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Originally posted on my BLOG.
Where do you think the cinema is going? Is what we know as the cinema actually disappearing, or is it reinventing itself and starting again or is it just changing?
This is a fairly difficult question for me to answer [and frustratingly so], because I personally feel that [in situations such as this] cinema should be looked at as a whole something that, frankly, I'm not able to do yet. In terms of foreign cinema, I think, we're still really only seeing what the American distributors think we'll like, which means that we're missing out on literally hundreds of movies, all of which would be marginalised by my answering of a question such as this. A lot is happening that the majority of us are completely oblivious too, which is really very sad.
In terms of American cinema, at least, I think we're actually moving into [or at least towards] another "renaissance" period of sorts. I've felt this way for some time. There's a whole heap of young American filmmakers working today and often within the studio system that are making some really terrific and wonderful films that I think'll wind up being remembered as classics. One day we'll be looking back on films like Punch-Drunk Love and we'll be using the word "masterpiece" to describe them.
What has been emerging for some time now, I think, is a sort of "neo-auteur" movement. It's almost a subversive thing. These young filmmakers are colouring within the lines of the Hollywood establishment, but they're doing so with their own crayons. This is what makes it different to the situation that filmmakers found themselves in during the seventies, when the "new Hollywood auteur" emerged as a result of the studio's necessity to re-establish links with the youth market. Back then, the studios were actually willing to hand over the reigns. Now, they're conglomerate empires and don't need to hence my use of the word "subversive". This time it's happening because the filmmakers are engineering it to within the system.
How they're doing this, I've no idea. But it's happening. For me, the films of Wes Anderson stand out in particular. They're just so idiosyncratic and quirky and yet, they're also still being made. And I think we're getting a lot of this now. Since 1999 [which was not only a year of sheer idiosyncrasy, but one of the best years for cinema in a very, very long while], these films have become more and more commonplace. Personally, I'm loving it. For some reason, after the burst of both arrogance and irony that followed Pulp Fiction in the middle of the 1990s, a more offbeat type of picture began to emerge strangely original films like Being John Malkovich, Election and Fight Club all of which were stamped with the distinctive and individual marks of their makers. For all the Megaplex fodder we do get [and complain about endlessly], we also have these really wonderful "neo-auteur" pictures, which I think are really quite something. And the fact that these filmmakers are actually beginning to flourish somewhat, well...it's really quite encouraging.
As for the manner in which cinema is actually changing, well, I think that's just it it's changing. It's evolving, as it should. It's not "dying" by any means and I don't think it's particularly "reinventing" itself either. To address, for a moment, the purely technical aspects of this change, I don't think the emergence of digital filmmaking is a particularly bad thing no better or worse than the introduction of sound, colour or cinemascope. Films still need to be written, shot and edited. They still need to be experienced and seen by an audience. The manner in which the process evolves really has little to do with anything other than the economy of filmmaking as far as I'm concerned. The real filmmaker will shoot VHS if he has to. The format should never take precedence over the actual telling of the story.
Do you draw inspiration from the cinema of the past? If so, in what way and from what filmmakers?
The thing about my generation is that we've been brought up almost exclusively on images. In terms of visual literacy, we're probably more advanced than any other generation before us was [and the next generation will be even more advanced than us]. For this reason, it's nearly impossible now for us to not be influenced by the cinema of the past if not consciously, then at least subconsciously. You read about people like Quentin Tarantino or Paul Thomas Anderson who basically taught themselves everything they know about movies from watching them and you realise that, now, we're all like that.
However, there's a reason I bring up those two filmmakers specifically and that's because I'm actually against their reasons for [and methods of] "drawing inspiration" from the past. A couple of months ago I wrote a piece entitled Cinematic Grammar or: How I am Finding it Harder and Harder to Respect Homage, in which I wrote: The thing is that you're always going to be inspired by what you watch, but you've also got to strive towards an original vision of your own. As Pedro Almodσvar writes in Laurent Tirard's Moviemakers Master Class, "the first approach the tribute is borrowing, whereas the second is theft. But for me, only theft is justifiable."
However, that said, let me say this. It's impossible for me not to draw inspiration from the past. I am, as previously stated, the child of an image-saturated society. The ability, therefore, to synthesise is an inherent and irrevocably inbuilt one. However, I have also begun, in this last year, making a conscious effort to improve upon, warp, elaborate or adapt all that I am influenced by not merely reference it, as is the "savvy" way of, say, Tarantino. My most recent project was greatly influenced by Jean-Luc Godard's Bande ΰ part, for example, but only in terms of form. The style of Godard's picture, I felt, was the one that would best tell my own story and thus, I took and ran with it. However, I wasn't simply doing this to be overly smart or clever [although there are a few instances in which I think I failed]. I was only doing it for the sake of my film. So, I think that's the whole point.
Oddly enough, I never steal that much from my favourite films or filmmakers. Usually, that's just because they're just not the type of films I want to make. There's not much about Lawrence of Arabia or Casablanca that can really inform the nature of my own projects when you stop and think about it. I've been inspired greatly by Scorsese as of late more by his passion than his films, admittedly but other than that it's hard to say. Often, I find that I'm being more directly influenced by the films that I like less. I think that's because I can usually see a potential for the story or idea that the original filmmaker didn't, which goes back to the original idea of improving upon as opposed to merely referencing. That's not to say that I can make better movies, just that I would have liked to see the filmmaker explore something that they didn't and which I now can.
What is it that drives you to make films?
I'm scared that if I was to try anything else I'd probably fail.
Well, that and I just really like stories. I like it when you catch yourself forgetting where you are because you're in the middle of being told this really wonderful story [and I like it even better when you don't]. There's a sensation that you get when you realise that, for a moment there, you were somewhere else completely. Of course, that becomes a much rarer sort of experience when you're a filmmaker or critic, because you become slightly jaded by the constant sort of analysis that your brain has rewired itself to perform every time you watch a movie. In some ways, then, moments like these help you delineate the good films from the great ones.
So, in some ways, I think that's what drives me though to be honest, it's not always the actual telling of stories that I like either. I like the turbulence that comes with storytelling as well the anxiety, I guess, of the artist which is one of the three themes that I've found myself dealing with more and more in my own work [the other two are autocracy and the collapse of the family unit]. You can't help but make films about the things that interest you and so, as time goes on, I find that my own films are really just a way for me to indulge myself and most everything I've done thus far has been autobiographical in some respect as well, either subtly or blatantly.
That's probably it, actually filmmaking is a cathartic form of self-analysis. If other people happen to find that analysis interesting [and for some reason they usually do], then that's great. But I'm doing it for myself first and foremost and I'm primarily concerned with my own issues. I'm constantly trying to work myself out, in some way, through my work.
Has the battle to have cinema taken seriously as an art form been won? If it has been won, what has been accomplished? What remains to be done?
I think what's interesting is that the battle's being won and lost at exactly the same time. The poles between cinema-as-art and cinema-as-trash couldn't be further apart than they are right now you've got masterworks at one end of the spectrum and drivel at the other and the amount of space between them is slowly getting greater and greater. It's almost like there was a cinematic Big Bang. The good films are getting better and better and the bad ones are at their all-time worst.
In some ways, you could say that the battle has been lost for this very reason the bad films still exist. But, then again, as I like to remind myself, so to do the masterworks, and that's pretty good when you consider the goals of the industry, which really have very little to do with "art". And as I mentioned earlier, you've also got this subversive "neo-auteur" thing going on and I think that's really quite wonderful. So, yeah, the war is a cold one. And I don't think it can be "won" or "lost" by any "side". Very, very rarely does a film not have its place in the grand scheme of things. The crap, after all, is what's funding the quality.
However, as far as having cinema taken seriously goes, I don't think there's that much we can do about it. People are always going to believe, for example, that the Academy Awards are the epitome of cinematic prestige, however incorrect they may be. We've got to ask ourselves if it really matters [or bothers us] all that much. When you're obsessively passionate about something, you're always going to question those who are not: "I mean, how on Earth could they think that? Is that really what they believe?" But then again, imagine what it must be like for the scientists of the world, who are constantly getting pigeonholed as white-bearded men in lab coats growing ears on the back of mice. There's always going to be a public misconception about the purpose and nature of cinema. The best we can do is ignore it and keep striving for what we think is right.
If there was a single moment no matter how fleeting that encapsulates cinema for you, what would it be?
The match-to-desert jump-cut from Lawrence of Arabia. If it's editing that separates cinema from all the other art forms [and personally, at least, I think it is], then this is the moment in which, for me, cinema is at its most perfect, pure and wonderful.
Where do you think the cinema is going? Is what we know as the cinema actually disappearing, or is it reinventing itself and starting again or is it just changing?
This is a fairly difficult question for me to answer [and frustratingly so], because I personally feel that [in situations such as this] cinema should be looked at as a whole something that, frankly, I'm not able to do yet. In terms of foreign cinema, I think, we're still really only seeing what the American distributors think we'll like, which means that we're missing out on literally hundreds of movies, all of which would be marginalised by my answering of a question such as this. A lot is happening that the majority of us are completely oblivious too, which is really very sad.
In terms of American cinema, at least, I think we're actually moving into [or at least towards] another "renaissance" period of sorts. I've felt this way for some time. There's a whole heap of young American filmmakers working today and often within the studio system that are making some really terrific and wonderful films that I think'll wind up being remembered as classics. One day we'll be looking back on films like Punch-Drunk Love and we'll be using the word "masterpiece" to describe them.
What has been emerging for some time now, I think, is a sort of "neo-auteur" movement. It's almost a subversive thing. These young filmmakers are colouring within the lines of the Hollywood establishment, but they're doing so with their own crayons. This is what makes it different to the situation that filmmakers found themselves in during the seventies, when the "new Hollywood auteur" emerged as a result of the studio's necessity to re-establish links with the youth market. Back then, the studios were actually willing to hand over the reigns. Now, they're conglomerate empires and don't need to hence my use of the word "subversive". This time it's happening because the filmmakers are engineering it to within the system.
How they're doing this, I've no idea. But it's happening. For me, the films of Wes Anderson stand out in particular. They're just so idiosyncratic and quirky and yet, they're also still being made. And I think we're getting a lot of this now. Since 1999 [which was not only a year of sheer idiosyncrasy, but one of the best years for cinema in a very, very long while], these films have become more and more commonplace. Personally, I'm loving it. For some reason, after the burst of both arrogance and irony that followed Pulp Fiction in the middle of the 1990s, a more offbeat type of picture began to emerge strangely original films like Being John Malkovich, Election and Fight Club all of which were stamped with the distinctive and individual marks of their makers. For all the Megaplex fodder we do get [and complain about endlessly], we also have these really wonderful "neo-auteur" pictures, which I think are really quite something. And the fact that these filmmakers are actually beginning to flourish somewhat, well...it's really quite encouraging.
As for the manner in which cinema is actually changing, well, I think that's just it it's changing. It's evolving, as it should. It's not "dying" by any means and I don't think it's particularly "reinventing" itself either. To address, for a moment, the purely technical aspects of this change, I don't think the emergence of digital filmmaking is a particularly bad thing no better or worse than the introduction of sound, colour or cinemascope. Films still need to be written, shot and edited. They still need to be experienced and seen by an audience. The manner in which the process evolves really has little to do with anything other than the economy of filmmaking as far as I'm concerned. The real filmmaker will shoot VHS if he has to. The format should never take precedence over the actual telling of the story.
Do you draw inspiration from the cinema of the past? If so, in what way and from what filmmakers?
The thing about my generation is that we've been brought up almost exclusively on images. In terms of visual literacy, we're probably more advanced than any other generation before us was [and the next generation will be even more advanced than us]. For this reason, it's nearly impossible now for us to not be influenced by the cinema of the past if not consciously, then at least subconsciously. You read about people like Quentin Tarantino or Paul Thomas Anderson who basically taught themselves everything they know about movies from watching them and you realise that, now, we're all like that.
However, there's a reason I bring up those two filmmakers specifically and that's because I'm actually against their reasons for [and methods of] "drawing inspiration" from the past. A couple of months ago I wrote a piece entitled Cinematic Grammar or: How I am Finding it Harder and Harder to Respect Homage, in which I wrote:
I believe in cinematic grammar, but not in the sense that there is only one set of rules [for us to follow]. I think that, with the great directors [old or young or somewhere in between], you can see that they have, in essence, developed their own cinematic language over time, based on their [personal] vision [which is also constantly developing] and nothing else. Their grammar might borrow from that of others, but not for the purpose of being cool, clever or shocking. It borrows only to aid the vision, and I think that's the thing. I think that's the line. Borrow, but not for any superficial reason.
I don't feel, as yet, that Paul Thomas Anderson or Quentin Tarantino have developed their own cinematic languages, and I don't feel that [at . . . present] their borrowing from the past is anything other than chic homage. The Wise Up sequence of Magnolia demonstrates that Anderson definitely has the ability to develop a personal, distinct grammar, and I feel that Punch-Drunk Love was a step in the right direction for him. Kill Bill, for Tarantino, was a step backwards.
I don't feel, as yet, that Paul Thomas Anderson or Quentin Tarantino have developed their own cinematic languages, and I don't feel that [at . . . present] their borrowing from the past is anything other than chic homage. The Wise Up sequence of Magnolia demonstrates that Anderson definitely has the ability to develop a personal, distinct grammar, and I feel that Punch-Drunk Love was a step in the right direction for him. Kill Bill, for Tarantino, was a step backwards.
However, that said, let me say this. It's impossible for me not to draw inspiration from the past. I am, as previously stated, the child of an image-saturated society. The ability, therefore, to synthesise is an inherent and irrevocably inbuilt one. However, I have also begun, in this last year, making a conscious effort to improve upon, warp, elaborate or adapt all that I am influenced by not merely reference it, as is the "savvy" way of, say, Tarantino. My most recent project was greatly influenced by Jean-Luc Godard's Bande ΰ part, for example, but only in terms of form. The style of Godard's picture, I felt, was the one that would best tell my own story and thus, I took and ran with it. However, I wasn't simply doing this to be overly smart or clever [although there are a few instances in which I think I failed]. I was only doing it for the sake of my film. So, I think that's the whole point.
Oddly enough, I never steal that much from my favourite films or filmmakers. Usually, that's just because they're just not the type of films I want to make. There's not much about Lawrence of Arabia or Casablanca that can really inform the nature of my own projects when you stop and think about it. I've been inspired greatly by Scorsese as of late more by his passion than his films, admittedly but other than that it's hard to say. Often, I find that I'm being more directly influenced by the films that I like less. I think that's because I can usually see a potential for the story or idea that the original filmmaker didn't, which goes back to the original idea of improving upon as opposed to merely referencing. That's not to say that I can make better movies, just that I would have liked to see the filmmaker explore something that they didn't and which I now can.
What is it that drives you to make films?
I'm scared that if I was to try anything else I'd probably fail.
Well, that and I just really like stories. I like it when you catch yourself forgetting where you are because you're in the middle of being told this really wonderful story [and I like it even better when you don't]. There's a sensation that you get when you realise that, for a moment there, you were somewhere else completely. Of course, that becomes a much rarer sort of experience when you're a filmmaker or critic, because you become slightly jaded by the constant sort of analysis that your brain has rewired itself to perform every time you watch a movie. In some ways, then, moments like these help you delineate the good films from the great ones.
So, in some ways, I think that's what drives me though to be honest, it's not always the actual telling of stories that I like either. I like the turbulence that comes with storytelling as well the anxiety, I guess, of the artist which is one of the three themes that I've found myself dealing with more and more in my own work [the other two are autocracy and the collapse of the family unit]. You can't help but make films about the things that interest you and so, as time goes on, I find that my own films are really just a way for me to indulge myself and most everything I've done thus far has been autobiographical in some respect as well, either subtly or blatantly.
That's probably it, actually filmmaking is a cathartic form of self-analysis. If other people happen to find that analysis interesting [and for some reason they usually do], then that's great. But I'm doing it for myself first and foremost and I'm primarily concerned with my own issues. I'm constantly trying to work myself out, in some way, through my work.
Has the battle to have cinema taken seriously as an art form been won? If it has been won, what has been accomplished? What remains to be done?
I think what's interesting is that the battle's being won and lost at exactly the same time. The poles between cinema-as-art and cinema-as-trash couldn't be further apart than they are right now you've got masterworks at one end of the spectrum and drivel at the other and the amount of space between them is slowly getting greater and greater. It's almost like there was a cinematic Big Bang. The good films are getting better and better and the bad ones are at their all-time worst.
In some ways, you could say that the battle has been lost for this very reason the bad films still exist. But, then again, as I like to remind myself, so to do the masterworks, and that's pretty good when you consider the goals of the industry, which really have very little to do with "art". And as I mentioned earlier, you've also got this subversive "neo-auteur" thing going on and I think that's really quite wonderful. So, yeah, the war is a cold one. And I don't think it can be "won" or "lost" by any "side". Very, very rarely does a film not have its place in the grand scheme of things. The crap, after all, is what's funding the quality.
However, as far as having cinema taken seriously goes, I don't think there's that much we can do about it. People are always going to believe, for example, that the Academy Awards are the epitome of cinematic prestige, however incorrect they may be. We've got to ask ourselves if it really matters [or bothers us] all that much. When you're obsessively passionate about something, you're always going to question those who are not: "I mean, how on Earth could they think that? Is that really what they believe?" But then again, imagine what it must be like for the scientists of the world, who are constantly getting pigeonholed as white-bearded men in lab coats growing ears on the back of mice. There's always going to be a public misconception about the purpose and nature of cinema. The best we can do is ignore it and keep striving for what we think is right.
If there was a single moment no matter how fleeting that encapsulates cinema for you, what would it be?
The match-to-desert jump-cut from Lawrence of Arabia. If it's editing that separates cinema from all the other art forms [and personally, at least, I think it is], then this is the moment in which, for me, cinema is at its most perfect, pure and wonderful.
__________________
www.esotericrabbit.com
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