It's not easy.

MG: No, it isn't easy. I circumvented the problem by choosing my ten favorite interviews instead because I felt I had more of a handle on that. I'm impressed with the breadth of your coverage: you're on television on a major network, your IFC interviews were sometimes transcribed online, with Reel Talk you're providing video streams of your interviews, and you even offer podcasts for Ipod access. You're obviously accessing a wide audience. Can you define who your audience is and what you feel your responsibilities are to them, if any?

Bailes: Hmmmmmm, that's interesting. Because I'm not the producer, I don't know if I can give you such a good answer on that. I know the demographic for WNBC who produces [Reel Talk] here in New York is more male than female; but, I'm not sure. The goal for the show is to go national later next year and I guess we'd like to become as familiar as other t.v. critics. I would hope that people would look at me as someone with … y'know, like any critic wants, you want people to think you have good taste. You just want to find enough people who agree with you, I suppose.

MG: What captured my attention when I first became familiar with your work for IFC at the Angelika/IFC Center—and why I kept returning to watch your show—was your remarkable poise. Have you ever been nervous interviewing someone?

Bailes: There are very few people who make me nervous. There have been a few but, of course, it's all completely blank now. It's always really surprising people who make me nervous. Never the big stars. [Though,] I had to do this thing with Tom Cruise for the Mission Impossible 3 premiere and there was so much hype about it. It had to be cleared by so many people and he had so many handlers. It was such a huge deal. I had very nervous producers around me for that show who kept telling me that I had to nail it and that made me nervous. But other than that, I tend to go into interviews with … I mean, most of them aren't live, the Tom Cruise thing was live, so that added some more pressure. But the interviews I do either in junket or the NBC studio, I just try to think that they're just people. Yes, they may be famous people, but at heart they're just people who are there to talk about a film and how hard is it to talk about a film? Everyone loves to talk about films. So that's what I tell myself if I'm ever getting nervous.

MG: I certainly agree with you. I love talking about films. I find it's one of the easiest things and it's been something of a second career for me. It's almost effortless.

Bailes: Unless I dislike the film. Then it's hard. But I try and avoid interviews if I haven't liked the film because I just don't think it's fair. I'm not going to tell them I hate it so then I feel two-faced if I do an interview.

MG: Exactly. Each person—and each interviewer especially—owes themself a little discretion. If a young person were to want to enter the field of on-air film coverage, do you have any suggestions about how they should go about it? Or what you have learned from your own trial and error process?

Bailes: Well, obviously I didn't go to school for it or anything. I know a lot of people these days do communications for college and I have no idea if that's a useful degree. My advice—because I guess I'm a stickler for process and understanding how it's done—is to do what I did, which is I started off working as an intern at CNN and I learned t.v. production. I've met people who manage to get an on-air job but they've never produced anything for t.v. in their life and it makes them very difficult to work with as on-air talent because they don't understand the nuts and bolts of t.v. production. So for me that was certainly the way into it, to work on several shows as an assistant associate producer and work my way up to be able to produce first. That's probably the only advice I would have.

MG: One of your jobs on the way to your current success was to be a fact-checker on a game show on Ha!, one of the original comedy channels. What does a fact checker on a game show do?

Bailes: [Chuckles.] After I was an intern at CNN—and we're going back a few years now—my first paying job was as a fact checker on Ha! Do you remember that game show? I think it was called Clash. It's a really long time ago. It was on Ha!, which was MTV's comedy channel before they merged with HBO's comedy channel and became Comedy Central. Those two channels merged. It's for a channel that … I don't think many people remember the Ha! Channel. Yeah, I was a fact checker and then when we were in production I was the scoreboard operator.

MG: I find that very amusing for some reason.

Bailes: Well, it was nervewracking because we would do live-to-tape, which meant that—unless you mess up—you would go straight through it. So, no, you didn't want to mess up. I had to subtract and add the scores as we went along and then push the buttons to make the scoreboard [reflect the outcome]. You'd think it was done somehow automatically but some poor fool was sitting there subtracting and blah blah blah to get the numbers right. That was me.

MG: Well, you've certainly paid your dues. I understand that along with your great film coverage, you're a triathelete? You train extensively? At Oxford, you received a half-blue in rowing; what's a "half-blue"?

Bailes: If you do a varsity sport at Oxford or Cambridge you get what's called a blue and if you're—I think the equivalent here would be [Junior Varsity]—you get a half-blue. It's just a sporting honor basically. If you hear that someone from Oxford is a blue, it means they did their sport for their university. I haven't done triathletes in a couple of years because I have a child, but I did run the New York City Marathon this year. I try to keep active and fit and fight the flab and all that.

MG: Speaking of the child, I think I hear Agatha Violet in the background. How old is she now? Is she going to grow up to be a film commentator like her mother?

Bailes: Oh gosh, I have no idea. She's 21 months. It's a little bit early to tell. I think, if anything, she's going to be more of the athletic type.

MG: Alison, thank you so much for taking the time. I truly appreciate the information and your friendliness.

Bailes: Did you get what you needed?

MG: I did. I'm focusing on film culture in general and, along with interviewing actors and directors as you do, I'm fascinated in all the various ways that film is brought to the public.

Bailes: Well thank you for watching so loyally.

MG: You bet.

Cross-posted at Twitch. My sincere thanks to Alison Willmore who put me in touch with Alison Bailes to conduct this brief phone interview. Photo courtesy of WFNY-Free FM and The Doghouse With JV & Elvis.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

2006—List of My 10 Favorite Evening Class Interviews

Lists season is upon us. The Christmas shopping list. The invite list to the annual Christmas party. The list of New Year's resolutions. But the most important, of course, is the 10 Favorite list. I've probably seen more movies this year than all years past combined and it's precisely because I've seen so many that I've yet to rank them into submission. In the interim, and perhaps to satisfy the homework requirement, I'm opting instead to choose my ten favorite interviews this year here on The Evening Class. If you would have told me at the beginning of the year that I would have enough interviews to select 10, I would have thought you addled; but, here it is December, and it's been a wonderful learning curve.

Guillermo Arriaga—This was one of my favorite interviews because it was when I began to realize that some of the most interesting interviews were those off the press junket trail. I have nothing against publicists setting me up with talent for a movie that's about to be released, am always appreciative of those opportunities, but am keenly aware that I'm part of a pack, usually asking the same questions, and writing up something others are writing up at the same time. I guess I prefer being neither obligated to a publicist nor pressured by a timeline nor part of a group. I owe this one to Gary Meyer who had invited Arriaga to speak at the Balboa Theater and who helped facilitate the hook-up through Arriaga's Simon and Schuster publicist. Another reason I liked this interview was because it was about writing, novel writing, screen writing, and the prickly theme of collaborative auteurship. Further, for as famous as he is, Arriaga was gracefully egalitarian. He was intense but respectful. I was delighted when Dave Hudson asked to use the piece for Greencine.

Alice Braga—This was one of my favorite interviews because I felt like a roving festival reporter. I was learning that I still had to pay my dues at the San Francisco International Film Festival and that not every request I had submitted was going to be granted, or granted in time slots that didn't interfere with tickets I had already purchased for the festival. Back then I was a little less patient with the protocol. I wanted to learn how to approach talent directly, spontaneously. I thought Alice was so charming, energetic and beautiful that I felt comfortable approaching her right after the screening of Lower City and ducking away from the crowd to talk with her for a few minutes. She was more than willing and a complete delight. I realized also that I am much more interested in interviewing new talent, both actors and directors who have only one or two projects under their belt. They seem more willing to talk about their projects.

John Canemaker—John's humility in the face of winning an Academy Award was inspirational. He is a goodhearted, gentle man and I felt our conversation was intimate. We befriended each other and it has made me very happy to keep in touch with him afterwards. He sent me a signed poster he designed for Telluride, which made me feel like a million bucks.

Deepa Mehta—This interview is special to me because it was my first one-on-one face to face. I felt very much like a Stagedoor Johnny, even got her to sign my dvd covers, and I was just getting used to my digital recorder. It kept cutting in and out and I had to cobble the interview together from a fragmented discourse, but, I will never forget how kind Deepa was to me and how encouraging she was of my personal approach. She considered it "a breath of fresh air."

Tsai Ming-Liang—Again, this interview felt like a victory because the Toronto International Film Festival would not grant me press accreditation and I was about to give up the ghost regarding securing any interviews whatsoever. But then I realized that it would make my friend Michael Hawley so happy to have Tsai's autograph that it motivated me to hustle the publicist into an interview slot. I could hardly believe my request was granted. With Tsai I felt I turned a corner and that I would never again be afraid to interview anyone or to ask for what I wanted. I can weather no and I know how to query yes. But most importantly, my friend Michael was happy.

Amir Muhammad—This was my favorite email interview of the year. I think Amir Muhammad is one of the funniest individuals I have ever met and it was just plain fun to exchange emails with him to craft this interview together. Email interviews can lose touch with a conversational feel; but, it was easy to stay on track with Amir.

Jenni Olson—This was my favorite phone interview of the year and it was part of the wonderful Avant-Garde blogathon. It gave me great pleasure to present Jenni's film for consideration among the wonderful community of online commentarians and critics that I've developed in the last year. Let alone that I hope I never go into the closet when it comes to film writing. I'm proud of my queer sensibility and treasure the opportunities to dialogue with other bright souls within my subculture.

Sirak M. Sabahat—Sirak's life experience humbled me. I was so impressed with all he had gone through at such a young age and how he has turned adversity around into creative expression. Such a momentum remains close to my heart because fundamentally I believe creativity is how we change the world.

Steven Shainberg—I could have talked to Steven for hours. He was so charmingly accessible and intelligent and completely willing to venture into psychological terrain. I would love one day to act for him; I trust him that much as a director. He reminded me that the best interviews are a mutual participation and, at heart, a good conversation.

David Thomson—David's encyclopedic knowledge of film consistently contextualizes the moviegoing experience for me. I hope that within my lifetime I achieve as much as he has with writing. He told his publisher that I was a decent fellow and that he enjoyed talking with me and recommended they send their other writers to me to interview. You can't hope for a better endorsement than that! In January-February of next year he will be lecturing at the Pacific Film Archives on "A Thousand Decisions In the Dark" so he consented to a follow-up interview the other day, inviting me into his home where we shared some pastries I'd brought from the Boulangerie and thoughts about his upcoming film series.

So there you have it. My contribution to December's list mania. I look forward to more conversations with the individuals who make up film culture in the year to come and a follow-up post like this one next December.

Friday, December 08, 2006

VICTORY FOR THE 4STAR!


G. Allen Johnson reports to the Chronicle that San Francisco's 4Star Theater has won its three-year legal battle against the Canaan Lutheran Church which sought to oust 4Star proprieters Frank and Lida Lee. The article further mentions that the Lees are considering reopening Cinema 21 under its original title The Marina. Good news all around for our San Francisco neighborhood repertory theaters!

ANIMATION—Jonathan Marlow's Cabinet of Curiosities (Revisited)

Beware the Jabberwock, my son. You have to be very careful of the things you say or write about other people, as Jonathan Marlow reminded me introducing his second Cabinet of Curiosities at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, where he brought up to his capacity audience that I had called him an "idiot" in my Evening Class write-up. In my own defense, I must qualify that I called him a "magnanimous idiot." In the vast terrain of idiocy, there are significant distinctions.

This time around I want to be very careful that I don't blather out descriptions that might be misconstrued. Jonathan Marlow is, quite simply, a curatorial magician. He pulls things out of his cabinet of curiosities with the confident delight of a true impresario. He teaches as he entertains and I, for one, am most grateful.


His Cabinet's "Dreams and Nightmares edition" included Edwin Stanton Porter's Dream Of A Rarebit Fiend (1906), for which both Thom Ryan and John Canemaker had prepared me; Thom with his wonderful Film of the Year contribution to the Avant-Garde Blogathon earlier this year (wherein he includes a recipe for Welsh Rarebit), and John with his commentary on Winsor McKay's popular comic strip "Dream of the Rarebit Fiend" (wherein an excess of food and drink leads to fantastic if not nightmarish visions). Porter's swish-pan pendulumatics quite effectively simulate the "whirlies" of drunken excess as our overwhelmed protagonist clings to a lamp post for dear life. Later, in his dream, he once again hangs on, this time to his bed which has taken flight over a sleeping city. Andre Soares reports at Alternative Film Guide that Porter's Dream Of A Rarebit Fiend was honored just the other night by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in their centenary tribute to the films of 1906. Marlow's inclusion of this piece therefore proves timely and an amazing testament to the still-entertaining longevity of a film that is 100 years old.

Next was Walerian Browczyk and Chris Marker's Les Astronautes / The Astronauts (1959), an intriguing mix of collage and stop-action animation that sent us on a surreal flight in the most makeshift of aircraft.

I had caught Guy Maddin's 1995 Odilon Redon (or The Eye Like A Strange Balloon Mounts Towards Infinity) earlier this year at the 49th San Francisco International Film Festival; but, it's always a pleasure to experience Maddin's quirky universe, which pays homage to the cinematic strategems of yesteryear.

Jonathan advised that Carl Theodor Dreyer's De Nåede Færgen / They Caught The Ferry (1948) was intended for the original Cabinet of Curiosities but was cut. It was almost going to be cut from this program as well; but, fortunately, Jonathan reconsidered. A cautionary admonition of how swiftly we rush to our fates, Dreyer's piece reminded me of the first Cabinet's A Drop Too Much (1954) by Břetislav Pojar and Jiří Trnka. Jonathan reveals that there appears to be a history of animated scenarios of fatal vehicular accidents. The DMV should commission a program.

Jiří Trnka was represented this go-round by his ruthlessly clever Ruka / The Hand (1965) where a poor potter, fond of his potted plant, suffers the authoritorial caprices of a hand, ranging from the totalitarian fist to the perversely seductive and transvestized finger dance (amazing what a lace glove will bring out in a hand). I'm tempted to describe this as the first true piece of "digital" animation. Then again, maybe I won't.

My favorite piece of the program was Zbigniew Rybczynski's Nowa Ksiazka / New Book (1975), a stunning tour-de-force of split-screen narrative relativity. Directly opposed to any kind of soporific venture, New Book agitates the mind, keeping it alert and observant, and ultimately tickled when all the various perspectives reach a consummate hiccough. This film is like 12 films in one and deserves to be seen at least 12 times. I look forward to the next 11 and thank Jonathan for the first.

Jan Švankmajer's surreal delights were on hand with Rakvickarna / The Coffin House (1966) and Yuri Norstein—who was my favorite from the last program—was offered up by way of The Fox & The Hare (1973), where a shrewish she-fox whose ice house has melted usurps the domicile of a poor rabbit until he is rescued by a gallant rooster.

Finally, as a tip of the hat to the cusp of the holiday season, Jonathan presented Karel Zeman's Vánocní Sen / The Christmas Dream (1946) wherein the compensatory nature of dreams is poignantly examined.

On top of all these treasures, Jonathan Marlow—via the generous auspices of Greencine—gave each and every member of his audience a dvd Christmas present! I received Michael Winterbottom's Nine Songs.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

RAY


Yesterday afternoon I received in my mailbox my complimentary copy of the November issue of Ray, an Austrian magazine in which two of my reviews—one on Bahman Ghobadi's Niwemang / Half Moon and a solicited piece on Tsai Ming-Liang's Hei Yan Quin / I Don't Want To Sleep Alone, both entries in the New Crowned Hope commemorative—have been published in German. For some reason this just tickles me to no end. To imagine that you can see a movie in Toronto, write about it in San Francisco, and have it be read in German in Vienna. Words do have wings afterall. It equally delights me that Ghobadi included my review on his website.

When I started writing about film a little under a year ago, it was to counteract the depression of being obliged to retire early due to disability. In many ways—because we each identify with our forms of employment—I felt my identity and my life were over. How wonderful it has been to be drawn into this new life and this new identity which seemed to be waiting for me to arrive. Little did I imagine when I keyed in the opening strokes to create The Evening Class that it would result in press credentials and invitations to be a contributing writer to the Canadian film site Twitch, the Los Angeles paper Entertainment Today, Dave Hudson's Greencine, and now this Austrian glossy Ray. Let alone the wonderful community of online film commentarians that have enrichened my sensibility with their unique writing visions and, of course, the interviews: the blessed chance to talk to the artists about this medium that I adore. And the hits keep happening!! I've recently been approached to do television review work and to help launch a new Bay Area magazine as assistant film editor.

Although I've already offered my TIFF interview with Tsai Ming-Liang, I thought I would follow through with this commissioned Ray review. In English!

* * *


Following the Toronto International Film Festival screening of I Don't Want To Sleep Alone, I relayed to Tsai Ming-Liang that Milan Kundera had written in The Unbearable Lightness of Being that the person you love is not the person you have sex with; but rather, the person you sleep with. Tsai swept goosebumps from his arm. I Don't Want To Sleep Alone uses a mattress as metaphor for the bed as trusting ground.

Hsiao Kang (Lee Kang-Sheng) is attacked and robbed in Kuala Lumpur and taken in by Bangladesh worker Rawang (Norman Bin Atun) who lets Hsiao Kang sleep beside him on an old mattress he has found. Nursing Hsiao Kang back to health, Rawang achieves intimacy, all the more profound for not being sexual. Their intimacy, however, is poignantly erotic in the true definition of eros as the force that binds the world (i.e., individuals) together.

Heightening their interaction to erotic triangulation is Chyi (Chen Shiang-Chyi), a coffee shop waitress who likewise caretakes her boss's paralysed son (again, Kang-Sheng). Chyi hates her confining duties and longs to be free. Kang-Sheng's dual role suggests all the events of the film might be the dream of the paralyzed character; a possibility enforced by Tsai's admitted meditation on philosopher Tzoang Tzu's dream of being a butterfly, which—when he awakened—prompted Tzoang Tzu to wonder if he was dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was Tzoang Tzu? Both instances imply the interdependence of all things.

Like a salmon returning to its origins to spawn, Tsai returned to his homeland Malaysia, attracted to the plight of foreign workers who—after the abandonment of government construction projects—were left to fend for themselves. Tsai identified with them, thinking of himself as a wanderer, displaced, without a home; the film's direct link to Mozart, who Tsai envisions as the wandering soul of The Magic Flute.

Possibly Tsai Ming-Liang's most private film, exhibiting little of his customary humor and only a shade of the sexual histrionics that made The Wayward Cloud both entertaining and disturbing, this most recent venture depicts the healing grace of moments of unconditional tenderness.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

APOCALYPTO


Does Mel Gibson deeply believe in God? Enquiring Mayans want to know. As Dennis Harvey quipped as we left yesterday's press screening, Gibson certainly seems to believe in deus ex machina. Or as Bullwinkle said to Rocky, pulling everything but the rabbit out of the hat, "No doubt about it. I gotta get a new hat."

How to approach this movie? Should I "stage ambivalency" (as Phillip Lopate describes it) and qualify my praise? Should I go the way of reception studies and measure how last night's Berkeley audience gasped and laughed on cue throughout the movie only to resoundly boo and catcall at the film's end? Has Mel Gibson become the man we so love to hate for his homophobic and anti-Semitic remarks that any kind of critical distance is near to impossible because, despite his obvious talent, we don't want to cut him slack?

As a student of Maya culture for decades, no two movies came more highly anticipated for me this year than Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain and Mel Gibson's Apocalypto. I've talked to Aronofsky about the former and really have no interest in talking to Gibson about the latter, which—for its moments of visual genius—is sullied by a complete lack of restraint when it comes to depictions of violence and its appropriation of historical material for dramatic effect, without respect for chronology or the breadth of Mayan sensibility. But, again, I stage that ambivalency purposely because who says that a movie has to be historically accurate to be entertaining? And who really knows anything definitive about the Maya anyways? There's good reason why that alliterative adjective "mysterious" was one of the best working descriptions for so long. Academic disputes in the field of Maya studies caution against dispensing with that adjective anytime soon.

Which leads me to one possible approach, namely that at each stage in its self-reflection a culture looks back on civilizations of the past with projected intent, and never has this been moreso than with the Maya. Some years ago I pulled together a lecture detailing how the Maya have been depicted in the illustrative art for National Geographic over the years. Back in the '30s, when the Maya were thought of as the Greeks of the New World, they were shown gazing at the stars or sacrificing a macaw or two. In some of those early drawings the great Maya cities were configured as ceremonial centers with a few elite priests dillydallying around burning incense and such. I recall when Terry Rutlidge came out with his drawings—where heavily populated urban centers were rife with savage Mayans, replete with tattoos and ornamental scarification—that were quite disturbing to many scholars at the time who didn't want to buy into the conjectured bloodthirstiness of the culture. I admire that Gibson didn't shy away from this brutal representation. I admire the look of his Mayans and his vision of the Maya city was perversely engaging even if it seemed more an Aztec anachronism than anything else. Historically, these Mayan cities had long collapsed before the Spaniards arrived; by then the Maya were well into their Postclassic Period. But, again, it's just entertainment, right? And it seems that Gibson's main thematic momentum was not to revere history as much as to revere prophecy. The jaguar man in a day that became night and reborn of earth and mud would lead his enemies straight into the hands of those who would scratch them out. That prophecy is the "plot" in a nutshell.

Westernized focus on the Mayan civilization insists upon an obsessive query with its so-called "collapse." Whole symposiums and academic volumes, in fact, have been centered on that volatile theme. Gibson follows Will Durant's lead in reiterating that a civilization cannot be destroyed from without until it has destroyed itself from within. And guised in that bleak assertion is, in my humble opinion, a suspicion or paranoia that the same thing that happened to Mayan civilization could happen to us. That can only be a good thing to reflect upon, God forbid. Rampant internecine warfare among competing dynasties and their polities must certainly be considered along with various other factors. Earthquakes and shifting trade routes, for example. Or environmental desecration. Or the reason that I take most interest in: that a time came when the Maya culture "Balkanized" and the average Maya, all those shouting hordes in the courtyard screaming for blood, simply lost interest and voted with their feet, no longer investing in the taxing systems of the Maya elite. But then that's my projected fantasy, right? There's one swift scene in the city sequence where a lord and lady on palanquin are looked upon almost scornfully by the crowd left in their wake. I liked that and the image resonated as genuine for me. I wish there would have been more of that subtlety in Apocalypto then the formulaic fight-or-flight chase sequence that Gibson admits in his Entertainment Weekly interview was his true inspiration for doing this film. "I just wanted to fashion a really exciting chase," he said, and these days to amp up the adrenaline you need it all: the savage hand-to-hand combat, the torture, the heart-wrenching sacrifices, the face-eating jaguar, the deadly fer-de-lance, the unexpected quicksand, the threatening waterfall, the escoba thorns dipped in amphibious poison, the sudden rain filling up the cenote, one gratuitous violence after the other until, finally, you're forced to consider either what made the Mayan civilization collapse or what made this film collapse? With regard to the latter, there's probably nothing mysterious about it at all.

12/07/06 UPDATE: In his inimitable compendious fashion, Dave Hudson has gathered together and synopsized the running reviews on Apocalypto for The Greencine Daily.

For anyone who might be interested, there are some Mel Gibson soundbites at CMP Wiredrive Pro. Once you open the link the username and password are both Apocalypto (case-sensitive). I recommend choosing the sound file that includes all the bites together.

12/12/06 UPDATE: Via an analysis of Gibson's usage of "tells" and close-ups, Matt Zoller Seitz offers insightful commentary at The House Next Door.

04/07/07 UPDATE: In discussing the film over at Jaman, Seattle's Steve Hyde offered up Dr. Liza Grandia's critique at Common Dreams.org. Dr. Grandia poses four racist messages the film sends to audiences: (1) Native Americans are all interchangeable; (2) Mesoamerican cultures are all the same; (3) Indigenous people should remain noble savages, since attempts to build cities and more complex political organization will bring their inevitable demise; and (4) The Spanish arrive as if to save the Maya from themselves.