Click here to read PART ONE.
By that point the industry had changed so dramatically I wasn’t sure what was happening. HD Cameras were becoming technically more advanced. They were finally beginning to have the look and feel of celluloid. Shooting on actual film was becoming obsolete.
Then I got an idea to do a documentary on the life of my friend—Los Angeles icon, writer/poet, and punk rock royalty Pleasant Gehman (aka universally celebrated belly dance star Princess Farhana). Traveling with her, and filming her for a year, really helped put my career path in perspective. Why was I making movies to begin with?
I didn’t need to have fancy equipment trucks lining the streets so it would “look” like I was making a movie to passers by. I didn’t want the phony photograph with hoards of crew people posed behind me while I stood nose-to-the-sky next to the 35mm Arriflex (or today’s version: The RED). I know those kinds of filmmakers and that isn’t the kind I aspire to be. My desire is about what’s on screen. What is there for the viewer, regardless of the format.
When a person is watching a movie they can’t see what kinds of snacks are on the craft service table, or if any of the actors had personal make-up trailers. So why should I waste the money on frivolous stuff that doesn’t enhance the image? Why worry about it?
I realize that many aspiring filmmakers out there try to mask the fact they don’t know what they’re doing by “playing the part” of Director. To passers by, so long as they “look like” a director, they will feel like a director. And the equipment, crew, cash, and drama of the “production” become props in their disguise. And without those props they would feel amateurish and worthless. And they will often talk down to the ones who don’t follow in their footsteps.
During this time, I learned David Lynch was planning to downsize from celluloid to video with a project called INLAND EMPIRE. Getting rid of all the “production” associated with film and moving to digital has tremendous cost savings. By omitting shooting on celluloid, we filmmakers would omit having to house and feed 42 people. We also omit the excessive equipment rental costs and several hundred thousand dollars of unneeded expenses associated with a project shot on film.
I started thinking really seriously about the way Kubrick shot his movies. And the way Cassevetes liked to work.
They preferred a kind of intimate production. One where the crew was made up of just a few people: they did their own camera work, had just one or two people on the crew (sound, lighting) and a few actors. Why, it would be no different than a few friends shooting in their backyards like we all did in film school. It would appear to passers by to be exactly the same. Amateurish. Except that each person in that small group would be respecting their craft. I realized that so long as there is a respect for what you’re doing, the appearance to passers by is totally irrelevant.
There would be no glamorous shoot, no luxuries, nor stylists applying make-up to actors in high-back chairs with their names stenciled on them. It would be punk rock, baby. We’d have to do our own work. Lift our own camera case, do our own make-up and hair, bring our own lunch to the set. Passers by wouldn’t stop. They’d keep right on walking, paying us no mind at all. We would be free of onlookers. We would also be free of actors or crew people who placed more emphasis on the appearance of the set than they did their actual craft.
That possibility excited me to no end.
(To be continued next week.)