‘Bert and Arnie’s Guide to Friendship,’ the new comedy from director Jeff Kaplan, boasts a few decent performances and funny moments. But the two lead characters don’t share much chemistry or screen time, and their storylines don’t converge until the midpoint of the film. It is not the best formula for a buddy film.
Our two protagonists are pompous novelist and college professor Bert “B.W.” Sheering (Matt Oberg) and blowhard executive Arnie Hubert (Stephen Schneider). Arnie has a habit of sleeping with other men’s wives. Bert’s is one of them. Shortly after Bert learns the identity of his wife’s lover and briefly confronts him, she decides she would rather live alone. The repressed Bert shows minimal emotion as she walks out the door.
The idea of Bert and Arnie as an unlikely comic duo is rife with possibility. They are a classic mismatch: Arnie a career-driven, womanizing dunce, Bert an inhibited, uptight egotist. They have so much to teach each other.
Alas, the film keeps them apart. In a recurring conceit, Bert and Arnie discuss each other in separate “interviews” to an unseen filmmaker. This is a common sitcom trope, pioneered by the likes of ‘The Office’ and ‘Parks and Recreation’. But here the interviews must substitute for actual contact between the characters. Bert and Arnie rarely interact before the film’s midpoint.
Bert’s individual plotline is the more compelling of the two. Freshly separated from his wife, he tries to fend off advances from Faye (Cristin Milioti), a student who hopes to barter sex for a letter of recommendation. Faye, with her comically nasal voice and awkward sexual aggression, is a funny character, both sexy and unsexy at once. Oberg and Milioti have chemistry, and Milioti’s is the film’s strongest performance.
The film’s weakest performance belongs to Schneider. Arnie is an over-the-top caricature of the testosterone-driven executive. He screws anything that moves and unleashes obscenities when something upsets him. “Where the *&@! are my *&%$ing copies?!!!” Arnie shouts at one point, charging through his office like a lunatic. The performance is all brashness and obliviousness. There is no room for subtlety or nuances.
Bert and Arnie’s storylines only merge after Arnie falls for his boss, Sabrina (Anna Chlumsky of HBO’s ‘Veep’). Arnie learns she likes Bert’s novels and, in an effort to impress her, manages to get Bert to come out and meet her. Bert winds up lusting after Sabrina, while Arnie sinks into depression and anger. Bert and Arnie’s “friendship” is not the focus.
Ultimately, “Bert and Arnie’s Guide to Friendship” is forced to live and die by its problematic script and mixed performances. The result is a structurally flawed, only occasionally funny comedy.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
2013 BFF Capsule Review: 'Soft in the Head' (WINNER: Best Actress)
‘Soft in the Head’, the gritty new microbudget drama from director Nathan Silver, aggressively upends convention, and to great effect. The film doesn’t follow a textbook framework for generating narrative momentum. But because of the realism of its universe and the strength of its performances, it remains riveting throughout.The film follows Natalia (Sheila Etxeberría), a young alcoholic who, after splitting with her abusive boyfriend, winds up at a posh Brooklyn apartment-cum-homeless shelter with a group of men. Their unlikely benefactor is the kind-hearted Maury (Ed Ryan), whose raison d’être is helping the downtrodden. During the film we also meet Natalia’s friend Hannah (Melanie J. Scheiner), and her mildly autistic brother Nathan (Carl Kranz). Nathan frequently fights with his religious Jewish parents about his lack of a love life, and ultimately begins to fall for Natalia.
Natalia flirts with Nathan and continues to drink, the men at the homeless shelter get increasingly rowdy, and Maury tries to maintain order. But honestly, the plot is not the point. This film is all about the rhythm and texture of realistic characters staggering through difficult lives. (The actors worked from scene outlines instead of written dialogue.) Be it Natalia’s drunken interactions with Nathan or the crass rap sessions amongst the men at the shelter, nothing in “Soft in the Head” feels staged.
Natalia, who makes little effort toward self-improvement, comes off as aimlessly self-destructive. In a more traditional film about a troubled person trying to fit in amongst troubled people (“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” comes to mind), the characters might be more dynamic, or their actions suffused with heightened drama. Instead, “Soft in the Head” dwells on people who sabotage themselves and carelessly hurt others, digging themselves into deeper and deeper pits and making change impossible. It is convincing and it works.
Much credit for the gritty feel of “Soft in the Head” goes to cinematogropher/editor/co-writer Cody Stokes, who also edited Mr. Silver’s 2012 feature “Exit Elena”. Mr. Stokes’s handheld camerawork contributes to the hyper-realism of the universe. And his editing shows admirable patience. The film doesn’t rush from beat to beat – its conversations play out over long periods of time, and the film feels more realistic for it. It’s a style of storytelling that recalls Jonathan Demme’s “Rachel Getting Married”. That film, like this one, showed that troubled people don’t always move forward in life at a crisp, cinematic pace. Instead, they live in their problems, often unable to find – or even look for – a way out. One of the many great virtues of “Soft in the Head” is its willingness eschew traditional narrative momentum and simply linger on its characters’ lives.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Natalia flirts with Nathan and continues to drink, the men at the homeless shelter get increasingly rowdy, and Maury tries to maintain order. But honestly, the plot is not the point. This film is all about the rhythm and texture of realistic characters staggering through difficult lives. (The actors worked from scene outlines instead of written dialogue.) Be it Natalia’s drunken interactions with Nathan or the crass rap sessions amongst the men at the shelter, nothing in “Soft in the Head” feels staged.
Natalia, who makes little effort toward self-improvement, comes off as aimlessly self-destructive. In a more traditional film about a troubled person trying to fit in amongst troubled people (“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” comes to mind), the characters might be more dynamic, or their actions suffused with heightened drama. Instead, “Soft in the Head” dwells on people who sabotage themselves and carelessly hurt others, digging themselves into deeper and deeper pits and making change impossible. It is convincing and it works.
Much credit for the gritty feel of “Soft in the Head” goes to cinematogropher/editor/co-writer Cody Stokes, who also edited Mr. Silver’s 2012 feature “Exit Elena”. Mr. Stokes’s handheld camerawork contributes to the hyper-realism of the universe. And his editing shows admirable patience. The film doesn’t rush from beat to beat – its conversations play out over long periods of time, and the film feels more realistic for it. It’s a style of storytelling that recalls Jonathan Demme’s “Rachel Getting Married”. That film, like this one, showed that troubled people don’t always move forward in life at a crisp, cinematic pace. Instead, they live in their problems, often unable to find – or even look for – a way out. One of the many great virtues of “Soft in the Head” is its willingness eschew traditional narrative momentum and simply linger on its characters’ lives.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
2013 BFF Capsule Review: 'Emanuel and the Truth About Fishes'
‘Emanuel and the Truth about Fishes’, a surrealist drama from director Francesca Gregorini, often grasps for dramatic momentum. But strong chemistry between the two female leads, impressive cinematography, and a moving score buoy the film, which culminates in a powerful final act.
The film’s title character (Kaya Scodelario of TV’s ‘Skins’) is a young woman still tormented by the death of her mother, who died giving birth to her. She has constant visions of water flooding in from under doors and walls, threatening to consume her. Her reserved father (Alfred Molina) and distant stepmother (Frances O’Connor) cannot ease her mind. Emanuel starts babysitting for Linda (Jessica Biel), a new neighbor who bears a striking resemblance to her mother.
The film is often tediously paced, especially in its first act, which is dedicated to establishing a gloomy and foreboding mood. But a shocking reveal involving Linda’s baby (which this reviewer dares not spoil) sets some fascinating character dynamics between Emanuel and Linda in motion.
The two actresses are convincing in difficult roles. Scodelario captures Emanuel’s self-loathing and desire for maternal acceptance. Biel conveys how Linda’s placid demeanor conceals deep anguish. And the two have enormous chemistry. Emanuel’s guilt and longing as a daughter go hand in hand with Linda’s grave troubles as a mother. Emanuel, ever protective of Linda, looks after her baby and tries to protect its secret, both from Linda and from the outside world. Linda, meanwhile, provides emotional support that Emanuel cannot find anywhere else. These are two damaged people helping each other start the painful process of mental and emotional recovery.
One of the major flaws of “Emanuel” is that any distraction from their story feels out of place. This is especially true of Emanuel’s relationship with Claude (Aneurin Barnard), a young man whom she starts flirting with on the train. Scodelario and Barnard have little chemistry. Emanuel’s fledgling romance is there for thematic reasons, paralleling and rivaling her relationship with Linda. But it only takes time away from that relationship, which is the film’s beating heart.
The film’s flaws vanish in its gorgeous final act, when Emanuel and Linda are forced to confront their demons. Nathan Larson’s score soars with emotion, and Cinematographer Polly Morgan effectively emphasizes the traps the characters are trying to dig themselves out of. Her tight framing and vivid color schemes are especially effective during a sequence in which Emanuel swims her way out of a surreal flood. And the closing interactions between Linda and Emanuel are deeply moving, filled with pain and hope.
The film may take a while to get where it is going, and at times feels like it is treading water until the story kicks into a new gear. But it arrives at something beautiful and poignant. ‘Emanuel and the Truth About Fishes’ is a moving exploration of the ways that relationships can help us overcome grief.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
The film’s title character (Kaya Scodelario of TV’s ‘Skins’) is a young woman still tormented by the death of her mother, who died giving birth to her. She has constant visions of water flooding in from under doors and walls, threatening to consume her. Her reserved father (Alfred Molina) and distant stepmother (Frances O’Connor) cannot ease her mind. Emanuel starts babysitting for Linda (Jessica Biel), a new neighbor who bears a striking resemblance to her mother.
The film is often tediously paced, especially in its first act, which is dedicated to establishing a gloomy and foreboding mood. But a shocking reveal involving Linda’s baby (which this reviewer dares not spoil) sets some fascinating character dynamics between Emanuel and Linda in motion.
The two actresses are convincing in difficult roles. Scodelario captures Emanuel’s self-loathing and desire for maternal acceptance. Biel conveys how Linda’s placid demeanor conceals deep anguish. And the two have enormous chemistry. Emanuel’s guilt and longing as a daughter go hand in hand with Linda’s grave troubles as a mother. Emanuel, ever protective of Linda, looks after her baby and tries to protect its secret, both from Linda and from the outside world. Linda, meanwhile, provides emotional support that Emanuel cannot find anywhere else. These are two damaged people helping each other start the painful process of mental and emotional recovery.
One of the major flaws of “Emanuel” is that any distraction from their story feels out of place. This is especially true of Emanuel’s relationship with Claude (Aneurin Barnard), a young man whom she starts flirting with on the train. Scodelario and Barnard have little chemistry. Emanuel’s fledgling romance is there for thematic reasons, paralleling and rivaling her relationship with Linda. But it only takes time away from that relationship, which is the film’s beating heart.
The film’s flaws vanish in its gorgeous final act, when Emanuel and Linda are forced to confront their demons. Nathan Larson’s score soars with emotion, and Cinematographer Polly Morgan effectively emphasizes the traps the characters are trying to dig themselves out of. Her tight framing and vivid color schemes are especially effective during a sequence in which Emanuel swims her way out of a surreal flood. And the closing interactions between Linda and Emanuel are deeply moving, filled with pain and hope.
The film may take a while to get where it is going, and at times feels like it is treading water until the story kicks into a new gear. But it arrives at something beautiful and poignant. ‘Emanuel and the Truth About Fishes’ is a moving exploration of the ways that relationships can help us overcome grief.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Saturday, June 8, 2013
2013 Brooklyn Film Festival Filmmaker Profile: Amy Finkel (Director - 'Furever')
"‘FUREVER‘ is a feature-length documentary that explores the dimensions of grief people experience over the loss of a pet. It examines the sociological evolution of pets in the U.S. today, particularly their position in a family unit, and how this evolution is affecting those in the veterinary profession and death care industry. With interviews from grieving pet owners, veterinarians, psychologists, sociologists, religious scholars, neuroscientists, and the many professionals who preserve a pet’s body for their devastated clientele, or re-purpose a pet’s cremains in unique ways (taxidermy, cloning, mummification, freeze-drying, and many more), ‘FUREVER‘ confronts contemporary trends, perspectives, and relevant cultural assumptions regarding attachment, religion, ritual, grief, and death, and studies the bonds that form between humans and animals, both psychological and physiological."
You have mentioned that you yourself have grieved over pets. What interested you in pet preservation specifically?
We had many types of animals growing up and I became very attached to them over the years. My parents were huge advocates of animal rescue, so we ended up with all sorts: anoles, rats, dogs, budgies, gerbils (the list goes on). And no matter what the species, I found that I became unbelievably attached to each of them. As a result, I had a very tough time letting go. So when I read the article about people freeze-drying their pets several years ago, I was fascinated by what it was about keeping the body of a dead animal in a lively-looking state that was offering so much comfort to the devastated pet owners. How was it not a constant reminder that their pet was gone? Where did they think the soul had gone, if they believed in that (which I suspected they did)? That was not a discussion in my atheist household growing up. But—and I should mention that I’m not particularly judgmental in general—I never assumed they were crazy, as many do. I totally understood their level of attachment and their inability to let go; I simply didn’t understand why it would offer them comfort. I thought it was peculiar, and potentially destructive psychologically if there were a disconnect there (feeling as though their pet was still alive), but I tied to go into it with an open mind. Freeze-drying certainly would not have offered comfort to me. But I’d often wondered why I was getting so attached to my animals; whether it was projection or perhaps being less tolerant of humans than animals (I did have a lot of human friends growing up too). I figured there had to be some physiological component, which is why I put a whole segment in the film about the biology of the human-animal bond. But yes, for some reason freeze-drying was the perfect jumping off point for an inquiry of all of these questions, and an exploration of grief in general, so I set off to investigate.
For you personally, was the project ever upsetting? Did you find it cathartic in any way?
At first it was very sad to grieve through, essentially, every interview (until I was able to start interviewing more scholars — many of whom, even then, took me through their own personal grief processes). I’m actually now finding that it’s coming back to me in the same way; I’ve become somewhat of a grief counselor to a lot of strangers, which is a bit scary as I certainly don’t have a degree in it! People want to come up to me after screenings and give me short stories they’ve written about the death of their animals or share their grief process. They cry with me. I’ve often heard, “thank you for not making me feel crazy.” I didn’t think the film would be cathartic for anyone who’d just lost a pet, for obvious reasons, but for many it seems to be.
It was the same during filming, but a little tougher because I was trying to play the role of both documentary filmmaker and grief counselor. It just sort of happened that way due to the nature of the subject matter, and it was tough, because I was constantly being forced to think about my own mortality, and about the many animals that had gotten into my heart over the years but were no longer with me. At times it was cathartic for me. Now I feel like I’m becoming a little desensitized. But I was never pretending to feel something if I wasn’t. If I cried with a subject, so be it. I’m not much of a crier, so I went with it if I was overcome with that much empathy and emotion. It probably did help gain some trust between filmmaker and subject, making the scene feel more intimate to the viewer. But it was never contrived and it was such a pleasure to be able to learn from all of these amazing people. While many assume they’re all nuts, I have to say that, if I learned anything through the process, it’s that in our culture, we really don’t understand death; death is so sterile now, so taboo — we don’t talk about it; certainly not in public discourse. Once we got antibiotics in the 1940s, we became less accustomed to it. It was a natural progression. I think most of us avoid the subject (and, thankfully, haven’t had to deal with much of it until much later in life, unlike in earlier eras when people died more frequently, and died much younger). So it was interesting to me that a lot of these people were actually better able to deal with death than most. I became not only intrigued, but also impressed by the way that they were dealing with it. Very few believed that they were cheating death. Mac talks about how he’s had to explain to people that their pet is dead. That’s not the majority; that’s the exception. The majority of these people understood it in a way that I’m not sure I ever will, and whatever their memorialization method, found it offered a great deal of comfort.
As for the process being upsetting; I had the toughest time with people who were keeping their animal alive too long. That’s where I draw the line. I often say, “well you can’t fault these people for loving their pets too much — they’re all doing it out of love.” But you can when it goes into that territory. That was very upsetting for me.
You have interviewed some interesting people with unique stories. Can you go into some detail about how you found your interview subjects? Given how personal (and painful) their stories were, how did you get them to open up? And how have they reacted to the film?
Sometimes the subjects contacted me; sometimes it was through word of mouth from other subjects. That was often the case. A lot of the pet death care community is well connected, so once everyone realized that I was not making a super sensational reality show about them, they started signing on. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to the New York Times and Anna Jane Grossman, the writer who did a profile about the film just after my Kickstarter campaign. In fact that would never have come had Kickstarter not been amazingly supportive with the earliest incarnation of FUREVER; I am so grateful to their team for liking the project and promoting it. A lot of press came from that, but specifically the New York Times article, which was instrumental in getting subjects signed on. The article made it clear that this wasn’t a reality TV project, and that I was on the side of the pet owners, and empathetic to what they were going through. I could send that out and anyone would sign on. It was enormously helpful.
As for getting them to open up, that was the easiest part for me, for some reason. Part of it may be that they were never formal interviews, even if I’d memorized some general line of inquiry in my head. They were conversations. And I found that when I opened up with them, and they understood I was on their side and that I wasn’t going to make fun of them (something grieving pet parents often encounter as there’s such a stigma surrounding that type of grief), then they’d open up. Thankfully the subjects who have seen the film (many at this point) seem really happy with the results. They know they’re not being mocked, and they know that ultimately, if there’s any ulterior motive or call to action, it’s to remove that stigma.
I have a wonderful dog named Connor. While watching your film I frequently found myself thinking about his mortality, which really helped me identify with your interview subjects. Have you found that pet owners have had more empathy for your subjects than non-pet owners? In general, have you noticed any differences in the ways the two groups have reacted to the film?
I made the film with a very specific target audience in mind: pet people. I felt that I had to focus it in that way or else it wouldn’t carry the gravity that I wanted it to. I certainly wasn’t trying to preach to the converted (it’s not that type of film), but I figured that only pet lovers would likely enjoy the footage of live animals, which seemed crucial to include alongside the many dead ones. But to my surprise, numerous non-pet people are embracing it. I hadn’t anticipated that. I think they’re particularly drawn to the academic narrative that runs through it, and as a result of that content and the themes therein, they leave (or so I’ve heard), feeling more sensitive to their pet lover friends. Just the other day someone told me that her friend had to put his dog down, and that she’d initially mocked the fact that the pet had become a surrogate child to him, but that she had a new understanding and sensitivity to what he was going through, having watched the film, and that her instinct to mock had dissipated. I was, of course, thrilled. That’s the whole point.
That said, some of the scenes in the film are particularly polarizing. I’m shocked at screenings to see a large group of people in the audience crying, while others are laughing. It happens in every screening. But I can never gauge if it’s, at times, uncomfortable laughter, because it is making people think about mortality in a way with which they’re really rattled. I’m one of those people that has a problem laughing at funerals and bar mitzvahs, so I do understand that reaction too. And that reaction is fine. The film is asking people to confront a number of concepts that one is likely not thinking about regularly, so I’m of the belief that any reaction is fine.
Your film gives voice to people who have taken great comfort from preserving their pets, as well as to people who think it’s unhealthy to do so. Between when you began the project and now, how, if at all, have your views on the subject changed?
Well it’s funny that you asked that, as there are many people in the film who didn’t want to be included in the same film as the subjects who were choosing less conventional methods of memorialization. They didn’t want to be associated with them. And these are people who are working in a fairly eccentric, atypical field. Some of those subjects were the most judgmental. So it was tough to get people to sign on knowing that freeze-drying would also be included, or cloning. But when we discussed it, they also understood that the film couldn’t exclude parts of the larger story. Ultimately, I think most are fine with it. They love having the counterpoint of Sociologist, Dr. Pepper Schwartz. It was very difficult, however, trying to figure out how to make it as unbiased as we could. It was never an even playing field. Most people are coming in assuming the subjects are psychologically unhinged, so I had to temper the counterpoint. As for my views on the subjects, they really haven’t changed. Again, I’m not very judgmental. Rarely did I come across a subject I felt was truly pathological. And even in speaking with the grief counselors, asking them if there were clients who simply couldn’t be helped — they always said that when it went into that pathological realm, it was very rarely someone dealing with the grief over their pet. Usually, at that point, their grief was leftover from losses experienced prior that they’d never addressed.
Have audiences reacted to the film in ways that you were not prepared for? In general, what new ideas and emotions do you want audiences to take away from your film?
I’d love for the stigma attached to the grief experienced over the loss of a pet to disappear, no matter how extreme. From what I’ve heard, most people do not leave the film feeling like they didn’t learn something that might make them rethink their judgments about the subjects. I’m not sure I can ask for anything more than that.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
You have mentioned that you yourself have grieved over pets. What interested you in pet preservation specifically?
We had many types of animals growing up and I became very attached to them over the years. My parents were huge advocates of animal rescue, so we ended up with all sorts: anoles, rats, dogs, budgies, gerbils (the list goes on). And no matter what the species, I found that I became unbelievably attached to each of them. As a result, I had a very tough time letting go. So when I read the article about people freeze-drying their pets several years ago, I was fascinated by what it was about keeping the body of a dead animal in a lively-looking state that was offering so much comfort to the devastated pet owners. How was it not a constant reminder that their pet was gone? Where did they think the soul had gone, if they believed in that (which I suspected they did)? That was not a discussion in my atheist household growing up. But—and I should mention that I’m not particularly judgmental in general—I never assumed they were crazy, as many do. I totally understood their level of attachment and their inability to let go; I simply didn’t understand why it would offer them comfort. I thought it was peculiar, and potentially destructive psychologically if there were a disconnect there (feeling as though their pet was still alive), but I tied to go into it with an open mind. Freeze-drying certainly would not have offered comfort to me. But I’d often wondered why I was getting so attached to my animals; whether it was projection or perhaps being less tolerant of humans than animals (I did have a lot of human friends growing up too). I figured there had to be some physiological component, which is why I put a whole segment in the film about the biology of the human-animal bond. But yes, for some reason freeze-drying was the perfect jumping off point for an inquiry of all of these questions, and an exploration of grief in general, so I set off to investigate.
For you personally, was the project ever upsetting? Did you find it cathartic in any way?
At first it was very sad to grieve through, essentially, every interview (until I was able to start interviewing more scholars — many of whom, even then, took me through their own personal grief processes). I’m actually now finding that it’s coming back to me in the same way; I’ve become somewhat of a grief counselor to a lot of strangers, which is a bit scary as I certainly don’t have a degree in it! People want to come up to me after screenings and give me short stories they’ve written about the death of their animals or share their grief process. They cry with me. I’ve often heard, “thank you for not making me feel crazy.” I didn’t think the film would be cathartic for anyone who’d just lost a pet, for obvious reasons, but for many it seems to be.
It was the same during filming, but a little tougher because I was trying to play the role of both documentary filmmaker and grief counselor. It just sort of happened that way due to the nature of the subject matter, and it was tough, because I was constantly being forced to think about my own mortality, and about the many animals that had gotten into my heart over the years but were no longer with me. At times it was cathartic for me. Now I feel like I’m becoming a little desensitized. But I was never pretending to feel something if I wasn’t. If I cried with a subject, so be it. I’m not much of a crier, so I went with it if I was overcome with that much empathy and emotion. It probably did help gain some trust between filmmaker and subject, making the scene feel more intimate to the viewer. But it was never contrived and it was such a pleasure to be able to learn from all of these amazing people. While many assume they’re all nuts, I have to say that, if I learned anything through the process, it’s that in our culture, we really don’t understand death; death is so sterile now, so taboo — we don’t talk about it; certainly not in public discourse. Once we got antibiotics in the 1940s, we became less accustomed to it. It was a natural progression. I think most of us avoid the subject (and, thankfully, haven’t had to deal with much of it until much later in life, unlike in earlier eras when people died more frequently, and died much younger). So it was interesting to me that a lot of these people were actually better able to deal with death than most. I became not only intrigued, but also impressed by the way that they were dealing with it. Very few believed that they were cheating death. Mac talks about how he’s had to explain to people that their pet is dead. That’s not the majority; that’s the exception. The majority of these people understood it in a way that I’m not sure I ever will, and whatever their memorialization method, found it offered a great deal of comfort.
As for the process being upsetting; I had the toughest time with people who were keeping their animal alive too long. That’s where I draw the line. I often say, “well you can’t fault these people for loving their pets too much — they’re all doing it out of love.” But you can when it goes into that territory. That was very upsetting for me.
You have interviewed some interesting people with unique stories. Can you go into some detail about how you found your interview subjects? Given how personal (and painful) their stories were, how did you get them to open up? And how have they reacted to the film?
Sometimes the subjects contacted me; sometimes it was through word of mouth from other subjects. That was often the case. A lot of the pet death care community is well connected, so once everyone realized that I was not making a super sensational reality show about them, they started signing on. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to the New York Times and Anna Jane Grossman, the writer who did a profile about the film just after my Kickstarter campaign. In fact that would never have come had Kickstarter not been amazingly supportive with the earliest incarnation of FUREVER; I am so grateful to their team for liking the project and promoting it. A lot of press came from that, but specifically the New York Times article, which was instrumental in getting subjects signed on. The article made it clear that this wasn’t a reality TV project, and that I was on the side of the pet owners, and empathetic to what they were going through. I could send that out and anyone would sign on. It was enormously helpful.
As for getting them to open up, that was the easiest part for me, for some reason. Part of it may be that they were never formal interviews, even if I’d memorized some general line of inquiry in my head. They were conversations. And I found that when I opened up with them, and they understood I was on their side and that I wasn’t going to make fun of them (something grieving pet parents often encounter as there’s such a stigma surrounding that type of grief), then they’d open up. Thankfully the subjects who have seen the film (many at this point) seem really happy with the results. They know they’re not being mocked, and they know that ultimately, if there’s any ulterior motive or call to action, it’s to remove that stigma.
I have a wonderful dog named Connor. While watching your film I frequently found myself thinking about his mortality, which really helped me identify with your interview subjects. Have you found that pet owners have had more empathy for your subjects than non-pet owners? In general, have you noticed any differences in the ways the two groups have reacted to the film?
I made the film with a very specific target audience in mind: pet people. I felt that I had to focus it in that way or else it wouldn’t carry the gravity that I wanted it to. I certainly wasn’t trying to preach to the converted (it’s not that type of film), but I figured that only pet lovers would likely enjoy the footage of live animals, which seemed crucial to include alongside the many dead ones. But to my surprise, numerous non-pet people are embracing it. I hadn’t anticipated that. I think they’re particularly drawn to the academic narrative that runs through it, and as a result of that content and the themes therein, they leave (or so I’ve heard), feeling more sensitive to their pet lover friends. Just the other day someone told me that her friend had to put his dog down, and that she’d initially mocked the fact that the pet had become a surrogate child to him, but that she had a new understanding and sensitivity to what he was going through, having watched the film, and that her instinct to mock had dissipated. I was, of course, thrilled. That’s the whole point.
That said, some of the scenes in the film are particularly polarizing. I’m shocked at screenings to see a large group of people in the audience crying, while others are laughing. It happens in every screening. But I can never gauge if it’s, at times, uncomfortable laughter, because it is making people think about mortality in a way with which they’re really rattled. I’m one of those people that has a problem laughing at funerals and bar mitzvahs, so I do understand that reaction too. And that reaction is fine. The film is asking people to confront a number of concepts that one is likely not thinking about regularly, so I’m of the belief that any reaction is fine.
Your film gives voice to people who have taken great comfort from preserving their pets, as well as to people who think it’s unhealthy to do so. Between when you began the project and now, how, if at all, have your views on the subject changed?
Well it’s funny that you asked that, as there are many people in the film who didn’t want to be included in the same film as the subjects who were choosing less conventional methods of memorialization. They didn’t want to be associated with them. And these are people who are working in a fairly eccentric, atypical field. Some of those subjects were the most judgmental. So it was tough to get people to sign on knowing that freeze-drying would also be included, or cloning. But when we discussed it, they also understood that the film couldn’t exclude parts of the larger story. Ultimately, I think most are fine with it. They love having the counterpoint of Sociologist, Dr. Pepper Schwartz. It was very difficult, however, trying to figure out how to make it as unbiased as we could. It was never an even playing field. Most people are coming in assuming the subjects are psychologically unhinged, so I had to temper the counterpoint. As for my views on the subjects, they really haven’t changed. Again, I’m not very judgmental. Rarely did I come across a subject I felt was truly pathological. And even in speaking with the grief counselors, asking them if there were clients who simply couldn’t be helped — they always said that when it went into that pathological realm, it was very rarely someone dealing with the grief over their pet. Usually, at that point, their grief was leftover from losses experienced prior that they’d never addressed.
Have audiences reacted to the film in ways that you were not prepared for? In general, what new ideas and emotions do you want audiences to take away from your film?
I’d love for the stigma attached to the grief experienced over the loss of a pet to disappear, no matter how extreme. From what I’ve heard, most people do not leave the film feeling like they didn’t learn something that might make them rethink their judgments about the subjects. I’m not sure I can ask for anything more than that.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Friday, June 7, 2013
2013 Brooklyn Film Festival Capsule Review: 'Furever'
‘Furever’, Amy Finkel’s new documentary about post-mortem pet preservation, is a focused look at an obscure topic. Yet the film succeeds as more than a curiosity because it hits on emotions and fears that people can identify with. We all dread the deaths of loved ones. And when they’re gone, it’s hard to say goodbye.
I would suggest not going into the film hoping to laugh at a bunch of wackos and their crazy behavior; that’s not what ‘Furever’ is about. Instead, the film elicits enormous empathy for its human subjects and, in a non-judgmental way, explores what’s driving them. There are undeniably some eccentric interviewees–such as a woman who tattooed her cat’s ashes into her arm. And there are morbidly funny moments–for instance, a dog reacting fearfully to its owner’s other dog, this one taxidermied. But from the very first scene, when a man brimming with grief discusses the devastation he felt after his cat of many years died, it’s hard not to feel for those interviewed.
“He’s not the same as he was, but it’s a hundred times better than not having him,” says another pet owner of Willow, his deceased, taxidermied dog. Whether or not you would taxidermy your own dog, the sentiment is a reaction to something that most pet owners – and most people – feel at some point in their lives. When loved ones die, we want to hold on to them somehow. And that resonance is the most impressive thing about ‘Furever’. Despite its quirky topic, the film gets at broader themes about bereavement and the difficulty of letting go.
Also impressive is the film’s balance. As a counterpoint, Ms. Finkel interviews those critical of the pet preservation industry. One person argues, for instance, that such businesses are coldly taking advantage of people’s grief. It would have been easy to side with either faction, but Ms. Finkel manages to present both sides in a non judgmental way.
Unfortunately, ‘Furever’ feels overstuffed. (Okay, at least one pun was inevitable.) By the time the film hits the sixty-minute mark, it has already presented the different perspectives on the issue of pet preservation, as well as the gamut of emotions involved. Yet the documentary continues, presenting more interviews and more versions of preservation without expanding on specifics. Admittedly, some of what’s covered near the film’s conclusion — such as a religious organization interested in pet mummification and a company that specializes in cloning — is pretty “out there”. But that does not stop the film from dragging for the final quarter of its eighty-minute runtime.
‘Furever’ may have some flaws. But it has taken what could have been a nasty look at eccentric people – or a critical look at the people who criticize them – and instead presents a resonant exploration of grief and the desire to hold on.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
I would suggest not going into the film hoping to laugh at a bunch of wackos and their crazy behavior; that’s not what ‘Furever’ is about. Instead, the film elicits enormous empathy for its human subjects and, in a non-judgmental way, explores what’s driving them. There are undeniably some eccentric interviewees–such as a woman who tattooed her cat’s ashes into her arm. And there are morbidly funny moments–for instance, a dog reacting fearfully to its owner’s other dog, this one taxidermied. But from the very first scene, when a man brimming with grief discusses the devastation he felt after his cat of many years died, it’s hard not to feel for those interviewed.
“He’s not the same as he was, but it’s a hundred times better than not having him,” says another pet owner of Willow, his deceased, taxidermied dog. Whether or not you would taxidermy your own dog, the sentiment is a reaction to something that most pet owners – and most people – feel at some point in their lives. When loved ones die, we want to hold on to them somehow. And that resonance is the most impressive thing about ‘Furever’. Despite its quirky topic, the film gets at broader themes about bereavement and the difficulty of letting go.
Also impressive is the film’s balance. As a counterpoint, Ms. Finkel interviews those critical of the pet preservation industry. One person argues, for instance, that such businesses are coldly taking advantage of people’s grief. It would have been easy to side with either faction, but Ms. Finkel manages to present both sides in a non judgmental way.
Unfortunately, ‘Furever’ feels overstuffed. (Okay, at least one pun was inevitable.) By the time the film hits the sixty-minute mark, it has already presented the different perspectives on the issue of pet preservation, as well as the gamut of emotions involved. Yet the documentary continues, presenting more interviews and more versions of preservation without expanding on specifics. Admittedly, some of what’s covered near the film’s conclusion — such as a religious organization interested in pet mummification and a company that specializes in cloning — is pretty “out there”. But that does not stop the film from dragging for the final quarter of its eighty-minute runtime.
‘Furever’ may have some flaws. But it has taken what could have been a nasty look at eccentric people – or a critical look at the people who criticize them – and instead presents a resonant exploration of grief and the desire to hold on.
Read the review at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Thursday, June 6, 2013
2013 Brooklyn Film Festival Filmmaker Profile: James E. Duff (Co-Writer/Director - 'Hank & Asha')
"In this modern love story, an Indian woman studying in Prague and a young New York filmmaker begin an unconventional correspondence – two strangers searching for human connection in a hyper-connected world. As their relationship intensifies, they must decide whether or not to meet face to face. ‘Hank and Asha’ is a story about isolation, identity, and the irresistible appeal of entertaining life’s what-ifs."
Your wife, Julia Morrison, co-wrote and edited the film. The film itself is about a romance between two filmmakers. Is your own relationship reflected here? What is it like making a romance film with your wife?
The circumstances in the film are much different than the way we met and began our relationship. But the heart of it and the feelings of connection are definitely similar. The making of the film was very personal; we met in New York City and spent the year before and after our marriage living in Prague.
Prague and New York serve as very important backdrops in the film. What did those cities bring to the production that others would not?
Prague is one of the most beautiful, romantic cities that I’ve ever seen. You walk down the street and are instantly swept up in its magic; it feels almost like a fairytale. It’s an environment where anything seems possible. New York is our home and I think of it as the greatest, most diverse city in the world, but you have to create something for yourself in order to stay afloat. New York and Prague provided the perfect backdrop; two cities where anything can happen.
This is an independent film about two independent filmmakers making independent films for each other. Has the indie community noticed and appreciated these layers of affection? How has the indie community responded to the film?
The indie film community has responded quite positively to the film, and we are very grateful for the support. But the film is more of a love story, rather than a film about independent film, and that is what people are responding to.
You have said that the production was a very collaborative process. What kinds of material were the two lead actors, Mahira Kakkar and Andrew Pastides, allowed to come up with on their own? Were their any restrictions on them?
It’s never been easier to find people to connect with, but the paradox is that it seems to be harder and harder to make real connections. People aren’t making the time to slow down. My step-sister’s high school class decided not to have their 10-year reunion because they’re all already connected on Facebook, and thought it would be a waste of time. That, to me, is tragic! We wanted to make a film that combined modern technology with the nostalgic feeling of letter writing.
Even though the film is about two characters who communicate remotely, there’s a tremendous amount of chemistry and (even) sexual tension. How did Kakkar and Pastides go about summoning these feelings, even though they weren’t performing in the same room? As a director, how did you guide them?
The production was very much a collaborative process. We structured the script around an outline of scenes. We knew what we needed to accomplish with each scene, and generally what needed to be said. I worked with Andrew and Mahira to find their objective in each scene, and we would do a number of takes a number of different ways. The main thing that I was looking for were the emotional beats behind the words. The only restrictions were the reality of their characters and their environment.
Andrew and Mahira didn’t meet until the last day of the shoot, so the biggest challenge in making the film was to create chemistry between them. So rather than focus on specific dialogue, we focused on what they wanted to achieve with each individual message, how they wanted to make the other person feel, and what their expectations were in creating the messages. Basically putting them firmly in the shoes of their character and situation. Again, mainly looking for the truth of the emotion. I never asked them personally what they summoned up to generate their feelings, as I believe that’s a private thing.
You and Julia have talked about the production being a “feel-your-way” process that yielded more footage than ultimately needed. And yet the final film feels very tightly structured. Can you describe the editing process? What kinds of scenes did you tend to cut? How difficult was it to pare this film down to its essence?
We did each scene a number of different ways, so editing was a real challenge. The first rough-cut was 2:45! It came down to finding the key moment of each scene, and cutting it as close to that moment as possible. The old editing rule of starting late, and getting out early. We did a number of scenes where the characters revealed more of their backstories, which were enjoyable as Mahira and Andrew are such skilled actors, but ultimately they didn’t advance the story so we had to cut them.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Your wife, Julia Morrison, co-wrote and edited the film. The film itself is about a romance between two filmmakers. Is your own relationship reflected here? What is it like making a romance film with your wife?
The circumstances in the film are much different than the way we met and began our relationship. But the heart of it and the feelings of connection are definitely similar. The making of the film was very personal; we met in New York City and spent the year before and after our marriage living in Prague.
Prague and New York serve as very important backdrops in the film. What did those cities bring to the production that others would not?
Prague is one of the most beautiful, romantic cities that I’ve ever seen. You walk down the street and are instantly swept up in its magic; it feels almost like a fairytale. It’s an environment where anything seems possible. New York is our home and I think of it as the greatest, most diverse city in the world, but you have to create something for yourself in order to stay afloat. New York and Prague provided the perfect backdrop; two cities where anything can happen.
This is an independent film about two independent filmmakers making independent films for each other. Has the indie community noticed and appreciated these layers of affection? How has the indie community responded to the film?
The indie film community has responded quite positively to the film, and we are very grateful for the support. But the film is more of a love story, rather than a film about independent film, and that is what people are responding to.
You have said that the production was a very collaborative process. What kinds of material were the two lead actors, Mahira Kakkar and Andrew Pastides, allowed to come up with on their own? Were their any restrictions on them?
It’s never been easier to find people to connect with, but the paradox is that it seems to be harder and harder to make real connections. People aren’t making the time to slow down. My step-sister’s high school class decided not to have their 10-year reunion because they’re all already connected on Facebook, and thought it would be a waste of time. That, to me, is tragic! We wanted to make a film that combined modern technology with the nostalgic feeling of letter writing.
Even though the film is about two characters who communicate remotely, there’s a tremendous amount of chemistry and (even) sexual tension. How did Kakkar and Pastides go about summoning these feelings, even though they weren’t performing in the same room? As a director, how did you guide them?
The production was very much a collaborative process. We structured the script around an outline of scenes. We knew what we needed to accomplish with each scene, and generally what needed to be said. I worked with Andrew and Mahira to find their objective in each scene, and we would do a number of takes a number of different ways. The main thing that I was looking for were the emotional beats behind the words. The only restrictions were the reality of their characters and their environment.
Andrew and Mahira didn’t meet until the last day of the shoot, so the biggest challenge in making the film was to create chemistry between them. So rather than focus on specific dialogue, we focused on what they wanted to achieve with each individual message, how they wanted to make the other person feel, and what their expectations were in creating the messages. Basically putting them firmly in the shoes of their character and situation. Again, mainly looking for the truth of the emotion. I never asked them personally what they summoned up to generate their feelings, as I believe that’s a private thing.
You and Julia have talked about the production being a “feel-your-way” process that yielded more footage than ultimately needed. And yet the final film feels very tightly structured. Can you describe the editing process? What kinds of scenes did you tend to cut? How difficult was it to pare this film down to its essence?
We did each scene a number of different ways, so editing was a real challenge. The first rough-cut was 2:45! It came down to finding the key moment of each scene, and cutting it as close to that moment as possible. The old editing rule of starting late, and getting out early. We did a number of scenes where the characters revealed more of their backstories, which were enjoyable as Mahira and Andrew are such skilled actors, but ultimately they didn’t advance the story so we had to cut them.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Saturday, June 1, 2013
2013 Brooklyn Film Festival Filmmaker Profile: Jeremy O'Keefe (Writer/Director - 'Somewhere Slow')
"Anna Thompson, a 40 year old skin care rep, is coasting through an unfulfilled marriage and an estranged relationship with her family. When Anna gets mixed-up in a deadly convenience store robbery, she makes a split-second decision and walks out of her life and into the unknown. On her travels, she meets Travis, a teenage drifter on his own journey of self-discovery. Together they break into the New England summer home of Anna’s childhood. It is in this quiet house, far away from the world, that both Anna and Travis begin to shed their protective shells, and for the first time, embrace the simple human connection they’ve spent their lives avoiding. Sparse and provocative, this film shines light on how sometimes we must learn to break our own rules to find the life we’ve been yearning to live."
Describe the thought process behind naming the film “Somewhere Slow?”
That’s an interesting question, especially when it comes to marketing, as it’s dangerous to have the word “Slow” in the title of a movie. The title came almost immediately to me, as it has to when I’m writing for me to trust that it’s a story I should embark on telling. I was on an airplane traveling to see friends for a wedding, and I was kicking around the story of a woman who was unhappy in her life. She was a woman who was not unhappy in her life because of anything in particular – nothing at least worth writing a movie about – but unhappy in the way we all get unhappy sometimes. This type of unhappiness or paralysis is often even more dangerous than the unhappiness that comes from external events. I thought to myself, this is a woman, who of her own accord is going nowhere fast. So I thought that if I was going to take her on a journey she needed to learn to live, somewhere slow. That idea then told me the rest of the story, told me where physically I needed to take her.
I read you wrote the first draft of the script in a week. That is a pretty explosive burst of inspiration. Why do you think this particular story came out of you with such urgency?
Yes, yes, yes. It was a crazy burst of inspiration. The type that can almost be crippling when I’ve sat down to write another story – because if it happened so “easily” when writing Somewhere Slow, and it isn’t happening on the new script, I become very insecure about my new content, dialogue, plot. Somewhere Slow, however, came at a point in my life, when I had just been let go from a job, and I was in between relationships and I felt lost. I felt a loss that I had felt before – one that could only be fixed by my own actions, by my own self-generation. So I fueled Anna’s story with my own emotional stuckness – and used the writing of the script as a way to both honor my current feelings and also look for a way out of them. Additionally, when I was living in New York, I had met someone who’s very presence and sense of adventure helped me look outside of myself – and thus, the Travis character was created to help Anna.
The film’s locales really stand out. How did you decide where the story would take place? Did you have a specific desire to shoot in those areas – perhaps a personal attachment to Maine or New England?
Thank you. I have a romance with New England. Both because I’ve escaped to the Cape in my own adulthood and because as a child, every summer my family would go this tiny cottage on the coast of Rhode Island for two weeks. When I began writing, I had no idea where the bus was going to take her. The bus is heading to Maine, but she and Travis get off in Boston and then, like me, they head to this tiny cottage on the coast of Rhode Island. I knew I wanted to shoot Somewhere Slow, and I knew I would be able to do it on the independent budget if I chose locales where we could shoot for cheap or shoot for free. The cottage we use in the movie is the same cottage that my family owns. Now when I go back there, its full of memories from both growing up and creating the film with everyone.
You have said that this is a film about breaking out of a very boxed-in existence. What specifically appealed to you about a protagonist with Anna’s problems (which include a troubled marriage and an eating disorder)? What made you decide to create a character who broke out of these particular circumstances?
I wanted to burden Anna with challenges that aren’t all that unique – that aren’t all that earth- shattering, world-ending. Yes, they are difficult, but we, as people, are much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. I wanted Anna’s challenges to relatable, but not to define her. I didn’t want to make a movie ABOUT bulimia or ABOUT a troubled marriage, because I didn’t want people to think she is in her situation as a result of those challenges. To me, the eating disorder and troubled marriage could have easily been replaced with a broken leg and pre-mature hair loss. We all feel victimized at some point in our lives, and I set out to tell a story that is about empowering ourselves to take that risk, to make that change and to break free of the shackles we’ve put on ourselves.
Jessalyn Gilsig’s Anna and Graham Patrick Martin’s Travis have a very interesting relationship. What about these two characters makes them so drawn to each other?
They do have a very interesting relationship. When I’m not writing or directing, I teach acting and go to therapy. I love therapy. I love trying to figure out and identify why we do things, why we react, what we’re hiding from. I’m figuring out that before society and “nurture” fucks (messes) us up, we are all basically working from the same base, the same organs, tissue and emotional capability – before we build up these protective walls around us. And I think, we all secretly wish we didn’t have to build these walls, and wish that we could just be children playing pretend with our GI Joes and Barbies in the creek. I know I do. So when Anna and Travis collide they are both, whether they know it or not, seeking this innocence, this sense of play, this freedom – and it’s that desire to be authentic, before rules, before wrongs, that draws them to one another.
I read you saying that Jessalyn Gilsig approached the role of Anna with a total lack of vanity, but it was not just her; you certainly picked actors who were willing to give humble performances. Gilsig, Graham Patrick Martin, David Costabile – none of their characters are bad people. But to use a word that feels appropriate to the film, they are all very blemished, whether physically or emotionally (or both). In the initial creative stages, were you ever nervous that you would not be able to find actors who would dive into the roles like this cast did? And how did you think audiences would react to characters like this?
Look, I could not be happier or feel more fortunate to have found these actors who were willing to trust me, trust the script and trust the process. I spoke a lot to my actors and designers about going for something real. The one fortunate thing about making an independent movie on the small budget we did was that we were allowed to take risks – risks that allowed us to not worry about “how the film was going to test in market research” – so that gave us the opportunity to look at these people as real. As real as our audiences are. As you, as me. Doing this gives us the chance to really connect to an audience, to say, I’m not just going to show you some car crashes and sex scenes, but I’m going to try my hardest to represent you. Real people often aren’t like the ones in the movies and TV. We’re a little fatter, our hair is messed up, we think about how we’re going to make rent, and how we’re going to live every second of every day with whomever we partner up with. Travis, as the 18 year teenage runaway, could have easily been styled and portrayed as that sexy guy everyone wants to have a fling with. But the story is not about exciting a bunch of housewives to go out and sleep with a teenager. He needed to come from a real place. Rather than wearing designer jeans and trendy boots, Tasha Goldthwait, our costume designer, was like “His family doesn’t have much money, he probably got his jeans at Walmart.” And she was absolutely right. And to finally answer your question, I wasn’t worried about finding actors to take these types of roles on. More often than not, the real artists are looking to only play types of roles like these. Audiences have been embracing these characters. The relationship an audience makes with a character is lot more valuable when it’s “I’ve been there” rather than “I wish I was there”. I can’t tell you the casts of Bravo’s reality series are gonna totally relate, but the rest of the world will.
There are a lot of complex emotions in this movie. A lot of pain, and also hope. Without giving away too much, how do you hope audiences will react to the film emotionally?
I can tell you how audiences throughout our festival run thus far are reacting – and they’re getting it. I had a woman approach me after one of our screenings at Cinequest. She was very quiet. She wrapped her hand around my wrist, leaned in and said, “She had the strength to do something I’ve never been able to do.” For me, that sums it up.
Jessalyn always talks about this story in such a lovely way – that it isn’t about a total transformation of a character, but it’s a small step in a direction that the audiences know she must take. I say the movie is the moment before the rest of Anna’s life. Is it always easy to watch? No, there is an undercurrent of discomfort, not because Anna is doing all sorts of treacherous things, but because we watch Jessalyn, as Anna, feel every moment, good and bad. From the moment, Jessalyn first read the script aloud at a reading we did in Los Angeles before we began production, I was blown away to see how much she valued and respected and loved the importance of Anna’s journey — because it’s the most common challenge we come across, daily, yearly, in our lifetimes – that decision to stop all the bullshit and just be yourself.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
Describe the thought process behind naming the film “Somewhere Slow?”
That’s an interesting question, especially when it comes to marketing, as it’s dangerous to have the word “Slow” in the title of a movie. The title came almost immediately to me, as it has to when I’m writing for me to trust that it’s a story I should embark on telling. I was on an airplane traveling to see friends for a wedding, and I was kicking around the story of a woman who was unhappy in her life. She was a woman who was not unhappy in her life because of anything in particular – nothing at least worth writing a movie about – but unhappy in the way we all get unhappy sometimes. This type of unhappiness or paralysis is often even more dangerous than the unhappiness that comes from external events. I thought to myself, this is a woman, who of her own accord is going nowhere fast. So I thought that if I was going to take her on a journey she needed to learn to live, somewhere slow. That idea then told me the rest of the story, told me where physically I needed to take her.
I read you wrote the first draft of the script in a week. That is a pretty explosive burst of inspiration. Why do you think this particular story came out of you with such urgency?
Yes, yes, yes. It was a crazy burst of inspiration. The type that can almost be crippling when I’ve sat down to write another story – because if it happened so “easily” when writing Somewhere Slow, and it isn’t happening on the new script, I become very insecure about my new content, dialogue, plot. Somewhere Slow, however, came at a point in my life, when I had just been let go from a job, and I was in between relationships and I felt lost. I felt a loss that I had felt before – one that could only be fixed by my own actions, by my own self-generation. So I fueled Anna’s story with my own emotional stuckness – and used the writing of the script as a way to both honor my current feelings and also look for a way out of them. Additionally, when I was living in New York, I had met someone who’s very presence and sense of adventure helped me look outside of myself – and thus, the Travis character was created to help Anna.
The film’s locales really stand out. How did you decide where the story would take place? Did you have a specific desire to shoot in those areas – perhaps a personal attachment to Maine or New England?
Thank you. I have a romance with New England. Both because I’ve escaped to the Cape in my own adulthood and because as a child, every summer my family would go this tiny cottage on the coast of Rhode Island for two weeks. When I began writing, I had no idea where the bus was going to take her. The bus is heading to Maine, but she and Travis get off in Boston and then, like me, they head to this tiny cottage on the coast of Rhode Island. I knew I wanted to shoot Somewhere Slow, and I knew I would be able to do it on the independent budget if I chose locales where we could shoot for cheap or shoot for free. The cottage we use in the movie is the same cottage that my family owns. Now when I go back there, its full of memories from both growing up and creating the film with everyone.
You have said that this is a film about breaking out of a very boxed-in existence. What specifically appealed to you about a protagonist with Anna’s problems (which include a troubled marriage and an eating disorder)? What made you decide to create a character who broke out of these particular circumstances?
I wanted to burden Anna with challenges that aren’t all that unique – that aren’t all that earth- shattering, world-ending. Yes, they are difficult, but we, as people, are much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. I wanted Anna’s challenges to relatable, but not to define her. I didn’t want to make a movie ABOUT bulimia or ABOUT a troubled marriage, because I didn’t want people to think she is in her situation as a result of those challenges. To me, the eating disorder and troubled marriage could have easily been replaced with a broken leg and pre-mature hair loss. We all feel victimized at some point in our lives, and I set out to tell a story that is about empowering ourselves to take that risk, to make that change and to break free of the shackles we’ve put on ourselves.
Jessalyn Gilsig’s Anna and Graham Patrick Martin’s Travis have a very interesting relationship. What about these two characters makes them so drawn to each other?
They do have a very interesting relationship. When I’m not writing or directing, I teach acting and go to therapy. I love therapy. I love trying to figure out and identify why we do things, why we react, what we’re hiding from. I’m figuring out that before society and “nurture” fucks (messes) us up, we are all basically working from the same base, the same organs, tissue and emotional capability – before we build up these protective walls around us. And I think, we all secretly wish we didn’t have to build these walls, and wish that we could just be children playing pretend with our GI Joes and Barbies in the creek. I know I do. So when Anna and Travis collide they are both, whether they know it or not, seeking this innocence, this sense of play, this freedom – and it’s that desire to be authentic, before rules, before wrongs, that draws them to one another.
I read you saying that Jessalyn Gilsig approached the role of Anna with a total lack of vanity, but it was not just her; you certainly picked actors who were willing to give humble performances. Gilsig, Graham Patrick Martin, David Costabile – none of their characters are bad people. But to use a word that feels appropriate to the film, they are all very blemished, whether physically or emotionally (or both). In the initial creative stages, were you ever nervous that you would not be able to find actors who would dive into the roles like this cast did? And how did you think audiences would react to characters like this?
Look, I could not be happier or feel more fortunate to have found these actors who were willing to trust me, trust the script and trust the process. I spoke a lot to my actors and designers about going for something real. The one fortunate thing about making an independent movie on the small budget we did was that we were allowed to take risks – risks that allowed us to not worry about “how the film was going to test in market research” – so that gave us the opportunity to look at these people as real. As real as our audiences are. As you, as me. Doing this gives us the chance to really connect to an audience, to say, I’m not just going to show you some car crashes and sex scenes, but I’m going to try my hardest to represent you. Real people often aren’t like the ones in the movies and TV. We’re a little fatter, our hair is messed up, we think about how we’re going to make rent, and how we’re going to live every second of every day with whomever we partner up with. Travis, as the 18 year teenage runaway, could have easily been styled and portrayed as that sexy guy everyone wants to have a fling with. But the story is not about exciting a bunch of housewives to go out and sleep with a teenager. He needed to come from a real place. Rather than wearing designer jeans and trendy boots, Tasha Goldthwait, our costume designer, was like “His family doesn’t have much money, he probably got his jeans at Walmart.” And she was absolutely right. And to finally answer your question, I wasn’t worried about finding actors to take these types of roles on. More often than not, the real artists are looking to only play types of roles like these. Audiences have been embracing these characters. The relationship an audience makes with a character is lot more valuable when it’s “I’ve been there” rather than “I wish I was there”. I can’t tell you the casts of Bravo’s reality series are gonna totally relate, but the rest of the world will.
There are a lot of complex emotions in this movie. A lot of pain, and also hope. Without giving away too much, how do you hope audiences will react to the film emotionally?
I can tell you how audiences throughout our festival run thus far are reacting – and they’re getting it. I had a woman approach me after one of our screenings at Cinequest. She was very quiet. She wrapped her hand around my wrist, leaned in and said, “She had the strength to do something I’ve never been able to do.” For me, that sums it up.
Jessalyn always talks about this story in such a lovely way – that it isn’t about a total transformation of a character, but it’s a small step in a direction that the audiences know she must take. I say the movie is the moment before the rest of Anna’s life. Is it always easy to watch? No, there is an undercurrent of discomfort, not because Anna is doing all sorts of treacherous things, but because we watch Jessalyn, as Anna, feel every moment, good and bad. From the moment, Jessalyn first read the script aloud at a reading we did in Los Angeles before we began production, I was blown away to see how much she valued and respected and loved the importance of Anna’s journey — because it’s the most common challenge we come across, daily, yearly, in our lifetimes – that decision to stop all the bullshit and just be yourself.
Read the interview at IndieNYC.com
IndieWoodDave@gmail.com
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