avant-garde

Last night I attended the 2005 Latino Film Festival for a screening of Iván Ávila Dueñas experimental film, Adán y Eva (todavía), or (in "Americanese"), Adam and Eve (Still) (2004).

It had been a long time - years, in fact - since I had sat in a theater and watched avant-garde cinema projected on a movie screen. The last time might have been when I was in film school and went to one of Dominic Angerame's informal screenings for some of his experimental film work. He was my History of Film professor at the Academy of Art College - thoroughly knowledgable about a multitude of cinematic styles, from straightforward narrative to the abstract and surreal. In his class I was exposed to directors of which I knew little to nothing, such as legends like Andrei Tarkovsky, Ingmar Bergman, Werner Herzog, Lina Wertmüller, and numerous others.

So it was with moderate excitement that I entered the Two Boots Pioneer Theater on East 3rd for the 6:30 showing. I'd looked forward to seeing it after reading its description, and I was not disappointed. It was a remarkable picture – brazen, meditative, and unafraid to discard commercial film sensibilites.

An eternity from the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve are condemned to immortality (it would seem a condemnation given the misanthropic tone of the film). They reside in the slums of modern-day Mexico City and Buenos Aires. They are like vampires who feed their appetites on society's fringe but lack the blood habit or aversion to direct sunlight. They exist without end in a sort of lethargic transfixion and seek thrills through sexually deviant behavior to enliven the deadness of their permanence. Adam finds new flesh in a night club. Eve undertakes prostitution but does not accept money. They often change their hairstyles and wardrobes. Eve clips photos from tabloids to create wall-sized montages. Adam instigates a mutual suicide - obviously it does not kill him, and he appears to feel nothing for his victim. The pair dwells in languorous moral detachment. Theirs is an interminable quest for something new, something they have not yet experienced. They are not opprobrious - they're just bored.

Director Dueñas prefers static shots to convey this panoptic ennui. His panoramic shots from rooftops scrutinize the modern world which Adam and Eve now perpetually inhabit. Delayed camera pans communicate insouciance and relate to the loss of time - when days, years, and decades have been rendered meaningless. There is sanguine acting from the two leads (as well as much of the supporting cast), with nudity and some, er... uncomfortable situations.

All said, Adam and Even (Still) is a film worth seeing for the adventurous cinephile. An education in film is not a prerequisite, but it certainly it is not for general audiences. Also, those who have difficulty navigating their local Blockbuster Video might want to skip this one, too.

miscellany

Random thoughts, part two.

One of my favorites scenes from recent cinema (recent as in the past ten years or so) is from the extraordinary "American Beauty" (1999, written by Alan Ball and directed by Sam Mendes). The scene occurs in Ricky Fitts' (Wes Bentley) bedroom as he shows a videotape to his neighbor Jane Burnham (Thora Birch). The video footage is a simple, steady shot of a plastic grocery bag "dancing" in a wind gust:

"It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember - and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."

Succinct, moving dialogue and such an incredible scene. It always cuts through me like a spirit slivering my soul. And a few minutes ago I trekked up a block to the corner store for half & half and a Vitamin Water (go ahead and chortle - I drink Vitamin Water). And lo and behold, a white plastic grocery bag emblazoned with a red smiley face was caught in a wind gust off the East River. It "followed" me about a half block up and I could only recall that scene from "American Beauty." The memory brought me a plaintive smile. The bag skipped along beside me, or a little in front of me, smiley face pointed upward - "Like a little kid begging me to play with it." The wind gust died and the bag fell behind and for a solitary moment I felt just a little... dejected.

So I bought my half & half and Vitamin Water, and returning home, I did not see the bag anywhere.

Here at the Queens Compund last night there was an informal reading for the screenplay I recently completed. Four New York actors took time out of their lives to take on various roles and read and discuss, and It went well. I received a fresh perspective on the dialogue, continuity, and script flow. It's one thing to sit here in front of my monitor and pound out the words and read them to myself. It is something else entirely to hear those words dramatized by real actors. I received a few helpful suggestions in the constructive criticism vein, but much to my surprise the screenplay did not seem to need a lot of fixin' (or so I hope). Now comes the next step - to get this thing to an agent and sell it. I presently have a credible possibilty to at least get the script into the hands of an established industry writer (and/or his agent). I should know soon...

I like margaritas. Sure, I'm generally a beer (Bass, Heineken, Harp, Sam Adams) or Jim Beam and Coke kind of guy, but I have a weakness for margaritas... and fast-talkin' dime store noir dames ("Noir dames love tragic alcoholics. Show up at 2 a.m. drunk with a bullet wound and watch the sparks fly."). Jane Greer, Liz Scott, Anne Savage, Joan Bennett, Ida Lupino - where are you? Gee, ya' think I've been watching too much film noir lately?

I have a camera in my cell phone but I hardly ever use it. I think that's because I forget it's there...

And what quote shall I leave you with this time? I know - a song I was just listening to:

Well there’s a light in your eye that keeps shining
Like a star that can’t wait for the night
I hate to think I’ve been blinded baby
Why can’t I see you tonight?

And the warmth of your smile starts a-burnin’
And the thrill of your touch gives me fright
And I’m shaking so much, really yearning
Why don’t you show up, make it all right?
-Led Zeppelin, "Fool in the Rain" (Jones/Page/Plant)

dialogue

Random thoughts.

My grandmother smoked. I remember it quite well. One invariable mental image of my childhood is sitting on the family room floor of my parents' house while my gandmother reclined in the red-cushioned rocking chair. She would light up, and that odor of the struck match aroused and delighted my sense of smell. I would breathe deeply through my little boy nose in an attempt to inhale every lingering trace of that acrid-sweet phosphorus and sulfide combustion. That odor and gasoline have always been my favorite smells. And I still miss my grandparents.

I enjoy staying in the city on holiday weekends. Sure, I've left town in the past to visit one place or another (generally the family unit upstate), but it so happens I am here in New York over this July 4th. The city is half-empty. Much of the population has hit the road for their relaxation destinations. Their exodus thins the traffic, the sidewalks, and (most importantly?) the bars. Though it was crowded on the Lower East Side on Friday night, the rest of the city seemed somehow abandoned. On my soused taxi ride home at 3:30 in the morning, straight up Third Avenue through the Village, Murray Hill, and Midtown, the sidewalks were particularly barren. Not the norm for New York. But it provided for a welcome, albeit spectral, change of pace. Tonight it looks like it might be pool with the boys. On a Sunday night on a holiday weekend there shouldn't be much of a crowd. We might as well take advantage of the absence of the masses while we can.

I finished the first draft of my "commercial" screenplay last night. Roughly two months of research, writing, formatting and the creation of a little written world in my Final Draft program and it is basically complete. Sure, there will be editing and revisions, but the story is there. I must say, despite its commercially viable nature (which my art house and foreign film instincts want to reject), I am proud of this script. It was also as if I rediscovered my ability to write a cohesive, feature-length screenplay. I had few problems with continuity, characters, or scenes. Whereas many screenwriters will hit snags and roadblocks with the middle act (usually pages 30 to 90), I had a comprehensive outline that pushed the action and conflict forward. No wasted space and no superfluous content. I have high hopes for this one. Now comes a test reading with a group of New York actors for dialogue and flow, and of course, their ideas and suggestions for improvement. Constructive criticism is always advantageous. Then, I get the damn thing out there and sell it. And after that? Well, maybe I'll go back to my hallowed film school roots and write something that would make Bergman or Buñuel proud.

Ah, Stand Inside Your Love, one of my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs, just came on.

Earlier today I watched The Set-Up, an intense noir from 1949, starring Robert Ryan and Audrey Totter, and directed by prodigious Robert Wise (he also directed Star Trek: The Motion Picture, The Sound of Music, The Sand Pebbles, and The Day the Earth Stood Still, among numerous other pictures). The Set-Up plays out in "real time," and it is a masterwork of film design. It's the brutal story of a pugilist on his last legs and the sacrifices he must make to finish his career on his feet. The film presents scenes of feral human nature - cruelty, avarice, and bloodlust - so it's not always easy to watch. But it comes highly recommended, obviously. Pick it up in the "Film Noir Classic Collection" DVD boxset along with other classics like Out of the Past, Asphalt Jungle, Gun Crazy, and Murder, My Sweet. It's worth every dime, see?

I realize that I am drawn to the damaged, or perhaps they are drawn to me. They lure me into their lives and I welcome their souls and hearts and eyes and baggage. I can only listen with rapt attention and a scintilla of empathy, and hope that the words I return strike with the sincerity I intend.

I run with joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me; their stuttering is like divine music to my ears - Henry Miller